Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(25)
“I wish Doc and Romeo were here,” Mason said after a bit, the change in subject a welcome distraction from Bran’s thoughts.
“Why?” Wolf asked. “Because seven of us against a possible eight tangos would be better odds?”
“It feels wrong to be doing this without them.” Mason shrugged. “Plus, you know those f*ckers will be pissed when they get back to Wayfarer Island and find out they’ve missed all the fun.”
For a few minutes after Leo had been forced to take Olivia up on her offer of a duffel full of Benjamins, they’d discussed the efficacy of using their Marine VHF radio to alert Doc and Romeo to their plans. But that idea had quickly been axed when Olivia brought up the possibility that the mole or moles could be monitoring the high-frequency marine channels, waiting to hear if there was any news coming in from the Coast Guard.
“Yeah, maybe they’ll be pissed,” Wolf mused. “Or maybe they’ll be happy as a room without a roof.”
“You did not just Pharrell Williams us,” Bran said dubiously.
“I did,” Wolf admitted. “Because, I mean, if you had a choice between spending the day sailing the catamaran back to Key West while taking turns going belowdecks to get naked with a warm, willing woman or having your brain squeezed in two hundred feet of water in search of three capsules of deadly chemicals, which would you choose?”
“Good point.” Mason nodded, making a face. “Which brings me back to LT and Olivia.”
Both Bran and Wolf groaned. “I like it better when he’s playing the part of Mount McCarthy,” Bran stage-whispered to Wolf. “Big and silent.”
“Agreed.” Wolf nodded.
“Just hear me out, f*ckheads,” Mason said. “I was thinking maybe the reason LT hasn’t called Olivia is because that thing they had in Syria was just some sort of foxhole In Love and War bullshit. Nothing real. Then again, that wouldn’t explain the look on his face this morning.”
“It was real,” Bran gritted out.
“You say that like you’re sure,” Wolf said. “He said something to you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Bran nodded, gifting Wolf with the facial equivalent of Have you lost your ever-loving mind? “He told me right after we exchanged manicure secrets, shared skin-care advice, and listed all our favorite Britney Spears songs.”
Wolf simply sat there in that Wolf way of his. Totally still. Totally enigmatic. To date, Bran had yet to find what it took to ruffle Wolf’s feathers. So, he was left with no recourse but to relent. “I mean seriously, dude. Can you imagine Leo ‘the Lion’ Anderson admitting he’s in a state of serious forlorn yearning for a cute, raven-haired spook?” Pigs will fly, hell will freeze over, and Sicily will elect an incorruptible government. “No. He hasn’t said a damn thing. And the truth is, at first I thought the reason he was walking around with a hangdog expression on his face like he’d been kicked in the apple bag was because of what happened back there.”
Wolf shot him a look, one brow arched, one corner of his mouth quirked. “Like he’d been kicked in the apple bag?”
“What?” Bran grinned, spreading his arms wide. “You know me. The master of motherf*cking tact.”
“Unquestionably.”
“But I’ve known the guy for over fifteen years now,” he continued, unperturbed by Wolf’s quick agreement. “I’ve known him to lose men and soldier on.” Wolf opened his mouth to argue, but Bran raised a hand, cutting him off. “I know; I know. Rusty was different. One of us.”
And by “us” he meant the original eight-man team they’d put together right out of SEAL training. The Crazy Eight. The Eight Amigos. The motherfriggin’ Great Eight. One of whom was in the grave. One of whom, Michael “Mad Dog” Wainwright, had returned home to Atlantic City to build ships in his family’s shipyard and make babies with the saucy redheaded diplomatic secretary they had saved from a bombed-out embassy in Pakistan during their final mission for the Navy. And six of whom—them—were living and working in the Keys, hoping like hell to find a better way of life than the one they’d left behind.
“But my point is that no matter what kinda shitstorm he’s weathered, no matter how many good men he’s loaded into flag-draped coffins for transport back home,” he continued, “LT has never once sworn off the ladies. Not until Syria. Not until Olivia. So yeah, it’s real. Now whether ‘real’ means unrequited lust or ‘real’ means unrequited love is anybody’s guess.”
He hoped to hell it was the first. Because there was no way Leo and Olivia could make it work in the long run. The huge list of divorced spec-ops guys and spies he knew assured him of that fact. Tradecraft and civilian life just didn’t mix. And Bran sure as shit didn’t want to have to stand by and watch while his best friend got his heart broken.
“So maybe we just need to make sure we give Olivia and LT some alone time,” Wolf speculated. “Maybe after she’s waxed his ax a few times, he’ll realize one…um… What is it you Jersey boys call it?” he asked.
“Chucky.” Bran smiled despite himself, remembering the conversation he’d had with Wolf their very first night on Wayfarer Island when he’d explained the origins of that particular piece of slang.