Havoc: a political technothriller (Miranda Chase Book 7) by M. L. Buchman

Author:M. L. Buchman [Buchman, M. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Buchman Bookworks, Inc.
Published: 2021-04-26T18:30:00+00:00

34

They’d been wheels-down in Tennant Creek at seven p.m. It had been full dark as the sun had set half an hour before. Holly wasn’t even functional as Quint had thanked Eli, got her down the steps, and walked her over to his truck.

The jet, after taking on just enough fuel to get back to Sydney, was aloft before he’d driven out of the parking lot.

Their conversation had been short.

“You have somewhere to stay?”

“My parents’ place is empty.” She hadn’t turned to look at him.

He’d made an executive decision, driven to the duplex he’d bought for himself and his parents, then dumped her in his bed. Turning for the living room, he thanked God he’d bought a comfortable couch for watching the games on the telly when he was home.

In the morning, the sun blasted him awake because he’d forgotten to close the curtains on the living room window. He made it to the bathroom before he missed her.

The bed was shipshape, military neat, and squared away.

“You did not skip out on me, Holly Harper.”

No. Her gear bag was still propped up by the side of his dresser.

He dressed, hurried out to the car, and went looking.

She wasn’t hard to find.

The Harper place lay on a chunk of dirt track out at the far end of Standley Street. Out past the power and water station at the southwest corner of town.

The house was the last of four at the end of the track. It faced the achingly dry sand and scrub of the Red Centre—so barren it made the Barkly Tablelands to the east appear as lush as the American prairie. The next civilization larger than a wandering indigenous family was Perth out on the west coast—over two thousand kilometers across the Gibson and Great Victoria deserts.

The wide roof overhangs to shield the house from the Outback sun sagged like unhappy frowns off each porch post. Two sections of wall had been painted a bright blue too many decades before, the rest were an orange so sun-bleached that they were more gray than faded yellow.

Her dad’s tractor truck may have died on the highway when he did, but the yard was strewn with old fenders, giant worn tires, and a ratted-out ancient Datsun Bluebird coupe. Cars didn’t rust in the Outback, but this one would be in better condition if it had. With the nearest big towns five hundred kilometers in one direction and a thousand in the other, the years had been hard on the old rattletrap.

As a kid, he’d never understood what the Harper place was really like the few times he’d seen it. Not that Holly or Stevie ever invited anyone over, but he’d shown up now and then to hang with Holly, and she hadn’t chased him off.

Since she’d died (or rather left), he’d done his best to never even drive by the turn onto the dirt track.

The door was open, which didn’t mean much out here. There were still indigenous who removed all the doors the day they moved in because they didn’t like the trapped feeling of being indoors.

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