Bay of Sighs (20 page)

He choked out a laugh. “Thanks. I'm . . . fond of it.”

“I am, too. Will you put it inside me again?”

No one like her, he thought, in this world. In any world. “I'd say that's a sure bet after this.”

“And was this time awfully quick?”

He took her hand from his heart, kissed it. “I guess the first part was—you know, the foreplay. The before the . . .” Jeez. “Mating.”

“Ah, you mean the touching and kissing. I like that very much. It's better to have that longer?”

“Depends. But there's more stuff people like to do sometimes before the big guns.”

“More? What more?”

She wasn't innocent, he told himself. But she was unschooled in certain areas. “You know, maybe you should talk about some of this with Sasha and Riley.”

“I did. That's how I knew to come here and take off my dress and wear just the shoes.”

“You . . . Really?”

“You liked the shoes. I'll tell them.”

He just closed his eyes. “I bet you will.”

Slowly, she circled a finger over his heart, trailed it lightly down his chest. “Will you do the more stuff to me? You'll teach me so I can do more stuff to you.”

“Annika, you kill me.”

“That's an expression. I would never hurt you.”

“I know.” As he turned his head to kiss her, a thought struck him like a bolt from a crossbow. “I didn't protect you.”

“There was no danger.”

“No, I mean . . . ” He pushed up, drawing her with him. “Can you get pregnant?”

“Oh, no. I can't have young with you. We're from different worlds, not enough the same. I'm sorry.”

“No.” Relieved, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “It's better that way. We've got a war going on for one thing. And you only have a couple more months—”

Quickly, she laid a finger over his lips. “Don't speak of the end. Please. We have now.”

“You're right. If you worry too much about tomorrow, you miss appreciating what is. I appreciate what is, with you.”

She laid her head on his shoulder. “I want to stay with you tonight.”

“I want you to stay. The bed's a little small, but we'll manage.”

“Yes.” She snuggled down with him again. “Is it true it can be more than once?”

“Yeah. It's getting pretty close to being true right now.”

“Then before we sleep, you could show me one of the more stuff.”

“I could do that.” As he angled down to kiss her, he slid his hand down her body, between her legs.

“Oh! I like this stuff!”

He laughed, even as he made her come again.

I
n the morning, Sawyer headed outside for calisthenics feeling like a man who could run twenty miles—all uphill—without getting winded, then polish that off by eating the equivalent of a team of horses.

He found Doyle leaning against the outdoor table, drinking coffee while the sky went pale and pink.

“The others should be right along,” Sawyer said.

“Mmm-hmm. You got lucky. It's all over you, brother,” Doyle added. “And if it wasn't, I'm next door. Your mermaid's enthusiastically vocal.”

“Oh.” Sawyer studied his water bottle, then looked over at Doyle. “Sorry?”

“No, you're not, and can't blame you. But you owe me.”

“How you figure?”

“She used me to get you worked up—classic strategy. She'd owe me, too, but she taught me a couple of solid moves, so she and I are even.”

Sawyer thought of the damn handsprings, and the jealousy crawling over his skin. “Didn't see it coming.”

“They never do. So, payback? Take it up to her room, then I don't have to think about how I'm not getting laid.”

“Done. I was pissed at you.”

“Yeah.” With one of his rare smiles, Doyle lifted his coffee. “Can't
blame you there either. You're a lucky man, Sawyer. She's like no other.”

“I know it. It's why I pulled a muscle in my willpower not to go there with her.”

“Brother, when beauty falls into your hand, you hold on to it while you can. You could be dead tomorrow.”

“Well, that's . . . inspiring.”

When the others came out, Annika walked straight to Sawyer, moved in for a kiss—the sort that made him wonder just how soon they could take it up to her room.

“Are you passing those out?” Doyle asked her.

On a quick laugh, she turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders, kissed him lightly, sweetly on the lips. “This is how you kiss family. Sawyer is family, too, but it's different. We have sex.”

“I heard.”

“I had stars in my head. It's very good sex that makes stars. And I learned about the more stuff. Did you know in the foreplay—such a good word—a man can—”

“Okay.” Hastily, Sawyer grabbed her hand. “We should get started.”

After nearly an hour of squats, shuffles, push-ups, pull-ups, and whatever other torture Doyle could devise, Sawyer made a mountain of pancakes. His call as breakfast chef, and he was in the mood.

Halfway through the meal, and the discussion on how and when they'd case Malmon's rented villa, Riley's phone signaled. She took one glance at the readout, rose, and moved off, speaking rapidly in Italian.

When she came back, she picked up her plate, shoveled food in while she stood. “Okay, I scored us three SPP-1Ms, with twenty-four cartridges. Best I could do for now, and the third's a bonus. We'll need to hit the kitty,” she told Bran.

“I'll take care of that part. Where do we pick them up?”

“We need to go out to his boat, so we'll have to get moving pretty
soon. I'll need you to give me the cash, and some room. This guy doesn't like crowds.”

“How trustworthy is he?” Bran asked her.

“Well, he's a smuggler, a gunrunner, and a thief, so he's slippery. But he won't screw with me. He'll keep it straight—wouldn't want to damage his rep, or lose the sale if we want more ammo.”

“Are these guns stolen?”

Riley shrugged at Sasha. “Don't ask, don't tell. We need them, we'll have them. Or three of them. Sawyer's the best shot, so I say he gets one. And me, and it should probably be Doyle for the third. Bran's good, but considering what he can already shoot, a gun's superfluous. And Sasha's a decent shot. Doyle's just better.”

“I'm fine with that, but I should learn how to use it. In case.”

“We can go over all that on the boat, once we have them.”

Though she didn't like the idea of more guns, Annika said nothing. She did her assigned chores, got her pack for the day, and with the others, walked to the marina.

As they eased out of the slip, Riley pointed. “See that yacht out there? Ten o'clock?”

“Hard to miss,” Doyle answered. “She's an easy two hundred fifty feet.”

“Yeah, Lester doesn't go for subtle.”

The smirk lit his gaze as he slid it toward her. “Your smuggler's named Lester?”

“I used to know a rogue lycan named Sherman. Nice enough guy until he discovered the wonders of cocaine. After that, he really loved ripping out throats three nights a month. Anyway. Just head out, pull up on the port side. I'll take it from there.” She adjusted her sunglasses, took the bag of cash from Bran.

“Don't be alarmed if you see a couple of guys with automatic weapons. They're not going to shoot anybody.”

“Somehow that doesn't inspire confidence.” And because of it,
Sawyer unclipped the holster from the small of his back, reset it on his hip.

“You're just as likely to see some bimbos sunning French style.”

“For that I need my camera.”

As they approached, Sawyer did see a couple of hard faces with rifles. And though he thought it unfair to assume bimbo, a trio of hot chicks wearing nothing but big sunglasses and tiny, tiny thongs.

“Riley Gwin,” Riley called out. “Lester's expecting me. And this.” She held up the bag. “Hey, Miguel,
¿
qué pasa?
”

The burly guy with the AK-47 grinned.
“No mucho, chica.”

When they lowered the boarding ladder, Doyle signaled Sawyer. “Take the wheel. I'm going with her.”

“No, you're not.”

Ignoring her, Doyle stepped over, grabbed the ladder, and started up.

“Damn it. Got a friend with me, Miguel! I'll need some help getting the stock down the ladder.”

A moment later Doyle boarded, then Riley, and both moved out of sight.

“How long do we give them?” Sawyer kept his eyes on the men with guns.

“Ten minutes,” Bran decided. “Can you read them,
fáidh
?”

“The one she called Miguel would like to see Annika and me naked. The other one . . . he feels a little unwell. Indigestion, I think.”

“Ten minutes,” Bran said again, “unless Sasha feels a change.”

It took every bit of the ten, and as Sawyer worked out how best to protect his friends, get on the yacht, and save the others, he heard Riley laugh.

But he didn't relax until he saw her coming down the ladder, a leather satchel strapped cross-body and a metal case in one hand.

Doyle came after her, another satchel, another case, and some sort of box tucked under his arm.

“
Ciao
, Miguel.”

“Hasta luego, chica.”
He blew her a sly kiss, but stood, armed, until Sawyer turned the boat out to sea.

“All good?” Sawyer asked.

“Five-by-five. Three Russian underwater pistols with cartridges, holsters, and cases. And a little gift for Doyle. Lester took to Doyle, which is fortunate, as Lester doesn't like alterations in agreements.”

“You couldn't have carried it all.” After taking off the satchel, Doyle passed it to Bran. “Lester is barely taller than Gwin here, with a face like a rat after it's been squeezed in a door.”

“He's also worth about a couple hundred million, and is quite the bon vivant. He likes brainless, built women and hot, younger men, often at the same time. He'd have oiled you up and slithered all over you given half the chance,” she said to Doyle.

“Not my type. But I got a prime bottle of tequila out of it.”

“Tres Cuatro y Cinco—that's not just prime tequila, it's the god of tequilas. It ain't for margaritas or Jell-O shots. It's for sipping and savoring. Anyway, Lester came through.”

She sat, opened a satchel. “Let me show you our new toys.”

“First? Where am I going?”

“I'll take the wheel.” Doyle moved to the wheelhouse. “I've seen the new toys.”

Because she didn't really want to see the guns, Annika rose. “I'll go with Doyle. He's going to teach me to drive the boat.”

“Here, you take the wheel.”

As Sawyer moved aside, Doyle shifted Annika, put her hands on the wheel.

“I can?”

“I'm staying right here.”

Behind her the men exchanged a look that expressed appreciation on one end, acknowledgment on the other. With Annika occupied, Sawyer went back for a briefing on SPP-1Ms.

Once in the water, he didn't fire it—no safe target and no point in
wasting ammunition. But he got the feel of it, the weight, the balance—a different sensation.

As they dove, with the search once again the focus, he kept Annika—and all the rest—in his eyeline.

Riley's intel could be wrong, or Malmon might have sent advance forces. But again they found nothing, and no one.

Still, he had a job to finish. When they got back to the villa, he focused on that. The others gave him room and quiet.

He glanced up when Annika came in.

“I'm sorry, but Sasha said you need to eat.”

“I'm nearly done.”

“She said she's making chicken parmigiana.”

And suddenly, he was hungry. “Really?”

“And it would be time to eat it in thirty minutes.”

“That should work for me.”

“Sawyer? Will you lie with me in my bed tonight?”

“I was going to ask you the same.”

Her smile just brightened the room. “Then I could put the laundry I folded—yours—in my room?”

“That'd be nice.”

But she should have more than just sex, he thought. Because however fatalistic, Doyle had it right. When beauty fell into your hand, you held on to it.

And in Sawyer's mind, you cherished it.

“Maybe we could take a walk around the gardens after dinner.”

“That would be nice, too. I like to walk with you, and have you hold my hand like Bran holds Sasha's.”

But over dinner, Riley suggested moving up the timetable.

“We head over to Malmon's villa, scope it out. We need to make sure it's empty. He could've sent staff or soldiers ahead, or arranged for locals to stock it up for him.”

“That's why we decided to go in after midnight,” Doyle reminded her.

“It's after eight now, and a good thirty-minute hike. We need to case it, find any exterior security, deal with it. After Sawyer pops us in, we may have more security to deal with. Then we have to find the three most logical locations for the bugs.”