“Oh.” Sawyer studied his water bottle, then looked over at Doyle. “Sorry?”

“No, you’re not, and can’t blame you. But you owe me.”

“How you figure?”

“She used me to get you worked up—classic strategy. She’d owe me, too, but she taught me a couple of solid moves, so she and I are even.”

Sawyer thought of the damn handsprings, and the jealousy crawling over his skin. “Didn’t see it coming.”

“They never do. So, payback? Take it up to her room, then I don’t have to think about how I’m not getting laid.”

“Done. I was pissed at you.”

“Yeah.” With one of his rare smiles, Doyle lifted his coffee. “Can’t blame you there either. You’re a lucky man, Sawyer. She’s like no other.”

“I know it. It’s why I pulled a muscle in my willpower not to go there with her.”

“Brother, when beauty falls into your hand, you hold on to it while you can. You could be dead tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s . . . inspiring.”

When the others came out, Annika walked straight to Sawyer, moved in for a kiss—the sort that made him wonder just how soon they could take it up to her room.

“Are you passing those out?” Doyle asked her.

On a quick laugh, she turned to him, laid her hands on his shoulders, kissed him lightly, sweetly on the lips. “This is how you kiss family. Sawyer is family, too, but it’s different. We have sex.”

“I heard.”

“I had stars in my head. It’s very good sex that makes stars. And I learned about the more stuff. Did you know in the foreplay—such a good word—a man can—”

“Okay.” Hastily, Sawyer grabbed her hand. “We should get started.”

After nearly an hour of squats, shuffles, push-ups, pull-ups, and whatever other torture Doyle could devise, Sawyer made a mountain of pancakes. His call as breakfast chef, and he was in the mood.

Halfway through the meal, and the discussion on how and when they’d case Malmon’s rented villa, Riley’s phone signaled. She took one glance at the readout, rose, and moved off, speaking rapidly in Italian.

When she came back, she picked up her plate, shoveled food in while she stood. “Okay, I scored us three SPP-1Ms, with twenty-four cartridges. Best I could do for now, and the third’s a bonus. We’ll need to hit the kitty,” she told Bran.

“I’ll take care of that part. Where do we pick them up?”

“We need to go out to his boat, so we’ll have to get moving pretty soon. I’ll need you to give me the cash, and some room. This guy doesn’t like crowds.”

“How trustworthy is he?” Bran asked her.

“Well, he’s a smuggler, a gunrunner, and a thief, so he’s slippery. But he won’t screw with me. He’ll keep it straight—wouldn’t want to damage his rep, or lose the sale if we want more ammo.”

“Are these guns stolen?”

Riley shrugged at Sasha. “Don’t ask, don’t tell. We need them, we’ll have them. Or three of them. Sawyer’s the best shot, so I say he gets one. And me, and it should probably be Doyle for the third. Bran’s good, but considering what he can already shoot, a gun’s superfluous. And Sasha’s a decent shot. Doyle’s just better.”

“I’m fine with that, but I should learn how to use it. In case.”

“We can go over all that on the boat, once we have them.”

Though she didn’t like the idea of more guns, Annika said nothing. She did her assigned chores, got her pack for the day, and with the others, walked to the marina.

As they eased out of the slip, Riley pointed. “See that yacht out there? Ten o’clock?”

“Hard to miss,” Doyle answered. “She’s an easy two hundred fifty feet.”

“Yeah, Lester doesn’t go for subtle.”

The smirk lit his gaze as he slid it toward her. “Your smuggler’s named Lester?”

“I used to know a rogue lycan named Sherman. Nice enough guy until he discovered the wonders of cocaine. After that, he really loved ripping out throats three nights a month. Anyway. Just head out, pull up on the port side. I’ll take it from there.” She adjusted her sunglasses, took the bag of cash from Bran.

“Don’t be alarmed if you see a couple of guys with automatic weapons. They’re not going to shoot anybody.”

“Somehow that doesn’t inspire confidence.” And because of it, Sawyer unclipped the holster from the small of his back, reset it on his hip.

“You’re just as likely to see some bimbos sunning French style.”

“For that I need my camera.”

As they approached, Sawyer did see a couple of hard faces with rifles. And though he thought it unfair to assume bimbo, a trio of hot chicks wearing nothing but big sunglasses and tiny, tiny thongs.

“Riley Gwin,” Riley called out. “Lester’s expecting me. And this.” She held up the bag. “Hey, Miguel, ?qué pasa?”

The burly guy with the AK-47 grinned. “No mucho, chica.”

When they lowered the boarding ladder, Doyle signaled Sawyer. “Take the wheel. I’m going with her.”

“No, you’re not.”

Ignoring her, Doyle stepped over, grabbed the ladder, and started up.

“Damn it. Got a friend with me, Miguel! I’ll need some help getting the stock down the ladder.”