Page 81 of Dagger in the Sea

An elderly grizzled man greeted us in a rush of Greek. They hugged. “Turo, this is Orésti. He’s been with the family ever since I can remember.”

We greeted one another, and he took our small rolling suitcases. Orésti led us to a rugged yet sleek black little Land Rover Defender SVX jeep where he loaded our bags. He headed for the driver’s seat.

“Stásou,”Adriana said, and he stopped. She gnawed on her lips and said something to him in Greek.

Orésti nodded, agreeing with her in a rush of Greek. He handed Adriana the keys, tilting his head at us.“Adío, despinís. Kírie.”

“Efxaristó, Kírie Orésti,”said Adri. A wistful thank you.

Orésti gave us a wave and strode off toward one of the many outdoor cafés at the port. Adriana stared at the keys in her hand.

I came up next to her. “What’s up, Lovely?”

“I haven’t driven in a long time.” She took in a small breath. “I have my own car in Athens, but I haven’t felt comfortable driving, being in a car by myself, moving through traffic, dealing with photographers who are on my trail. So I stopped, talked myself out of it. Got anxious about it.”

“Well, there’s no paparazzi or traffic here,” I said.

Her gaze found mine and a small smile grew on her face. “No, there isn’t.”

“Go for it.”

She flipped the car keys in her hand. “You don’t mind being driven by a woman?”

“Make it worth my while, baby.” I shot her my ladykiller grin.

“Hmm.” She grinned back, a blast of sexy hotter than the sun. “Are you hungry?” she asked.

“Starved.”

“Me too. I know just the place. Let’s go.”

She climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep, and I got into the passenger side, and we took off. The cold air battered my face as we sped down the curvy shore road. Barely half an hour later, the road twisted and rose over a harbor town, the village of Batsí. Whitewashed homes with blue trim were stacked over the curved mountainside of the village. A postcard of a classic Greek island town—picturesque, charming, and all real.

The road descended through the town, and Adri parked in the port. Old-fashioned, black, wrought iron lamp posts dotted the crescent walkway along the water. A number of small fishing boats, sailboats, and catamarans were docked in the harbor which was lined with cafés, restaurants, and souvenir shops which were opening for the day. A hotel with a long strip of sandy beach complete with loungers and umbrellas filled the other side of the harbor.

Adri slid her arm in mine and led the way to a restaurant, Mastello. We sat on a raised veranda at a high, wooden table and bench, offering a sweeping view of the marina. Seashells, brightly colored walls, thick boat ropes and large cans as light fixtures worked together creating a fresh, rustic nautical feel. Small bottles of ouzo lined four shelves on top of the entrance to the interior of the restaurant. That was a selection I’d never seen before.

“It’s a little early, but I know the owner,” she said.

A tall man with curly hair pulled back in a ponytail came out.“Then to pistévo!”

“Believe it, it’s me.” Adri laughed. They hugged and kissed on both cheeks, Greek style. They spoke in a bustle of Greek and he nodded and gestured, agreeing to whatever she was saying.

She introduced us and asked, “Turo, do you have any aversions to seafood at this hour?”

“None whatsoever. No rules, no schedules for us.”

“I like that, yes. No rules, no schedules.” A small smile perked up her lips. “And ouzo?”

“Educate me.”

“I like you more and more, Mr. DeMarco.”

Under the table, my legs found hers and rubbed up against them. That urge to continually touch her wasn’t dying down anytime soon. Her tongue lashed at her bottom lip as she glanced at me then glanced back at the colorful tabletop, her face reddening.

No menus were needed, of course. A waitress came over with a pad and a pen and scribbled along to Adri’s long order in a vivid tumble of Greek. Something special was about to begin. Like when a very rare and fine bottle of wine was finally opened and I’d been offered the cork to smell; the scent extraordinary, the promise of the ruby liquid elating me, transporting me. Or when the curtain is about to rise on the stage of a play you’ve been dying to see.

My pulse kicked up, my mouth watered as she continued to order in that enthusiastic, colorful waterfall of words. Adri handed me a fork and knife from the bread basket the waitress had deposited on the table.

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