Page 13 of Desolation

He has a good point. I thought maybe going for a swim in his pool but volunteering has always been my thing. “Did you say I could take the Jag?”

A grin forms on his face. “Sure did.”

“Your 1959 Jaguar Roadster that you love so much?”

The pen falls from his mouth. “Not the one I meant.”

I lean back in the chair. “Then I’ll stay here.”

He swallows before he speaks. “Fine. Take the ’59.”

I plaster a smile on my face. I know that is his dream car. He talked about it since we were eighteen. It was the first thing he bought when he made his first million. Which leads me to believe whatever is in those documents is bigger than I thought it was. And he needs to use his secret spy shit or whatever he has hidden in this office.

I stand up and pick up my purse from the chair beside me. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Drive it straight to the hospital and back.”

“Sure thing, Dax.”

“Mari…”

I smile at him over my shoulder. “Have fun.”

I walk out of his office and I think he is going to run after me but he doesn’t. I fix my makeup in the bathroom then walk to the garage and find the keys to the Jag on the wall. I open the garage door and then walk over to the silver beauty. I slide into the convertible, a shit-eating grin on my face. I pop open the glove box and find a GPS inside. I search for the hospital and pull out of the driveway.

I pull my hair out of the low ponytail I have it in and let the breeze blow through it as I drive.

This is so much better than the pool.

Chapter Five

Landon

“Checkmate.”

I stare at the chessboard in disbelief. Mr. Cartwell has never beaten me. No one can beat me at chess actually. I’ve been playing it since I was a little kid, perfecting the game every year I got older. I feel like it’s what gave me a one up in the SEALs, my mind always looking for my opponents next three moves.

“You ain’t as good as you think you are, you whippersnapper.”

I put my hands up in defense. “Now don’t be calling me a whippersnapper.”

“You think you are the best. You need to learn, you aren’t.”

“I am the best.”

“Not anymore,” he grunts.

I watch him as he sips on his iced tea, his jaw moving back and forth as he stares me down. There is no way I am letting an eighty-eight year old man beat me at chess. “Rematch.”

“That’s fair. But I need to use the restroom.”

I stand to help him out of his chair and grab the walker stashed behind it.

“Get your hands off me you goon. I can take care of myself.”

I chuckle as I watch him struggle to grab the walker from behind him but let him do it. I’ve been coming here for the last year. Hanging out with Mr. Cartwell, as he says I need to call him, for the last nine months. He’s a grumpy old man but I love the guy. We click. Probably because we are both stubborn assholes. And I know he loves me too. I can see the way his face lights up for a second before turning back into a scowl when I walk into the room.

He enlisted in the Navy at eighteen, served for forty-three years. Was married to the same woman for sixty. He has four children, thirteen grandchildren, and four great-grandbabies. I’ve met his family a handful of times. They even invited me over for Christmas this year but I declined.

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