Justice Edge (Chris Seely Vigilante Justice Book 10) by Rex Bolt

Author:Rex Bolt [Bolt, Rex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-04-25T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 10

He’d given Mark a heads-up that he was coming, and you could hear Mark reacting like yeah sure . . . since fine, Chris had flaked out on him the last few times -- but Chris could also sense Mark was up for the challenge, and he told him short of getting crushed by a log truck on the way up there, he’d see him sometime tonight.

Chris asked about Mel, Mark’s dog, who he’d had a nice encounter with that one time, and Mark said he was good, but that you don’t typically have to worry about log trucks coming up from LA, that was more up around Eureka, where that came into play.

“I knew that,” Chris said. “I was making a general comment. Trying to emphasize, I’m good this time. I won’t lose the zip file in a fast food place on the way up, either.”

“Being good,” Mark said, “that could be up for interpretation. Let’s see how it plays out before we start popping the champagne corks.”

“Agreed,” Chris said, and Mark was handling it like a professional. No rosy predictions.

Now that they were going to find out for sure -- what the cops would discover if they ran they Chris’s DNA (currently Jeff Masters by the Gardena lab) the same way . . . the cops not knowing of course whose DNA it was, and that was the whole point -- but now that it was a reality, Chris was nervous.

What if there were a ton of relatives deep in his family tree, who watched late night TV and said this sounds good and did their spit-in-a-cup due diligence and sent it off to Ancestry.com?

Taking it a step further -- Jeez, what if even Bonnie or Floyd got curious where the Seelys came from, way back in Neanderthal times, and they participated?

Traffic slowed down like it always did around Harris Ranch, halfway there, and Chris thought of the old John Madden line again: worrying about something (or even multiple things) that you can’t control is a waste of time . . . and what the hay, he got in the right lane and exited, and took his time and sat down to a real steak dinner.

And it wasn’t cheap. You were talking 38 bucks for a 14 ounce rib eye, but man it was good, just perfect, and he noticed an older couple splitting one, which they were certainly entitled to do, but it reminded him of a story . . . and the couple finished before he did and left, and Chris told the story to the waiter, a young Hispanic kid who probably had better things to do, but polite enough to stand there and listen.

Chris said, “I was in Chico one time -- not sure if you know it, but it doesn’t matter. They have a famous steakhouse there -- one room, brick walls, about 12 tables, you need way advance reservations. But I’m passing by, looking in the window, checking the menu, and

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