Excerpt from "Sent From Overseas" by Rudy Gurley

Copyright © 2006 Rudy Gurley - All rights reserved

CHAPTER 35

LEANING BACK in my seat, I sipped my coffee, waiting for the right moment to pick up the phone; the right moment to dial the fifteen digits that connected me to Dawson’s home phone in the UK.
   The right moment was when my mind ordered me to: Just pick up the damn phone and dial!
   Any time now …
   Until then, my eyes roved idly over the glistening leaves of the bearded vine that climbed the massive concrete column beside my desk. The thriving potted plants either side of the desk basked in the sunlight streaming in through the windows.
   But the morning sky was overcast. So was I. The rich black liquid did little to lift my sagging spirits, but I could feel my pulse kicking up a notch.
   Trying not to worry became increasingly impossible as the seconds and minutes ticked by. Half convinced I was agonising over nothing, and yet unable to quell my mounting sense of concern, I glanced at my desk phone, then reached out.
   My hand arrested in mid air as though someone had pressed pause.
   No. Not yet. Not yet.

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