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1
Thirty dollars for a salad?What a waste.
Bridger North tried not to let his eyes bug out as he perused the café’s menu. Everything was stupid expensive. He could easily afford it, but the principle gnawed at him.
Food was food.
Irritated with the unnecessarily complicated descriptions, he tossed the menu aside and surveyed the other patrons, counting three tables of software execs in studied casual wear, two tables of ladies doing lunch, and several couples wanting to see and be seen.
No one but the plain-clothes security guy hovering near the entrance to the kitchen was armed.
He laughed at himself. There was no need for the recon, but old habits and all that.
A chef in the open kitchen swirled vegetables in a wide pan, dipping the edge toward the flame until the oil ignited. Once the fire crisped the food, he swirled the pan again, drowning the flames.
The patrons gasped in awe.
Bridger winced. What was hedoinghere? Three years into his forced retirement, he was slowly going insane.
Around him, the conversations stopped. Alerted by the sudden drop in volume, he checked the entrance. His old teammate, Tai, strode in right on time, looking more like a marauding Viking than a desperate foodie.
Heads turned. That happened everywhere the big man went. Not everyone was used to getting up close and personal with six and a half feet of former Marine Raider with two and a half feet of dark, kinky hair.
Tai caught his eye over the crowd and grinned hard. A few long strides brought him to the table. “Security guy in the gray suit’s carrying. A PPK or a Beretta. So’s the blonde at the corner table.”
Bridger turned casually and checked her out again. If she was armed, he’d missed it.
Tai smacked him in the shoulder. “I’m just joking. I do like making you squirm.”
Bridger massaged his arm. When would he learn not to take the bait?
Tai plunked down and unfolded his napkin, settling it across his thighs. “Dude. How’s things?”
Bridger debated voicing the truth, but he didn’t want to bum his friend out first thing. “All good. You?”
“Couldn’t be better.”
“Good to hear it.”
Tai blew out a breath. “I’m lying.”
“Me, too.”
The ridiculously expensive, high-tech mansion above Lake Washington was still full of boxes and cast-off furniture. With just him and his voice-activated artificial intelligence assistant in residence, getting motivated to make the place inviting hadn’t happened.
He was beginning to suspect even she was growing tired of his foul moods. Fact was, he missed his former life: the mental and physical challenges, the adrenaline rush, and the team.
Definitely the team.
A pallid waiter hovered next to their elbows, silver tray in hand. “Your drinks, gentlemen.” He offloaded two chilled glasses and the gourmet root beers Bridger had ordered. Then he set down his tray, ready to open the bottles.
Tai swiped one of them. “I got this.”
He waved the man away, tore the cap off the bottle and took a long swig then tipped his head back, swilling the soda around in his mouth before swallowing hard. “Do you think this fancy root beer’s really better than the cheap stuff?”
“A thousand percent.”
Tai set the bottle down on the table. “I’m not so sure. We should do a blind taste test.”
