Bay of Sighs (The Guardians Trilogy 2)

He drew her in, took the kiss slow, quiet, deep. And wondered how he managed to go even an hour without having her pressed against him.

“You two really need to get a room.” Riley stood above them, hands on her hips.

“We’re weighing the scales on the good side,” Sawyer told her.

“Whatever. Did you cover it down to there?”

“Every mark. Take a look here.”

Quick, surefooted, she picked her way down, then crouched as Sawyer did.

“Well, shit.” Like he had, she stretched onto her belly. “You’ve got to give it to Doyle. This is prime for a nest. Get yourself an M24 or an—”

“AS-50,” Doyle said and jumped lightly down beside them.

Riley looked over her shoulder. “Next on my list.”

He got down, shoulder to shoulder with her, nodded. “Yeah, cover, stability, scope, and range. It’s all right here.”

“Good as a clock tower,” Riley agreed. “We walk outside, bang and bang. Ducks in a pond, all six.”

“Well, five out of six.”

“Right. You’d quack again.”

“They would overpower him—one man against many.” Sick at the thought, Annika looked down at Doyle. “And give him pain, endlessly. We can’t allow it.”

“Won’t,” Riley corrected. “You got any left?”

Sawyer patted the satchel. “Three.”

“And you?” She tapped Doyle with her elbow as she pushed up. “Any more spots strike you as bomb-worthy?”

“One or two.”

“Then we’ll cover it.” She wiggled her fingers for the bag. “Here come Sash and Bran. The four of you go on. We’ll finish this off and catch up. Then I believe it’s margarita time.”

“Not Bellini?”

Riley shook her head at Annika. “After a climb like this? It’s got to be the margarita. You know what’s good with margaritas after climbing up and in the hills for a few hours setting traps for bad guys? Salsa.”

“Got you covered,” Sawyer told her.

By the time they got back to the villa, Annika wanted the pool, the comfort of the water. Since Sasha and Sawyer had already started to chop and slice, she ran upstairs, changed into one of her new suits and the wrap that flowed over it.

When she came out, Doyle stood on the far side of the pool, looking up at the hills. He wore sunglasses and had a hand resting on the hilt of the knife in his belt.

He looked like a warrior, strong and fit and ready to face whatever came.

“You don’t have the beer.”

“I’ll get to it.”

“You look up where we’ve just been because you worry. Did you miss something important? Will all we did be for nothing? You worry we’ll be killed, in spite of all the work and planning. We won’t.”

“Optimism’s part of your charm, Gorgeous.”

“We won’t,” she repeated and walked over to him. “But you’ve seen more death than anyone should. An immortal faces death every day, but never his own. The losses, like the men who fell before you, are always there.”