Wrath of Poseidon (Fargo Adventures 12)

“I can miss the appetizers.” She lifted the bottle. “I’ve never heard of this winery.”

“The bartender assures me it’s very good.”

“And how do I know it’s not spiked and you’re some stalker?”

“I’ll take the first sip.” He poured a small amount into two glasses, sliding one across to her, then held his aloft. “To whatever it is you’re celebrating.”

They t

ouched rims. She waited for him to drink first, then followed suit. “That is good . . . Black cherry, dark chocolate . . . and a hint of cranberry.” She picked up the bottle. “Tempranillo grown in California. I see a wine tasting trip in my future.”

“What about your friends? Are you sure you don’t want to . . . ?”

“They’ve probably already forgotten about me. And leave such lovely wine?”

He set his glass on the table and held out his hand. “Sam Fargo.”

She took it in hers, shaking with a firm grip. “Remi Longstreet.”

“Nice to meet you, Remi.” He refilled their glasses. “So, what’s worth celebrating with a Spanish varietal?”

“You have to promise not to tell.”

“Cross my heart.”

Her smile lit up her entire face. “I’ve been looking into rumors that a Spanish galleon sank off Abalone Cove. This morning, I actually found a reference to the ship in the Rare Books and Special Collections Reading Room at Long Beach State. It’s all of two sentences, but considering it took me almost six months just to find that much, I’m ecstatic.”

“That definitely deserves a toast,” Sam said, lifting his glass once more. “So, what’s next? Exploratory diving to find it?”

“Eventually. But that’s only part of it. I’m leaving for Greece in two weeks. Fourni, to be exact.”

“You should have your pick of shipwrecks. What are there, about fifty surrounding the islands?”

“You’re familiar with the area?”

“Read about it, but never been. Underwater archeology’s always fascinated me. The lure of being the first person to find something that’s been buried for centuries . . .” He smiled. “Is that your job? Archeologist?”

“I wish. I’m a translator for an international shipping company. Sadly, it’s not the glamorous globe-trotting job I was hoping for. I sit in a cubicle in Long Beach most of the day, wearing a headset.”

“Which language?”

“Whichever one they need. I’m fluent in several, passable in a few more. How about you?”

Recalling Blake’s warning, he kept it vague. “Past job, design engineer. Current job, retail.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

So much for glossing over the truth. “Would you believe grocery store shelf stocker?”

“That’s quite the change in careers.”

The truth was a bit complicated. Sam, a Caltech engineering graduate, had been recruited by DARPA, the Defense Advanced Research Projects Agency, to design technology for the Department of Defense. After seven fruitful years, he’d put in his notice, and moved back to California to pursue what had been up until recently a lifelong dream. “It is, but I wanted the freedom to work on a project. An argon laser scanner.”

Her brows went up, then furrowed slightly. “Which does . . . what?”

“If it ever gets past the paper stage, it’ll identify mixed metals and alloys at a distance. Gold, silver, platinum, you name it.”

“For real?”