Court Gentry sighed. He didn’t have any idea who was on that aircraft, but he imagined it being Zoya. This was doubtful. More likely she was still on board the destroyer, or had already been spirited back to the United States on a CIA Gulfstream.

It had been a week since the attack, and he’d been lying low in nearby Oban, eating canned food in a simple hotel room, taking his antibiotics, and sulking.

Court had been offered a ride back to the States, not on Hanley’s jet; the DDO had resumed his earlier stance of remaining arm’s length from the assets of Poison Apple, but Hanley had told Court he could go to Oban and fly out as soon as Transpo could arrange a lift for him.

He got a text telling him when and where, and then he’d taken his battery out of his phone and thrown it in a river.

He’d not declined so much as he just hadn’t shown up at the prearranged place and time.

Court would go on to his next destination alone.

He leaned against the railing of the trawler, his spirits as dreary as the skies above.

He’d gotten this boat captain to agree to take him through the last couple miles out of this loch, to a skiff that would be waiting a few miles out in the open ocean. The skiff would take him, in turn, back to its mothership, a Singapore-flagged Evergreen dry-goods hauler. Court had arranged for transportation through a broker that he knew from his time as an assassin for hire; he knew the broker would take his fee and pay off the Taiwanese crew and secure a ride for Court, at least as far as one of their ports of call.

It was a useful service for a man like Gentry, one he used even now, though he was a CIA asset and could easily get transportation from them.

But no, he had a thing against CIA Transpo at the moment.

He felt like he was running away. Away from Zoya. He thought about pursuing her back to D.C. He could get Brewer to arrange a meeting, though Brewer and Zoya weren’t exactly on speaking terms at the moment. Still . . . he wondered if he could try one more time to convince Zoya that he wasn’t the enemy.

He told himself he might wonder that for a long time, because in the end, he decided to leave her in peace. She had made herself abundantly clear as to her wishes, and he would respect them, even if they killed him.

The captain leaned out of the tiny navigation bridge and told Court they’d be leaving in five minutes. The boat bobbed and Court looked to the land. The only colors anywhere in sight were blue, green, and gray, but some movement in the distance caught his attention. A white vehicle bounced on the muddy road in the distance, fast approaching the trawler tied to the dilapidated pier.

Court cocked his head. The captain had said nothing about anyone else coming along for this ride, and there wasn’t a thing out here other than rocky coastline and undeveloped pasture land.

As it neared, Court determined the SUV to be a Toyota Land Cruiser that was at least twenty years old, and he had no idea who the hell could be inside it.

Hadn’t they fucking killed all the bad guys already?

No, he told himself. There are always more bad guys.

His left hand slowly unzipped his raincoat while his right hand hovered close to the pistol on his hip. Once the coat was open all the way he knew he could just sweep it back and draw, faster than most anyone he’d ever encountered.

But he did not draw; he just watched the Land Cruiser continue forward.

“Captain?” He said it in a voice that told the grizzled older man he needed to stick his head back out of the nav bridge and pay attention to his passenger.

“Aye?”

Court bobbed his forehead towards the vehicle, and the captain said, “Not with me, mate. Haven’t a clue.”

Court kept watching.

“You want me to shove off?” the captain asked.

Court’s training was telling him the answer was an obvious yes, but his curiosity told him he should wait and see who this was.

The Land Cruiser skidded to a stop in the sloppy mud and gravel by the side of the pier, and then the passenger-side door opened.

A pair of boots appeared slapping into the slop, with the wearer of the boots hidden behind the door of the SUV.

Court swept back his raincoat and put his hand on the butt of his pistol.

Zoya Zakharova appeared when she stood up, then turned his way. She wore no raincoat, her heavy knit sweater was dry but dampening by the second in the cool summer rain, and her brown hair tied back behind her ears shone with precipitation in just the first few seconds it was exposed to the sky.

She walked slowly and gingerly through the mud, several steps closer to the pier, before she even looked up at the deck and saw Court standing there in his raincoat looking back. She continued up the pier, half dragging her right leg to keep from bending it on the side of her wounded hip.

When she made it alongside the fishing boat she looked up at him. With a deadpan expression and in a deadpan voice she said, “Surprise.”

Court could come up with no reply.

“You are wondering how I found you.”

Slowly he nodded, glanced quickly to the boat captain, and saw the man was back inside the closed navigation bridge and looking at some charts. He was well out of earshot.

Zoya stepped a little closer; the Land Cruiser sat at idle behind her. The driver was a man who appeared to be in his seventies, and Court wondered if Zoya had hitchhiked here.

She said, “It seems you and I know the same stowaway broker. FYI, Antoine is not to be trusted. He has a thing for women. I called him, reminded him I’d used his services a few times, and he remembered me. I asked him about any clients in the area, and he told me about this passenger of his heading out on an Evergreen via a fishing boat in Loch Crenen.”

Court hadn’t taken his eyes off her. He could see the pain on her face from her hip wound, and it made him feel like shit, but the main thought going through his head right now was his confusion about what the hell she was doing here.

“Now you are wondering why I found you.”

“I am.” He realized he hadn’t taken his hand off the grip of his Glock. He wondered if his body was able to detect that Zoya was indeed a threat to him, so it had stayed vigilant and prepared to react in case of an attack by her.

Self-consciously he lowered his hand to his side.

She asked, “Where are you going?”

He hadn’t expected this. After a time he said, “Wherever that ship takes me.”

“That’s vague, even for you.”

“I need a little break,” he said. “When the time is right, I’ll head back to D.C. I’ll make my way back under Brewer’s thumb before too long, I’m sure.”

“Just watch your back.”