Hell or High Water

by Julie Ann Walker

  “We don’t want to hurt anyone,” the asshole in the ridiculous T-shirt and floppy hat called. It had been clear from the get-go he was the ringleader. He’d been the one to convey orders the whole time the fishing boat was throwing over bumpers and tying up to the Black Gold. Leo and the SEALs had remained leaning against the bulkhead of the main living quarters, their M4s carefully concealed behind their backs—you know, just in case—as the yacht’s crew helped tie off ropes and started handing over quarts of oil.

  And that’s when things went to hell in a handbasket. Because just as Nigel the Deckhand was poised to toss over a couple more plastic bottles of Pennzoil Marine Motor Oil, Floppy Hat drew down on him. And then it was a case of who can arm themselves the quickest? For the record, it was a draw. Which is why they were now in the middle of a Wild Wild West-style showdown.

  “Did you hear me?” Floppy Hat called. “I said we don’t want to hurt anyone.”

  Yeah, right. Leo barely refrained from snorting. Over the years, he’d looked into the eyes of enough radicals to recognize a killing gleam when he saw one. And these boys? Well, they wore those familiar gleams in spades. Chemicals or no chemicals, they planned to kill everyone on board the Black Gold the first chance they got.

  “We just want the case,” Floppy Hat insisted.

  “You’re too late,” Leo growled, biding his time and channeling the adrenaline coursing through his veins until all his senses were heightened. Floppy Hat’s face was crystal clear. The sound of the boats rocking against each other with a gentle thunk, thunk was amplified, and the smell of outboard engine fuel and silver polish hung heavy in the air. “The chems are already gone.”

  Floppy Hat’s eyes narrowed. “You lie.”

  Leo lifted one shoulder, sensing Olivia behind him as if there were an invisible cord attaching him to her, tugging at his heart. He wished she’d just stayed inside. This situation was a powder keg waiting to go kaboom, and he wanted her hell and gone when it did.

  “I don’t make a habit of it,” he said.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw Bran adjusting his stance, slowly slipping one foot back, twisting his body just slightly. It was a posture Leo knew all too well. The one his best friend assumed when he needed to take out multiple targets in quick order.

  Right. So that’s the plan.

  He, Wolf, and Mason would each pop off one guy—the one who was directly across from them. And Bran, Mr. Crack Shot, would pop off the two who were directly across from him. Now, they just had to time their shots at precisely the same moment, taking the whole group by surprise.

  Good thing they’d trained for exactly this type of situation.

  “You say they are no longer here. So then, where do you propose they have gone?” Floppy Hat demanded, his tone telegraphing his belief that they hadn’t gone anywhere.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Leo said, tightening his finger on the trigger, breathing out slowly to steady his heart and solidify his hold. He could feel his friends’ tension vibrating through the night air like a storm about to break. They were ready. And waiting on his signal. His world squeezed down to Floppy Hat and the spot in the center of his forehead. “You’ll never see hide nor hair of ’em.” And before Floppy Hat could reply to that, he bellowed, “Now!”

  The roar of three simultaneous shots and another a split second later boomed over the deck, making his eardrums pop. Even still, he heard his own trigger click ominously. Jammed. Fuuuuccckkk! Down the length of his sights, he saw red holes erupt in the heads of Floppy Hat’s men just as the muscles in Floppy Hat’s forearm bunched when he tightened his finger around his trigger.

  Bang! The sound of a fifth shot blasted by Leo’s head. The whiz of the bullet slicing through the air by his ear told him Olivia had been the one to take aim.

  Floppy Hat’s neck burst open at the same time his eyes flew wide. He dropped his weapon to claw at the wound that was spurting thick sprays of blood in rhythmic, steady streams. He made an awful gurgling noise, then collapsed onto the deck of the fishing boat next to two of his men, his legs scrabbling dreadfully in his death throes. The remaining two men had fallen over the railing, their arms dangling down, their heads dripping blood into the sea between the boats. Five dead in less than two seconds. It was as gruesome as it was impressive.

  So much needless horror today. So much dying. He wished there could have been another way and sent a prayer of thanks up to Rusty once more for making them all promise to stop living in a world that required this of them on a daily basis.

  Blowing out a breath, he turned to see Olivia lower her weapon to the deck. She was trembling, her face completely drained of blood like she’d been exsanguinated, and her blue eyes taking up her whole face.

  “See,” he said, realizing he was trembling too. “I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about. You had my back, stepped up, and did what you had to do and—”

  He stopped right there because she bolted upright and raced for the railing, the back of her robe billowing out behind her in a navy-blue ripple of terrycloth. Leaning over the side, she gasped again and again like she was trying to keep from retching. He shook his head at the brave, fearless, softhearted woman he loved. He felt a lump in his throat as he swung his M4 over his shoulder and started in her direction.

  He’d gone no more than two steps when he saw the barrel of a machine gun edging from around the corner, pointing straight at Olivia’s slender back. He didn’t think, he didn’t hesitate, he simply roared her name and ran. Three leaping steps brought him to the corner of the living quarters. His right hand connected with the barrel of the weapon, pushing it off target just as the motherfucker operating it squeezed the trigger.

  Boom! The shot flew wide. Thank Christ! From the corner of his eye, Leo saw Olivia spin around, hands raised to her mouth. Then he was ripping the weapon away from some guy in a wet suit, snarling as he tossed it overboard. He started pummeling the sack of shit in the face with both fists. The rage was on him now. He was seeing red. This man, whoever he was, had been a split second away from shooting Olivia in the back. And that meant Leo would kill him, beat him to a bloody pulp and then stomp on his remains.

  Wet-Suit Guy’s nose exploded under Leo’s fist, blood streaming over his mouth and chin. He staggered back against the bulkhead as Leo aimed body blows to his midriff over and over again, growling, howling, loving the ache in his arms and the skin that split over his knuckles. He was a beast. An animal bent on protecting its mate. Savage and unyielding. Mindless. Berserk.

  He didn’t know how long he stood there slugging away at the guy, hearing the crunch of bone meeting bone, watching as skin flayed open and bled. But at some point, he realized Olivia had laid a hand on his shoulder and was whispering his name in that smoky, beloved voice.

  “Leo. Shhh. Stop now.” The red slowly eased from his vision. The rage roaring through his veins like molten steel cooled. He dropped his hands, flexing his fingers. And without his fists keeping Wet Suit upright, he crumbled to the ground at Leo’s feet, curling in on himself.

  “It’s okay.” Olivia brushed his hair back from his face. “Leo, look at me.” He glanced over at her, breaths sawing from his lungs. She smiled and stood on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his lips. It anchored him, grounded him, settled him in a way nothing else could have. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “See? I’m alive. You got him.”

  To his utter dismay, what sounded like a sob burst from somewhere deep in his chest. And then he was grabbing her up, holding her close as his friends and the crew of the Black Gold gathered around them. For a few glorious moments, he breathed her in and felt her strong heartbeat against the lips he pressed to her neck. Then the guy lying in a heap at his feet groaned, and Olivia turned her head, gasping.

  “What?” Leo asked, reluctantly releasing her. If he had his way, she’d be permanently attached to him. Conjoined twins, connected at the genitals. Okay. All right. He was making jokes, which meant he hadn’t gone off the deep
end for good. He covertly released a pent-up breath. For the first time in his life, he understood how it was possible for a man to lose it, to slip over the edge of sanity. And it was a chilling glimpse into the dark void. Goose bumps lifted the hairs on his arms.

  “I think I…” Olivia bent down, looking at the stranger. “You’re Agent Jonathan Wilson, aren’t you?”

  Chapter Twenty

  7:48 p.m.…

  “So tell me, Agent Wilson, are you working with someone inside or are you working alone?”

  Maddy sat on the plush sofa in the yacht’s main living quarters, watching Olivia question the bleeding, trussed-up sole survivor of the shootout. And she must be in shock or something…or…maybe more shock was what she was in. Is it possible for shock to compound on itself? Because her hands weren’t shaking. Her heart wasn’t racing. And she wasn’t ten seconds away from passing out. As far as she could figure, after witnessing what she had secretly titled “Yosemite Sam-style Dustup Número Dos,” she should be experiencing all those things.

  Or maybe Bran was right when he’d told her the repercussions of what she’d seen would likely hit her hours later, when she least expected it and was all alone. Shitfire. That’s probably it. She’d probably be a blubbering mess in about… She checked her watch but got distracted when the Bleeding Dude snarled, “Stop calling me Agent Wilson! My name is Banu az-Harb!”

  So that’s what Lead A-hole had been saying over and over again. Banoo. Banoo. Clearly, he’d been talking to this guy.

  “Your name is Jonathan Wilson,” Olivia insisted, standing beside the man who was tied to a chair at the big mahogany table. Even wearing nothing more than one of the yacht’s terrycloth robes, she still managed to look cool and in charge. Completely kickass. Get down with your bad self, my sister from another mister!

  “I know that’s your name because we’ve been in a dozen meetings together. We’ve sat across the table from one another and given situation reports. And things will go better for you if you cooperate with me now. I’ll make sure the higher-ups know you were helpful, and my testimony to that fact will go a long way when it comes to sentencing. So, now, who are you working with inside? Who else has been leaking—”

  “Ha!” Banu or Jonathan or whatever his name was—Maddy was going to go with Jonathan simply because the balding blond man didn’t look anything like a Banu—barked out a laugh. It was overly loud and sort of insane-sounding. It caused the three men seated around the table to frown. Leo shifted unconsciously closer to Olivia.

  “You think I needed help, Agent Mortier?” Jonathan thundered. “You think I couldn’t have done everything alone? I am it.” Maddy fancied that if his hands weren’t tied, he would have punched a thumb into his puffed-up chest. “I am The Company’s worst nightmare!”

  The company? Was that capitalized? Also, Agent Mortier? So Olivia actually was CIA. Maddy knew that much from the movies. And speaking of the movies, right about now she could really go for a bag of popcorn. She had a real-life, honest-to-God drama unfolding in front of her eyes.

  And goshdarnit! Where the heckfire was Bran when she needed him? She had a great quote from A Few Good Men she would love to share. Unfortunately, he was outside with the captain, Bruce, and Nigel, making sure no more wet-suited men climbed aboard to cause mischief. Also, they were securing the fishing boat to the back of the Black Gold so they could tow it with them back to Key West—and that was one job she was happy to leave to the men, thank you very much. Then again, she couldn’t help but wonder if that pit planted firmly in the center of her stomach was there because she was missing Bran’s presence, his ready smile, and his even-readier wit. But that was so completely nutso, she didn’t allow herself to really contemplate it.

  I mean, seriously, Stockholm syndrome much, Maddy? Although was it still Stockholm syndrome if she wasn’t technically a captive and he wasn’t technically a captor? Was there a name for a swift, irrational attraction to the person who saved your life?

  She’d have to look it up once she got home. For now, her attention was glued to Olivia, who tilted her head and let her gaze drift over Jonathan. Her upper lip curled with disdain. “Well, you don’t look very nightmarish right now, Agent Wilson.”

  Olivia was trying to rile the guy. From what Maddy had seen so far, it wouldn’t take much. Johnny Boy seemed to have a pretty exaggerated opinion of himself. In fact, if he had green hair and a perpetual smile painted on his face, he would have made an awesomely good nemesis for Batman. This place deserves a better class of criminal, and I’m gonna give it to them! Bwahahaha!

  For Pete’s sake! Bran really needed to get in here. All her good material was going to waste!

  “In fact,” Olivia continued, “you look like the idiot who acted on a planted piece of Intel in a Company memo and then got caught sneaking onto a boat full of SEALs.” SEALs? But I thought Bran said they were salvors working for the government, so what the heckfire is— “You look like a guy whose grand master plan got blown to shit.”

  Jonathan muttered something under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Olivia asked.

  “I didn’t know they were SEALs!” he shouted, spittle flying from the corner of his mouth. Maddy was happy she was seated on the sofa and not at the table. Bleck. “I thought they were either CIA or some other government agency! In which case, they would have negotiated and haggled for a lot longer than two fucking minutes before opening fire!”

  “Allowing you the time to sneak up behind them,” Olivia mused, “lay on your trigger, and catch everyone in the crossfire. Then, once we were all dead, you could take your time scouring the yacht for the case of chemicals. Which, by the way, actually are already on their way back to the mainland.”

  Jonathan glared at her, and Olivia lifted a brow, laughing, the sound low and husky, taunting. “Come on, you have to admit it was a ridiculously risky move. And that, combined with the fact that you fell for the trap Morales and I laid for you, proves you’re an idiot.”

  Johnny Boy called her a filthy name, and Leo slammed his hand down on the table. It sounded like a rifle shot. “Watch your mouth,” he warned, his tone the audio version of a hazard sign. Proceed at your own risk.

  “Fuck you!” Jonathon roared.

  Leo didn’t flinch. He simply allowed his mouth to curve into a grin. “Not on your best day, buddy.”

  “Don’t worry, Leo,” Olivia said. “Nothing this asshole says can hurt me.” She turned to the asshole in question. “So why do it?” she prodded now that Johnny Boy was literally foaming at the mouth. The blood crusting around his ruined nose bubbled with each of his ragged breaths. And his one good eye glared feverishly. The bad one was swollen completely shut. Leo had sure enough done a number on the man. Maddy shivered at the memory of his huge fists connecting with the guy over and over again. For a while there, she’d thought Leo would beat him to death. SEALs? Yep, she could totally buy that. “For money? Is someone paying you to—”

  Olivia didn’t get any further than that because Jonathan launched into a tirade about the “great evil that was the United States of America” and the “sacrilege of American combat boots setting foot on holy Muslim soil.” Then he went on to spout something about being “born to bring down the infidels” and “seeing his name burned into the annals of time.”

  It was at that point in his rant that Wolf cut in. “You’re not a Muslim,” he said, a heavy dose of disgust lacing his deep voice. “At best, you’re a megalomaniac who wants a place in history. At worst, you’re a psychopath who glommed on to an ideology you thought would explain your need to wreak havoc on the world and justify your thirst for mass murder.”

  “What would you know of Islam?” Jonathan hissed. “Allah commands us to slay the infidels wherever we catch them. To cut off their heads and their fingers!”

  Wolf shook his head. “You’re mangling the scripture and quoting it out of context. Have you forgotten the Quran also teaches that Allah delivered Prophet Mohammed to human
ity to make us more merciful to one another? And that Allah commanded you to take not a life because it will be as if you have slain all of humanity, and if you save a life it will be as if you saved all of humanity?”

  Wow. Maddy wouldn’t have thought it to look at him, but the man knew his stuff. Jonathan obviously came to the same conclusion because he turned beet red under all the dried blood on his face and started spewing even crazier crap about murdering nonbelievers and cleansing the world through holy jihad.

  Instead of rising to the bait, Wolf simply crossed his arms over his chest. “You can’t pick apart pieces of a religion to make it fit your narrative. You either take it in context, as a whole, and with the knowledge that its historical significance has changed over the years, or you don’t take it at all. You’re worse than the radicals who are raised in the religion. At least they have the excuse of having been brainwashed by crooked imams. People like you—”

  “Forget it,” Olivia cut in. “There’s no reasoning with a crazy man.”

  “I’m not crazy,” Jonathan spit. “Just because I believe in something—”

  “You are crazy,” Olivia interrupted, provoking a growl of rage from him. “And you’re a traitor. You do realize the penalty for treason is death, right?”

  A vicious smile curved Jonathan’s busted lips. “And just think of the headlines. It will be the trial of the century! A CIA agent who managed for years to devolve top secret information and wreck countless missions. I will make you all look like fools. They will write stories about me, make movies about me. And my death as a martyr will—”

  “See?” Wolf flicked a finger toward him, interrupting. “What did I tell you? Nothing more than a megalomaniac with a psychotic streak.”

  Olivia sighed, shaking her head. “You’re right, Wolf. I just wish—”

  “Wait,” Jonathan cut in. He’d been vibrating with fervor in his seat since they brought him in, but now he was eerily still. Maddy sensed something portentous was about to happen and sat forward. “Leo and Wolf?” He sent a one-eyed glance around the table. “Oh, this is rich. This is good. You’re working with the guys who were your cover in Syria? Did you tell them you made the decision that got their teammate killed?”