If a truck happened by I was toast, but I didn’t move. I was breathing heavy and sweat had covered my brow. There was no doubt in my mind that I was now more awake than I had ever been in my life. I glanced in the rear view and saw no headlights coming, so I slowly pulled across the road and onto the side of the traffic lanes and got out.
My heart was racing and it took a few moments to calm down. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth until my pulse resumed regular service. The sun was just breaking the horizon to the east, and the sky beyond the trees was clear and glowing. I realized there wasn’t a hint of chill in the air.
When I was good and ready, I got back in the car. I was still a good six hours from Singer Island, but all of a sudden that didn’t seem important. My desire to rush home was gone. I still wanted to see Danielle, but I realized that it didn’t matter if I got back on Thanksgiving or Christmas or Hanukkah or the third Wednesday in March. The main point was to get back. She would be there when I got there, and I would be home, and it didn’t matter what damned day it was.
I drove on slowly and stopped at the first roadside hotel I saw, in Hardeeville, near the junction that broke out toward Hilton Head. I pulled into the lot and stopped. There were a good number of cars parked in front of rooms, but plenty that were vacant. I wondered about the folks asleep in the rooms, and if they were on their way to Thanksgiving dinner somewhere, or if they were alone in a freeway motel cursing the holidays, or if to them it was just another day.
I checked in and asked to not be disturbed, and I think the woman behind the counter saw the look of fatigue and fear in my eyes. I called Danielle from the room. I told her what had happened. I thought about not telling her, but I wouldn’t have been able to hide it when I got back. She always saw through me. Even the confident baseball pitcher face. She had been asleep but was wide awake by the time I finished my brief story. I told her I was sorry we wouldn’t get to do our traditional Thanksgiving walk on City Beach. She said we would walk tomorrow, and every other day we could. I told her I loved her, and that I didn’t care about any damned turkey, I just wanted to get back to her in full working order. I told her I would sleep, and then I would drive and I would probably be home late, but alive.
As is the way of these things, I couldn’t sleep. I stared at the ceiling, a pockmarked, swirling acoustic design. I thought about near misses, and close calls and rescues. We all have them. Sometimes we get through, sometimes we don’t. So I resolved to accept that I would enjoy each day as it came because sometimes the rumble strip wasn’t there, and no one could save you. But as long as there were people who could, then I would be thankful.
I don’t remember falling asleep, but I did. Deeply. I fell off a cliff and didn’t come back for a long time. A banging in my head woke me. It took longer than was necessary to pull myself out of my coma, and to recall where I was. The banging came again and I realized it wasn’t in my head. It was at the door to my room. I cursed all cleaning ladies as I dragged my carcass out of the bed. The curtains weren’t fully closed and I could see the light was dim outside. I had been asleep the best part of the day. I opened the door with a grunt.
Danielle stood outside. She was in a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt, and was leaning on the jamb. She gave me the half smile that was like electrodes to my heart, and I felt the blood pumping again.
She didn’t speak. She just took a step and wrapped her arms around me, the way she had done when Lenny had died, the way she did when anything bad happened in my life, and anything good. We stayed like that for a long time, not speaking, because with some people, sometimes, you just don’t need words.
I took a shower and woke up and then the light was failing. We drove onto Hilton Head Island, Danielle at the wheel, and went for a walk along the beach. The sun was fading behind us, and the gulls swooned, and a few people came out with full bellies to walk their dinner off. It was a long, handsome beach, and the Atlantic lapped gently at our toes. We sat shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip on the sand. We ate turkey sandwiches bought from a gas station and drank water from a bottle, and toasted another sunset at home, wherever she happened to be.
Thanks for reading Red Shirt. If you would like to read the exclusive Miami Jones novel Three Strikes, as well as the novella The Compound from the John Flynn thriller series, you can as a member of AJ Stewart’s readers’ crew. Click here for details.
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Acknowledgments
Thanks to Keith Gordon for the editing. All the betas.
All errors are mine, up to and including that third helping of turkey and gravy. That’s a guaranteed nap, right there.
Also by AJ Stewart
Miami Jones series
Stiff Arm Steal
Offside Trap
High Lie
Dead Fast
Deep Rough
King Tide
No Right Turn
Cruise Control
Three Strikes *
John Flynn series
The Compound *
The Final Tour
Burned Bridges
One for One
* The Compound and Three Strikes are only available to members of AJ Stewart’s readers’ crew. Visit ajstewartbooks.com/reader to join.
About the Author
A.J. Stewart is the USA Today bestselling author of the Miami Jones series and the John Flynn thriller series.
He has lived and worked in Australia, Japan, UK, Norway, and South Africa, as well as San Francisco, Connecticut and of course Florida. He currently resides in Los Angeles with his two favorite people, his wife and son.
AJ is working on a screenplay that he never plans to produce, but it gives him something to talk about at parties in LA.
You can find AJ online at
www.ajstewartbooks.com
Jacaranda Drive Publishing
Los Angeles, California
www.jacarandadrive.com
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover artwork by Streetlight Graphics
ISBN-10: 1-945741-16-3
Copyright © 2018 by A.J. Stewart
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the author.
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
If You Enjoyed This B
ook
Acknowledgments
Also by AJ Stewart
About the Author