Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(100)

“I know. It was a joke.”

Harvath smiled. “Just bring the one with the toothbrush, not the rifle.”

“I’m going to try really hard to remember that, but,” she said, pointing at her head, “you know, blond.”

Harvath smiled again. “Something tells me that even if you bring the wrong bag back, you’ll still find a way to get it past security.”

Batting her eyelashes, she flashed him another smile and left the room.

As soon as she did, Harvath—who had been holding himself up tall and straight—allowed himself to slump. Pulling out the drawer of the nightstand near the window, he began dumping all the gear he was carrying.

Then, sitting on the edge of the bed, he untied his boots and kicked them off. It wasn’t bad enough that he was operating on practically no sleep, but he had been on a two-and-a-half-hour walking tour, followed by a long, French lunch. He couldn’t wait to put his head back and close his eyes.

Giving his phone one last check, he then set it on the nightstand and lay down on the bed.

When sleep came, it came like a speeding train, drawn to a passenger who had just stepped off the platform. It hit him. And he was out.





CHAPTER 48


She could have slammed the door, kicked the edge of the bed, or done any number of things to wake him up. They were both ex-military. The obnoxious possibilities were endless.

Instead, she had chosen to be kind. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she had gently drawn him from his slumber. Placing a soft hand on his shoulder, she had woken him up.

“Time to go to work,” she said, as he opened his eyes.

“How long was I out?”

“Long enough. I made you a coffee and there’s a change of clothes hanging in the bathroom.”

“How much time do we have?” he asked, sitting up.

“We meet Dominique for drinks in half an hour.”

Harvath rubbed the sleep from his eyes and picked up his phone. There had been no updates from Nicholas.

“I had a dream about you,” he said.

S?lvi laughed. “You were out so hard, you’re lucky to have even gotten oxygen to your brain.”

“Seriously,” Harvath teased, a faint smile on his lips. “I saw a nice house in Norway. On the water. And a boat.”

“Hmmm,” S?lvi replied, indulging him. “A house and a boat. You nailed it. That’s the whole package. Every Norwegian girl’s dream.”

He knew she was being facetious, but he was concerned that he had offended her. “Did I miss something?”

“There’s a lot more to life than just a house and a boat,” she said, turning toward the open windows and looking out over the water.

He was certain that he had touched a nerve. What it was, though, he didn’t know, nor could he get to the bottom of it right now. Picking up his coffee, he headed into the bathroom.

There, he saw that S?lvi had not only brought his personal items back from the Land Rover, but had also set them out on the counter.

For as cold-blooded as she had proven herself to be, there was also a thoughtful kindness to her.

Harvath didn’t need a shower, but he took one anyway. After rinsing off, he threw the temperature selector to cold and, as he had done countless times before, stood for as long as he could before turning off the water.

Toweling off, he got dressed, and joined S?lvi in the bedroom.

“You look like a new man,” she said.

“Thank you,” he replied, wondering if she was still upset.

“Gun up. I’ll be waiting in the lobby.”

And there, again, was her cold professionalism.

He thought he understood Nordic culture, or at the very least Scandinavian women, but she vexed the hell out of him.

All he had wanted to do was to mourn Lara, drink himself into oblivion, and let everything else just melt away.

Then, the girl with the Sartre tattoo had shown up and it had all been turned upside down.

Now, every time he looked at her, he felt guilty. It wasn’t her fault. It was his. He felt like he was betraying Lara, and it hurt like hell.

Pulling himself together, he brushed his teeth, and tried to push all of it from his mind.



* * *




Walking downstairs, he found her. She was standing in silhouette, lit by the fading light from outside. He could have stood there watching her for hours.

They didn’t have hours, but he did indulge himself in a few seconds. The spot Dominique had chosen for drinks wasn’t that far of a walk.

S?lvi must have sensed him. Turning her head, she looked over her shoulder and smiled. He wished he’d had his phone out. It would have been a great photo.

At least she didn’t seem upset with him. Crossing the lobby, he opened the door and held it for her.

When they stepped onto the narrow cobblestone street, it was like they were salmon swimming up a packed stream. The throng of departing tourists was massive. Dominique hadn’t been kidding about Mont-Saint-Michel starting to empty out at five o’clock.

Despite the exodus, it hadn’t turned into a medieval ghost town. There were still people around.

They met their guide at the Auberge Saint-Pierre, where she had secured an outdoor table in the tiny, courtyard garden.

Harvath opted for an espresso, while S?lvi had an Aperol Spritz, and Dominique—glad to be putting the workday behind her—ordered a Calvados.