Kane rested in the shade. The dog lifted his head inquiringly, staring intently, but not at the beers in Tucker’s hands. A large red Kong football sat atop a table.
“In a sec, bud.” Tucker called to where Marco ran in circles on the lawn, barking and panting with puppyish delight, “C’mon in!”
It wasn’t a command. It wasn’t even directed at the young Malinois.
Elle Stutt lifted an arm, about to whip a Frisbee for the dog, then lowered her hand. She waved acknowledgment and headed over. She climbed the porch steps, drawing Marco with her, who went straight to the water bowl.
“Think you can use a drink, too,” Tucker said, proffering a beer. “Best to stay hydrated, I always say.”
She accepted the bottle, raising it a touch. “Spasibo.” She stared over at Marco. “Nothing tires that dog out.”
He grinned. “You said the same thing about me last night.”
She settled to the chair and cast him a sidelong glance. “Ah, but we did find your limit, did we not?”
“That’s the scientist in you, always testing boundaries.” He dropped into the chair. “But I believe further research is still needed.”
“We shall see.”
After the events in Russia two months before, the pair had been visiting each other often.
He also kept in touch with Yuri. Tucker owed the man a large debt. Not only for saving his own life, but for getting Father Bailey to a hospital in time. The priest had survived his ordeal, but his recuperation would be a long one. Yuri had also arranged for the body of the young pilot, Fadd, to be recovered from its stone cairn in the Arctic park and given a proper burial.
As a small recompense for Yuri’s efforts, Tucker had finally relented about the dogs that his boss, Bogdan Fedoseev, had wanted. Tucker had refused to give up Marco or Kane, but he had agreed to train a new pair—although he had never promised which breed.
Maybe a pair of French bulldogs.
Still, any training would have to be performed here, not in Russia. He was certainly not welcome back, not after all that had happened.
And it wasn’t just him.
Elle had resigned her position at the botanical gardens in Saint Petersburg. Life in the Russian city had become untenable. Though the dust had settled, there were many, especially under the current regime in Moscow, who had failed to appreciate her efforts in the Far North.
The same was true for Sister Anna, who experienced an unspoken animosity among the hierarchy of the Patriarchate’s Holy Synod. Painter Crowe had arranged a spot for Anna in a diocese in Chicago, where she was settling well. Jason made sure of that, following her like a smitten puppy under the guise of helping her.
Tucker recognized a lost cause.
Keep hoping, kid.
He stared over at Elle—not sure himself where this would lead, especially as she had taken a position at the University of Cape Town. Elle clearly still missed her home in Saint Petersburg, but Africa was a hothouse of plant life, many species still yet to be discovered. She was clearly excited for this next step in her career.
And she hadn’t totally abandoned her former life.
A loud hiss announced the arrival of a large orange tabby, who must have finished his round of mousing and ratting in the outlying barns. The male cat bounded onto the porch rail and growled at the domain before him. It had taken Elle a week to trap the feral stray near her apartment in Saint Petersburg and bring him here, but he was adjusting well to his new surroundings.
Marco lowered his head and backed away cautiously. A few claw smacks across his nose had taught him respect.
“Hush, Nikolai,” Elle scolded. “We’re guests here.”
The cat swiped his tail twice, spat his disagreement, and leaped away.
Marco retreated to Elle’s side. She patted his flank, reassuring him. “He’s not as mean as he looks.”
Marco wasn’t buying it and slunk lower.
“Keep him company,” Tucker said. He took a final swig of his beer and stood. “I need some quality time with someone who is feeling sorely neglected.”
Tucker picked up the red Kong football.
