Stars of Fortune (The Guardians Trilogy 1)
“Ha. Usually it means I can’t expect miracles until I put some work into it.”
“It’s fair.” Annika nodded. “To deserve miracles, you must work, and believe. This is very nice,” she said to Riley as she drank.
“World famous for a reason. Okay, I can outfit us, get us going for the cost of fuel, oxygen, and a hundred euro a day. If that works, we can pick up the boat in the morning.”
“More than a fair price.” Bran deliberated over the maps. “I’d say we could explore and/or eliminate several of these caves in a day or two. Then move on to the less accessible.”
“Works for me.”
“Will you be able to dive?” Sasha caught the flare of annoyance in Bran’s eyes, simply pushed forward. “He was hurt more seriously than he told us. And there’s no point being angry with me. We’re a team,” she reminded him. “So the health of one is of concern to all.”
“What the hell, Irish.”
“Sasha’s not being fully accurate. It was more serious than I realized, and since it’s been dealt with now, there was no reason to bring it up.”
“Let’s see.” Riley circled her finger in the air. “Come on, show and tell. Nobody dives if they’re not fit for it. That’s just common sense.”
“Bugger it.” He shoved up, tugged up his shirt.
Annika made a sound of sympathy, but Riley rose, gave the healing wounds a careful look. “Okay, bitch got you good, but you’re healing. Next time, ditch the stoic.”
“It’s true what he said. He missed treating the one on his back—and it got infected, badly. And fast,” Sasha added. “We should use a buddy system if . . . if and when this happens again. Any of us might not see how bad we’re hurt until it festers.”
“Good thinking. We can pick up the boat at nine tomorrow morning. Is everyone in?” Riley got nods or shrugs. “Done,” she declared, and poured herself another drink.
* * *
Sasha opted to make it an early night. Battling gods in the morning, boxing lessons in the afternoon, margaritas in the evening, followed by putting together a reasonable meal for six could wear a person out.
And she didn’t want to think about the idea of strapping on an oxygen tank and jumping off a damn inflatable boat.
She got into bed with her sketch pad, leaving the terrace doors open so she could hear the sea. And unwound her crowded thoughts by drawing the olive grove, then amused herself by adding Riley and herself in boxing shorts and gloves.
She did a study of the blooming prickly pear from memory, and considered the idea of doing a series—small, square canvases—of local flora.
She drifted off, lights on, before she’d finished her study of a mandarin tree.
* * *
In her own room, Riley worked on her laptop. She toggled between research and journal entries. Knowledge was a weapon to her mind, and the more you knew, the better armed.
She had maps tacked to the mirror for easy reference. Some books she’d downloaded to her tablet, but there were many, a great many, not available by that system. So she had a pile of old books nearby, and had already made arrangements to send for others from her library.
The experience in the cave told her they didn’t know nearly enough. Yet.
Like Sasha, she’d left her terrace doors open, and enjoyed the sound of the sea mixed with the quiet snores of Apollo, who sprawled sleeping by her chair.
She had her gun, loaded and unholstered, within easy reach. And she laid her hand on it when a new sound—feet padding quietly on stone—joined the others.
Her hand relaxed again when Sasha stepped up to the open doors.
“Hey. Thought you were conked.”
“Bran’s room is empty.”
“He’s probably still downstairs. I had some work I wanted to . . . ” She trailed off when she got a good look at Sasha’s eyes in the wash of moonlight. “Oh, okay. Dream-walking.” She got to her feet, and Apollo stirred himself with a heroic and noisy yawn.
“Do you need Bran?”