“Remember how to mince?”

“Cut up, very, very small.”

“Very small, those Roma tomatoes and that garlic.”

She applied herself to it, imagining how nice it would be to cook with him like this without the bruises from training or the thoughts of fighting ahead.

“The chicken smells so good.”

“It’ll taste even better with the fettuccini alfredo. Good job. Now the basil I cut from the herb garden? You need to slice that, really thin, but slice, not chop. Right?”

“I know what’s slice, what’s chop. If I lived on the land, I’d have a garden of flowers and herbs and the vegetables, too. I’d sit in it every day and drink wine.”

“Sweet deal.”

He showed her what else to do, with a little wine, the oil, the vinegar, with cheese and with pepper and salt.

“That’s just going to sit awhile,” he told her while he made a sauce in a pan. “So the flavors mix together.”

She liked the way he looked as he stirred things—his body relaxed, his hair catching light from the sun as it came through the windows.

“In the house on land, I’d have a big kitchen like this, with the windows for sun, the big, shiny box for cold things, and all the pretty dishes.”

“A big-ass pantry.”

“Big-ass pantry,” she repeated.

“A long, wide peninsula, doubles as a breakfast counter.”

“A peninsula is a land mass with three sides in the water.”

“Points for you.” Playfully, he shot a finger at her. “In the kitchen it’s a kind of counter. For food prep, and for people to sit, eat casual, or keep you company while you cook.”

“So you’re not lonely. Do you have this kitchen?”

“Me? No. My folks have a nice kitchen, and my grandparents? It’s a mix of old-fashioned and practical updates. But we’re building a dream kitchen here, from scratch.”

The idea of dreaming with him sang in her heart. “What color is it?”

“What’s your favorite?”

“Oh, there are too many for one to be the best.”

“Then we’ll go with green, like your eyes. Stainless steel appliances, commercial-grade six-burner gas range. Maybe dark gray for the cabinets.”

“Your eyes are gray. I like gray.”

“A lot of open or glass fronts on them—for those pretty dishes of yours. Walk-in pantry, farm sink, big windows. South facing so you can have your herbs in pots through the winter. Good start,” he said as he filled a pot with water.

“Can it be near the sea?”

“Hey, dream kitchen, remember? The world’s your oyster.”

“Oysters are very small,” she began, then understood. “An expression.”

“You got it. It means you can have anything you want.”

“I’d want the dream kitchen in a house near the sea. And we would cook in it together every night.”

He looked over then, and she felt him start to speak. But Riley came rushing in.

“Malmon’s in London.” She grabbed a glass, poured wine. “My contact says he’s been seen going and coming from this house in Hyde Park, one that belongs to this rich dude and his third wife. And they haven’t been seen for a couple days. More? Malmon’s butler hanged himself. Police investigated—no foul play, straight suicide.”

“Why the butler?” Sawyer wondered.

“Can’t say, but no signs of drugs, struggle, force. Word is, Malmon’s making arrangements to rent a villa in Capri, and tapping some of his mercs for the trip.”

“They know where we are, but with him still in London, putting it together, we’ve got some time yet.”

“Nerezza knows,” Annika pointed out. “She must know if this Malmon does. She could come sooner.”

“We’ll be ready,” Sawyer assured her. “And as far as ready, dinner nearly is.”

“Riley is to set the table.”

“What? Oh, right.”

“I’m making brush-etta.”

“Bruschetta,” Sawyer corrected.

Annika mouthed the correct pronunciation as Riley grabbed dishes.

As they ate together, all six, and planned, Annika kept an eye on the sky. Nerezza would send her creatures through the sky.

Later, she stepped out front and watched the sea. When Sawyer came out, she let herself lean against him.

“You should try to get some sleep. I really think we’ve got a couple days yet.”

“Why do you think that?”

“I think she’ll use Malmon first, see what he can do, if he can cause some damage. We hurt her last time, and she won’t forget that. And she failed, so it figures she’ll try something else. Malmon’s the something else.”

“You can’t let him hurt you.”

“Don’t intend to. What else?”

“I like to hike. Tomorrow we’ll walk in the hills, but . . . we won’t go into the sea. In Corfu, I could go down to it late at night or very early in the day. Now it’s too far.”

“I can take you down.” He drew out his compass.

“You would?”

“Sure. You can get in a quick swim, then you need to sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a hot, hard climb. The pool’s going to have to do after that. Go ahead, get your suit.”

When she smiled, sliding her gaze up to him under her lashes, he nodded.