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.”