“Politicians.”
“Yeah.” Now she smiled. “We’ve had a few in Congress, Parliament. There was this guy about twenty, twenty-five years ago I heard about who had higher ambitions. Leader of the Free World ambitions, but the council strongly discouraged him. You go for that, people start digging pretty deep. Better not to
risk it. A shame really.”
“A lycan president.”
“We could do a hell of a lot worse.”
“And likely have.”
“Definitely have,” she said with a grin. “But hey, three nights a month, a lycan couldn’t answer that three a.m. phone call, so no-go there.”
“And a Secret Service code name ‘Furry’ lacks dignity.”
Very deliberately, she tipped down her sunglasses, peered at him over them. “You made a joke.”
“I considered a career in comedy.”
“And two for two. I have to circle this day on my calendar.”
The way her eyes danced with humor, so gold in the sunlight, made him want to touch her. Just touch her hair, her skin.
He started to lift his hand to do just that when with a shimmer and a shudder of air the others appeared on the boat, and saved him from what he realized would have been a grave mistake.
“Dead-Eye strikes again,” Riley said. “Perfect landing.”
“Practice makes perfect.” Sawyer glanced around. “You picked a good spot.”
“I thought so. Settle in, friends and neighbors.” Riley turned back to the wheel. “Where to, Anni?”
“Oh.” Annika managed to look sexy even in one of the macs borrowed from Bran’s mudroom. “If you sail as if we were going back to Bran’s, I’ll tell you when to stop.”
“Good enough. Enjoy the balmy breezes while you can.”
“You call this balmy?” As Riley steered the boat out of the cove, Sasha huddled beside Bran.
“Compared to what it’s going to be like under the water? This is damn near tropical.”
CHAPTER NINE
Even with wetsuits, the Atlantic shivered in, and it swallowed the sun. Riley, armed as Sawyer was with an underwater pistol, switched on the headlamp on her balaclava so its beam cut through the dank gloom of the water.
They swam in pairs, Annika and Sawyer in the lead—with Annika turning somersaults before she swam ahead. Sasha and Bran followed, and Riley couldn’t complain when Bran circled a hand in the water, added light with a swirl. She took flank with Doyle.
They all knew what could streak out of the sea, if Nerezza had the strength for it. Mutant sharks and toothy fish thirsting for blood. Both Doyle and Sasha carried harpoons.
And look at her go, Riley thought, watching Sasha cut through the water, remembering how nervous the novice diver had been on their first dive off the coast of Corfu.
She learned fast. They’d all had to shore up personal weaknesses on this quest. Maybe that was part of the whole, she mused, turning weakness into strength, and for all, learning to trust enough to become that clan.
She watched a school of mackerel—just ordinary fish—head away from them, followed Bran’s silvery light toward the mouth of a cave. In front of it, Annika executed a graceful turn, waved, then slid inside.
Singly now through the narrows, and again two by two when the channel widened. Then spreading out to search for . . . something, Riley thought. A glow, a sparkle, a feeling, anything that would lead the way to the last star, the Ice Star.
Cold enough for it—that thought crossed her mind. With the patience of her calling, she searched the underwater cave inch by inch, using her eyes, her gloved fingers, doing all she could to keep her mind and instincts wide open.
But she nodded when Sawyer tapped his wrist, once again took flank with Doyle for the return trip to the boat.