Wrath of Poseidon (Fargo Adventures 12)

“I’m telling you,” Keith said, “I could do a better job of coaching and for a lot less money.”

Olivia laughed. “Don’t quit your day job. You might regret it.” She glanced at Remi, then at her brother. “Look who’s here.”

“Remi.” The blue-eyed, brown-haired Keith crossed the room, his smile sincere. “So good to see you.”

“Likewise.” They clasped hands, then kissed cheek to cheek. “How’s the law firm?” she asked.

“Still there.” He poured a cup of coffee and slid it across the countertop toward her. “I heard a rumor that you were involved in some kidnapping and murder in Greece?”

“Not a rumor at all.”

“You’re okay, though?”

“I am now. I just found out that the man pled guilty. Which means we won’t have to go back to testify.”

“What happened to the guy you were over there with?” he asked.

Olivia shook her head, as if to say she couldn’t believe he brought up the subject.

Remi ignored her friend, saying, “A lot happened in that short time we were together. On the one hand, I’ve never been so scared to death. On the other, I’ve never felt more alive.” She gave a slight shrug. “I guess when it came right down to it, it was just a bit more than I could handle.”

“Sam Fargo,” Olivia said, “is rash and reckless. Do you know he killed a man like it was just another day at the office? That’s why I think Remi needs to date someone like you.”

“Olivia, shut up,” Keith said, his gaze on Remi. “It’s not your decision to make.”

His words caught Remi by surprise. No doubt it was mere coincidence, but she couldn’t help but think about that old woman at the airport, and her parting words: You’ll make the right decision. “I’ll be . . .” Remi laughed. “She’s right.”

“See?” Olivia gave a catlike grin.

“Not you. Helena.” Remi smiled at Keith. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“I’m not really sure. Listening, maybe? And I need to go.”

“Go where?” Olivia asked.

“The Lighthouse Cafe.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

Sam loaded the last of the things into the back of his Jeep, then realized he’d forgotten the package that Blake was holding. Nikos had sent it from Greece—the promised Smith & Wesson. He took the small box, tucking it into the cargo hold with the others. “I think that’s it.”

Blake stepped up onto the curb. “Hate to say it, Fargo, but it’s not going to be the same without you hogging half my office.”

“Enjoy your newfound desk space.”

“You sure you want to do this?” he asked as Sam rearranged a few of the boxes, then closed the tailgate.

“Positive.”

“Maybe you should give it a cooling-off period. Wait until tomorrow to sign everything like you said you were going to. Who knows? You might feel different in the morning.”

“Doubt it.” Sam looked back at Blake’s office building, mentally going over everything he’d packed. “If I forget anything, put it in the mail.”

“What about the party?” Blake asked.

“You really think anyone cares whether I’m there or not?”