Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Thank you.” I slide my hand through his arm, feeling the solid warmth of him through the expensive fabric. “So where exactly are we going for this disposal lesson?”
“The Cavern,” Blue says, guiding me toward the front door where Hans is waiting beside Blue’s sleek black Aston Martin, keys in hand. “About twenty minutes south along the coast. It’s got the best views on the Oregon shore, and Axton Marrow takes his time with every dish.” He takes the keys from Hans with a nod. “I’ll drive tonight—the coast road requires someone who knows it well.”
Hans’s brow furrows, clearly uncomfortable. He leans closer to Blue, lowering his voice. “Boss, Brutus is back in town from the islands. He’s—”
“I know,” Blue cuts him off quietly. “We’ll be fine.”
Hans straightens, still looking worried. “You want me to follow close behind? Just in case?”
“We’ll be fine tonight, Hans,” Blue assures him. “It’s just dinner.”
Hans doesn’t look convinced, but he nods reluctantly. “Have good time then. Drive careful on those cliffs.” He glances at me with a slight smile. “Miss Saylor, you look very beautiful tonight. You are lucky man, Boss.”
Blue’s expression softens. “Yes, I am.”
Blue opens the passenger door for me with his usual courtesy, offering his hand to help me in. “You’ll understand why the location works so well once you see it,” he says as I settle into the leather seat.
The drive south takes us along the coast road that winds between the forest and the ocean. The afternoon light is that particular Pacific Northwest golden that makes everything look like a postcard, dramatic cliffs and crashing waves and trees that seem determined to grow directly out of solid rock. I keep the window cracked just enough to smell the salt air and feel the cool breeze.
“Tell me about this friend of yours,” I say as we navigate another hairpin turn that puts us closer to the edge than seems strictly safe.
“Professional cleaner for eight years. Bodies, scenes, evidence. If someone needed a situation to never have happened, Axton Marrow was the man you called.” Blue downshifts as we climb higher up the cliff road. “He had an artist’s eye for detail and the stomach for work that would send most people into therapy for life.”
“What made him switch careers?”
“Same thing that drives most career changes. He got tired of the hours, the travel, the stress of working for people who might decide to clean up their own loose ends by having him disappear.” Blue glances at me as we round another curve. “Plus, it turns out the same attention to detail that made him excellent at disposal also makes him exceptional at plating a perfect risotto.”
The restaurant appears around the next bend like something out of a fairy tale. Carved directly into the cliff face, the Cavern looks like it grew from the rock itself. Floor-to-ceiling windows curve along the ocean side, offering views that probably make diners forget whatever they came here to eat. The building seems to hang suspended between the forest above and the waves below, like whoever built it had a death wish and excellent architectural taste.
Blue parks in a small lot hidden among the trees, and as we get out I can hear an unexpected sound echoing from below.
Sea lions. Hundreds of them, from the sound of it, barking and bellowing somewhere below.
“The sea lion colony,” Blue explains as we walk toward the restaurant’s entrance. “They’ve been using the caves under the restaurant as a rookery for decades. They’re loud, but you get used to it.”
“Sounds like quite the dinner soundtrack,” I say.
The entrance is more like stepping into a natural cave than walking into a restaurant. The walls are raw stone, carved and polished to show off the natural grain and color. Warm light comes from fixtures that seem to emerge naturally from the stone, and the sound of waves echoes up from somewhere far below.
A hostess with intricate tattoos covering her arms greets us with professional warmth. “Blue. It’s been too long.” She hugs him like they’re old friends, then turns to study me with intelligent eyes. “And this must be Saylor. Axton’s been looking forward to meeting you.”
“He has?” I ask, surprised.
“News travels fast in our community,” the hostess explains, leading us deeper into the restaurant. “A protégé for Blue is big news. Especially one with your particular motivations.”
The dining room is stunning. The ocean-side wall is entirely glass, offering an unobstructed view of the Pacific stretching to the horizon. Below, I can see the rocky outcroppings where the sea lions have claimed their territory, sleek brown bodies basking in the waning sunlight. The interior walls are the same polished stone as the entrance, and tables are positioned to take advantage of both the view and the acoustics that carry the sound of waves and sea lions throughout the space.