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Get it over with?
It suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t looking forward to it. Not in the slightest. So what the hell was he doing here?
And just where was he, anyway?
His searching gaze connected with his reflection in the mirror above the dresser opposite the bed. Mentally erasing the cuts and bruises from his face, he assessed the man looking back at him. With as much objectivity as possible, he decided that for a man nearing forty, he was holding up fairly well.
But ten years from now, would he still be looking at himself in the mirror of a random motel room, waiting for a woman he wasn’t even attracted to, whose name he hadn’t bothered to get? At sixty would he still be doing this?
It was a depressing prospect.
Not even realizing his intention, he left the bed, went to the door, and pulled it open. On his way out, he paused to glance back in the direction of the bathroom, thinking that maybe he should say something, provide some excuse for cutting out. But whatever he told her would be a lie, and she would know it, and that would insult her worse than if he just split.
Which was justification for letting himself off the hook easily. But at least he had the decency to acknowledge it this time.
He drove hi
s Vette hard, but when he entered his apartment, he looked around and wondered why he’d been in such a hurry to get here. It was a shabby rathole, just as Bellamy had said. Sad and lonely, she’d called his life. She was right about that, too.
He stared into the emptiness of the room, but what he actually looked into was the vast, empty landscape of his life. The thing was—and it was the thing that bothered him most—he saw nothing in his future that was going to fill that wasteland.
Moving suddenly, he’d fished his cell phone from the pocket of his jeans and turned it on, then scrolled through the list of recent calls until he found the number he sought. He called it, and a woman answered by asking, “Is this Dent?”
“Yeah. Is Gall there?”
“Hold on. He’s been trying to reach you.”
Dent heard a muffled exchange, then Gall came on. “Where have you been?”
“Was that your lady?”
“Who else would it be?” he replied querulously. “I’ve called you a dozen times. Why didn’t you answer?”
“I’d turned off my phone.”
“How come?”
“I didn’t want to talk to anybody.”
Gall grunted. “How’s Bellamy doing?”
“She’s okay. Uh, listen, Gall, I want you to fix my airplane.”
“Ain’t that what I’ve been doing?”
“Yeah, but it’s taking too long. What about those parts you’ve been waiting on?”
“I’m hounding them to rush the order.”
“Good. I need to be flying again. Soon as possible.”
“Don’t I know that already?”
“Right. But I’ve also been thinking about—”
“Dent—”
“No, let me get this out before I change my mind. I’ve given more thought to the senator’s offer.”
