* * *
7:55 p.m.…
Olivia hadn’t realized she was tempting fate when she said there was nothing Agent Wilson could say that would hurt her. And she always thought the phrase “my heart sank” was metaphorical. But since hers was lying on the floor at her feet, broken and bloody, she realized it was an actual physical condition.
“What’s he talkin’ about?” Leo asked, one brow lifted.
“Leo, I—”
“You didn’t tell them, did you?” Agent Wilson crowed gleefully.
“Shut the fuck up!” she barked at him before turning back to Leo. There was confusion on his face. And something more. A spark, just an inkling of suspicion, and maybe…hurt? Oh, sweet Jesus. This was her worst nightmare come true. She wanted to wrap her hands around Agent Wilson’s throat and squeeze the life right out of him. To hell with my aversion to killing! I’d put him six feet under in a second!
“Al-Ambhi, that rebel general in Syria,” she began, noting absently the gentle, unmistakable whir of a propeller-driven engine in the distance. The cavalry was arriving to take Leo home. Too bad they were too late to keep her from having to spill her guts and admit the whole, awful, unforgivable truth. “He wasn’t really working for the rebels. He was aligned with the Islamic State.”
“I know that.” Leo frowned. “And you found out. That’s why he drew on you at that meeting at his house, forcing you to kill him.”
Agent Wilson threw his head back, laughing maniacally like some sort of vaudevillian villain. And she supposed that’s pretty much what he was. Almost cartoonish in his psychosis and narcissism. She did her best to ignore him.
“That’s not exactly true,” she admitted, biting her lip when Leo’s second eyebrow winged up his forehead to join his first. Now there was definitely suspicion flashing in his hazel eyes. Each glimmer was an ice pick to her gut. “The CIA knew months before that Al-Ambhi was double-dealing so they sent me in under the auspices of being an attaché to your team, but the real reason I was in Syria was to watch him and keep him nosing in the wrong direction about actual rebel advancements and…and…and…” She realized she was suffering another episode of verbal diarrhea, talking without punctuation, and stumbled to a stop.
A hard muscle was ticking in Leo’s jaw, a sure sign he was upset. Now she not only wanted to wrap her hands around Agent Wilson’s throat, but after she was finished with that, she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole, just drag her down into nothingness so she wouldn’t have to see the pain in Leo’s face. Since neither of those things was likely to happen, she sucked in a steadying breath and continued.
“The day of that meeting he tried to blackmail me. He’d discovered the identities of five of my assets inside IS, and he threatened to out them unless the U.S. agreed to pay him fifty million dollars. When I told him that was a nonstarter, he picked up his phone.” She screwed her eyes closed, not able to look at Leo when she admitted this next part. “I shot him before he could make the call.”
“Al-Ambhi was an idiot,” Agent Wilson snarled, and she opened her eyes to blink at him. “The whole reason I told him you were on to him was so that he could use you to forward the cause, not so he could try to extort money—”
“How could you?” she screamed, slamming her hands on the table and leaning down until they were nose to nose. The fury burning inside her was hotter than an H-bomb. How could he so blithely, so callously admit he’d been the one behind that awful day? “You traitorous motherfucker! I swear to God I’ll—”
“Our ride is here!” Bran called after throwing open the door, his eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. “And Romeo says we have to bust ass. There’s barely enough fuel left in the floatplane to get us home, and he’s burning more with every second he’s sitting out there idling.”
* * *
7:59 p.m.…
Bran glanced over at LT and Olivia on the far side of the lower deck. They were deep in conversation, and clearly he was missing something. Whatever it was, it had been wallpapered all over Mason’s and Wolf’s faces when they shuffled out of the main cabin. But when he’d asked, “What’s doing?” Mason had done what Mason did best, which was grunt. And Wolf simply replied, “Later.”
But since he’d never been accused of having an overabundance of patience, and since he didn’t really enjoy mysteries, Bran took a step in LT and Olivia’s direction, ready to demand a goddamned explanation. He stumbled to a stop, however, when Maddy laid a hand on his arm.
Her palm was small and soft, the tips of her fingers cooled by the whisper of sea breeze blowing across the back of the yacht. He thought maybe he trembled under her touch and was surprised to discover he had an overwhelming urge to drag her against him and warm them both with a kiss.
“I reckon this is good-bye,” she said, wrinkling her cute button nose. “Mr. Navy SEAL.”
He lifted a brow, his lungs seizing.
“Olivia let the cat out of the bag when she was questionin’ Jonathan Wilson,” she explained.
He blew out the breath he was holding and ran a hand over the back of his neck. “We’re retired from the Navy,” he said, happy to be able to finally admit the truth to her. Why that should be, he didn’t know. But there you go. “We really are salvors now. Swear to God.”
She cocked her head, eyeing him. “Well, then I reckon this is good-bye, Mr. Salvor.”
“That’s…that’s usually the way these things work,” he told her, missing the feel of her hand when she lowered it to her side.
“I, um, I just wanted to thank you for today. For savin’ my life…twice.” Her twang turned the words “life” and “twice” into “lahf” and “twahss.”
“It was nothing,” he assured her. “Just doing my job. Uh…my old job I guess, huh?”
Her slate-gray eyes searched his face, and she pursed her lips. The upper one, the pouty one, did one hell of a number on him. He was no longer chilled. In fact, he felt a sheen of sweat break out all over his body. “I didn’t peg you for an overly modest man.”
He couldn’t stop the grin that split his face any more than he could stop the clock from ticking. The constant whir of the floatplane’s engine was a not-so-gentle reminder that he needed to wrap things up. Mason and Wolf had already hopped overboard, swimming out to the aircraft. They were in the process of pulling themselves onto one of the pontoons.
It’s now or never, shit-for-brains.
Reaching into the pocket of his shorts, he took out the piece of paper he’d scribbled on earlier. Then hesitated. Would she even want to hear from him after this? I mean, she’ll probably want to forget any of it ever happened. But just in case…
“I, uh, I figured I’d give you my email address. I’m sure you’ll be sworn to secrecy about everything you’ve seen today. So…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck again. Come on, you cowardly spostata, soldier the fuck up and take a chance. “If you need someone to talk to, maybe…” He barked out a laugh, shaking his head. This shouldn’t be so hard. “Maybe you’d consider talking to me?”
The smile that split her face was brighter than the big half-moon rising into the night sky. She took the slip of paper from him, their fingers brushing. And even that small contact sent tremors of delight and awareness dancing up his arm. Then she did something truly amazing. She went up on tiptoe, wrapping a hand around his neck and dragging his head down.
He held his breath. Everything inside him, every cell, every synapse waiting, wondering if she would—
She placed a soft, chaste kiss on his cheek, her lips smooth and warm and plump. And when she whispered, “Thank you,” the words were hot against his skin.
He sucked in a pained breath. It filled his nose with the smell of her. That fruity aroma of pears and berries. Everything sweet and delicious and edible. Later, he would question the wisdom of his next move. But right then, he didn’t think. He simply acted on the lust, the longing burning through his body and brain like a five-alarm fire.
> Yanking her against him, he claimed her adorable upside-down mouth in a hard kiss. Her lips fell open in a shocked little O of surprise, and he took advantage. Tasting her. Plunging deep, stroking home. His head spinning because she was intoxicating. Sugary and warm. Like honey mixed with good Southern whiskey.
Her tongue timidly stroked into his mouth, causing him to groan, causing her to make a cute, little humming noise at the back of her throat. And that’s when he realized…twitterpated. He was completely, utterly twitterpated. And that won’t do. For many reasons. Too many goddamned reasons… Fangul!
He set her away from him as quickly as he’d pulled her close. She seemed slightly off balance. Hell, he was off balance too. The whole world was spinning. Or maybe that was just his head. One thing he knew for sure, they were both panting. And the air between them was positively buzzing with sweet, sexual tension.
“I hafta go,” he said. Great. Spoken like a true gentleman and scholar.
“O-okay,” she whispered, lifting a hand to her lips as if she wanted to hold the sensation of their kiss in place.
That one unconscious move fired him up like a firecracker with a lit fuse. He needed to cool off. A dunk in the ocean might just work. “LT!” he called. “Let’s get the lead out, bro!” And then, sparing one last look at her face—which was adorable even despite the dark bruises that marred her complexion—and mop of pixie-cut hair, he chucked her softly on the chin and then chucked himself into the ocean.
* * *
8:03 p.m.…
“You need to go,” Olivia said, worrying her bottom lip with her teeth as the cool night breeze played with the ends of her hair.
Yessir, he did. But he didn’t want to. “Since you caught the mole and don’t have to race back to DC, I reckon I could come with you to Key West,” he blurted, feeling antsy, feeling uneasy, feeling like everything was about to fall apart.
But maybe that was because he was still reeling from the revelations he’d heard inside the main cabin. All that time, all those months, she’d managed to fool him. He couldn’t quite believe it. Had always prided himself on being able to read people. Clearly, he hadn’t been able to read her. Then again, he’d known from the get-go that along with being the most fascinating, intriguing, arresting woman he’d ever known, she was hiding something, keeping something secret. He guessed he just hadn’t been expecting this.
“Why?” She searched his face, her blue eyes unspeakably…something. Sad, maybe? Resigned? Who the hell knows? It was obvious he could no longer trust his instincts when it came to her. “Now that you know what really happened in Syria—”
“Don’t.” He shoved a finger against her lips, trying to ignore the sweet warmth of her breath against his skin. He couldn’t stand it. He had to drop his hand away. It was either that or grab her up and kiss her senseless. And then nothing would ever get hashed out because they’d be too busy tearing each other’s clothes off. And that’s a bad idea because…? Well, because they had some shit to hash out, damnit! “I don’t blame you for what you did,” he assured her. “You were in an untenable situation, havin’ to weigh the risks to yourself and Rusty against the lives of five people.”
“I never expected to live,” she whispered.
And that confession, those five little words, were like rockets launched at his heart. Brave, fearless, tenderhearted, selfless woman. “But you did live. And now the two of us have a chance at—”
“What?” she cut him off. “What do we possibly have a chance at?”
His mouth opened, but nothing came out. The truth was, he didn’t know how to tell her he thought they had a chance at it all. The whole kit and kaboodle. Fucking happily-ever-after. Because he loved her. And the way she looked at him sometimes, the way she cried out his name when she unraveled in his arms, made him think maybe, just maybe she might love him too.
“Look…” She sliced her hand through the air, stepping away from him. And that one small move opened up more than space between them. It opened up a tiny crack inside his chest. Doubt and insecurity flooded into the void. Is it possible I misread her again? Is this thing I’m feelin’ all one-sided? Her next words seemed to answer his questions. “We’ve scratched our itch. And it was wonderful. Absolutely phenomenal sex. I’ll cherish the memory, Leo. But let’s leave at that, okay?”
Leave it at that? How could she possibly think that he—
“Yo, LT!” Bran called from the floatplane. He was standing on one of the pontoons, the wash from the front propeller making his wet hair dance wildly around his face. “Romeo says it’s now or never, capisce?”
“Just give me a frickin’ second here!” Leo yelled over his shoulder.
When he turned back to Olivia, she’d taken another step away from him. And that gulf in the center of his chest widened. The self-doubt and uncertainty were now brimming over the sides of the chasm.
“You’d better go,” she said. “And I know this doesn’t count for much, but thank you for everything you did today. It means the world to me. And I can never repay you for…for…everything.”
Thanks? He didn’t want fucking thanks. He wanted her.
“Miss Olivia!” Captain Tripplehorn was standing on the landing outside the back door of the bridge, waving a satphone in his hand. No, no, no! Everything was happening too fast. Spinning out of control. He needed a minute to— “A gentleman who says he is your boss is on the line! He’s asking to speak with you!”
Olivia nodded at the captain. “I’ll be up in a bit!” Then she turned back to Leo and smiled. But the expression was completely cheerless. “I will get you a new salvage ship,” she declared vehemently. “Count on it.”
And then she was walking away from him. Climbing the steps to the bridge and taking the pieces of his shocked and shattered heart with her.
Chapter Twenty-one
Three weeks later…
Hah-ah-hah-ah-hah-ah—
“Hey, mouthbreather!” Leo scowled down at Meat, who was sitting beside the creaky old wooden chair that went with the creaky old wooden writing desk pushed into the corner of the living room in the creaky old Wayfarer Island house. The fugly mutt was panting up at him, waiting for him to throw the tennis ball lying beside his left foot. “Why don’t you go bug Mason, huh?”
Meat cocked his head and licked his ridiculous underbite. Woof!
Cock-a-doodle-doo! Li’l Bastard answered from somewhere outside.
“Oh, for chrissakes.” Leo bent to retrieve the ball. Meat spun in happy circles, stopping suddenly and staring toward the hall leading to the kitchen when Leo faked a toss. Meat looked up to find the fuzzy, yellow ball still in Leo’s hand and growled. “Not as dumb as you look, are you?”
He threw the ball, watching it bounce down the hallway. Meat raced after it, slipping and sliding on the polished wood floor. When both bulldog and ball disappeared, Leo turned back to the laptop and the email he was finishing. This was the sixth such missive he’d typed to Olivia since that momentous day—which his friends had since termed Whackass Wednesday. This email pretty much said the same thing the others had. I don’t feel like things are finished between us. I’d really like to see you. Please call me as soon as you can. But unlike the previous emails, he ended this one with If I don’t hear from you by next week, I’m coming to Washington.
Not that he really thought that last part would persuade her to answer, but he was grasping at straws here. He hadn’t been able to call her since she didn’t have a landline, and there was no way to find her secured encrypted cellular number. All the calls he’d made to Langley had resulted in the same message: “Special Agent Mortier can’t take your call. We’ll relay your message.” Click.
He kicked himself in the ass for waiting four whole days before trying to contact her after she turned tail and walked away from him, wondering for the zillionth time if she was simply ignoring his emails, or if during those days when he’d been incommunicado she’d been assigned a mission to parts unknown.
&n
bsp; And speaking of those four days… They’d been complete and utter hell. He’d been a wreck. A brokenhearted wreck. Spending the evenings drinking Budweiser and staring sullenly into the ocean or the beach bonfire. Devoting every minute of every day to going back over everything she’d ever said to him. Every look she’d ever given him. Every second of their time together. Wondering how the frickin’ shit he could have misread her so completely.
But at the end of those four days, he came to the mind-blowing conclusion he hadn’t misread her. He may’ve missed the mark in Syria, but he hadn’t missed the mark in the Black Gold’s bathroom, by God! The woman cared about him. A lot. He reckoned she might even love him.
And either she thought he could never feel the same way about her after all that had happened, or she was just so used to being rejected by the people in her life that she was falling back on old habits and rejecting him first. Either way, she was deadeye wrong. And he aimed to prove it to her.
If she would just answer my goddamned emails!
That is if she could answer his emails. If she wasn’t in some desert hut somewhere, surrounded by unfriendlies and—
Shit. Now his stomach was in knots.
Fuck it. He hit Send.
“Writing another email, eh, paisano?”
Leo turned to find Bran leaning against the propped-open front door. The gentle sea breeze played at his back and teased the ragged hems of his swim trunks. “Me?” Leo snorted. And because he was a guy and didn’t want to talk about it, and also because he was a guy and couldn’t resist turning the tables on his best friend, he said, “You’re one to talk. How many times a day do you email Miss Maddy Powers, huh?”
Bran acknowledged Leo’s quick conversational reversal with a flattened expression, but didn’t call him on it. Instead, admitting, “Too many damn times.” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and offered Leo a sheepish grin. “I can’t help myself. The woman is funny and…and…challenging, I guess. Trying to outwit her has sorta become an addiction.”
Hell or High Water Page 30