Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(68)
“That won’t happen,” he assured her. “You won’t let that happen.”
Oh, she wished she felt as sure as he sounded…
*
3:41 p.m.…
“And the truth of the matter is, I don’t want to be a bad guy. Even if I am working on the good side,” she admitted, her soft lips moving against the skin of his chest, her hot breath tickling the hairs there. “I want to be a good guy.”
Had Leo not heard it with his own ears, he wouldn’t have believed Olivia’s tone could ever be described as plaintive. And because he loved her, those three pitiful sentences curled themselves around his heart and squeezed. He wanted to roll her in bubble wrap, lock her in a closet, and stand guard outside with an Uzi. Just to keep her safe from the world, from ever feeling like she wasn’t good enough or worthy enough, from ever having to witness death or dying again. For all her bravery and bravado, Olivia Mortier had a tender, sweet heart.
He hoped one day, maybe someday soon, to win that heart for himself.
Pulling her closer, he planted a kiss atop her damp head, loving the way her hair felt against his lips. “Did somethin’ happen in the last eighteen months?”
She pushed back to blink up at him. Were her eyes overly bright? He cocked his head. Nah. She might be letting him see her softer side, but that stopped well short of tears. He wondered absently what it would take to bring Special Agent Olivia Mortier to tears. Then immediately hoped he’d never get the opportunity to find out. The sight would likely bring him to his knees.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I just mean…and don’t take this the wrong way, but I can’t help but notice you seem different.”
“How’s that?”
“Gentler, maybe? More circumspect?”
She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. He tried not to let the fact that he got a peek at that front tooth register with the moron in his wet suit. Unfortunately, the moron was nothing if not observant, ready to spring to life at the drop of a hat. For chrissakes.
“You mean nervous, right? Less sure of myself?” Her tone definitely wasn’t plaintive now. It was…shaken. And that gutted him like a fish.
“No,” he assured her, but her eyes slid away from him. A sure sign she didn’t believe him. He grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “No, Olivia. That’s not what I meant at all. I mean you seem more careful, more cautious. And I can’t help but wonder if somethin’ happened that caused you to—”
“Oh, other than my life happening?” she blurted, her blue eyes wild. “Other than I spend every day trying to stay two steps ahead of people who would like nothing better than to see our country burned to ashes, and the whole awful truth is that it’s terrifying and exhausting? Other than I’m thirty years old and I don’t even…don’t even…” She stumbled to a stop, shaking her head. “Forget it.” She sliced a hand through the air karate-chop style. “I’m just having a crisis of confidence, I think. Given the way this whole mission has gone, can you really blame me?”
He clocked her change of subject with a raised brow but decided not to push it. “You couldn’t have known any of this would happen, and besides—”
She shoved a finger against his lips, and it took every ounce of restraint he possessed not to suck it into his mouth.
“Don’t,” she warned him, her husky voice like a wet tongue swirling around inside his ear. Her hair was starting to dry, and the salt water made it wave around her face and shoulders. He liked it. It made her look unkempt, a wilder, freer version of Olivia.
“Don’t make any more excuses for me. This has been a shit show since minute one. And I swear…I swear I’ll make it up to you, Leo. I’ll have the CIA buy you another ship, a better ship. I’ll have Morales increase the fee we’re paying you. I’ll—”
“Don’t make promises your boss won’t let you keep,” he told her kindly. He’d been in the biz long enough to realize Uncle Sam expected guts but rarely gave any glory. “And speakin’ of your boss, what did he say when you called him?”
She’d been forced to break protocol and contact Morales via the yacht’s unsecured satellite phone. But Leo suspected she’d kept things short and sweet, speaking in the kind of Company code-talk that sounded like nothing but said everything. Even if the mole or moles had somehow been listening in, Leo suspected they would be hard-pressed to make heads or tails of what had been discussed.
“He’s unhappy we couldn’t manage to keep even one of the radicals alive to interrogate, but the fact that you’ll be going down to retrieve the capsules makes up for it a bit.”
“Can’t fault the guy for wantin’ it all, I reckon,” he mused with a half-grin. He’d met Morales once. The man was impatient and rude, but utterly brilliant. A mind like a steel trap. Leo took comfort in knowing Morales had his finger on the pulse of international intrigue.
“I don’t want you to do it.”
“What?” His chin jerked back so hard it was a wonder his head didn’t go tumbling off the column of his neck.
“It was one thing when I thought you’d have your team by your side, but it’s another thing entirely to send you down there all by yourself. Leo”—she placed her hands on either side of his face—“it’s dangerous. If something goes wrong with your regulator or your tanks, there’ll be no one to help you.”