Bay of Sighs (21 page)

“Why wait?” Sawyer had to side with her. “Y'all mostly decided on the time to give me a chance to finish the bugs. They're done, so let's move it up.”

“And if there is someone in residence?” Sasha asked.

“We'll figure it out.” Considering that, Riley switched wine for water. “It's a hell of a lot easier to figure out on-site than it is to speculate.”

“There's a point,” Bran agreed. “So should we say we'll leave here at nine then?”

It wasn't the romantic garden walk Sawyer had envisioned, but he calculated every step took them closer to resolution. If they could eavesdrop on any of Malmon's plans, they could foil them, maybe turn them back on him.

And if they beat him badly enough, what use would he be to Nerezza? Whatever punishment she might mete out for failure, he'd earned.

“We're closer to the sea,” Annika told him. “More above it, but closer.”

“He'd want a good view.”

They came to a wall.

“Other side of this,” Riley told them. “The gate should be up ahead. It'll be locked. Smarter to go over the wall anyway.”

“Let me check it out.”

Sawyer moved ahead, came to the gate—iron, elaborate, arched, and secured with an electronic lock. Behind it he made out a pebbled road wide enough for a vehicle, and shielding trees, bushes. But no cameras.

As he walked back, he scanned the area. More homes, but he saw no one on the road, no one in a window.

“I didn't see an alarm or cameras, but if we tried the gate, it might set something off. I can get us on the other side.”

“I've got mine.” Bran put an arm around Sasha's waist, floated up with her, over, and down.

“Never gets old,” Sawyer commented. “Okay team, huddle up. Quick trip.”

He had them over the wall where the air was sweet with flowers and the night full of shadows.

“Stay together,” Bran said quietly. “And keep out of the light.”

Keeping the pebbled road close, they passed through a lemon grove, circled around an area with stone benches and a small fountain, then through a garden lush with blooms and scent.

“Got our garden walk after all.” He gave Annika's hand a squeeze, then stopped. “Wowzer.”

The villa loomed ahead, white as fresh snow with windows black and glittering in the starlight. The pebbled path split, one stream toward the house, banked with rose bushes, another toward an outbuilding.

The face boasted wide terraces held by carved columns.

It rose three stories, along with what he took as a rooftop terrace. The stream of moonlight turned it all into a charcoal sketch of indulgence.

“It makes our villa on Corfu look like the low-rent district.”

“I liked ours better. We had Apollo.”

Sawyer gave Annika's hand another squeeze. “He's a great dog.”

“No lights on,” Riley pointed out. “It's not even ten o'clock. If anyone was in there, we'd see lights.”

“Ones out here are probably motion-activated,” Sawyer said. “You know, get home late, they come on as you get close to the house, so you don't fall on your face. Shouldn't matter. If anybody sees lights come on, they'll just figure someone's staying here.”

“Provided no one's in there, and just called it an early night,” Sasha pointed out.

“Let me check it out. I can be in and out, like the Flash.”

Before Sawyer could take out the compass, Riley gripped his arm. “Not on your own, Barry Allen. Just like Doyle had to come with me this morning. I'll go with you.”

“Fine by me. Give us ten minutes.”

When they vanished, Annika frowned. “Why did she call him that name? The Barry Allen name.”

“I have no idea,” Bran said.

“The Flash—his civilian name. Christ,” Doyle muttered. “Hasn't anyone read a graphic novel?” With a shake of his head he moved into deeper shadows. “I'll scout the grounds.”

“Keep close,” Bran warned.

“I'll be close enough.”

He vanished into the dark as Riley and Sawyer had vanished into the air.

I
n just under ten minutes, Sawyer popped back, alone.

“The place is empty, and it's a simple exterior security system. We're fine inside.” He nodded as lights came on in the villa. “Riley's scouting locations for the bugs. It's a hell of a place. I should've made a freaking dozen.”

“We'll work with what we have,” Bran said.

“We've got what we've got.” His hand went to his gun, then relaxed again when Doyle melted out of the shadows. “Ready?”

Sawyer took Annika's hand, shifted them all inside.

Light splashed on smoke-gray tiles and dark wood in a soaring entranceway crowned by a double staircase.

“We did a quick sweep down here, another on the next two levels. Kitchen's stocked, and there's fresh flowers everywhere. There's an outdoor kitchen on this level, and another on the roof terrace. There's enough food for an army, but it wouldn't be like Malmon to have more than his personal security and key people in-house. He wouldn't house his grunts here.”

“And no word on how many he might have or where he'll house
them.” Riley came down the grand staircase in scarred hiking boots. “Eight bedrooms in this place, including two master suites. One's more masterful than the other, and you can take it to the bank Malmon would pick that. The bathtub's freestanding, natural stone, and big enough for a party. I want it for my own, but more to the point I vote for a bug in there.”

“I agree with that. He won't have meetings in there,” Sawyer added. “But he's likely to use it—it's pretty princely—to make calls, send out orders, get sitreps.”

“I don't know that word.”

“Situation reports,” Doyle told Annika. “Shorthand for it. Prime location would be where he'd meet with his team leaders.”

“Yeah, Sawyer and I talked about that. Main level—that's how we see it.”

“And you know him, we don't,” Bran put in.

“Yeah.” Still Sawyer looked around. “We did, like I said, a quick sweep. We should spread out, do a more thorough one.”

They rejected the kitchen, the main-level bedrooms, a game room, and took it down to a spacious parlor with windows looking out over gardens and out to sea or an office and library combination with an elaborate antique desk, more dark, heavy wood, lots of rich Italian leather.

“What's your instinct?” Bran looked at Riley and Sawyer. “Which strikes you?”

“He'd like lording that view over his underlings,” Riley began. “And he might use the parlor deal, or the big terrace down here for a meet. But . . .”

“Office—that desk.” Sawyer nodded at her. “It's command center. It's ‘I'm in fucking charge here.' That's Malmon.”

“Do both.” Doyle scanned the office. “You've given us a clear sense of him, haven't you? He's not doing serious work above this level—not having his soldiers come into what he'd think of as more
personal areas. Rooftop terrace, the pool, the setup? It's an ass-kicker, but main level, that's business.”

“Two down here, one in the bedroom. I should've made more bugs.”

“Whatever we might get is something we wouldn't have had,” Bran pointed out.

“Okay. Agreed? And done,” Sawyer said when he got nods. “Bookcase is handy behind the desk. They will sweep.”

“I'll take care of that,” Bran assured him.

After studying the shelves, Sawyer picked up a small silver box, opened it. “Pretty much tailor-made.”

As Sawyer slipped the device inside, Bran held a hand over it. For a moment it glowed clear, cold blue.

“A kind of shield,” Bran explained.

They repeated the process in the parlor, in the bedroom they believed Malmon would claim.

“I want to test it. I need one of you at each location. I'm going to shift back to our villa. Y'all give me, we'll say three minutes, then I need whoever's in the office to say something, a couple of sentences. Give it ten seconds, then same thing from the parlor, another ten, bedroom. If it works, I'll be back right after. If it doesn't, give me about two minutes for adjustments, go through the round again.”

It took two rounds before he was satisfied. Careful to leave everything as they found it, Sawyer traveled them back to the villa.

“You look a little beat-up,” Riley observed.

“No, just used up some. A lot of traveling in a short span. It takes it out of you.”

“I'll make you a snack.”

He started to brush off Annika's offer, thought better of it. “You know, that'd be great. I'm a little low on juice.”

As Annika hurried to the kitchen, with Sasha behind her to supervise, Sawyer sat under the pergola. “Now we wait.”

“I'll keep trying to find out where he's housing his troops. If I get a hit, we might be able to screw something up for him. In fact, I'll—”

Riley broke off when Annika ran out. “Sasha says they're coming. From the sky. They're coming.”

“Weapons,” Doyle snapped out.

Training paid off. In less than two minutes they stood together, fully armed, in the grove.

“Make them come to us,” Riley ordered. “Make them maneuver. You up for this, Dead-Eye?”

“Count on it,” Sawyer replied, a gun in each hand.

They winged down from the sky, not the mutant batlike creatures from Corfu, but hundreds upon hundreds of the strange, vicious birds they'd dealt with on the boat.

Smaller, faster, more agile but no less lethal, they poured into the grove.

Sasha's bolt went through three at once, which burst into ash.

Sawyer fired, two-handed, while blades cleaved. Their wings, he discovered as one sliced through leaves, barely missed his throat, were as deadly as talon and beak.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Annika flip back, delivering two fierce kicks as her bracelets shot two more. And the wing that sliced through the sole of her shoe.

“Watch the wings!” he shouted. “They're like razors.”

Dropping into a crouch, he fired right, left, then checked his timing. If he waited for a group he could, as Sasha did, take out multiples with one shot. One caught him as it fell, the keen wing grazing his shoulder before it went to ash. To avoid the next, he dropped, rolled, and took out a dozen more before he had to reload.

To his right, Bran blasted out streams to cover him. He caught sight of Riley falling flat on her back to avoid a low swoop, and Doyle's sword cutting through so she rolled away from falling ash, firing as she did.

He smelled the ash, the stink of it, and blood. The others', his own, as a trio he aimed for split apart. He took out the high two, but the one who went low caught him with talons at the ankle.

Mindful of his hands, he used the butt of his gun to smash at it, then put a bullet through it as it lay fluttering on the ground.

Then Annika lifted her arms, spun, spun, spun, bracelets flashing until ash fell like rain.

For a moment, the grove echoed with power, and with silence.

In a defiant gesture, Riley kicked at a pile of ash, then swiped at the blood trickling down her temple.

“Now I want a snack.”

Turning, Annika hugged her. “I'll make you one.”

When he noticed her limping, Sawyer grabbed Annika around the waist. “Did they get your feet?”

“A little. But they ruined my new shoes.”

As Sawyer felt the heat of battle fade into a laugh, Doyle sheathed his sword. “Put a slice in my coat. Bet you can fix that,” he said to Bran.

“Seriously? You want him to use magick to fix your coat?”

Doyle only shrugged at Riley. “It's a good coat.”

“Why don't we go inside?” Bran lifted one of Sasha's hands, bleeding, to his lips. “Assess all the damage. I think we look at flesh first, then see what we can do about coats and shoes.”

“That was a hell of a move there.” Sawyer kept his arm around Annika as they walked. “The last one—spinning?”

“I was very mad about the shoes. I had a lot of angry energy.”

“Looks good on you. You've got some nicks. Those little bastards are fast.”

“We kicked their ass. Don't say it,” Riley warned Doyle. “I'm not an idiot. She just wanted to keep us busy, to see if we've got something new going—like her little lovebirds. Suicide squad, that's what they were.”

In the kitchen, Bran cleaned and dressed wounds with Sasha's help.

“Not too much damage, considering.”

Frowning, Doyle picked up his leather coat, poked a finger through the slice in the sleeve. “I like this coat. It's only got about thirty years on it.”

“I'll have a look at it.” At the kitchen sink, Bran washed blood and balm from his hands. “And now that we're on the mend, I'll tell you we will have that something new. The bolts, bullets, blades—and the bracelets. I've nearly got what we'll want there. Another day, two at most.”

“Hot damn,” Riley said over a mouthful of salami and cheese.

“If it works as planned, we'll be able to take out a swarm of those bloody birds with one shot.”

“Even hotter damn.” As he ate, as he felt his energy level creep up from zero, Sawyer nodded at Riley. “We're going to need to score more ammo anyway.”

“Got that covered.”

“Now you.” Sasha nudged Bran to sit so she could treat his wounds. “It's the same as on Corfu. A nightmare like that comes out of the sky. We fight, bleed, kill, and no one notices. It doesn't happen for anyone else.”

“Best it doesn't, isn't it? Explanations only cause complications. I'm going out, make sure there aren't any stragglers.”

“Hell.” Riley stuffed another bite in her mouth, rose with Doyle. “I'll go with you.”

Bran crooked a finger. “Let's see the coat first.”

After Doyle tossed him the coat, Bran laid a hand over the gash in the sleeve as Sasha coated balm over one in his own arm.

Then he handed back the coat, battered as it had been, but undamaged.

“Thanks.”

When they went out, Bran smiled at Annika. “You don't ask me to fix your shoes?”

“It's not important. Doyle's coat is like . . . armor. I think it's a kind of armor for him. These are only shoes.”

“Without them,” Sasha pointed out, “your feet would have been cut more seriously.” She picked them up from the floor herself, handed them to Bran. “So, they're a kind of armor, too.”

When Bran handed them back to her, whole, Annika hugged him. “Thank you. I'm going to take Sawyer to bed now.”

Sawyer choked on a bite of salami; Annika offered him water.

“He doesn't say it, but he's very tired. The food helps, but now he needs to rest. Come to bed, Sawyer. You can sleep in my bed. Only sleep,” she added, offering a hand.

As she led him out, they heard her say, “If you want to have sex, you should lie quiet and let me take you to the ending.”

With a half laugh, Bran tugged Sasha into his lap. “What a woman she is.”

“But she's not.” Torn, Sasha stared after them. “She's not of this world, and her time here is limited. It's limited because she saved my life.”

She pressed her cheek to Bran's, to the gift he was to her. “I encouraged this between them. They both wanted, and I . . . But the love for him, Bran, it pours out of her. Deep and fierce and complete. Now, all I can think is, what will happen to her, to her heart, when she has to leave him?”

“Love is.” Treasuring his own, he stroked her hair. “And sometimes the gods are kind to those who give it.”

“Not much evidence of that so far.”

“Right here.” He drew her into a kiss. “How could I not believe in the kindness of the gods when I have you? Be glad for what they have now.”

“And have faith in tomorrow?”

“It's what we have. Now, you should rest as well.”

“And if I want sex?”

Laughing, he stood with her. “I'll be happy to take you to the ending.”