Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(50)
Like a locomotive driven by the devil and shooting straight to hell…
Weird how that phrase had come back to her after all these years. It’d been Timmy’s favorite expression during that summer he spent with her in the orphanage while his mother did a stint in the county jail. He’d been her friend. The only friend she’d ever made there, actually. But then his mother got out, picked him up, and the letters he promised to write never came. Olivia had been heartbroken at the time, and maybe that sense of heartbreak was what had brought the memory back.
Next thing she’d known, Mason was flying off Wayfarer-I, an armful of life jackets trailing their straps behind him. Then Wolf took the plunge, his banshee scream enough to raise goose bumps on the dead. And then, finally, finally…Leo appeared. He climbed the rail, turned to give his beloved ship one last glance—even from a distance, the look on his face had completely gutted her—and jumped.
She noticed he was the last to abandon the vessel. No doubt waiting until all of his men were safe before saving his own neck, the big, brave, foolish sonofabitch.
Now she heard the choking cough of the dinghy’s small outboard engine trying to come to life. Wolf was yanking on the pull cord with all he had, his deeply tanned skin shiny with water. But the sound of the unresponsive engine was soon drowned out by the shriek of the salvage ship as her hull buckled with the heat of the fire burning somewhere deep in her belly. Wayfarer-I was listing severely now, tipped almost completely on her side.
Come on, come on, Olivia silently begged the dinghy’s engine. Start. START!
“I can’t see the yacht. Can you?” Bran asked, spitting out a mouthful of briny water when a wave momentarily washed over his face.
She craned her neck, kicking her bare feet harder in an effort to lift herself higher out of the water. Lord knew where her flip-flops were. Somewhere on the bottom of the Straits, along with her binoculars and Leo’s sunglasses, no doubt.
“No dice,” she told him. “The salvage ship’s hull is in the way.”
“So we have no idea if they’re satisfied with sinking the Wayfarer,” he said, unconsciously reaching behind his head to finger the butt of the weapon protruding over his left shoulder, “or if they plan to come and finish us off.”
“I can’t even think about what happens next,” she said before she considered her words, her eyes glued to Leo’s broad shoulders. “He needs to get the hell away from the ship in case she blows. For right now, that’s all that matters.”
She felt Bran’s intense gaze land on her face and realized exactly what she’d said, exactly what she’d revealed.
“You care about him, don’t you?” he asked, his voice so low she could have pretended she didn’t hear him over the shushing of the warm waves around them. But she was no coward.
Or at least that’s what she told herself when she admitted, “Of course I do.” Then she hedged her bets and proved she was just a wee bit chickenhearted when she added, “I care about all of you. And I’m so sorry I dragged you guys into this m—”
“Forget that,” he cut her off. “I wanna know your intentions toward LT.”
She turned to him, lifting a dubious brow as she continued to kick and paddle like mad. “Are you kidding me?” she asked. His soaking hair curled against his forehead, his brown eyes were sullen, and his expression? Well, it appeared for all the world as if he was being completely, one hundred percent, deadeye serious.
“Okay, first of all, this isn’t the antebellum South, Leo’s not a debutante, and you’re not his shotgun-toting father. So I don’t see how my intentions are any of your business. Secondly”—she panted with the effort to remain afloat—“you really want to do this now?”
“First of all, I’m his best friend, and that means it is my business. Secondly,” he said, mimicking her and maybe mocking her a little too, “I can’t think of a better time to do this, can you?”
“Sh’yeaaah.” Ugh. She shouldn’t have let her jaw hang open on that last word. A wave took advantage of the opportunity, filling her mouth with salt water. “How about when we aren’t floating in the middle of an ocean full of sharks? Or maybe we wait until terrorists aren’t launching rockets at us. Or perhaps this conversation is better left until after Leo and the others are safe from—”
“But that’s what makes this perfect,” he interrupted. Good God, he made treading water look easy. His arms barely seemed to move below the surface.
“How do you figure?”
“Because we might not make it outta this thing alive.” And the unvarnished truth of that hit her like a wrecking ball, filling her with grief and a sense of dread so heavy it took everything she had not to let it drag her beneath the surface of the sea. Luckily, the sound of the motor on the dinghy finally catching and coming to roaring life distracted her.
When she looked toward Leo and the little boat, it was to see both headed in her direction, plumes of water jetting out behind the small outboard engine and catching the sunlight to create tiny rainbows. Hallelujah!
“And since that’s the case,” Bran continued, seemingly unmoved by the fact that the others were headed their way, “there’s no reason for you to lie to me. I mean, who needs that on their conscience so close meeting their maker?”