“Cole! He’s on your side. I mean that sincerely. But he’s with an evil vamp who’s bonded him to her. In a sort of bippity-boppity-I-do type thing.”
“Well, how did he let that happen?”
“He didn’t intend . . . anyway, I’m sure he’s just—”
“Is that why you wanted to know where I was?”
“I know you’re in Slovenia near Ljubljana. The lady vamp Vayl’s with consulted a Seer, so they have some idea where you—”
“Shit! She probably saw us drinking. Listen, how far away are you?”
“Hours. But so are they.”
“Just get here, Jaz. We’ll keep moving. Call me when you hit town and I’ll tell you where we are.”
“Okay.”
Three and a half hours later we landed on a sparsely lit helipad and, after paying Dooley his fare plus a generous bonus if he’d stay for the return trip, rushed into the terminal to find ourselves some wheels. Cole wasn’t answering his phone. An ominous sign. So we had to find somebody at the all-night car rental counter who could tell us where Vayl and Disa had driven theirs.
It turned out the clerk, a thin balding dude with strangely long fingernails, didn’t feel like selling his superior knowledge for cash. But he was partial to the dog’s harness. At two fifteen in the morning, we didn’t figure we had the time or the resources to haggle.
“Okay, Jack,” I whispered to him as I slipped the studded straps off his broad back. “You and I both know the short, skinny freak’s going to end up strutting around his bedroom wearing this with a leather thong singing, ‘I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.’ I know, gross. But don’t feel bad. It made you look like the lead sled dog from that movie Dominatrix Iditarod. Don’t ask how I came to watch it. There’s a reason my work’s top secret.”
Once the clerk had his bribe, he felt free to tell us Disa had enthused to Vayl about the beautiful scenery that would form the background of his momentous reunion when they reached Skofja Loka.
According to the clerk’s map, Skofja Loka was situated eighteen kilometers from the airport, tucked in a valley still blanketed with white, as though winter couldn’t quite let go so close to the mountains. I pushed the car as fast as I dared along dark, unfamiliar roads while Dave sat beside me, trying fruitlessly to raise Cole on the phone.
“Well, shit,” he said suddenly.
“Yeah?” I asked.
“Cam’s got a sat phone. Maybe he’ll answer.” He did, on the first ring.
“Cam, it’s Dave.”
Cam was so delighted to get a call from his commander I could hear his voice from three feet away. “No kidding? It’s really you? How the hell are ya?”
“More important, how are you?”
“Doing okay. Cole says to tell you reception sucks in the lower part of town, where we’ve been for the past hour or so. We’re headed up to Pub Na Mehelic now.” He gave Dave directions, which he passed on to me.
I rolled down the window. As cold as it was, Jack had been banging his paw against it for the past ten minutes. Now he shoved his head through the opening, his tail slamming rhythmically into the seat between Dave and me to demonstrate how delighted he was. And why wouldn’t he be? Skofja Loka emerged from the night like a gingerbread town, its quaint old buildings and narrow streets reminding me of something out of Grimms’ fairy tales. Which, I reminded myself sternly, often ended in murder.
Mehelic’s was a two-story, white-painted structure with the broad dimensions of a barn. Wow, they take their drinking seriously here, I thought as I parked in the small lot west of the building. Eventually I realized the second story was an art gallery, at which point all the wine they pushed on the first floor made a lot more sense.
I left Jack in the car. “What can I say?” I told him when he gave me a pitiful stare. “People don’t want dog hair in their martinis.” We left the window cracked, locked the doors, and headed toward the intricately stenciled front door.
“Aw hell,” I said as I walked through, looking back to see if Dave had the same reaction.
He was shaking his head in disbelief. “Is that what I think it is?” he asked.
I had to nod. Our ears were not deceiving us. Somewhere within the depths of the pub, Cole was singing.
I edged farther inside, hugging the brown paneled wall in the hope that he wouldn’t see me right away and demand that I join him. Fat chance. The place was as open as a high school gym, with tables covered in yellow vinyl marching in neat rows toward the empty space at the back of the room where Cole stood. Since the place offered no stage he stood on a chair. Crooning into an unlit candle. No microphone. No karaoke machine. Just Cole, belting out the words to Lionel Richie’s “Endless Love.”
“Two hearts that beat as one/Our lives have just begun,” he sang. Then he saw us.
He jumped off the chair, Cole style. Meaning he put one foot on the back and overbalanced it until it tipped gently to the floor, at which point he soft-shoed to our spot, where we stood in mute horror, unable to retreat because the bar, a long, scarred counter that made you think a few guys might’ve busted their heads against it in the past, blocked our escape. Behind it stood a gray-bearded bartender who seemed to be enjoying the show much more than we were. At least, I thought I heard him chuckle as I whispered, “How drunk are you?”
Cole grabbed me around the waist and danced a few steps with me before I could pull myself free. He said, “I’m as sober as a Baptist on Sunday! But now that you’re here . . .” He wiggled his eyebrows cheerfully.
“I thought you were going to keep a low profile!” I hissed. “You sounded so serious on the phone!”
“Well, I realized if this is the last day of my life, I didn’t want to spend it cooped up in a closet while I bit my nails and wished I’d taken the time to have at least one deep relationship.” He stopped, looked into my eyes. “Okay, I do wish that. In fact . . .” He pulled me into his arms, dipped me until my back creaked. But before his lips could descend to mine I slipped my hand between them. Which meant he laid a wet one on my palm. “Not cool, Jaz,” he said. “You’re always supposed to kiss the dying man.”
“You’re so full of shit, I’m drawing flies! Where’s Cam?”
He lifted me to my feet, nodded to the far edge of the bar. “Over there.”
“Where? I can’t. Oh.” Now I saw him. Well, his feet at least. They rested, upside down, on one of the stools where the bar turned a corner. Occasionally the feet waved back and forth, the heels nudging each other as if to remind themselves of a good joke.
I looked at Dave as he led us toward his sergeant. Every step he took seemed to draw him up straighter, snap his shoulders closer to his back. It was like watching him try on a new uniform. And it fit perfectly.
Upon stopping at the feet, we found the rest of Cam spread out on four more stools, enjoying a back rub from an attractive, brunette barmaid wearing snow boots, a plaid, knee-length skirt, and a white peasant blouse.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Dave demanded, the command so prominent in his voice that we all came to attention, including the bartender and an older couple sitting at a table near the door. Luckily nobody else shared the room with us at the moment. I should’ve felt relieved. After all, we’d beaten Vayl and Disa to the guys. But Dave’s irritation at Cam made my stomach clench. This was no time for infighting.
Dave’s right-hand man hadn’t felt Cole’s need to avoid the sauce. The tankard in his hand sloshed ale all over the floor as he jerked sideways and rolled off the stools, still clutching the straw he’d been using to drink from it between his teeth. I would’ve had to check the instant replay to tell if he hit his butt. Because as soon as he caught sight of Dave he bolted upright, spitting out the straw, throwing the mug to one side as if it had grown spines.