Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(57)

Apparently Bran only enjoyed big dick references when he was the one making them. “Seriously, Mason”—he squinted and lifted a hand to shade his eyes—“your stupidity and misplaced self-sacrificing heroics are blinding me. Would you mind turning them off?”

“Is this your way of saying you f*ckin’ love me and you were worried I’d—”

“Uh, guys,” Leo interrupted when the engines on the Black Gold thrummed to life with a deep purr. The sleek yacht was still anchored forty yards away. But by the sound of those engines, it wouldn’t be there for long. Shit. And just like that, he was stone-cold sober. “You mind if we file this argument under To Be Continued? Because if we don’t catch that yacht before it takes off—”

“We’re f*cked,” Mason finished unnecessarily.

“In a word.”

“You go get Olivia,” Wolf suggested. Olivia… Holy Christ. Where the hell is she? Leo glanced over his shoulder but couldn’t see her anywhere. “Me, Tweedle Dumb, and Tweedle Dumber will go appropriate ourselves a yacht.”

“Be careful,” Leo advised. Suddenly, the thought of catching the yacht seemed inconsequential when compared to making sure Olivia was okay. Which, all right, was completely asinine. But there you have it. When it came to her, he had a tendency toward myopia. Complete and total tunnel vision. “There could still be two tangos aboard, not to mention the crew or whoever else was in on this little scheme.”

“I don’t know about you three,” Bran said as he took off toward the gently bobbing vessel, “but I like those odds. Race you!” Flip! And, just like that, the guy was back to his jovial self.

Watching his friends cut across the waves, Leo treaded water and kept a close eye on the deck of the yacht through the scope of his rifle to make sure no one came out of the bridge or popped up from below to start taking potshots at his friends. But as the seconds passed…nothing. No one. Hopefully that meant there weren’t many people left on board, making it easy for the guys to mop things up.

And that wasn’t ego talking. It was the plain ol’ truth. When it came to three armed Navy SEALs who collectively had nearly forty-five years of experience and training under their belts, pretty much nothing short of an exploding volcano or hurricane—i.e., a force of motherfrickin’ nature—could stand in their way. Hooyah!

When Leo saw they were approaching the back of the vessel and the swim deck, he allowed himself to finally, finally—it had felt like an eternity—turn away. Swinging the strap of his M4 over his shoulder, he yelled, “Olivia!” His eyes searched the vastness of the ocean, looking for that spot of orange that was her life jacket. It was difficult to see. The sea was speckled with debris from the Wayfarer’s sinking. A bright-white life ring here. A dark blue corner of plastic he thought belonged to the cooler he and the guys had kept on deck there. There were buoys and a few chunks of Styrofoam. A whole sleeve of red Solo cups and a couple of cushions from the deck chairs.

He hadn’t witnessed the ship’s final seconds and was glad of it. It would have been like watching a friend draw a last breath. And he knew from experience that was one sight better left unseen. Once again, he wondered what would become of him and the others now that their futures were officially sitting on the sandy bottom of the Straits. But before the self-condemnation and remorse could set in, he saw two dots of orange on the far horizon bobbing on the waves.

Olivia? He squinted his eyes. No, not Olivia. They were the empty preservers Mason had stowed in the bottom of their dinghy before the thing made its journey into the deep.

“Olivia!” he hollered again, fear beginning to sink its razor-sharp teeth into his heart and squirming in his belly like a venomous snake. His mind raced through all the possibilities…

Drowned. No. I saw her grab the life jacket.

Sharks. Hell no. That’s too awful to contemplate.

Caught in a current and carried out of sight. But she’s strong. She wouldn’t let herself—

It didn’t matter that none of the scenarios seemed likely; ice-cold terror still froze his brain and iced over his lungs. Chills raced up his spine. Goose bumps erupted over his skin. Jesus Christ on the cross! He was having a panic attack. An honest-to-God panic attack. After all the shit I’ve seen and done, now is when I—

And then he understood. In a flash of clarity he realized. If she’d met some horrible fate, if he never saw that crooked smile or those beautiful blue eyes again…well, he’d be tempted to give up and meet her in the watery depths. And it was that acute realization, that his life ceased to have the same importance in the absence of hers, that made it suddenly, starkly clear. He didn’t just like Olivia. He loved her. Heart and soul. Body and brain. With every step and every breath.

But somehow he’d missed it. And all those months he’d missed her, all those times he’d turned down some buxom broad at the bar, all those days he’d spent wondering where she was, what she was doing suddenly made sense. He wasn’t crazy. He was just in love. Head over heels. Ass over teakettle. All in. Nothing held back.

And it was beautiful. So goddamned beautiful.

And so utterly terrifying…

“Olivia!” His voice broke because his heart was busy striking hammer blows against his ribs. “Olivia! Damnit! Where are you?”

“Here!”