“It’s like a game.”

“A little bit, but one where you both get to win.”

At the door to her room, Annika put down her bags to hug Sasha tight. “Thank you. You and Riley are my sisters in this world, and in mine.”

“I’ve learned what family is from you, from all of you. When this is done, I’m going to try to use everything I’ve learned with my own mother. I’ll see you downstairs.”

“You should wear your new dress.”

At the door to her room, Sasha paused, smiled. “You know, you’re right. I’ll put on my new dress.”

Annika understood games, and she understood rituals. She’d watched three of her sisters execute mating rituals. It involved flirtation, pretending disinterest, then flirtation.

Though she knew Sawyer couldn’t be her life mate, she loved, would always love, so the ritual could be allowed on her part.

She changed—not into her new dress because Sasha should shine in hers. But she used the lip color and the brush with color on her lashes as she knew women did to look even prettier.

After she went down, she made—as Sasha had taught her—a pitcher of sparkling fruit juice. On a tray she arranged the pitcher, glasses, and the bowl that held ice if needed.

Sawyer sat at the table under the pergola, with the things Riley found for him, a drawing he’d made, a kind of tool that reminded her a little of a gun.

Since Doyle sat across, watching Sawyer work, she smiled, carried the tray over.

“I made cold drinks because you’ll want beer with the pizza in a little while. Bran will make it hot again for dinner. Is this the bug?” she asked while she poured the drinks.

“It will be. I need to attach this capacitor—”

“Is that a flux capacitor?” Riley called down from her terrace.

“Hah. Just need a DeLorean. Got enough here to build three room transmitters, so we’ll need to figure out where they’ll do the most good.”

“How did you learn to do this?” Doyle wondered.

“Curiosity, I guess. I took apart this old radio, then an old answering machine, one of my broken remote-control cars, stuff like that. Figured out how to work them together to play spy. This’ll be a little more sophisticated. But it’s pretty down and dirty.”

“You need dirt?”

“No, it’s an . . .” Sawyer glanced up at Annika. “Ah, you look good. I mean, you always look good, but—”

“Thank you.” She trailed a finger over his shoulders as she walked behind him. Then sat on the edge of the table, her back to him as she faced Doyle.

Yes, she knew the ritual.

“You drive the boat very well.”

“Good thing.”

“It’s a very good thing. Maybe you could teach me. I like to learn. And in return, I can teach you to do the handsprings.”

“I do handsprings, I can’t hold a sword.”

“I can teach you to do it with one hand only. You’re strong.” Deliberately, she reached over, tapped his biceps. “You could spring with only one hand, so your sword sweeps at the legs, and your feet kick the face.”

“One hand?”

“Yes, I can teach you. And the running up a wall, both hands free, to flip back? It would be useful to you in combat. Would you like me to show you?”

“Sure. I’m up for something new.”

When he rose to go with her to the strip of lawn, he glanced back at a scowling Sawyer, then up at Riley. She grinned, then leaned on the rail to enjoy the show.

She heard Sawyer curse. “Problem, cowboy?”

“Nothing. Just a little burn.”

She watched Annika, dress billowing down toward her head, gorgeous legs flashing up in the spring.

“I bet,” Riley said, and grinned again.

CHAPTER TEN

Sawyer worked through it. Riley had come through with what he needed, now he’d use it to make what they all wanted.

He did his best to concentrate, to ignore Annika’s instructions to Doyle, Doyle’s comments back.

And her laugh. Doyle—not much of a laugher—sure seemed to be having a hell of a fucking good time.

Cut it out, he warned himself when he felt annoyance and outright jealousy crawling over his skin. He had a job to do, worlds to save, and couldn’t be worried about part of his team tumbling around on the stupid lawn.

Maybe he’d like to learn how to do a one-handed handspring. Doyle wasn’t the only one with upper-body strength.

Maybe Doyle had the kind of upper-body strength that bench-pressed Toyotas, but still.

He tried to settle down. No point in singeing his fingers with the soldering gun again because he was watching them instead of what he was doing.

Then Sasha came out, sat beside him. “We figured pizza in about an hour, if that works for you.”

Grunting, he finished wrapping enameled wire around a bolt, cutting off the ends. “I want to keep at this,” he said, and stripped the ends of the wire. “I can take it inside, grab a slice.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

He shook his head, picked up the soldering iron to solder the stripped ends to his new, tiny circuit board. “Really a one-man job.”