“You jumped to logical enough conclusions.”
“Maybe.” Now she sat on the side of the bed. He took the bottle from her, opened it, handed it back. But she only stared down at it. “Thank you for staying with me.”
“You’re welcome.” But he took the shoe she still held, set it on the floor. Just in case.
And wished those sizzling sparks of outrage hadn’t died away into weariness.
“It’s just the beginning, isn’t it? Shadows at the window. They’re only the beginning.”
“It began long ago. This is another step along the way. You’ll do fine.”
“You think so?”
“I do, as I’m the one who nearly got bashed in the head with a shoe. You’re not alone in this.” He gave her a friendly pat on the leg before he pushed to his feet. “What do you say we meet down for breakfast in an hour?”
“All right. An hour.”
He reached down, tipped her face up. “Remember. You didn’t let her in.”
When she nodded, he walked to the door and out.
And nearly into Riley.
Her eyebrows rose, her lips curved as she tugged earbuds out of her ears. “Quick work, Irish.”
“Not of the matter you’re thinking. You’re up and about early.”
“Got a workout in.”
“If you can slap yourself together in a half hour, I’ll go down to breakfast with you, tell you what happened with Sasha. She’ll be an hour, and that would save her from having to go over it all again.”
“Now you’ve got me curious. Make it twenty minutes.” Riley jogged to her door, stopped to look back. “She okay?”
“She is. Tougher than I thought, and certainly than she thinks of herself. Twenty minutes,” he repeated. “If you’re not ready I’ll meet you downstairs, as if I don’t have coffee by then I may murder someone.”
“I’ll be ready.”
* * *
She was as good as her word and rapped on his door closer to fifteen minutes than twenty. They went down, agreed to grab coffee, take it out by the pool so he could fill her in.
“First, just to get it out of the way, I’ve gotta respect you didn’t dive into the pool—and I don’t mean this one.”
“Sex?” He shook his head. “A man who’d take advantage of a dream-walker doesn’t have much respect for himself or the woman. Add in, if we’re in this together, we need some level of trust.”
“You’re right there. And I trust you’re not telling us everything about Bran Killian.”
“I’m not, Dr. Gwin.”
On a laugh, she toasted him with her coffee. “Googled me?”
“I did.”
“Only fair. I did the same with you. That club of yours—or clubs, because you’ve got another in Dublin—looks pretty kick-ass.”
“I like to think so.”
“I’ll have to check it out, next time I’m in New York or Dublin. But right now, we should probably get a table. Sasha strikes me as the timely type. Plus I’m starving.”
Rising, they strolled toward the open-air buffet with its billowing white curtains. “You got any ideas on who was at her window last night?”
“A few.”
“Funny, I have a few, too.”
After telling the waiter they’d be three, they got a table, waited for the coffee refill. Riley took a notebook out of one of the pockets of her cargo pants, tore off a sheet.
“You write down your first choice, I’ll do the same. And we’ll compare.”
“I don’t have a pen on me.”
“You can use my pencil in a minute.” Riley scrawled a name on her sheet, tossed him the pencil.
“Is this to make certain I’m not winding you up?”
“Let’s say it’ll show if either of us is full of shit.” She held her sheet out to him between two fingers, and he did the same.
“Nerezza,” he murmured.
Riley set his sheet down beside her, nodding to Sasha as she walked to the table. “Nerezza.”
“She’s the mother of darkness.” Sasha stared at the billowing white curtains. “She is made of lies.”
Bran rose, took her arm, felt her shudder. “Sasha.”
“Yes.”
“Sit down now. Will you have coffee?”
She slid into the chair, nodded. “Yes.” She picked up the two sheets of paper. “I know this name. I’ve heard it in my head. This was who came to the window. She was outside the window, a third-floor window. It wasn’t a dream, not really a dream. How can that be? Who is she?”
“It’s more what,” Bran said, shifted his gaze back to Riley. “Have you ever taken on a god before?”
“Can’t say I have. This should be fun.” She stood up. “I’m hitting the buffet.”
Sasha watched Riley stride off to one of the loaded buffet tables, lift the lid on a chafing dish, and begin to pile on food.
“If I had a million dollars, I’d give every cent of it to have her confidence.”
“You’ve got your own,” Bran told her. “You’ve just tucked it away here and there. We’d best get some breakfast before Riley eats all there is.”
* * *
Riley’s jeep, a rough, rusted-out red, was battered and battle-scarred and roofless. After a long study, Bran climbed in the back.