Clive Cussler: Wrath of Poseidon

“Meeting with a notary to sign the papers for that empty lot.”

“He’s selling it?” A light breeze swept in from the ocean. Remi barely noticed the cold. “The cliff top? At Goldfish Point?”

Blake, wearing a short-sleeved shirt, shoved his hands in his pockets. “When you think about it, buying such an expensive piece of property without the funds to build was sort of a risk. Luckily the market’s on an upturn. The guy made a fortune off of it. So did I, for that matter.”

“But he loves that lot. I have to stop him.” She took out her cell phone and called Sam’s number. It went straight to voice mail. She looked at Blake. “You need to call him.”

“I doubt it’ll do any good,” he said, digging his phone from his pocket and trying himself. He held it out so Remi could hear. Voice mail. “I’m not sure what happened between you two, but ever since, he’s sort of dropped off the radar. I think the only reason he’s answered my calls was because I’m handling the sale.” He shrugged.

Remi looked at her watch. “La Jolla’s what, two hours from here?”

“What are you going to do?”

“Stop him.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “By the time you get there, it’ll be too late. As soon as he finishes up with the notary, he’s heading back east.”

“I have to try.” She hurried out to the parking lot, calling again as she rushed to her car. As before, it went straight to voice mail. “Sam. Remi. Call me.”

She made several more attempts on the drive down. The traffic was thick, but by the time she passed San Clemente it had cleared considerably, and she kept one eye on the mirror, watching for the highway patrol as she sped south.

Regardless of what Blake said, this was her fault. Sam had put his life on hold, given up his dream, because of her. But his financing for the laser was only a small part of it—no, not even part of it. She’d been so wrapped up in her own emotions, she’d failed to see the obvious. After everything she and Sam had been through together, how could she ever go back to her old life? How could she ever have a life without him? She gripped the steering wheel, trying to picture the gray void it had become since her return to California—and it had nothing to do with sitting in a cubicle, day after day.

The cubicle she could handle. Not having Sam in her life was unbearable.

Checking her rearview mirror, she saw a police car speeding up behind her, its red and blue lights flashing. “Not now . . .” She put on her signal, then moved over to the slow lane, hoping it would continue past.

It did not.

The uniformed officer approached. She rolled down her window.

“License and registration, please.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE

Remi leaned over, opened her glove box, and pulled her registration out, handing that and her license to the officer.

“Do you know how fast you were going, Miss Longstreet?”

“Eighty-ish?”

“Eight-seven.”

“Guilty. I don’t suppose we can skip with the formalities and get to the ticket part? I’m in a hurry.”

He looked over the top of his sunglasses at her. “You realize your being in a hurry is exactly why you’re being stopped?”

“I know. And I do apologize. But the guy I love is in La Jolla. He’s leaving for a new job, and if I miss him, I may never see him again . . .” Remi saw no show of emotion from the man. She decided a different tack was in order. “No disrespect, but please, if we can hurry up with the ticket, I’ll promise to drive at a reasonable speed the moment you let me go.”

The officer walked back to his patrol car. Remi watched in her rearview mirror as he clipped her license to the top of his ticket book, then started writing. Two minutes later, he was back, giving her the narrow clipboard and a pen. She signed the ticket, and he ripped off the pink copy, handing it over. He did not, however, return her license right away.

Holding on to it, he looked her in the eye. “I’m going to be taking that next exit up there, which means there’s a very long stretch between here and San Diego without any patrol. Do me a favor? Drive careful.”

“Thank you.”

He returned her license.

Remi pulled out, then drove off, making sure she kept to the speed limit. A moment later, the patrol car passed her, and, true to his word, the officer took the next exit. She sped up, though not as fast as before. Twenty-five minutes later, she found the real estate office. It was closed, the doors locked.

Why she expected him to be there when he had at least an hour head start, she didn’t know.

She tried his number again, then tossed her phone onto the seat of her car. Finally, she called Blake. “He’s not here. Have you heard from him?”

“Sorry, no. They must have gotten through that paperwork fast.”

“Where would he go?”

There was a stretch of silence, then, “You know, he said something about staying in that hotel just down the street on the beach. You might try calling them.”

“Thanks.”

Sam’s car wasn’t at the hotel, and when she checked at the desk, he wasn’t registered as a guest.

She returned to her car. Frustrated, she stood at the door, holding the handle, at a complete loss at what to do. Looking back at the hotel and then the beach brought back the memory of their weekend and the afternoon he’d told her about his dream of building a house on the cliff top.

Their house, he’d said. Without thinking, she found herself on the beach, walking toward the bluff. The sun was dipping behind the clouds as it made its late-afternoon descent. She looked out over the Pacific as the rays of the setting sun broke through, shooting upward. The sky and clouds turned a brilliant orange, and her breath caught.

Not at the sunset, but at the distant silhouette of the man standing on the edge of the cliff.

Sam.

He stood there a moment, then reached down, picking up something from the ground. A rock, perhaps. A moment later, he threw it over the edge, the tension and frustration evident in the way he held himself.

Her heart constricted at the sight.

“Sam!” Her voice was lost as the offshore wind whipped in from the coast, drumming in her ears. Remi raced back to her car, knowing she had to get there before he left.

—

As she walked across the bluff, he stood stock-still, his back to her, the waves crashing below. When she reached his side, he simply held out his hand.

She clasped her fingers around his.

They stood there in companionable silence for a minute or so, until Sam finally turned to her. “I thought you had a party?”

“Changed my mind.” A few more seconds of quiet, then Remi saying, “I missed you at yours.”

“Trying to get an early start on a long trip.”

The wind swept across the bluff, the low shrubs and long, dry grass bending beneath it. “So, this was where we were going to build our house?”

“That was the plan.”

“Can we buy it back?”

His smile was bittersweet as his eyes met hers. “That would be difficult. Never got to the real estate office.”

“You didn’t sell?”

“How could I?” He looked back out over the water. “This is where we were going to build our home.”

“We don’t have to build anything. I’ve warmed to the idea of camping. Who needs hot and cold running water, carpeting, and electricity? The appeal of sleeping in a bag with zippers has grown on me.”

“I have a tent in the Jeep.”

Before she had a chance to comment, he took her in his arms.

CHAPTER EIGHTY

Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

The present day

Sam, Remi, and St. Julien Perlmutter had long since finished dinner, retired to the library, and settled in front of the fire, each with a glass of port.