Alexis did her best to stay coherent, but the need to close her eyes was overwhelming. Her body fell to the right, landing on her injured shoulder and leg, a grunt sounds from her throat at the contact.
She knew that her consciousness was slipping away. Too much blood loss. Too much adrenaline. Too much fear.
Slipping the goggles from her eyes, she peered up at the night sky through the trees, a lone star twinkling far off in the distance.
“Heath. When was the last time you stared up at the sky? I mean really looked at the stars?”
She knew that her words were on the edge of peculiarity, but couldn’t find a way to restrain them.
“Alexis? Hang on. I’m close.”
“Oh, the pretty star is fading. That’s sad.” Even to her own ears, she knew that she sounds different, spoke differently.
“If I die, will you. . .”
“You’re not going to die, Alexis.”
“I’m going to go to sleep now. So tired,” she whispered, unsure if Heath could make out her voice.
She heard her name off in the distance, a gentle buzzing in her ear as she settled in to sleep. Behind her closed eyes, Alexis’ mind lands on an image of a man with brown eyes before the shadows encompassed her completely.
Chapter Two
Angie’s diner was one of Cliff’s favorite places. Not only was it a hub for everyone in town, but it overflowed with local gossip. He could subtly learn whatever he needed without attracting attention to himself.
At one time, Cliff feared places like this one. The fear of everyone watching his next move, fear of someone with a more sinister plot following him through the diner’s red door and hurting the people that welcomed him without question.
It took years, and a hearty push by the Lady Busy Bees, for him to willingly come inside the restaurant. Now it was so routine the servers knew what to bring him based on which day of the week it was. Predictability was one of Cliff’s mottos.
Years spent overseas, days and nights moving him to thousands of different locations, took its toll. Cliff gave up on the idea of spontaneity a long time ago.
“Same as usual, sugar?” Ethel, the older waitress, asked with a wink.
“You got it,” he replied as he moved toward the back of the diner, sliding onto the vinyl bench with his gaze trained on the door. He may not be active duty any longer, but knowing who was coming and going gave him a sense of peace. The large room in the back, used for banquets and parties, was only open at dinner or special occasions, so he knew there would be no surprises.
“Here’s your coffee. I’ll have your food right out.” Ethel sat the steaming mug in front of him and scurried back behind the counter.
Cliff sipped from the mug, watching the older crowd disperse from their stools as younger couples and families descended on the restaurant. It was Saturday, and in Carson, that meant the Farmer’s Market was about to be in full swing. It took Cliff a while to feel comfortable in the oversized crowd. Not only the locals attended the two-block gathering, but vendors and residents from six counties surrounding Carson came in full force. Especially when the weather was as nice as it was on this particular weeken
d.
A few minutes later, Ethel sat down a plate with Cliff’s breakfast. The smell of the perfectly cooked bacon and scrambled eggs reached his nose. A sudden memory popped into his mind of the last time he had scrambled eggs before moving to Carson and his heart clenched.
“Can I get you anything else?”
Shaking his mind free of the memory, Cliff turned his attention toward Ethel and smiled. “This looks delicious. Thank you.”
With an over-exaggerated motion, Ethel flicked her hand up and down in front of her face as if cooling herself off. “Whew. Son, if you keep smiling like that, the brains of every woman in town will be scrambled like those eggs.”
The older woman walked away continuing to fan herself, leaving Cliff to his meal. But just as he lifted a hearty forkful of the egg to his mouth the bench across from him squeaked. Without lifting his head, Cliff looked across the table to find his friend Logan, a local doctor and Avery Connelly’s husband, looking at him with narrowed eyes. The man gave off an air of anger and Cliff wasn’t quite sure why.
“Hey, man.” Cliff greeted his friend, trying to defuse the situation as he took a bite of food on the fork still held in the air.
“You missed Mama Connelly’s dinner last Sunday.”
It was a well-established rule in Carson that if you were invited to the Connelly’s family dinner on Sundays, you were expected to attend. But Cliff had been asked every week for the last two years and declined every single time.
“I’ve never made it to a single one. I’m surprised she still asked.”