himself. There are always more bad guys.
His left hand slowly unzipped his raincoat while his right hand hovered close to the pistol on his hip. Once the coat was open all the way he knew he could just sweep it back and draw, faster than most anyone he’d ever encountered.
But he did not draw; he just watched the Land Cruiser continue forward.
“Captain?” He said it in a voice that told the grizzled older man he needed to stick his head back out of the nav bridge and pay attention to his passenger.
“Aye?”
Court bobbed his forehead towards the vehicle, and the captain said, “Not with me, mate. Haven’t a clue.”
Court kept watching.
“You want me to shove off?” the captain asked.
Court’s training was telling him the answer was an obvious yes, but his curiosity told him he should wait and see who this was.
The Land Cruiser skidded to a stop in the sloppy mud and gravel by the side of the pier, and then the passenger-side door opened.
A pair of boots appeared slapping into the slop, with the wearer of the boots hidden behind the door of the SUV.
Court swept back his raincoat and put his hand on the butt of his pistol.
Zoya Zakharova appeared when she stood up, then turned his way. She wore no raincoat, her heavy knit sweater was dry but dampening by the second in the cool summer rain, and her brown hair tied back behind her ears shone with precipitation in just the first few seconds it was exposed to the sky.
She walked slowly and gingerly through the mud, several steps closer to the pier, before she even looked up at the deck and saw Court standing there in his raincoat looking back. She continued up the pier, half dragging her right leg to keep from bending it on the side of her wounded hip.
When she made it alongside the fishing boat she looked up at him. With a deadpan expression and in a deadpan voice she said, “Surprise.”
Court could come up with no reply.
“You are wondering how I found you.”
Slowly he nodded, glanced quickly to the boat captain, and saw the man was back inside the closed navigation bridge and looking at some charts. He was well out of earshot.
Zoya stepped a little closer; the Land Cruiser sat at idle behind her. The driver was a man who appeared to be in his seventies, and Court wondered if Zoya had hitchhiked here.
She said, “It seems you and I know the same stowaway broker. FYI, Antoine is not to be trusted. He has a thing for women. I called him, reminded him I’d used his services a few times, and he remembered me. I asked him about any clients in the area, and he told me about this passenger of his heading out on an Evergreen via a fishing boat in Loch Crenen.”
Court hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He could see the pain on her face from her hip wound, and it made him feel like shit, but the main thought going through his head right now was his confusion about what the hell she was doing here.
“Now you are wondering why I found you.”
“I am.” He realized he hadn’t taken his hand off the grip of his Glock. He wondered if his body was able to detect that Zoya was indeed a threat to him, so it had stayed vigilant and prepared to react in case of an attack by her.
Self-consciously he lowered his hand to his side.
She asked, “Where are you going?”
He hadn’t expected this. After a time he said, “Wherever that ship takes me.”
“That’s vague, even for you.”
“I need a little break,” he said. “When the time is right, I’ll head back to D.C. I’ll make my way back under Brewer’s thumb before too long, I’m sure.”
“Just watch your back.”
Court nodded. “Will do. What about you?”
She shrugged her muscular shoulders. “I hope by me showing up like this you didn’t get the impression that everything is okay between us. I’m absolutely fucking furious with you about what you did.”
“Yeah. You conveyed that effectively in the dungeon of the castle.”
She touched her right hip. “And I’m not talking about this.”
Court nodded. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
“Good. That’s good. I don’t know if I can ever forgive you, to be honest. I have my reasons for that, just like you have your reasons for what you did.”
Court said nothing. He wasn’t going to fight with her. He figured now he’d take some abuse, and then she’d shuffle back down to her ride, and she’d leave him forever.
“But,” she continued, “I keep thinking that, for better or worse, the only person out there for someone like me, is someone like you. Maybe not you . . . but someone like you.”
“There is no one like me, Zoya.”
She sighed. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
Court made a face that revealed his confusion. He had next to no experience discussing relationships, but all this sounded so obscure he couldn’t make out her point, if there even was one.
Zoya continued. “And even though I’m still pissed, I wanted to come see you off before I fly back to D.C. out of Oban this afternoon.”
He climbed off the boat now and stepped onto the pier in front of her. They stood a few feet apart a moment, then he moved closer and took her in his arms.
“Carefully, please,” she said.
“Hey,” Court said as he embraced her, “I’m still pretty beat up myself.”
“We make quite a pair, don’t we?” she said, and she hugged him back gently.
After a time Court stepped back and looked at her. “Please take care of yourself,” he said.
“You, too. I’ll see you around.”
She kept the dispassionate expression up for a few seconds more, and then, for the first time in a long time, he saw her smile. It wasn’t much of a smile; it hinted at anger and suspicion and trouble ahead, but for now, at least, it was good enough for him.
She reached out and touched the side of his face tenderly, then she turned away and began heading back up the dock, while Court watched her go.