On a Bruised Road

Chapter 1-2

It was harder than Edwin imagined it would be to direct the Spider to the road. Not because it handled poorly—it handled like the dream it was. But as soon as he drove away from the safety of the garage, the reality of his purchase settled on his shoulders, and then farther south, sitting like a brick in his stomach.

Thirty thousand dollars.

The first year he had lived on his own, he had barely made a third of that. He didn’t even clear thirty grand until after he was twenty-five. And he knew his twenty-five-year-old self would have never believed that paying cash for a classic car and then calmly driving it home was even possible. His twenty-seven-year-old self would have found something in powder form to invest in. His thirty-year-old-self would have thought it completely impractical and irresponsible. But now he had done it. His forty-seven-year-old self had actually handed the money over and was given the title. As simple as that. No muss. No fuss.

But now, he wasn’t just driving his dream car onto the hectic road. He was driving an investment. He was driving a machine that was forty-seven years old, and though Roger had assured him it was in fine working order, Alfa Romeos weren’t exactly known for their longevity. They were gorgeous pieces of art but far from indestructible.

With that in mind, Edwin avoided the freeway. He hated to take surface streets, tacking miles and at least an extra hour to his commute, but if something was going to happen, he’d rather it happen at a relatively sedate fifty miles per hour.

“God, you are a gorgeous machine, aren’t you?” Edwin muttered, caressing the steering wheel with the tips of his fingers. Others wouldn’t agree. Most car enthusiasts would scoff at Edwin’s decision, pointing out that the fog lights were clumsily integrated, the design wasn’t as sharp or as eye-catching as the Thunderbird from the same year, and that the driving was heavy at city speeds. But Edwin wasn’t a car collector, and he wasn’t looking to make a return on his money. Besides that, the interior leather seemed new, the paint job was factory, and the big, round meters on the dash delighted him. When he had more confidence in himself, he would take the car out on the freeway and really let her open up, showing the world just what she could do.

The fact was, Edwin Masters was already in love with his car, and no amount of reality could intrude on their affair.

Edwin guided the car down the winding road, descending from high in the hills above Los Angeles. He knew the curves were dangerous, and he tried to focus on the path ahead of him, but his attention kept wandering. He couldn’t believe he had been so lucky, though a part of him understood luck had nothing to do with it. He had been hunting for that precise make, model, and year since his forty-fifth birthday, regularly checking newspapers, magazines, Internet listings, and garages. He had an entire network of collectors and mechanics throughout the Southland, all keeping an eye peeled for Edwin’s car. Luck had nothing to do with finding the James family estate sale—that had been pure diligence.

Diligence that had finally paid off.

A new chill raced down his spine. A goose just walked over your grave, his grandmother would have said. It had been one of her favorite sayings, and she had seemed seriously offended every time he laughed. But the goose hypothesis seemed just as likely as anything else, because he couldn’t figure out the source of his chill. The roof was down, true, but the summer sun was already shining at full power, and the wind that blew past his head was as warm as the air rushing out of the oven. If it wasn’t some goose in the distant future, it was probably just another thrill of excitement.

Except, it didn’t go away. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end, and his scalp tingled. Goose bumps erupted over his arms, and the wind in his face felt unbelievably, impossibly hot. Edwin gradually realized the reason why—the back of his head felt unbelievably cold. His heart lifted to his throat, but Edwin laughed—a bit uneasily—and tried to suppress the initial response of panic. The wind was hot because it was blowing off the black asphalt, and the back of his head was cooler because he was still in the hills and they were blocking the sun.

Nothing to get upset over.

Even so, the chill moved south, spreading down his back until the base of his spine tingled like his scalp. Unnerved, he glanced into his rearview mirror. He didn’t see the road, as expected.

He saw a pair of emerald green eyes beneath a fringe of blond lashes.

And then a quick glance forward revealed the rictus grin of a big SUV barreling toward him.