Near Dark (Scot Harvath #19)(85)

“Actually, we can do both. I picked up supplies while they were finishing the paperwork.”

Like their room service waiter that morning, Harvath executed a bow and gestured for her to lead the way back to the boat.

As she fired up the engines, he untied the lines, shoved the Riva away from the dock, and hopped on board.

Ever the SEAL, he took care of the gear first—coiling and stowing the lines, along with the bumpers, followed by finding a secure spot for the drone, before joining her up front.

It was a beautiful day to be out on the water and the Riva’s sharp hull sliced through it like a knife.

The air, moistened with occasional bursts of spray, smelled fresher out here. Commingled with the scent of olives were hints of cypress and lemon. Harvath had been to the more famous Lake Como multiple times, but he couldn’t believe he had never been to Garda. It was incredible.

They did two tours of the peninsula, checking out the shoreline on both sides, before going off the clock for lunch. Heading out the approximate distance she thought they’d need to go with the Contessa, S?lvi then turned off the engines and allowed the Riva to just bob in the water.

“Where’d you learn to handle a boat like that?” he asked, as she pulled out the bag of food she had purchased.

“There’s a lot of shoreline in Norway. Almost everyone, by definition, grows up near the sea. In my case, we had a house right on the coast. And a boat. That was my happy place. I love boats and being near the water.

“In fact, remember when we were talking about my getting a tip from Holidae Hayes?”

Harvath nodded as he helped her unwrap the food.

“We were at one of my favorite places in Oslo at the time,” she continued, handing him napkins and plastic utensils. “It’s a hotel called The Thief. Moored outside is an incredible Riva. Bigger than this one. Up on the roof of the hotel is a gorgeous restaurant which overlooks the water. You can see for kilometers. And if the weather is nice, there are so many boats. It’s heaven.”

Then, correcting herself, she said, “Actually, being on one of those boats is heaven. Eating on the rooftop of The Thief is the next best thing.”

“Is that why you found us a Riva?”

“That, and I knew my rich Uncle Sam was going to reimburse the NIS. Right?”

Harvath popped the lid off a plastic container filled with olives and smiled. “I’ll put in the good word.”

S?lvi used one of the forks to spear an olive and smiled bigger than he had ever seen her do so to this point. It was dazzling.

“I love this,” she said, beaming. “I could do this all the time. There is something about being out on the water that’s just so wonderful.”

Harvath smiled back at her. “Maybe you should have been a sailor instead of joining the Norwegian Army.”

“Is there anything Carl didn’t tell you about me?”

“He was proud of you. There was absolutely no doubt about it.”

“Thank you,” she said, uncomfortable with the conversation, her smile gone. “We should eat.”

“I hope I didn’t offend you.”

“No. You didn’t. It’s just hard to have him gone.”

“I can understand. We’ve both been through a lot.”

“Hopefully, though,” she replied as she ate her olive and unwrapped a block of cheese, “we’re close to getting some answers.”

“Whatever Contessa Montecalvo has, we’ll get it from her. Trust me.”

“I do,” she replied.

Harvath looked at her and she looked back. They held each other’s gaze for a fraction of a second, possibly for even a beat too long, and then broke it off—both at the same time.

They were in tune and it spoke to a deepening, potentially dangerous attraction. You couldn’t work with someone, particularly not in an environment as deadly as theirs, when emotions were likely to cloud judgment. It was a recipe for disaster.

Harvath tried to compose himself. There was a lot to like, maybe even love, about the Norwegian ninja, but Lara’s memory was still so fresh, so painful. Besides, they had a job to do. He needed to reassert his professionalism.

“The only thing this picnic is missing,” said S?lvi, interrupting his thoughts, “is a great bottle of wine.”

“Probably for the best,” he responded. “I haven’t exactly been the picture of responsible alcohol consumption lately.”

She looked at him again, her face softer. Kinder. Empathetic. “Because of losing your wife?”

It was a topic she had wanted to raise while they were driving, but hadn’t out of fear of ripping open what she knew was a very raw wound.

Harvath looked at what she had purchased for them to drink. “Mineral water?”

She nodded and joked, “After paying for the boat, it’s all I could afford.”

He smiled. “Let’s open it.”

She did, and after retrieving two glasses from the Riva’s galley, poured.

“Cheers,” said S?lvi, raising her glass. “To those we’ve lost.”

“To those we’ve lost,” Harvath replied, clinking glasses.

As he took a sip, he wondered if he would have said no to some wine. Here he was at Lake Garda, on a boat that had to have cost at least half a million dollars, and in the presence of a woman who, on a scale of one to ten, was a fourteen. Not many drinkers who stepped off the wagon did so under such unique circumstances.