A balmy breeze pulls strands of hair free from my ponytail and lazily brushes them around my face as I watch the small aircraft land. Merl is onboard, and I can’t wait to see him.
We’ve been on the island for one day. It’s the most substantial element of a tiny Pacific archipelago, owned by Joyful Justice—the vigilante network Merl helped found and I now help run—and used as our operations base.
The airstrip runs across some of the only flat landscape. The rest of the island is dominated by a mountain: an extinct volcano a paranoid billionaire turned into a hotel-style bunker residence in preparation for the end of the world. He died before his envisioned apocalypse and Joyful Justice bought the island.
Before doing so, we brought in a team of volcanologists for an unusual kind of home inspection. After a careful investigation, they assured us that the volcano was no longer active, though they could not make similar promises about some of the surrounding islands. That uncertainty probably worked to our benefit, scaring away other potential buyers.
The irony that a billionaire built our hideaway prepping for an ending, and we got it for a song, with plans for a new beginning, doesn’t escape me entirely.
Merl appears at the top of the steps, framed by the arched doorway of the private plane. Wearing a black suit, thin tie, and dark sunglasses, his long tight curls tied in a man bun, and flanked by his Doberman Pinschers, the man cuts one hell of a figure. Wind whips along the runway, flapping his suit jacket and exposing the shimmering black satin lining.
When I wave, a grin takes over his face, exposing the gap between his front teeth. Merl jogs down the stairs, his three dogs trailing behind him. He moves like the martial arts master he is, fluid and graceful.
We embrace. The scent of him fills my senses, the warmth of him settles my nerves, and the strength of him lends me a little of his confidence. “Thanks for coming,” I say.
Merl leans back, looking down at me. My smiling face reflects in his sunglasses. I’m rounder and softer than I’ve ever been. More vulnerable than I could ever imagine.
“I’m always here for you. You know that, Sydney.”
I smile and nod, ducking my head to hide the stinging behind my eyes. Damn pregnancy hormones turning me into a freaking fountain of emotion over here.
“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.”
I’m pretty sure.
The screening rises to reveal a tunnel. The enclosed space is cool and tight with low ceilings and cement walls. We navigate through to the parking area where another van, two jeeps, and some quads are parked.
We all climb out, Frank circling twice before managing to follow my sit command. Blue, Nila, and Frank wait while I plug the van in—we went all electric vehicles about six months ago. The island has a lot of sun and wind…not so much gas.
“This way,” I say, leading Merl to the elevator.
I laugh as the doors close on the six dogs and two of us.
“What?” Merl asks, smiling at me.
“I was just imagining if a squirrel was locked in here with us.”
Merl laughs. “That would be intense.”
“Frank could not handle it.”
“No,” Merl agrees, looking down at Frank whose tail is attempting to hammer its way through the floor of the elevator.
The doors open up to the lobby, which still maintains the interior design from before we took over. There is wicker furniture and glass doors leading out to a circular driveway, the more conventional route to accessing our jungle redoubt. Speakers mounted in the ceiling could play muzak if we were so inclined.
“Hi,” I say to Steve, the Joyful Justice member working the front desk today. He’s wearing the unofficial uniform around here—T-shirt and shorts. Steve’s black hair is cropped close to his head and his brown eyes are focused on a magazine.
“What’s up, Rye?” he asks with a grin. His gaze falls to Merl’s dogs and then to the man himself. Steve stands up, straightening as if he is a soldier and a general just walked in.
“This is Merl; Merl, Steve.” I introduce the two men.
Steve nods, blinks, looks at the dogs, blinks some more.
“Nice to meet you,” Merl says, holding out his hand.
Steve did not have this reaction to me. Which makes me smile. Often members of Joyful Justice get all kind of torn up about me—like I’m some kind of role model. Which…no. Just no. Terrible idea. Just plain wrong.
Merl, on the other hand, is someone worth emulating, worth striving to be like. The man is suave, strong, smart, sensitive, and deadly. What’s not to admire?
“It’s an honor,” Steve says, shaking Merl’s hand.
Merl smiles. “Thank you, Steve, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Steve finds the key to Merl’s room—right next to mine—and grins at him.
“I’ll be offering morning tai chi while I’m here,” Merl says. “I hope you’ll join the class.”
“Yes, sir,” Steve says.
“Call me Merl,” he answers with a soft smile.
“Yes…Merl.” Steve laughs at his awkwardness and Merl grins.
“See you later, Steve,” I say, taking Merl’s arm and leading him toward the elevator banks.
Merl’s gaze travels around the room. “Interesting place,” he says. “I remember when Dan found it, I pictured something out of Dr. No…”
“Yeah, it’s a little like a motel, right? Albeit a motel carved into a hollowed-out mountain.”
Merl laughs, glancing at the view. “I’d say it’s got better views than the average motel.”
“True, and the suites are nice too.” We step onto the elevator and I press the tenth floor. “I’d say the interior design is upper end highway hotel but with spectacular views. Very thoughtful of the former owner to include windows in his bunker’s design. It’s a pretty nice place to wait out the apocalypse…or start it…”
Merl laughs. “Fair enough.”
There is also a fitness center, cafeteria, medical facilities, and a shopping center where members can get groceries, clothing, and other supplies. Then underground is the command center of Joyful Justice—a large space that reminds me of NASA headquarters in movies. Lots of desks facing a massive screen.
“We can go down and check out the command center once you’ve had a chance to change.”
“You don’t like my suit?” Merl asks, his voice teasing.
“It’s awesome,” I admit. “You look great. But it’s not exactly island wear.”
“I don’t have a lot of resort wear,” Merl says as the elevators open.
“Hopefully you brought at least one kaftan.”
Merl laughs and so do I. It feels so good to be laughing with him.
“This one is yours,” I say stopping in front of his door. “I’m right next door.”
“Perfect.”
“Knock when you’re ready to go check out downstairs,” I say, moving toward my door.
“Sydney,” Merl says, and I turn back to him. He’s looking at me with his big, knowing brown eyes, and I find myself twining my fingers at my waist. “I’ll knock and we can take a walk on the beach. I need to hear why you asked me to come all this way. Then we can have a tour of the facilities.” All I can do is nod. “Sydney?” I nod again. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” I say maybe a little too quickly. “Or at least,” I smile, “I will be.”
Merl nods like he understands, which is reassuring because I don’t…