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The sun had just come up when Mic opened her balcony shades. She walked outside and sniffed the fresh air. She could see land in the distance and knew they were close to Athens. She checked her watch. It was a little after six in the morning. She called for Angel who got up, a bit shakily, from his bed and walked toward her.
Angel stood beside Mic and stared at the sea. Mic sat in her deck chair and looked deeply into her beloved dog’s eyes. She was delighted there were no signs of confusion. Angel’s eyes were clear. Thank God he’s better, she thought as a shiver ran through her body. She refused to dwell on yesterday because she knew today was going to be a big day. Hopefully we’ll catch St. Germaine!
“We’re gonna see Slade today,” she said as she rubbed his fur and softly patted his head. He laid his head in her lap, studied her face, and whimpered.
“You must feel better today — of course, anything has to be better than yesterday,” she said with relief, as she scratched his ears. Angel lavished in her love as the sun shone brightly on his back.
Angel looked up at her, gave her a doggy smile and Mic’s heart raced with excitement. The two of them continued to watch the water and feel the movement of the ship for about an hour. Then her cell phone rang.
Mic ran into her suite and grabbed her phone. It was Slade.
“Are you here?” she asked breathlessly as she imagined him in the distance. She hoped the answer was yes.
“I am. I’m having coffee with Jack and Travis Stoner, who heads up the FBI’s New Orleans office,” he said, a note of humor in his voice. Suddenly, Jack Françoise was on Slade’s phone.
“Mic, what you doing? Are we gonna catch St. Germaine today?” Jack barked into the phone.
Mic smiled to herself and said, “Hell yes, Jack. I’m dying to catch him. Have you guys worked out a plan?”
“Yeah, we’re doing that right now. And eating us a little bit of breakfast. It’s a hell of a long way over here from New Orleans,” he complained. “You know how I hate airplanes,” he said.
Michaela heard Slade and Stoner laugh in the background. She could imagine the fun they made of the burly New Orleans police commander. It was a known fact that Jack hated to leave the Big Easy.
“Stand up for yourself, Jack,” Michaela urged. “Don’t let them get the best of you,” she encouraged with a laugh.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before that Irish Cajun bastard cop gets anything over on me,” Jack laughed. “Here he is now,” Jack said as he handed the phone back to Slade.
“Has anything else happened there?” Slade asked Mic. “Anybody in your room or snooping around?” he asked casually, but Michaela heard the anger in his voice.
“Nope, nothing to report except that Angel’s a lot better today. He’s more like himself,” she said as she looked at her dog and saw the rapt expression on his face. He knew Slade was on the phone. Mic reached out and petted him.
“How was sleeping with Dottie?” Slade asked, a hint of laughter in his voice.
Mic groaned. “Honestly, I just couldn’t do it. I tried, but I left in the wee hours of the morning,” she confessed.
“Not surprised to hear that. Just glad you’re okay,” Slade said in a low voice. “I will say one thing though, Angel is a survivor.”
“Yep, he surely is,” Mic said as she leaned over and ruffled the fur on Angel’s neck. She paused for a moment and then continued, “I honestly tried to sleep in Dottie’s room last night, but she drove me stark raving mad so I came back over here.”
Slade laughed. Mic loved it when Slade was happy. Oftentimes he adopted the dark, sometimes morose, personality of his black Irish ancestors. When he did laugh, it was memorable.
“What’s the plan?” she asked.
“So far, I think Stoner and Jack plan to be in the area where passengers disembark. We’ve been told by Greek authorities that the crew disembarks in a different area. So, we’ll be there as well.”
“Sounds good, but what will Dottie do? You know she’s gonna demand a part,” Michaela said. She listened as Slade repeated the message to Jack and Stoner.
Jack laughed and said, “I’ll take the old girl. She’s a tough cookie,” Mic heard him say to Travis Stoner. “You’re in for a treat, Stoner. This lady is eighty-two-years old and she can probably out shoot and out think any of us on any day.”
Michaela heard more laughter, but couldn’t hear what Stoner mumbled. She’d never met the man, but knew that both Slade and Jack had great respect for him. She was anxious to meet him.
“Have you liaisoned the Greek authorities? Are they going to be available to help us?” she asked.
“Yeah, they’ll come on board as soon as the ship docks and immediately go to Senator Bostitch’s cabin and pick up any forensic information or evidence there is. Jack and Stoner will go with them. They’re more acquainted with St. Germaine’s work than I am,” Slade reported. “The ship will not allow passengers to disembark until we are finished in Senator Bostitch’s room. Also, Greek law enforcement will be at the pier and will have officers with all of us as we check passports and passengers.” Slade paused and said, “Oh, and we’ll have SWAT, too. Pretty much anything we want.”
“Sounds good to me. Will you text me just before you board? I’ll meet you at the senator’s stateroom. It’s just down the hall from mine,” Mic said.
“Will do,” Slade promised. “I’ll see you soon, sweetie. Can’t wait.”
“Neither can I,” Mic said softly. “Wait a minute, Slade. Angel hears something. He’s alerted.”
A second later, Angel’s head jerked. He pawed at the door and then lunged toward it. He scratched at the carpet near the door. “Let me go, Slade,” Mic said in an anxious voice. “There must be someone in the hall Angel doesn’t like,” she said quickly. “He’s on full alert.” Angel’s face had contorted into a snarl and his teeth were bared. His fur was standing on end. He was ready to attack. His growl was ferocious.
“Take your Glock, Mic. I’d prefer you just stay in your stateroom, but I know you won’t,” Slade said as he wished he were on the ship with her.
“I’ve got this, Slade. I’m just gonna take a peek out there. I’ll see you in a little while,” she said as she clicked off her phone.
Mic quickly walked over to her closet and pulled her gun out of the safe. She threw on a sweatshirt and yoga pants. She put her gun hand in the pocket. “Let’s go, Angel. Let’s see who tore up my clothes, stole my shoes, and tried to poison us,” she said angrily as she slowly opened her door. She didn’t see the letter near the closet where Angel’s paw had pushed it. Nor did she see the small gift in the corner.