Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(52)
What are we goin’ to do now? His friends had invested everything in this venture, put their trust in him. And just look what it got ’em.
“God, Leo,” Olivia whispered. “I don’t even know what to say. ‘Sorry’ doesn’t begin to cover—”
“It’s not your fault,” he told her, unable to take his eyes away from the ship during her death throes. She was going fast, the ocean swallowing her and the flames that covered her in one long gulp.
“Of course it’s my fault,” Olivia insisted. “If I hadn’t—”
“Save your apologies and recriminations,” Wolf growled, pulling back the charging bolt on his Colt and flipping off the safety. Both sounds seemed particularly loud on the open water despite the fact they were competing with the dinghy’s softly purring outboard engine. “Company’s coming.”
Leo glanced away from the charred carcass of Wayfarer-I—now nose down in the drink, only her mostly destroyed aft section and a portion of her rudder remained visible—to look in the direction of Wolf’s extended finger. And sure as shit, beyond the wall of smoke he could just make out a skiff detaching itself from the yacht. Five…no…six men were aboard. All armed. All, no doubt, with death in their hearts.
Well, they weren’t the only ones. His ol’ ticker pumped a toxic blend of rage and revenge.
Olivia scrambled off his lap, going down on her knees in the bottom of the dinghy and leaning over the side so she could squint toward the yacht. He instantly missed her warmth, the feel of her pressed against him. But he registered that with half a mind. The other half was busy running through possible scenarios, trying to find one that allowed them to live.
Apparently Bran was doing much the same thing. “Should we try to outrun them?” he wondered aloud.
Leo nodded. “Olivia can call Morales and have him give our coordinates to the contractors. Even if they have to run on one engine, if they bust ass in our direction, they might have a shot at reachin’ us before we run out of fuel or before the tangos catch up.”
“I’d say that’s a negative,” Wolf said, grabbing the satellite phone from the small, webbed pouch attached to the inside of the dinghy. When he lifted it, water poured from the phone’s plastic case. “I stuck it in there thinking it’d be safe. I wasn’t banking on the skiff ending up facedown in the drink.” He punched a button on the satphone, then another, before shaking his head. “No go.”
“Doesn’t matter anyway,” Mason grumbled, the butt of his M4 raised to his shoulder so he could use his scope to get a better view of their targets.
“Why’s that?” Leo demanded.
“Those cocksuckers have a six-HP engine on that f*ckin’ thing. They’d catch us before we banged out two miles.”
“So we make a stand,” Wolf said.
Usually making a stand didn’t fill Leo with dread. He’d made plenty of them during his Naval career, been outnumbered and outgunned too many times to count. But he’d never had Olivia by his side while doing any of that. And, by God, he’d be damned if he’d have her by his side now.
“Get into a life jacket, Olivia,” he told her, grabbing one of the bright-orange preservers and thrusting it at her. “Then get out of the boat.”
“What?” Her face showed equal parts confusion and alarm.
“We’re about to have ourselves a real-life gun battle here. And I can’t have you in the middle of it.”
“No.” She shook her head, letting the life jacket drop to the bottom of the dinghy. “No, I can help you.”
He flicked a glance at the skiff and the terrorists now whizzing toward them. The heat of rage burning through his blood froze solid at the thought of her taking part in what was coming next.
Over my dead body.
But it was the thought of her dead body that had him picking up the life jacket and pushing it toward her again. “Put it on,” he told her in his best commanding-officer voice.
“I’ve got my…” Her eyes widened when she reached behind her back to feel for her pistol. It was gone. No doubt sitting on the sandy bottom some two hundred feet below them. He was pretty sure he’d inadvertently unclipped the top strap on her holster when he sent her flying overboard. But there’d be time for explanations later. For now, he needed her to Get. The. Hell. Out!
“Exactly,” he told her. “You’ll just be a distraction. One we don’t need.”
“But I—”
The gentle whir of an outboard engine reached his ears. Time’s up. Hating himself for what he had to do, but seeing no other choice, he stood and grabbed Olivia around the waist. Before she registered his intent, he tossed her overboard.
She hit the water a couple of yards from the dinghy, arms and legs akimbo, and came up sputtering. “Goddamnit, Leo! Stop doing that!”
He flung the life jacket after her. “Grab it before it floats away! And then stay put!” he bellowed. When he saw her reach for the bright-orange life preserver, he turned to his men. Yessir. In this situation they were certainly his men. “Okay, gentlemen,” he said. “It’s time to Jason Bourne some things. I know it’s been a while, but I suspect it’s like ridin’ a bike. So let’s give it to ’em with both smokin’ barrels and a punch to the throat, hooyah?”