performance, Cole had left the building.
9
An icy rain was falling from a slate gray sky the next morning as Cole drove out of town, heading up into the mountains to the cabin. But on the way, he had a stop to make. He’d no sooner pulled his truck into the parking lot of Gardner Ford than Matt Carpenter came out the double glass door from the showroom floor.
“Hey, man,” he said. “That was quick.” He skimmed an appreciative look over the fire-engine red truck. “As much as I’d love to put you in some new wheels, that is one sweet ride.”
“I like it,” Cole said mildly. Which was a major understatement. He’d bought the truck last year, only to end up getting deployed shortly after driving it off the Oceanside Ford dealer’s lot.
“I can see why.” Matt ran an appreciative hand over the hood, which had been waxed and detailed to a mirror sheen. “And I guess this is where I’ve gotta tell you, man, you’d end up upside down in a trade because I can’t give you what it’s worth.”
“I didn’t come here to trade it in.”
“You’re going to go with them both? Wow, you must’ve gotten some beaucoup combat pay.”
“I’m not trading it in, because I’m not in the market for new wheels. Even ones as cool as a Mustang GT.” Which he’d admittedly lusted after back when Sax was tooling around Shelter Bay in his hot ‘97 white Cobra with the orange SS hood stripes.
“Then why
are
you here?”
“I need to talk with you about something.” He glanced around at the lot. Despite the holidays, or—since many of the cars were sporting bright red plastic bows on the roof—
because
of the season, the dealership seemed to be doing a brisk business. “But I guess it can wait, because I don’t want to cost you a potential sale.”
“Hey, man.” Matt shrugged. “Friendship trumps money any day. What would you say to taking a test drive?”
“The GT?”
A broad grin split Matt’s face. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Did I mention it’s been tested at two hundred miles per hour on the test course? Let me just go get the keys.”
They took the Mustang down the narrow high cliff coast highway, wide tires hugging the rain-slick asphalt. Befitting the coiled cobra emblem on the fenders, it cornered as slickly as a killer snake around a switchback, which made Cole feel just like Steve McQueen racing through San Francisco. Although he hadn’t been born when
Bullitt
had appeared in theaters, he’d watched it more than once on DVD and had always considered it the gold standard of car chase scenes.
“This is damn tempting,” he admitted with a long, wistful sigh. What it was, was pure adrenaline candy. And way more Sax’s style than his. Which was almost enough to have him seriously trading in the pickup that had spent much of its life garaged while he’d been out fighting the war on terrorism.
Just thinking of the way heads would spin when he roared down Harbor Drive, all six hundred and fifty stallions straining for release—imagining all those busy tongues wagging about how steady-as-a-rock Cole Douchett must’ve gone crazy over there in the war—made him laugh.
“Something funny?” Matt asked.
“Just thinking what it’d feel like to drive this back to Camp Pendleton.” Cole rolled down the windows, letting in the crisp scent of fir and sea. When he hit the gas, going full throttle, the menacing engine growl escalated into a lionlike roar even as the rear wheels fishtailed on the wet pavement.
“It’s like the ultimate car.” Sensing some weakening, Matt deftly shifted into sales mode. “Both a mega chick magnet
and
every car guy’s wet dream,” he said as Cole corrected the near spin.
Damn.
That was not the image Cole wanted in his head for this conversation. A frown replaced the grin that had felt frozen in place on his face since he’d pulled out of the dealership parking lot.
“It’s about Kelli,” he began cautiously, feeling as if he were
9
An icy rain was falling from a slate gray sky the next morning as Cole drove out of town, heading up into the mountains to the cabin. But on the way, he had a stop to make. He’d no sooner pulled his truck into the parking lot of Gardner Ford than Matt Carpenter came out the double glass door from the showroom floor.
“Hey, man,” he said. “That was quick.” He skimmed an appreciative look over the fire-engine red truck. “As much as I’d love to put you in some new wheels, that is one sweet ride.”
“I like it,” Cole said mildly. Which was a major understatement. He’d bought the truck last year, only to end up getting deployed shortly after driving it off the Oceanside Ford dealer’s lot.
“I can see why.” Matt ran an appreciative hand over the hood, which had been waxed and detailed to a mirror sheen. “And I guess this is where I’ve gotta tell you, man, you’d end up upside down in a trade because I can’t give you what it’s worth.”
“I didn’t come here to trade it in.”
“You’re going to go with them both? Wow, you must’ve gotten some beaucoup combat pay.”
“I’m not trading it in, because I’m not in the market for new wheels. Even ones as cool as a Mustang GT.” Which he’d admittedly lusted after back when Sax was tooling around Shelter Bay in his hot ‘97 white Cobra with the orange SS hood stripes.
“Then why
are
you here?”
“I need to talk with you about something.” He glanced around at the lot. Despite the holidays, or—since many of the cars were sporting bright red plastic bows on the roof—
because
of the season, the dealership seemed to be doing a brisk business. “But I guess it can wait, because I don’t want to cost you a potential sale.”
“Hey, man.” Matt shrugged. “Friendship trumps money any day. What would you say to taking a test drive?”
“The GT?”
A broad grin split Matt’s face. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about. Did I mention it’s been tested at two hundred miles per hour on the test course? Let me just go get the keys.”
They took the Mustang down the narrow high cliff coast highway, wide tires hugging the rain-slick asphalt. Befitting the coiled cobra emblem on the fenders, it cornered as slickly as a killer snake around a switchback, which made Cole feel just like Steve McQueen racing through San Francisco. Although he hadn’t been born when
Bullitt
had appeared in theaters, he’d watched it more than once on DVD and had always considered it the gold standard of car chase scenes.
“This is damn tempting,” he admitted with a long, wistful sigh. What it was, was pure adrenaline candy. And way more Sax’s style than his. Which was almost enough to have him seriously trading in the pickup that had spent much of its life garaged while he’d been out fighting the war on terrorism.
Just thinking of the way heads would spin when he roared down Harbor Drive, all six hundred and fifty stallions straining for release—imagining all those busy tongues wagging about how steady-as-a-rock Cole Douchett must’ve gone crazy over there in the war—made him laugh.
“Something funny?” Matt asked.
“Just thinking what it’d feel like to drive this back to Camp Pendleton.” Cole rolled down the windows, letting in the crisp scent of fir and sea. When he hit the gas, going full throttle, the menacing engine growl escalated into a lionlike roar even as the rear wheels fishtailed on the wet pavement.
“It’s like the ultimate car.” Sensing some weakening, Matt deftly shifted into sales mode. “Both a mega chick magnet
and
every car guy’s wet dream,” he said as Cole corrected the near spin.
Damn.
That was not the image Cole wanted in his head for this conversation. A frown replaced the grin that had felt frozen in place on his face since he’d pulled out of the dealership parking lot.
“It’s about Kelli,” he began cautiously, feeling as if he were
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