“Hindsight.” Riley snatched her glass back. “We can go back if we decide we need another.”

“You said you’d picked up more,” Sasha reminded her. “Information.”

“Yeah, we did. I vote we go down, get into the pizza. I had to smell it all the way home, and I’m ready to eat.”

“Don’t have to ask me twice. I’m going to take this down now,” Sawyer said, rifle in hand. “I’d like to try it out after we eat.”

When they started down with the main floor supplies, Sasha held Bran back.

“Something happened between them—Riley and Doyle.”

“They argued? Not surprising.”

“I don’t mean arguing.”

“Ah.” Now he smiled. “I don’t suppose that’s something that should come as a surprise either, should it? Two healthy, attractive people in a close and intense situation. More inevitable than surprising. Why would it worry you?” He tapped a finger between her eyebrows. “I can see the worry.”

“If it’s just sex, that’s one thing. Despite assignment charts, family meals, Annika’s shopping sprees—all we do to establish a kind of order and normality, we’ve been risking our lives every day since we met. So sex, well, that’s another kind of normality. But . . . he’s closed his heart off, Bran. It’s his only defense against living decade after decade while everyone he knows dies. Even the trust, the connection, the affection he feels for all of us is troubling and difficult for him.”

“I know it. And Riley knows it as well.”

“But Riley is, well, she’s a pack animal. It’s her nature. She needs and values her solitude, her studies, but at the core she’s team and family oriented. And wolves, they mate for life, don’t they?”

“I have a strong suspicion Riley mated before this.”

“He’s her counterpart.”

Now Bran frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve felt it all along. From her, not him. He’s so closed off, it’s rare for him to send out any feelings or emotions—and I don’t push in.”

“You don’t, no.”

“It’s more what I feel when I look at them together, or think of them together. He’s what she wants, whether she knows it or admits it, he’s what she wants for the long haul. I think she could fall in love with him, and it could hurt her.”

Bran laid his hands on Sasha’s shoulders. “She’s the first true friend you’ve ever had.”

“Yes. And she’s the one who offered the friendship, the first who did knowing what I am.”

“So it’s natural you’d worry for her, worry about her. And still, Riley’s a woman grown, and as smart and tough as they come. She’ll have to walk her own path on this. You’ll be there for her wherever it takes her.”

With a nod, Sasha moved in for a hug, held on, and wished with all she had, her first true friend could be as happy as she was.

“Hey!” Snapping with impatience, Riley’s voice boomed up the stairs. “Jump each other later, or we eat without you.”

“We’re coming now.” Sasha eased back, took Bran’s hand.

They’d opened another bottle of wine, and even for such a casual meal, Annika had shaped napkins into swans, draped the necks with collars of tiny flowers, set them to swimming on a pale blue plate.

“We’ve got your plain cheese for the boring,” Riley began, “your pepperoni, your meat, meat, and more meat, and your veggie extravaganza.”

“I think I’ll start out boring and work my way up.” Sasha sat, laughed when Bran flicked a hand over the offered pies to send the cheese bubbling again.

“Riley and Doyle have reports.” Because it was so pretty, Annika chose a slice of the vegetable. “So do we. Who should go first?”

“I’ve more work to do on my part,” Bran began, “so I’ll cede the first slot to Riley and Doyle.”

“Since the Lord of Few Words here will skim over it, I’ll take the lead.” Riley opted for meat. “It turns out my guns and ammo contact here in Clare has a half brother—the oldest. A McCleary.”

“Just like Doyle,” Annika said.

“Just like. Sir Cynic wants to call it coincidence.”

“It wouldn’t be.” Sasha looked at Doyle with some sympathy. “It just wouldn’t.”

“Not to say you wouldn’t come across plenty of McClearys in Clare or Galway or anywhere in the country,” Bran added. “But no, it wouldn’t be. You knew this man from before?”

“Nope.” Riley washed down pizza with wine, considered it the best of the best. “He’s the cousin of a friend’s ex. Interesting guy. He knew your name, Bran. And I got respect and curiosity from him there. Short version, Liam—that’s the guy—Liam’s mother married a James McCleary, he went off to World War II, leaving his pregnant wife, was killed in the war. She had his son, and a few years later remarried. I’m going to say I could’ve gone in a couple directions to get what we wanted here, but I went straight for this one. Liam made us a fair deal, didn’t ask too many questions, and has a direct connection to the clan McCleary.”

“Going to make a point,” Sawyer said over a mouthful of pizza. “We didn’t find the blood connections—the confirmations—before we got here, to this point. So I’m saying it wasn’t the time and place for them before. This is.”