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“And to think this all started on date night.”
“Which I’m going to make up to you,” he said, when someone knocked on their door. He crossed the floor of their suite to answer it.
Dietrich was there, an odd look on his face.
“What’s wrong?” Remi asked, getting up from the couch.
“The autopsy report came in. I wasn’t even aware they were doing one.”
“They had to,” Sam said. “At least if they wanted to find out why the plane went down.”
“Come in,” Remi said, drawing him to the couch. She took a seat next to him. “What does it say?”
“All but two died from injuries received on impact.”
“Does it give a cause of death for those two?”
Dietrich looked down at the papers, almost as if he didn’t believe the report himself. “The unidentified sixth passenger died of a stab wound to the heart. The pilot from a single gunshot wound to the head . . . It’s just . . .”
He handed the papers over. Sam, noticing the report was written in Spanish, gave it to Remi. She scanned the document, then glanced up, a look of astonishment on her face. “I didn’t expect this . . .”
“Expect what?” Sam asked.
“That they’d make a determination on who shot the gun. It’s not conclusive, but they think there’s a cut and stippling on the hand of the person who fired it. Klaus.”
“Klaus?”
Remi nodded. “They believe that he’s the one who killed the pilot.”
Dietrich nodded. “That’s why I came over. I just . . .” He let out a sigh. “I guess what I mean is that all this guilt I carried over the years, knowing my great-great-uncle was this horrible Nazi . . .”
Remi put her hand on his arm. “That was never your fault. Ever.”
“Maybe not,” he said. “But that’s how I felt.”
“Well, then,” Remi said. “You have to feel a lot better reading about Klaus. The boy’s a hero. Who knows how many lives he saved by keeping Operation Werewolf from happening?”
“I don’t think I would’ve been brave enough to kill the pilot and bring down the plane.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Sam said, walking over to the bar. He poured three glasses of Rémy Martin and brought one over to Dietrich and Remi before picking up his own. “The way I see it, you inherited the same genes as young Klaus. That deserves a toast.”
“I’m not so sure,” Dietrich said.
“Are you kidding?” Remi replied. “Who was it who decided to set up a cantina in Wolf Guard territory, hoping to gather evidence of their drug running? On top of that, you never gave up searching for Klaus. Even knowing the type of people who were trying to stop you and how dangerous they were. Klaus and your grandfather would be very proud of you.”
Dietrich stared at his drink before looking up at them. “I never really thought about it like that.” He smiled suddenly, lifting his glass. “To Klaus?”
“To Klaus,” they both said, touching their glasses to his.
89
GOLDFISH POINT
LA JOLLA, CALIFORNIA
Sam, wearing a suit and tie, waited by the door for Remi. When she hadn’t appeared within a few minutes, he looked at his watch. “The limo’s waiting,” he called out.
“On my way,” she said, her voice coming from the second-floor hallway. She walked down the stairs a few minutes later, dressed in a Ralph Lauren black jacquard-weave tuxedo jacket with black satin lapels, a silk ruffled shirt, and her favorite jeans.
