Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(101)
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.”
Leo lifted a brow, chewing thoughtfully on a wad of Big Red. “That sounds serious,” he mused.
“Hell no,” Bran scoffed. “It’s fun is what it is. There’s nothing physical. No strings. No pesky feelings or emotions to deal with. Just…friends.”
Leo stopped chewing to narrow his eyes. “Since when have you ever been friends with a woman, Brando?”
Bran shrugged. “Since Maddy Powers, I guess. First time for everything.”
“Hmm.” Leo didn’t buy it. Especially since he and Olivia had started out as just friends, teasing and taunting and one-upping each other. And look where that had landed them…
With her ignoring my emails. Because even if she was on assignment, surely she would’ve had the chance at some point to check her account, right? Although, maybe it was possible—
“But, yo…” Bran interrupted his thoughts. “I’ve got something that’ll take both our minds off the fairer sex.”
Leo pushed up from his lazy sprawl, suddenly alert. “It’s here?”
Bran grinned, nodding. “Just dropped anchor. The others have already taken the dinghy to check it out. Mad Dog and Harper are piloting the skiff back to pick us up.”
“How does it look?”
“Like a f*cking dream.” Bran wiggled his eyebrows, motioning over his shoulder with his chin. “Come on.”
Leo was up and out the door in under a second, taking the porch steps two at a time and sliding on his sunglasses. The sun was sinking low in the western sky, painting the clouds in pinks and purples. The fluffy confections were being pushed eastward by the same breeze that rattled the leaves of the palm trees. When he stepped onto the beach, the warm sand sifted between his bare toes. But he didn’t feel it. His eyes were glued to the big salvage ship anchored just past the reef.
Her hull gleamed a shiny gray on the upper two-thirds and a deep red on the lower one-third. There was a J-frame crane on the aft section and a HIAB hydraulic loader on the bow. She had what looked to be a pilothouse, a laboratory, and a computer room, and that’s just what he could see above deck. What was below was probably just as impressive. She was a beauty. No doubt about it.
But honestly, he wouldn’t have expected anything less from Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright. When Morales called the morning after Whackass Wednesday, asking Leo if there was any place he preferred to purchase a new salvage ship—Olivia hadn’t been shitting him; she’d come through like a champ, which was just one more reason on top of the ten billion reasons why he loved her—he hadn’t hesitated to point the man toward the other remaining member of the original Great Eight. Mad Dog’s family had been building ships in Atlantic City since before there was a boardwalk.
Leo supposed he could have gone on ogling the gorgeous vessel for a good solid six hours, watching his friends and his uncle crawling around the deck inspecting things, if not for the fact that there was an extra person in the dinghy with Mad Dog and his wife, Harper. His former teammate had contacted him last week to say they’d be the ones delivering the ship—a second honeymoon and a chance to see Leo and the boys again. And that extra person was…survey says? Special Agent Olivia Mortier.
Hot damn! Leo was so happy to see her black hair blowing in the breeze as the little skiff zoomed across the lagoon and up to the beach that he felt dizzy. Would have planted ass right there if not for Bran slinging an arm over his shoulder and keeping him steady.
“I used to think civilians and operators could never make it work in the long run,” Bran said, watching Mad Dog cut the engine, hop out of the little rubber boat, and pull it onto the sand. “But I gotta say, I think you two have a fighting chance.”
Leo was able to rip his eyeballs away from Olivia long enough to slide his best friend a glance. “I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” Bran chuckled. “It’s written all over your face when you look at her. And all over hers when she looks at you.”
Leo closed his eyes and blew out a breath. Even though he’d convinced himself he hadn’t misread her, it was still good to hear he wasn’t the only one who thought she felt more for him than could be satisfied by a quick slap-and-tickle in the belly of some billionaire’s yacht.
“Steady as she goes, bro,” Bran said, giving him a squeeze before jogging toward the trio walking up the beach.
Leo was able, just barely, to unstick his feet from the sand and follow. He’d gone no more than ten steps when Mad Dog wrapped him in a bear hug pretty similar to the one he’d just given Bran, pounding him on the back until he feared the man might jostle a lung loose.
“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes, LT, you big piece of shit!” Mad Dog boomed.
Leo chuckled, hugging him back. “Takes one to know one.” And as soon as Mad Dog set him down, Leo glanced over at his redheaded wife. “Harper,” he said, dipping his chin at her. “It’s good to see you again. Was the sail down from Atlantic City all right?”