“I’m sorry about Rida,” Merl says, his tone gentle and kind. I nod, not trusting my voice.
Frank whines loudly behind me and we both laugh. His tail thumps against the tarmac with brutal force and when I turn to look back at him his whole body manages to wag while also staying seated.
Blue lets out a low warning growl. They are in a stay command. “He’s learning,” Merl says.
“I guess,” I answer, grinning. “A part of me hopes he never truly does.”
A gust of wind hits us, carrying the scent of ocean. The sea is only a few hundred yards away.
“Come on,” I say, looping my arm through Merl’s. “I’ll show you to your room and you can tell me about all the gossip from Costa Rica.” Merl laughs. He spends most his time at Joyful Justice’s training camp in the jungles of that Central American country. Merl developed his own martial art—Inviting Fire—and trains dogs with more ease than most people can train themselves.
We move toward the van, parked at the edge of the tarmac. “Follow,” I call to Blue, Nila, and Frank. Blue and Nila rise elegantly to their feet while Frank bursts into action, launching himself forward and slicking himself to my side with enough force that I bump into Merl. “Easy,” I tell him. He backs off a little but stays close, his brown eyes—both the color of Blue’s one eye—shining up at me and his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
I can feel Nila’s derision as she trails behind us with Blue and Merl’s dogs. When we get to the van, I open the side door and the dogs load. Frank leads the way by leaping onto, and then falling off of, the bench seat in a pile of gangly legs and sharp barks, as if the seat pushed him off. He quickly rights himself and scuttles into the back, acting as if he meant to fall.
Nila follows him, her lithe grace letting her stay on the bench—not that it’s that hard. Merl’s dog Lucy, a female he always said was the smartest canine he’d ever met, now a little gray around the muzzle but still sleek and strong, hops up next to Nila. The two females face forward like queens awaiting the departure of their chariot. They are a beautiful contrast —Nila’s fur, inherited from her mother, is medium length and white, while Lucy’s shorter coat is pitch black.
Michael, a more powerful Doberman, leaps in next to them, his head inches higher than theirs. Sharp, athletic, and brave, Michael has an aura of control that makes Frank seem like even more of a doofus.
Chula, the youngest of Merl’s Dobermans, and the puppy of his dog Thunder—who passed away a few years ago—joins Frank in the back. The two of them vibrate with the urge to wrestle.
Blue waits by my side and when I open the driver’s door he hops in, settling himself between the two front bucket seats, his head high enough that he can see out the windshield.
I get behind the wheel and Merl joins me in the front after stashing his duffel in the trunk. The van immediately smells like panting dog and I smile as I roll down the window.
“How’s Dan?” Merl asks as I start down the tarmac, headed for the dirt road.
I take in a deep breath before answering. “He’s okay,” I say. “Sad. Recovering. I don’t know. I think his heart is the problem at this point. His body will heal, he’s strong…but…”
“His heart is strong, too,” Merl assures me in his quiet way.
“I know,” I answer. I should, I’ve broken it myself… “I think he and Consuela, they had something really special.”
“And kind of doomed,” Merl points out.
“She won’t answer his calls,” I say. “Told him she needs some space to think. That she appreciates all that we did but she isn’t ready to actually leave her entire life and join a vigilante network. I think she is taking a political job.”
Merl huffs a laugh.
“What?” I ask, a smile tugging at my lips because I already know what.
“I’m sure Dan is being really respectful of her boundaries.”
“I like that we can joke about his stalker tendencies.”
“They’ve kept us all alive on more than one occasion,” Merl points out. “But Consuela isn’t one of us.”
We bump off the tarmac onto the dirt road, the lush jungle foliage crowding the muddy track. A thump from the back makes me check the rearview mirror. Chula’s gaze is on the floor. Where is Frank? His head pops up and he leaps, ungracefully, back onto the seat.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a dog that could roll their eyes like Nila,” Merl says with a laugh. “She really thinks Frank is an idiot, doesn’t she?”
“Yes,” I say with a laugh. “She does. But she loves him.”
Merl turns in his seat and scratches her chest. Nila’s eyes close in pleasure and gratitude. “That’s a good girl,” Merl says, his voice a low thrum. “That brother of yours is annoying sometimes, huh?”
“She’s actually been spending a lot of time with Dan,” I say.
“That’s good,” Merl says, turning around to face forward again. “Dogs have such healing energy.”
“He’s up and about a bit but still spends most of his time in bed…surrounded by his computers and monitors. Rebecca, his second-in-command, tried to get him to take it easy, but you know how that goes.”
“Yes, about as well as telling you to take it easy,” Merl says, his voice teasing.
“Hey,” I say. “For the record, every time I try to take it easy things go very sideways. Remember when I was in Spain just trying to live my life and people kept trying to kill me?”
“I do, they ended up dead.”
“That was because I didn’t take it so easy that I wasn’t ready,” I huff. “We have to be vigilant, Merl. You know that. When was the last time you took it easy?”
“Touché.”
The road comes to what looks like a dead end—a mountainside covered in vines. “Take a wrong turn?” Merl asks.
“Nope,” I say, putting the van in park and opening my door. “Secret entrance.”
“Oh, very Bond villain’s lair.”
“That’s right.” I hop out to enter the key code. “But we’re the good guys.”
