Hell or High Water

by Julie Ann Walker

  Again, Rusty was unable to go on, coughing up life-sustaining blood that flecked the front of Leo’s grubby fatigues. With each convulsion, Leo could feel warm, sticky fluid spurt against the hands he was still using to plug as many holes as he could, though doing so only prolonged the inevitable.

  “Anything, man,” he whispered to Rusty, his choked voice a parody of its usual timbre. Then he realized Rusty hadn’t heard him above the rhythmic hum of the overhead rotors, so he tried again, this time yelling, “We’ll promise you anything you want!”

  “Don’t re-up,” Rusty pleaded, referring to the practice of signing another contract with the military after one’s old contract expired. “Don’t let them have one more…m-minute of your time,” he managed to finish after dragging in a shallow, hacking breath.

  And even though great gusts of wind were howling through the chopper’s open door, Leo recognized that sound for exactly what it was. He’d read somewhere that it was referred to as a “rale.” Which pretty accurately summed the sound up since it was a cross between a hair-raising wheeze and a bone-rattling clatter. But regardless of what name you gave it, the fact remained that terrible noise meant just one thing. Death…that bloody, fickle, heartless bastard was hovering somewhere nearby.

  Chills erupted up the length of Leo’s spine in opposition to the heat of the air around him. He sucked in a tortured breath that brought with it the smells of sweat, aviation fuel, and the iron-rich tanginess of vast amounts of congealing blood. Shuddering at the terrible clarity of it all, he knew this moment, right here, right now, would forever be etched into his brain, scored into his soul as if it’d been carved there with an oyster knife.

  “Promise me,” Rusty insisted, his voice steadier in these, his last few moments. It usually happened that way, the body filled with one final burst of energy, the mind brimming with a strange terminal lucidity. “Promise me you won’t bleed anymore for the flag.” As if to prove his point, he swiped a hand through the puddle of blood on the chopper’s floor and lifted it up. Rivulets of the stuff ran down his wrist.

  Christ almighty! Leo understood for the first time in his life what it was to be heartbroken. And what surprised him most was that the condition came with actual physical pain. His chest hurt so bad he could barely draw a breath.

  “Promise me you’ll all quit the Navy and live your l-lives. Live them for me b-because I—” Rusty couldn’t go on then, tormented as he was with a spasm of coughing.

  It was all so horrific. The most awful thing Leo had ever borne witness to. And that was saying something, considering the stinking shit-piles of things he’d seen.

  “I promise, Rusty,” he swore, no longer trying to hold back the sobs that shook his body. “I promise you!”

  “I promise!” Wolf yelled a second later.

  “I promise, too!” Mason and Bran chorused in unison.

  Leo looked up to find Mad Dog towering above them, hands braced on an overhead rail. The big man’s face was crumpled in on itself until it looked like a piece of wadded-up paper. “Mad Dog?” Leo pleaded, knowing there wasn’t much time.

  “I promise you, you big, beautiful sonofabitch!” Mad Dog yelled, his deep voice booming around the interior of the helicopter, drowning out the rhythmic hum of the massive engine.

  Leo turned to find Romeo staring over his shoulder at them. And even through the haze of his tears he could see Romeo struggling to make the pledge. Of the eight of them, Romeo was the only one who claimed to be a lifer, a Navy man until the day he died.

  Of course, Leo also understood that was Rusty’s whole point. That death was going to find them all sooner rather than later if they stayed on their current path. Their luck wouldn’t hold out forever. And Rusty was trying, here at the end, to save them from themselves, save them from the Rambo mentality—the belief in their own invincibility—that SEALs seemed to acquire when they’d grown too long in the tooth. Still, Leo couldn’t command Romeo to make the promise if it wasn’t something he wanted to do, and—

  “I promise!” Romeo yelled back, surprising Leo. “I motherfucking swear it!”

  A smile spread across Rusty’s face, made horribly macabre by the blood staining his teeth. “Okay, D-Doc,” he whispered, all the tension and fight leaving his body in an instant. He’d only held on this long to wring that vow from them. “I’m ready now.”

  Jesus H. Christ.

  “LT?” Doc asked quietly, waiting for the go-ahead from his commanding officer. Leo was left with no recourse but to nod his consent. It was the hardest order he’d ever given, and it felt like a little piece of his soul ripped away with each dip of his chin.

  “Okay. All right,” Doc said, tears pouring from his eyes. Despite his shaking hands, he gently inserted first one, then another syringe into Rusty’s thigh. “I got what you need right here, buddy. You’ll feel better in just a second.” After pushing the plungers home, he softly removed the needles and tossed them out the open door.

  “Thank you, Doc,” Rusty whispered, already succored by the high-powered analgesic, his eyelids fluttering closed, his mouth going slack.

  Then, the six of them—no, seven; Romeo had left his position in the copilot’s seat to join them there on the floor—did what they always did. They worked as a team and gathered Rusty into their arms. Holding him close, each of them whispering words of love, friendship, and farewell, they gave what little comfort and support they could. And with one last rattling breath, Rusty’s life whispered out of him, gone just that quickly. A second later, his bladder released, tainting the air with the sharp smell of urine.

  Death wasn’t just a bloody, fickle, heartless bastard—it was a demeaning, humiliating, contemptible one as well…

  “And me coming here, luring you back into another mission, is making you break that promise to him,” Olivia whispered, her lips curved down into a frown so deep it furrowed her brow.

  Leo blinked at her, disoriented at having been yanked back into the present. The smell of blood and urine was replaced by hints of wild jasmine, the look of death on Rusty’s face superseded by the vibrant life shining in Olivia’s.

  It took him a second to catch his breath, to squelch the tears gathered behind his eyes and calm the somersaulting of his stomach. Damn, that memory always kicked like a mule in heat. Eighteen months later, he was hard-pressed not to double over and puke his guts up from the impact of it. And he might have done just that had he not been completely distracted by the feel of Olivia’s cool fingers running over his tattoo, tracing the five letters: For RL.

  Blowing out a covert breath, he squeezed her fingers before quickly fisting his hands behind his back. They were quivering like the branches of a palm tree in a tropical storm, and he sure as shit didn’t want her to see. Not if he had any hope of maintaining his guise as a hard-ass, hard-core fighting man.

  “At first glance, sure, it might seem like we’re goin’ back on our word,” he managed, his voice remarkably steady considering his insides felt like hammered shit. “At least that’s how I was lookin’ at it when you first made the offer and I turned you down. And hot damn, turnin’ you down went against everything in me. You got to know that, right? It was a sort of a hip-shot reply at the time because I thought I’d be breakin’ my promise.”

  She nodded.

  “But I’ve since given it more thought. And if you view that half a million dollars you’re payin’ us as bein’ just what we need to really get the search for the Santa Cristina under way, then your arrival on our doorstep falls under the title of Auspicious. In fact, I think it’s exactly what Rusty would want us to do. This right here, what we’re doin’ right now, saving the world one chemical weapon at a time”—he sent her a look—“is grabbin’ life by the balls and suckin’ the marrow out of its bones. This is life in all of its messy, dangerous, astonishin’ glory.”

  Her expression telegraphed her disbelief. And were those…tears standing in her eyes? She blinked and whatever wet sheen he thought he’d seen was gone
. Clearly he’d been imagining things, because Agent Olivia Mortier didn’t cry.

  “I’m serious,” he cajoled, feeling some of his strength return as the terrible memory faded back into his subconscious, a dark specter waiting to reappear some time when he least expected it. And with the return of his strength, an idea—a wonderful, amazing, fantastic idea—suddenly occurred to him. Really, why didn’t I think of this earlier? “And then when you add in all that unfinished business between you and me, you could go so far as to say you comin’ here is exactly what the doctor ordered.” Or, in his case, exactly what Rusty ordered. Because what better way to really live than to act on all those unexplored feelings he had for Olivia?

  Leo wasn’t big on religion, didn’t know exactly where he stood on the whole God issue. But if there were such things as guardian angels, he figured Rusty must be up there right now, looking down on him and wearing that patented shit-eating grin.

  Thanks, man, Leo sent up a little prayer. You know, just in case.

  “What unfinished business? What are you talking about?” Her adorable chin jutted up at him. Up close like this, he could see lighter, turquoise striations flecking the deep sapphire of her irises.

  And, yessir. As hard as it was for him to admit it, Doc was right. He had been pining away for her, spending far too much time wondering what might have been when he should have marched his ass up to Washington to pursue the issue. I mean, for shit’s sake! He’d been eschewing willing bed partners for a whole eighteen motherfrickin’ months! And, yeah, yeah. At first he’d been mourning Rusty’s death. And then he’d been up to his eyeballs in missions while working out the last of his contract. Then there’d been retirement, fixing up the salvage boat, and making Wayfarer Island livable, but still…a whole eighteen motherfrickin’ months!

  Who does that? A crazy man?

  And the answer to that was an unequivocal yes. He’d been so crazy for Olivia since the day he met her that he’d been unable to think of anyone else. She had consumed him, haunted him, possessed him. And except for that one all-too-brief kiss standing beside the weapons’ locker, what had he done about it? A big honking nothing. Zilch. Zippo.

  Well, that stopped today, right now. Because the best way he knew to keep his promise to Rusty to grab life by the balls and suck the marrow from its bones was to grab Olivia by the waist and suck that delicious bottom lip of hers straight into his mouth.

  He placed a hand on her hip. Step number one complete.

  The pulse in her throat jump-started itself into a rapid flutter at his touch, which delighted him in ways he couldn’t put into words. The skin beneath his hand where the hem of her tank top pulled away from the waistband of her shorts was soft and warm. And he wondered how much warmer, how much softer she’d be in that spot between—

  “What unfinished business?” she asked again, her usually low, sexy voice having gone charmingly breathy.

  “You know what unfinished business,” he told her, his own heart beating a rapid tattoo against his ribs. Funny how the organ could remain rock-fucking-steady while he was in the thick of a gun battle or so deep beneath the ocean’s surface that light ceased to exist, but put him within two feet of one dark-haired, big-eyed spy and the silly thing took off like a startled jackrabbit. “That kiss, Olivia.”

  As if uttering the word brought back the memory of his taste, her pink tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip. Everything that was hot and male inside him watched that small move with something bordering on predatory interest. The urge to eat her alive, starting at her slender toes and working his way up, was remarkably strong.

  “Leo…” She placed her hands on his chest. To push him away? He held his breath, waiting to see. But she exerted no pressure, simply allowing her palms to flatten over his pectoral muscles. Her breath hitched when she felt the rapid racing of his heart.

  Yeah, darlin’. Feel that? That’s what you do to me.

  “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it,” he cajoled. “Don’t tell me you haven’t wondered what would’ve happened had you not been called out to that rebel general’s house right then.” Not only had that call interrupted what was quickly getting out of hand between them, but it had been the genesis of the events that had ultimately changed all of their lives… Of course, he wasn’t going to go there. Not unless he wanted that terrible memory to take over again. Which he most certainly did not.

  Live your lives, Rusty had pleaded. Live them for me…

  Goddamnit, Rusty! Leo sent the silent reply heavenward, you know, just in case. I’m tryin’, man!

  “I-I’ve thought about it,” she admitted hesitantly. “How could I not? We danced around each other for three months. And then when we finally gave in to…”

  “Lust,” he finished after she trailed off.

  She lifted a brow. “You don’t mince words, do you, Lieutenant?”

  “It’s just plain ol’ Leo now, Olivia.” He inched a bit closer, close enough that the soft heat from her bare legs tickled the hairs on his.

  “There’s nothing plain about you.” She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, and that was all she wrote. His heart double-timed it until the blood rushing between his ears was a dull roar.

  “Should we try it again and see where it goes this time?” he asked, closing the distance between them. The thought of completing step number two had his dick twitching with interest.

  “Where can it go?” she asked, her expression having gone from teasing to taken aback, her eyes searching his face. “How do two people in our positions make it work in the l—”

  “Why, Agent Mortier,” he interrupted, nudging his hips against hers. The bad thing about swim trunks—or the good thing, depending on your point of view—was that there was absolutely no way he could hide, no way she could miss, his burgeoning erection. “Are you askin’ me to go steady?”

  “Of course not,” she was quick to answer. Maybe a little too quick, though Leo didn’t allow himself to dwell on it. After all, que será, será. The future would be what the future would be. All that mattered right now was the present. And presently he still had step number two to complete.

  On that note, he unhooked his sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt, setting them behind her on the table. Then, with thumb and forefinger, he plucked his gum from between his teeth and tossed it into the nearby sink.

  She watched all of this with a curious, breathless sort of scrutiny.

  “So then what do you say to me puttin’ my palm beneath your chin like this?” he asked. To illustrate his point, he cupped the side of her face, using his thumb to tilt her jaw.

  When she swallowed, her graceful throat made a clicking sound. “I s-say okay,” she managed. A bolt of hot passion shot through his body, replacing his earlier heartache with hunger, changing his grief into greed, and electrifying him from head to toe.

  “And what do you say to me lowerin’ my head until you can feel my breath on your lips?” When he did exactly that, she shuddered delicately. He felt that tremor from the top of his head to the tip of his d— um…toes.

  “I say yessss.” The last word ended with an eager hiss.

  “And what do you say to—”

  “Damnit, Leo! Just shut up and kiss me!”

  * * *

  12:51 p.m.…

  She’d gone from channeling old Shania Twain songs to channeling old Mary Chapin Carpenter songs—and she didn’t even really like country music. Sheesh. She had Mr. Farmington, the old janitor at the orphanage, to thank for that, she supposed. He’d blasted the stuff from the portable radio he toted around with him while he mopped the halls. Of course, she immediately forgot about music, Mr. Farmington, and all other matters both big and small when Leo set his lady-killer smile on stun.

  Holy shit!

  She was instantly dazed, struck senseless. And that was before his lips claimed hers and all thought slid out of her head through her buzzing ears. Somewhere, back in the furthest recesses of her brain, somethin
g started scratching. Something that made her think maybe she shouldn’t be doing this. Something that made her question whether or not Leo would want to come within ten feet of her, much less kiss her, if he really knew the truth about Syria.

  But he would never know the truth about Syria. That mission file had been redacted, sealed, and locked away somewhere in the bowels of the Pentagon. And even if that wasn’t the case, it wasn’t like he was going down on one knee and asking her for forever here. Far from it. She got the distinct impression from his joking “Are you askin’ me to go steady?” that forever was the dead-last thing on his mind. And when you added in that he’d been quick to fill in the blank with “lust” when she was searching for the right word to describe what had been between them a year and a half ago, she was convinced of it.

  Did that last part prick her pride? Her heart? Sh’yeaaah. No woman liked to think all a guy wanted from her was a little bumping of the grumpies, especially not when that woman felt something decidedly more for the man in question. But since there wasn’t any chance for something more to happen between them, she decided, Oh, what the hell, and gave herself permission to just go with it. Permission to let him have her any way he wanted. Permission to simply…feel…

  The muscle-strapped hardness of Leo’s chest cushioned her sensitive breasts.

  The insistence of his thick erection throbbed against her lower belly.

  The gentle sting of his teeth caught her lower lip.

  “Bingo, bango, bongo,” he murmured against her mouth. “Step number two complete.”

  “Huh?”

  “Nothin’.”

  “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” she insisted, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu. But, then…oh! He was really kissing her, his thick tongue gliding into her mouth, and she forgot about everything but the taste of him.

  Cinnamon. She remembered that flavor from the last time. Remembered how his tongue had been a wonderfully spicy reprieve from the hot dust of Syria. Recalled how kissing him had reminded her of candy canes at Christmas and the chewy Red Hots treats one of her foster families had kept in a glass dish by the door.