Chapter 44

CHAPTER 44

E ZE

Someone could have dropped an atom bomb on the driveway behind him and Harvath would have kept on walking into the villa, and heading straight for the bar. Right now all he cared about was S?lvi and a glass of bourbon. Everyone else, especially his blackmailers at the CIA, could go fuck themselves.

As he passed the library, Nicholas looked up from his desk, but even the dogs seemed to know better than to engage. Something about Harvath had changed. He had brought a piece of the operation back with him. A bad piece.

Hitting the bar, Harvath grabbed the first bottle he saw, snatched up a glass, and headed out to the terrace.

Not long after, S?lvi came up from the basement debriefing room and, realizing that he was home, followed him outside.

As she passed the library, Nicholas caught her attention and tried to wave her off. "He needs space," the little man said.

S?lvi smiled, ignored his advice, and kept walking. Stepping out onto the terrace, she found Harvath on one of the chaise lounges and sat down next to him.

The greatest thing about their relationship was that most of the time they didn't need words. With a look, they could tell what the other was thinking. That said, this wasn't one of those times. The moment required a modicum of communication.

"Should I be concerned that you went right for the bourbon instead of the champagne?" she asked.

Head back, eyes closed, he took a sip of his drink and replied, "I think I'm out."

"Of what?"

"Everything."

Interesting, she thought.

Nudging him for his glass, she took a long, slow sip and allowed her fingers to linger over his as she handed it back.

"What about the name Grechko has for you? The last person supposedly responsible for your wife's murder?"

Taking another sip of his drink, he replied, "Maybe I'll give it to Johnson. It was his idea, after all, to go after Tsybulsky. And he was right. It was a good idea. Not to mention that Johnson's like the Terminator. We may make fun of how much stuff he breaks in the process, but he never stops until his target has been flatlined."

S?lvi didn't doubt it. Johnson was intense. He was the axe murderer of the group. No matter how many times you thought he was down, he always got back up. To this day, she still couldn't believe that he was married to a lovely woman who worked in a children's bookstore.

The idea that she was putting books in innocent little hands while he was out putting bullets in bad guys' heads was a circle that took a little work to square. Nevertheless, they were very happy together.

Which brought S?lvi back to Harvath. Outsourcing a job like this, regardless of how competent Johnson was, didn't sound like him. He had sworn to make every person pay for his wife's murder. Now, with one name left, he was going to walk away? No, that definitely didn't sound like him.

"You're not really going to give this to Johnson," she said.

"Of course not," Harvath responded. "I'll crawl into the darkest cave in the coldest, most remote corner of Siberia if I have to. Believe me, I am going to find this guy and I am going to take him apart. I'd just like a couple of days off before I do. Even my eyelids feel like sandpaper."

Stress, anger, exhaustion… it was all there. And rightfully so. He'd been through a lot.

There was also his sense of humor, which she was grateful to see. It was an important part of how he healed and processed things.

"You mentioned Tsybulsky," she said, changing the subject. "Ready to fill me in?"

Opening his eyes, Harvath picked up his phone and checked his flight-tracker app. The private jet that was returning the commandos to England was only minutes away from leaving French airspace. "Just about," he replied, standing up. "Where's Grechko? You're both going to want to see this."

"We're taking a break from his debrief," she answered. "I think he's in the kitchen getting something to eat."

"Perfect. Let's get Nicholas and that bottle of champagne. We're about to have reason to celebrate."