Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(58)
The relief that poured through him at the sound of her husky voice was so intense it made him dizzy. He sank a couple of inches into the water, closing his eyes and sending up a quick prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening. You know, just in case.
When he blinked open his eyes and spun around in the water, there she was. The woman of his heart. No more than ten yards away and splashing in his direction. Which meant she hadn’t heeded his advice to stay put. In fact, she must’ve started swimming toward the action as soon as they took off, the brave, reckless, lovable creature. Her ponytail had come undone, so her sodden hair lay plastered against her skull. Her cheeks were flushed scarlet from exertion. And her mascara was smudged in huge, black swaths beneath her wide eyes, making her look like a startled raccoon.
He’d never seen a more gorgeous sight in his whole sorry-assed life…
Chapter Twelve
2:46 p.m.…
“Leo!” Olivia yelled, lifting her arm out of the water to signal him. He didn’t hear or see her. He’d already dived beneath the waves, headed her way.
She choked on a sob that should have mortified her with its strength. But she was so damned happy he was alive that she couldn’t make herself care that her tough outer shell had developed a series of huge, gaping cracks. When she hadn’t seen him or his men emerge from behind the dinghy after it sank, she’d contemplated the worst, that they’d all somehow been killed in the seconds her vision was obscured by that stupid, idiotic wave.
But as she’d swum and swum and swum, her muscles on fire from the exertion, she’d refused to let herself really believe it. Repeating the same mantra over and over as she fought the wind and the tide: He’s not dead. He can’t be dead. He’s not dead. He can’t be dead…
Then, just as one of the terrorists noticed her and took aim in her direction—yeah? that would be one second she relived in her nightmares—the bearded men were all yanked beneath the surface of the sea as if they’d been set upon by a school of sharks. But she’d known it wasn’t sharks that dragged them down. It was frogs. As in frogmen. As in Navy motherfriggin’ SEALs!
The relief had overwhelmed her, filling her chest with choking cries. She’d thought maybe she was about to turn into the spokeswoman for Kleenex and Visine, and have a good ol’ fashioned breakdown of hysterical, tear-filled happiness, but ten seconds stretched into twenty and then thirty…and no Leo, just waves upon waves lapping over the surface of the sea. She’d held her breath when she saw two dark heads briefly breach the surface, her eyes searching, her whole heart hoping…but no blond head bobbed up next to them. Then the two dark heads disappeared again.
She’d renewed her efforts, paddling against the current, buffeted by the surf, spitting out the occasional mouthful of salt water when a wave hit her full in the face, or pushing aside a piece of the floating debris left behind because the Wayfarer had given up the ghost. Just when she began to think there was no way—no way anyone could hold their breath for that long—all four men blasted out of the sea like human torpedoes. And she hadn’t stopped swimming in their direction until now when she simply floated, waiting for him to come to her, her heart so full of joy it was a wonder the organ didn’t burst from trying to contain it.
Then…he was there, surfacing next to her, water sheeting over his head and down his wonderful face. He pulled her into his arms and she was instantly enveloped by his wet warmth, his impossible strength, his…everything.
“You okay?” he asked, his deep voice purring in her ear.
“Leo,” she breathed, burying her nose in his neck while their legs briefly tangled as they kicked to keep themselves afloat. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop apologizin’, Olivia,” he told her, cupping the back of her head in his wide palm and hugging her tight despite the blasted life preserver that kept distance between them. “There isn’t a damn thing you could’ve done differently.”
“But if I hadn’t involved you—”
“Shhh.” He pulled away, pressing a finger to her lips. His hazel eyes reflected the ocean, appearing almost turquoise. Then his bearded, scarred chin popped back, and he cocked his head. “Are you…are you cryin’?”
She thought about admitting to him that it’d been a very close thing. But, instead, she went with, “Nope. I think the salt water is just testing the limits of my waterproof mascara.”
He gave her a sidelong glance. “Well, I think it’s found those limits, darlin’.”
She flattened her lips, but silently blessed him for making a joke and lightening the mood. Then she remembered he’d been shot. Goddamnit! How the hell could she have forgotten that? Her gaze darted to his right shoulder and the red bandana tied around it. Given the color of the fabric, it was hard to tell how bad the wound was.
“How bad are you hurt?” she demanded.
“It’s nothin’,” he assured her, and now she was the one to give him a sidelong glance. “The bullet just grazed me. I’ve had much worse.”
And she knew he had. After all, she’d seen some of his scars. Still, she was tempted to undo that bandana and assess the damage herself. But a quick flash of movement over his shoulder caught her attention. She narrowed her eyes.
“What’s up?” he asked, craning his head around. There was nothing back there except waves upon waves, a few floating pieces of white Styrofoam, and the sleek, black body of the yacht.