“Yeah.” He flashed a grin—quick lightning—but stayed on alert. “I’ve always got time.”

She went to the jeep, leaned in to pull out her tote from where it was wedged on the floor of the backseat. She dug out her portfolio, then the sketch of the six.

She took it back to him, offered it. “I drew that about three weeks ago, in North Carolina—where I live.”

He studied it, took his sunglasses off, studied it a bit more. Yes, gray eyes, like evening mist over a shadowy lake.

He said, “Huh.”

“I know how strange it sounds—is—but I’ve got other drawings in here. Of us, of you—of this,” she said, waving her arms.

“Who are you?”

“Sasha Riggs, and this is Riley Gwin.”

“Who are the other two in the drawing?”

“I don’t know.”

“The way things are moving,” Bran said, “I don’t think it’ll be long before we find out. As I don’t think this strikes you as strange as it might, you’ll know what I mean by the Stars of Fortune.”

Sawyer swung his sunglasses by the earpiece. “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

“So we can discuss all this here, on the side of the road, and risk being mowed down by a passing car whose driver enjoys great rates of speed, as does our Riley, or we can go discuss it over a pint.”

“Wouldn’t say no to a beer.” Sawyer handed the sketch back to Sasha.

“I change my vote. We should go straight to the villa.”

Sawyer lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve got a villa?”

“Friend of a friend of an uncle.” Hands on hips, Riley studied the jeep, the luggage. “I’m good at making things fit, but this is it. Sasha’s going to have to sit on your lap, Sawyer.”

“He’ll have the back,” Bran corrected. “She can sit on mine, as she’s known me longer.”

“That can’t be legal. To drive like that.”

Riley snorted, headed to the driver’s door. “You kill me, Sash.”

“It’s only about twenty more kilometers.” Bran nudged her toward the jeep. “We’ll all be fine.” He got in, patted a hand on his legs. “Come on then.”

“Don’t be so delicate, Sasha. Jesus, you’ve already slept with the guy.”

“I did not. Well, technically, but—”

To solve it, Bran took her hand, pulled her in.

“This should be fun.” Sawyer swung long legs over the back, slid down.

“Yeah, we’re a merry band.” Riley bulleted back on the road, and had Sasha’s knuckles whitening on the dashboard she gripped like the last thread of life.

“Relax.” Amused, Bran wrapped his arms around her waist, eased her back. “It’s clear enough we’re not meant to die in a car crash in a borrowed jeep on the way to a borrowed villa.”

“Speaking of villas.” Riley flicked a glance in the rearview. “You cook, Sawyer?”

And Sasha, crushed on Bran’s lap, flying down the road like a reckless and carefree teenager, laughed until her sides ached.

By the time they bumped up the track toward the gate, it had been established that Sawyer could cook, which, according to Riley, made him cocaptain of the kitchen with Sasha.

“Three bedrooms are spoken for,” Riley continued. “But there are four more, so you’ve got next pick.”

“Just like that?”

“We’ll have that drink, and maybe Riley will create some of her world-renowned sandwiches. Then,” Bran added, “we can all decide.”

“He’s one of us,” Riley said simply as she took the turn that brought the villa into full view.

From the backseat, Sawyer let out a whistle. “Yobanny v rot.”

Riley angled back to study him. “How’d a nice Virginia boy—that’s a coastal Virginia accent you got there.”

“Good ear. Little place called Willow Cove, on the Chesapeake.”

“Yeah, so how’d a nice Virginia boy learn to swear in Russian?”

“Russian grandfather. You speak Russian?”

“I’m multilingual in obscenities. And yeah, the place earns a yobanny v rot.”

“What does it mean?” Sasha asked.

“Cleanest translation? Holy shit.” Riley pushed out of the jeep to greet the dog. “Hey, Apollo. We’re back.”

“Look at that.” With a young boy’s delight in his voice, Sawyer swung out and, without preamble or introductions, scrubbed his hands all over the dog. “You’re one big, handsome bastard. This your house? You’re a lucky dog.”

Apollo sat, offered a paw.

Watching them, Sasha forgot her situation until she turned her head, smiled at Bran. And found their faces intimately close.

“Oh, sorry. I need to get off—out.”

“I suppose you do. Though it’s cozy here.” He opened the door, then slid an arm under her legs. “Let me give you a hand,” he said, and swiveled her around. Just held there.

“Ah. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

He let her go, took his time getting out behind her.

“Everybody grab something,” Riley ordered. “Let’s haul it in. Bran, maybe you can give the newest member of our club the tour while I make those sandwiches. If I don’t eat soon, I’m going to take a bite out of somebody.”

When they carted luggage in, and Sawyer’s head turned side to side and up, Bran gave Sasha’s ponytail a tug. “We’ll haul this up, Sawyer and I. Why don’t you see about those pints?”

“Okay.”

So she wouldn’t unpack first—she’d have a sandwich, help Riley and Bran explain things to Sawyer. And hopefully have Sawyer explain things to them.

And she wanted a couple minutes to really look at the place, so crossed the entrance with its warm golden tiles into the airy living area. The wide windows could be shuttered against the beat of the sun, but she loved the light pouring in.

Twin sofas in bold peacock blue formed a conversation area centered by a large leather ottoman of chocolate brown. Cream-colored built-ins flanked a fireplace of glossy tiles in that same blue and held a colorful collection of glassware and pottery.

A vivid pattern of exotic birds that seemed poised to take flight covered deeply cushioned chairs. A tall chest boasted doors carved in a similar pattern and looked old and exquisite.

But the pull of the room lay outside the glass, in the sweep of flowers and trees that led to the cliff edge and out to the rich blue sea.

“Hey.”

She turned to Riley. “It’s just beautiful.”

“Yeah. Bask later. Food now.”

“You’re in charge of sandwiches.”

“It’s a big kitchen. Plus I just got a text letting me know we can hit any of the wine up here. If we go through it, there’s a wine cellar—but anything we take from there, we replace. I’m going for wine instead of the brew. How about you?”

“I usually don’t this early in the day.”

Obviously amused, Riley cocked a hip. “Are you usually in a villa in Greece about to talk about god-stars this early in the day?”

“No.” Good point. “I’ll have the wine.”

Sasha followed, past an archway that opened into a room with a piano and another smaller fireplace, another room filled with books, a formal dining room, a masculine den or study, and on to the kitchen.

Riley had thrown open the triple doors of glass to the shaded terrace beyond so the scent of lemons and roses danced in on the breeze.

“This is the most incredible place. I can’t believe anyone would just let us stay here.”

“Pays to have contacts. The guy has vineyards.” Riley tapped a bottle of white she’d taken from the wine cooler. “I figured it’s only polite we start with one of his. Why don’t you deal with that?”

“Okay.” She ran a hand over one of the counters, the granite swirled with gold and cream and brown. “A kitchen this big should be intimidating, but it’s homey. Everything’s really up-to-date, but you contrast that with the dishes in the breakfront there, the butcher block table and island, the cottagey-style chairs, and it’s relaxed.”

“I’ll be more relaxed with food and wine.”

Sasha hunted up a corkscrew while Riley poked through an enormous refrigerator. “Big pantry over there—you could live in it. And a vegetable garden outside we’re to harvest from. We’ll work out some sort of divvying for the yard work. And the chickens. The coop’s out behind the garden.”