Meredith was uncomfortable following directly.  In a fake embrace outside his truck, she whispered to him that she would perform an SDR, a surveillance detection route, in the town first, then approach at the corner of the road that led to his property.  The corner with the old antique store.  Dale nodded reluctantly…

As he warmed up his truck and Meredith drove off, he shook his head, sobering up.  Seeing her, listening to her talk about tradecraft, the need to do an SDR…it left him numb.  The mild two-beer buzz he’d been enjoying when dining with Meredith was gone now, replaced by a cold empty feeling in his gut.  

He’d left this life behind.  Patiently, deliberately, and finally.  He wanted nothing to do with it.  But here was Meth, referencing Grace as a kind of code-word to pull him back in.  She wouldn’t do that if she wasn’t deadly serious about needing his help.  He’d told her to fuck off, appropriately in his estimation; but he also knew he’d have to hear her out.

He made it to the corner and waited in the dark with his parking lights on, as they’d agreed.  A few minutes later, he saw her headlights blink and knew they were in the clear.  He turned on to the slushy road and started making his way up the mountain, skidding here and there, her headlights a few hundred yards behind them.

It was a slow climb of about two miles of switchbacks before they came to his property.  Snow was beginning to fall.  A few flurries at first, but picking up with big fat flakes.  It was often that way here in the mountains.  A perfectly sunny day could end with a blizzard.  You never knew.