Bay of Sighs (13 page)

With her heart in her eyes, she looked toward the lemon grove. “But I do, very much.”

“Hamstrung.” Riley looked at Sasha. “Personally I don't think he's going to be able to hold out for much longer.”

“I think it's honor holding him back. He doesn't want to take advantage of you, Annika.”

“How could he take advantage? If I didn't want him to kiss me, I would say no.”

“It's not always that black-and-white for . . . land people,” Sasha told her. “It doesn't take a seer to know he'd very much like to kiss you.”

“You believe that?” Annika's eyes sparkled like the drink as she looked at Riley. “Do you?”

“Damn skippy.”

On a laugh, Annika pressed her hands together. “I'm so happy I talked to you. This is hopeful.”

“You can't ask him to kiss you?” Riley said.

“No. It's forbidden until after the first time. After the choice.”

“Can you ask why he doesn't kiss you?”

Annika started to speak, then frowned. “It's different to ask why
not. It's . . . conversation, and seeking answers. Not asking for an act. No one told me it's not permitted to ask a human why not. Only not to ask them to.”

Laughing again, she grabbed Riley's hands. “This is so smart!”

“Big brain, and some experience with human males.”

“I should go ask right now.”

“I wouldn't.” Quickly Sasha reached over, joined her hands with Annika's and Riley's. “I think it's best to wait until it's just the two of you. Until you're alone. Asking him in front of the men? He'd feel awkward.”

“Oh. I'll do as you say. You've helped so much.”

“Girl power. The other part of that,” Riley continued, “is you tell us what happens after you ask why not.”

“It's good to talk to females. Males must feel it's good to talk to males.”

“You won that argument. And here they come now.”

Riley thought Sasha had been right. You didn't need the sight to know Sawyer had a case for their mermaid. Sunglasses didn't disguise the fact that his gaze went straight to Annika, lingered there before he put on his affable smile, sauntered across the lawn to the table.

“That looks good.”

“Then it's lucky I made a large pitcher—and brought enough glasses out for everyone. Before I knew you three were having a summit in the grove.”

Bran walked behind Sasha's chair, ran a hand down her hair. “We did some calculations on the best positions for the light potion when it's fully cured. The first of it should be ready after sundown.”

He sat beside her, lifted the pitcher. “What have we here?”

“A kind of raspberry lemonade.”

“I'll get a beer.” Noting the glint in Sasha's eyes, Doyle hesitated. “Or not. You pissed, Blondie?”

“I might have been. Riley would have been. But fortunately all around Annika made some salient points about the male of this species
and many others—and their instincts to protect their women. Even when the women are capable. And that men sometimes require or desire the company of men. Otherwise, we wouldn't be in such amiable moods.”

“Appreciate it, Gorgeous.” Doyle dumped some of the sparkling juice into a glass.

“I said what I did because I believe you respect us. If I believed you didn't respect us, I would be angry.”

“Not only respect. Depend on. And love.” Bran took Sasha's hand, brought it to his lips. When he lowered it, Sasha held a rose, yellow as sunlight. Bran smiled at Annika's audible sigh. “With love comes concern.”

“I don't see you kissing our hands, Irish.”

Now Bran laughed, gestured to Riley. “Give it over.”

“Maybe later.”

“Meanwhile, I think I've worked out how to fulfill Doyle's suggestion for the weapons. For that, I could use your help,
fáidh
.”

“Then you'll have it.”

“Once it's ready to test, I'll need everyone.”

“For magicks?” Annika asked.

“For magicks.”

With a flick of his fingers, Bran produced a rose as pink as candy, another as white as ice. Offered the pink to Annika, who beamed over it. The white to Riley.

“And while we scouted out the grove, and the areas beyond for placing the light bombs, Sawyer had a thought.”

“You had a thought?” Riley smirked at him.

“It happens once or twice a year. We're talking defense, offense, strategy, holding our ground against attacks. And I figure we're going to be dealing with Malmon now, too, and his mercs. The human element. As a fellow human, if I wanted to storm the castle, I wouldn't come at it from below. I'd . . . Can I?”

When he reached for the sketch pad, Sasha nudged it toward him.

“So we're here. Grove here, road there,” he said as he drew a rough map. “Closest neighbors here, here. Bad strategy to send troops up from the road. Maybe a few as a distraction, but it's wasting men and effort. You come from the flanks, but the real vulnerability is west and above. The ground keeps rising. Rough terrain, mountainous. They couldn't come fast, but—”

“Long-range weaponry,” Riley put in, got a nod. She rose, walked back from the pergola, looked up. “Some pretty decent cover. We'd have our own cover in the grove, and with the house itself to some extent, but a good sniper—and he only uses good—could pick us off.”

“He doesn't want us dead,” Sasha began. “Or not all of us.”

“Tranquilizers.” With her hands in her pockets, Riley continued to scan. “He knows what we are, knows he can't kill Doyle anyway. And he'd want me and Annika alive. We're worth a lot more to him alive and captured. Bran, Sasha, maybe he'd be curious enough to want them alive and incapacitated, but Sawyer? All he wants is the compass. Shooting you in the head's the easy path there.”

“Don't say it,” Annika murmured.

“Sorry, but he's already tried to kill Sawyer once. He'll try again.”

“For all the good it'd do him. He kills me, he still won't have the compass. You can't just take it,” Sawyer explained. “It has to be given. You know, presented. Otherwise, it'll just go back to my grandfather.”

“Hmm.” Riley walked back to the table. “Does he know that?”

“He should, but he was pissed off enough in Morocco to send an assassin. Could be he hasn't dug deep enough to know how it all works.”

“Yeah, Malmon and his anger issues. What's the plan?”

“We'll need to scout out the area before Malmon gets here. I don't guess your contact's gotten back to you on that.”

“Not yet, but she will,” Riley assured Sawyer.

“Doyle knows the terrain.”

Riley raised her brows at Doyle. “It's been a couple hundred years. Is your memory that good?”

“It's good enough. Since it is, we'll be heading up tomorrow instead of out to sea. We can't find the star if we're dead or in a cage.”

“Can't argue. And once we're up there—more climbing than hiking—and figure out what would be their best vantage points?”

“We set traps.”

Riley shot a finger at Sawyer. “Now you're talking.”

“We can't use the light bombs,” Bran pointed out. “We can't risk an adventurous tourist or a local setting one off, being burned.”

“My bracelets wouldn't hurt them.”

Bran nodded at Annika. “Exactly so. So I have to conjure something similar, something that will harm only evil or one with evil intent. I've some ideas on it.”

“Then you should be relieved of household chores this evening.”

“I'll do Bran's tasks,” Annika said.

“Thanks for that. I'll need Sasha's help, and I believe she's down for head chef tonight.”

“I'll cover it.” Sawyer shrugged. “No big.”

“Then we'll get started.”

“The rest of us will get in some training in the grove,” Doyle said as Bran and Sasha rose.

“I was afraid you'd say that.”

Doyle glanced at Sawyer. “An hour, then there'll be beer.”

T
hough Annika didn't like beer, she trained for the hour. She didn't like the bruises Doyle gave her when he showed her how to defend against what he called holds and grips.

But he reminded her she'd like a cage much less.

She liked wine and helping Sawyer make dinner, so enjoyed both.
She got to make something he called bruschetta—cutting the long bread in half, toasting it—while he cooked chicken for the dish he called alfredo.

“Remember how to mince?”

“Cut up, very, very small.”

“Very small, those Roma tomatoes and that garlic.”

She applied herself to it, imagining how nice it would be to cook with him like this without the bruises from training or the thoughts of fighting ahead.

“The chicken smells so good.”

“It'll taste even better with the fettuccini alfredo. Good job. Now the basil I cut from the herb garden? You need to slice that, really thin, but slice, not chop. Right?”

“I know what's slice, what's chop. If I lived on the land, I'd have a garden of flowers and herbs and the vegetables, too. I'd sit in it every day and drink wine.”

“Sweet deal.”

He showed her what else to do, with a little wine, the oil, the vinegar, with cheese and with pepper and salt.

“That's just going to sit awhile,” he told her while he made a sauce in a pan. “So the flavors mix together.”

She liked the way he looked as he stirred things—his body relaxed, his hair catching light from the sun as it came through the windows.

“In the house on land, I'd have a big kitchen like this, with the windows for sun, the big, shiny box for cold things, and all the pretty dishes.”

“A big-ass pantry.”

“Big-ass pantry,” she repeated.

“A long, wide peninsula, doubles as a breakfast counter.”

“A peninsula is a land mass with three sides in the water.”

“Points for you.” Playfully, he shot a finger at her. “In the kitchen it's a kind of counter. For food prep, and for people to sit, eat casual, or keep you company while you cook.”

“So you're not lonely. Do you have this kitchen?”

“Me? No. My folks have a nice kitchen, and my grandparents? It's a mix of old-fashioned and practical updates. But we're building a dream kitchen here, from scratch.”

The idea of dreaming with him sang in her heart. “What color is it?”

“What's your favorite?”

“Oh, there are too many for one to be the best.”

“Then we'll go with green, like your eyes. Stainless steel appliances, commercial-grade six-burner gas range. Maybe dark gray for the cabinets.”

“Your eyes are gray. I like gray.”

“A lot of open or glass fronts on them—for those pretty dishes of yours. Walk-in pantry, farm sink, big windows. South facing so you can have your herbs in pots through the winter. Good start,” he said as he filled a pot with water.

“Can it be near the sea?”

“Hey, dream kitchen, remember? The world's your oyster.”

“Oysters are very small,” she began, then understood. “An expression.”

“You got it. It means you can have anything you want.”

“I'd want the dream kitchen in a house near the sea. And we would cook in it together every night.”

He looked over then, and she
felt
him start to speak. But Riley came rushing in.

“Malmon's in London.” She grabbed a glass, poured wine. “My contact says he's been seen going and coming from this house in Hyde Park, one that belongs to this rich dude and his third wife. And
they
haven't been seen for a couple days. More? Malmon's butler hanged himself. Police investigated—no foul play, straight suicide.”

“Why the butler?” Sawyer wondered.

“Can't say, but no signs of drugs, struggle, force. Word is, Malmon's
making arrangements to rent a villa in Capri, and tapping some of his mercs for the trip.”

“They know where we are, but with him still in London, putting it together, we've got some time yet.”

“Nerezza knows,” Annika pointed out. “She must know if this Malmon does. She could come sooner.”

“We'll be ready,” Sawyer assured her. “And as far as ready, dinner nearly is.”

“Riley is to set the table.”

“What? Oh, right.”

“I'm making brush-etta.”

“Bruschetta,” Sawyer corrected.

Annika mouthed the correct pronunciation as Riley grabbed dishes.

As they ate together, all six, and planned, Annika kept an eye on the sky. Nerezza would send her creatures through the sky.

Later, she stepped out front and watched the sea. When Sawyer came out, she let herself lean against him.

“You should try to get some sleep. I really think we've got a couple days yet.”

“Why do you think that?”