Island of Glass
Page 60

“You’re weak. Did you think what you hold could destroy me? I grow stronger.”
As they watched, the purple hair grew, went smoke gray streaked with black. Blue eyes went black as they shifted to Riley. “I may keep you as a pet, and let Malmon have you.”
Though she kept one hand on her gun, Riley picked up her glass. “Yawn,” she said, and drank.
The table shook; the chairs rattled. And the other patrons drank on, talked on, feeling nothing.
Deliberately, Sawyer twirled a finger in the air. “Hey, if you’re playing waitress—nice look for you—maybe you could get us some beer nuts to go with the pints and chips.”
Rage stained the creamy Irish skin florid pink. “I’ll peel the flesh from your bones, feed it to my dogs.”
“Yeah, yeah. Beer nuts?”
“The storm comes.”
The waitress blinked, pushed dazedly at her purple hair. “Beg pardon, my mind went somewhere. Can I get you something more?”
“No, thanks.” Riley took a deep drink, waited until the girl wandered off. “That was fun.”
“No beer nuts.”
On a laugh, Riley offered her fist to bump. “You’ve got stones, Sawyer. And I’d say we’d better get our asses home, spread the word. Nerezza’s on the mend, and on the prowl.”
Sawyer sighed as they slid out of the booth. “Now we’ve got to tell them we’ve been in Dublin.”
“No way around it,” Riley agreed. “Let me take the lead there.”
“Happy to follow.”
• • •
Given the situation, Sawyer had no problem letting Riley take point. When they got back, wound their way back to the kitchen, he just slid his hands into his pockets—and over the jewelry pouches he’d stuck there—and kept his mouth shut.
Sasha worked alone, forming dough into baguettes. “Hey, you’re back.”
“Yeah, something smells really good.”
“I’ve got the sauce going for lasagna, and trying my hand at making Italian bread. It’s fun. I hope you found the ricotta and mozzarella.”
“Oh.” Shit. Now Riley’s hands found their way into her pockets. “About that—”
“Need some help bringing in the supplies? Annika’s up with Bran, and—I don’t know where Doyle is.” Choosing a knife, Sasha made diagonal slices on the loaves. “Just let me cover these to rise, and I’ll help.”
“We didn’t actually get supplies.”
“What? Why? Where have you been?”
“Annika’s in the tower, right? Sawyer wanted to bag some stones for an engagement ring, so—”
“Sawyer!” Tossing the dishcloth aside for the moment, Sasha raced over, hugged him hard. “This is so . . . Stones? Not an actual ring?”
“See, I was thinking you could help me design one, then maybe Bran—”
“Oh! That is the best idea!” She hugged him again. “She’ll love it. I can’t wait to start. Tell me what you have in mind.”
“Actually, we need to wait a minute on that. Right?” He appealed to Riley.
“Right. When we were in Dublin, we—”
“Dublin?” Sasha gaped, actually gave Sawyer a little shove as she stepped back from him. “You went to Dublin.”
“Long story short. I had a contact, so we zipped there, got the stones, and we were having a drink when . . .”
When Sasha held up a finger, Riley trailed off. “The two of you went all the way to Dublin—it doesn’t matter how quickly you got there and back—” Sasha said, effectively cutting off Riley’s main argument. “You didn’t tell anyone you were going. Then you stopped for a drink?”
“Maybe you had to be there. And okay, I bought a sweatshirt. I needed a sweatshirt. It wasn’t like we were trolling Grafton Street.”
“Anyone who leaves the property needs to make it clear where they are. Obviously something happened while you were gone. I’ll get the others, and you can explain yourselves.”
As Sasha carefully covered the loaves with the towel, Sawyer shifted his feet. “Can we leave out the why we went? At least when Anni’s around?”
Sasha sent him a cool stare. “All you had to do was tell me, or Bran or Doyle. We know how to keep a secret. I’ll get them.”
Alone with Sawyer, Riley let out a long breath. “Mom’s very disappointed in us.”
“I feel like an idiot. How did she make me feel like an idiot without raising her voice?”
“Skills. I’m opening wine. We never finished that pint, and I have a feeling we’re going to need some adult beverages.”
“We didn’t get the supplies either. How did we forget the supplies?”
“We were in a little bit of a hurry to get back,” Riley reminded him. She opened a bottle of red, set out glasses. And prepared to face the music.
Annika danced down the back steps—sulks long forgotten—as Doyle came in from the outside.
“Are we having wine? Bran and I have been working very hard. Wine is good.” Annika wrapped arms around Sawyer, snuggled in. “So are you.”
Stroking her hair, he shot Riley a wan smile over Annika’s head.
“Show some solidarity,” Riley said to Doyle before he could go for a beer. She poured six glasses.
Before he took one, he studied her face. “What’s the deal?”