Wrath of Poseidon (Fargo Adventures 12)

“Not yet, but that’s what I’m hoping. My friend,” he said, nodding at the bar, where Blake was still camped out in front of the TV, “set up a meeting with a group of investors in a few weeks. If all goes as planned, they’ll be funding the project, and I can actually take it from paper to reality. For now, the grocery job keeps a roof over my head and gives me time to work on the project.”

“And yet,” she said, tapping her glass with her perfectly manicured nails, “you’re buying bottles of wine for complete strangers? Not exactly budget friendly.”

“So I eat a lot of peanut butter sandwiches for the next week? High in protein and very affordable.”

She laughed. The next several hours passed in a blur as they talked about anything and everything, most of it nautical. Before Sam knew it, the bartender was crying out, “Last call!”

Remi looked up, her expression mirroring how Sam felt. The night was too short. She’d been discussing her upcoming research trip.

He reached over, tapped her hand, getting her attention. “You were saying? About your trip, why you picked Greece?”

She seemed startled by his touch, but smiled. “Sorry. I don’t know where the time went. The trip . . . I spent my junior year abroad. One of the other students’ father heads up the Fourni Underwater Archeological Preservation Society, a nonprofit that’s working to preserve some of the ancient shipwrecks from looting. He invited me for a summer sabbatical. I couldn’t pass up the invite and have a few weeks of vacation coming. Couldn’t think of a better thing to do. Especially with this awful job I have.”

“So you do have a background in . . .”

“Oh, no. The only thing I know about underwater archeological sites is from school—”

“What’d you major in?”

“I have a master’s in history and anthropology, with a focus on ancient trade routes. And,” she said with a beaming smile, “you’re looking at a newly certified scuba diver—as of yesterday.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I figured it’s all good training for when I get back here to search for my Spanish galleon.”

“So how long will you be in Fourni?”

“Three weeks. Then it’s back here, same old, same old. Until, well—” She looked up as the lights flickered on overhead, warning them that time was up. They were the only two left in the bar.

“Here’s to a successful trip.” The two had switched to water long before that, and he lifted his half-empty glass. They touched rims once again, drained their glasses, then stood. “Walk you to your car?” he said.

“I’d appreciate that.”

They walked out into a nearly deserted parking lot, theirs the only two cars remaining. His, a well-used red Jeep Wrangler with a patina of California sun, bleached and sandblasted, and oversized off-road tires complemented her shiny red Porsche 911 GT3. As they neared, she took out her key fob, unlocking it. Trying to ignore Blake’s earlier comments, Sam reached over, opening her door, and said, “I’ll see you soon.”

She tossed her purse onto the front passenger seat, then turned back to him. “You sound pretty sure of yourself. Exactly how will you find me?”

“Do you know anything about constellations?”

Her smile dazzled him. “A bit.”

“That star there.” He pointed into the black sky. “The one at the end of the Little Dipper.”

“The North Star?”

“You find that, you’ll find anything.” He stared up at it a moment, then looked over at her. “It’ll always lead me to you.”

“What if we’re in the southern hemisphere, where we can’t see Polaris?”

He laughed, telling himself he shouldn’t be surprised that she knew the actual name of the star. He leaned down, kissing her before he lost his nerve. “Just in case, a phone number works.” He stepped back, giving her plenty of space, the cool night air rushing between them.

The next thing Sam knew, Remi was reaching back in her car for her purse, then pulling out a pen. She found a receipt from the grocery store in one of the pockets and jotted down her number. “You’re definitely a bad influence on me,” she said, handing him the slip of paper. “I’m giving a man I just met—at a bar, no less—my phone number.”

She slid into the driver’s seat, looking up at him. “I did have an enjoyable evening. Certainly better than dinner with the girls.”

“Let’s do it again. Tomorrow night. Not the same thing. Something different, but tomorrow night.”

“You realize it’s already tomorrow?”