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A couple of years ago we’d tracked some Russian assassins to this hotel after they’d killed my boss and former commander of the Taskforce, Colonel Kurt Hale. Since they were gunning for me and hit him by mistake, and thus knew me on sight, I’d asked Shoshana and Aaron for a little bit of help and together we’d returned the favor.

I nodded and said, “You could have asked us for some recommendations. This place isn’t cheap, but itisnice. See you guys tomorrow for breakfast?”

Shoshana floated her weird glow over me, reading me, and it was disconcerting, not the least because I knew she only did that when she was trying to determine my mindset. She was one complicated woman—which is a polite way of saying a little bit off—but she had this ability to see inside a person’s soul. I don’t know how she did it, but I’d become a believer—although I’d never tell her that.

One thing was for sure; she didn’t do it without reason. Something was coming.

She said, “Pike, come up to the room for a nightcap.”

I looked at my watch and said, “It’s after onea.m.Didn’t you get enough of me tonight?”

After they’d appeared at Ashley Hall, and after the reunion kisses and handshakes, we’d restarted the rehearsal, getting everything right in Jennifer’s mind, and then had broken up to allow Shoshana and Aaron to check into their hotel and everyone else to do whatever sightseeing they had planned—which is why they were here a week early for a wedding.

I didn’t want to impose on their time, so we’d agreed to meet at my Grolier Recovery Services office on Shem Creek at sevenp.m., just across the Ravenel Bridge from Charleston.

The company, of course, was a front for the Taskforce. Jennifer and I were civilian partners, ostensibly traveling the world assisting archeological projects by cutting through government red tape and security on-site, but in truth, the business allowed us to penetrate just about anywhere, because there were few spots on earth that didn’t have some sort of archeological work going on. Until COVID-19, that is. Then it all shut down.

My entire team had shown up for the rehearsal, but I couldn’t possibly put them all up in my small row house. When school had let out in May, Amena’s boarding room privileges had ended, so I only had one spare bedroom. I’d offered it to my best man, Knuckles—who was also the second in command of my team—and he’d declined, which I thought was strange. Why pay for a hotel when you can rack out for free? Lord knows he’d spent enough time sleeping on my couch in the past. Instead, I’d given it to Veep and Kylie.

Veep was the junior member of my team, and he was dating the niece of Kurt Hale, the commander of the Taskforce who had been killed. In the past, before he had died, I’d paid her to act as Amena’s nanny after she’d first arrived from Syria, so it was a good fit. Givingthe two of them the room solved my Amena problem for the week. She could definitely take care of herself, but she loved Kylie and would think twice about pushing my buttons with her in the house.

The first to arrive at my office was Knuckles, and when he’d walked through the door I’d realized why he’d wanted his own hotel room. Behind him was a woman named Willow Radcliffe, someone we’d saved in Brazil from a horrendous death. Jennifer’s mouth had dropped open, and Willow had seemed a little bit self-conscious. I’d said, “Willow! I didn’t know you were here.”

She’d glared at Knuckles, saying, “Knuckles said this was just a vacation to Charleston. He didn’t mention the wedding. I’m sorry if I’m intruding.”

Sensing her hesitance, Jennifer jumped up and said, “Not at all. Pike, get them some drinks.”

I said, “Beers on the back deck. Knuckles, want to give me a hand?”

He nodded and we left the office to a small balcony that fronted Shem Creek. I went to a mini fridge I’d built into the wall for the sole purpose of sitting and watching the sun set, pulled out four beers, handed him two, and said, “What the hell is that about?”

He shrugged and said, “What? She’s a hammer, and she seemed to like me after Brazil, so I gave her a call.”

Knuckles was a man whore of the first order. He stood a little over six feet, with ropy muscles like a swimmer, which stood to reason, because he was a Navy SEAL, but somewhere he’d lost any semblance of being in the military. His hair was long and shaggy, and he perpetually dressed in tight T-shirts with some eclectic saying that was bound to offend someone, like some hippie from the seventies.

Women swooned over him, and he obliged more times than not, which made me a little sick. Not that he did it, but because he could.

I said, “What happened to the SECSTATE?”

Last I’d heard, Knuckles had been dating the secretary of state, another woman who had fallen for his charms, which had caused no small amount of consternation with me due to her position.

He opened his beer and said, “She’s good, but that shit is just too complicated. Too much hiding and political bullshit. I broke it off.”

Which concerned me, because she was also an Oversight Council member. I didn’t want them making any decisions about my team based on some lovers’ quarrel. He saw my face and raised his hands, each holding a beer, looking like he was directing a Delta flight to a gate.

“Hey, I see where this is going. Don’t worry about it. We’re good. It was a mutual decision. She saw the problems just like I did.”

I’d nodded and said, “Okay. If you say so.”

We’d reentered the office only to find that everyone else from the team had shown up. After a round of beers, I’d taken them to a place across Coleman Boulevard called Saltwater Cowboys. Also on Shem Creek, it was a great location to watch the dolphins and the sunset.

We’d ended up staying there for hours telling war stories and just reconnecting, and then, while everyone else Uber’d to their hotel, I’d offered to take Aaron and Shoshana back in my vehicle. It was the least I could do since they’d come from Israel.

Something I was now regretting with Shoshana staring at me.

Chapter 8

Shoshana said, “Come on up. It’s just one drink. You’ll still be able to drive.”