Wrath of Poseidon (Fargo Adventures 12)

“I tend to be a light packer,” he said, moving everything aside to make room for her full-size suitcase. “I noticed you aren’t.”

“I like to be prepared for every eventuality.”

“Nothing wrong with being prepared.” As he closed the tailgate, his eyes strayed up to the balcony, where her roommate stood, holding her camera out, very obviously taking a photograph of his car. He waved to Olivia, then opened the door for Remi.

“Sorry,” Remi said. “She’s a bit overprotective.”

“Good friends worry.” He closed the door once she was seated, then walked around to the driver’s side, getting in behind the wheel. “I have to admit, I thought I might get a pass on being a serial killer since I’m a friend of Blake. They used to date, didn’t they?”

“I . . . sort of didn’t mention his name.”

“Yikes. That bad?”

“Let’s just say she’s relegated him to the category of someone she used to know.”

“Used to know? That’s sort of harsh.” He turned the key and looked over at her. “Bad breakup?”

“She doesn’t talk about it. The only thing she’ll say is that everything with him was about dollar signs. In her opinion, he was . . . a bit shallow.”

“A bit?” He laughed. “He grew up dirt poor, worked hard to get where he is, and wants everyone to know it. Still, he’s got a heart of gold. He’d write you a check for the balance in his bank account if he thought it would help. Being humble? Not his strong suit. Being kind is.”

“What’s your strong suit?”

“Good question. I suppose if you asked Blake, he’d tell you my strong suit is also my greatest weakness. Jumping in headfirst and shooting from the hip.” He backed from the space, then pulled out toward the street. “What about you?”

“If you were to ask Olivia, I’m an expert planner.”

“Ah. Polar opposites.”

“Guess you could say I’m a navigator, always laying out the plans.”

“That must make me the pilot.”

CHAPTER SIX

The day was beautiful, sunny and warm, and the two-hour drive along the coast to La Jolla passed too quickly. Saturday was gone and soon Sunday evening was all that was left. Sam suggested a walk on the beach before the drive home.

The shadows were growing long and Remi’s internal clock was telling her it was time for them to leave. But Sam seemed determined to reach a certain spot on the beach.

“Don’t you think it’s time to head back?”

“In a little bit. I’ve got something I want to show you.”

As they strolled hand in hand, the sunlight shimmered, its deep orange hues contrasting against the beauty of the blues and purples of the Pacific Ocean.

She sighed. “It really is beautiful.”

“I know,” he said.

But he wasn’t looking at the sunset. He was looking at her and the way the offshore breeze played at her hair. He’d pictured her like this, almost at this very spot.

Apparently, she noticed his attention. “We’re not looking at the sunset, are we?”

“Not the sunset. That.” He pointed to the bluffs, where the setting sun turned the folds of earth jutting from the ocean a warm gold. Seagulls flew overhead, then disappeared to the north. “That’s where we’re going to build our home.”

Remi stilled.

“You own that?”