Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(72)
“Am I the only one who needs a cigarette after that?” Bran mock-whispered to Wolf.
“It’s almost better than late-night Cinemax.” Wolf chuckled.
Because she was a firm believer in the If you can’t beat them, join them philosophy, and also because she couldn’t allow them to know she was even the teensiest bit flustered, she called to Bran, “You have the worst timing, you know that? I mean, jeez, cliterference much?”
“Huh?” Bran asked. “What the heck is cliterference?”
Olivia grinned and winked at the men in the room. “It’s the female version of cock-blocking. You know, cliterference? Damnit, Bran. It loses its oomph when I have to explain it.”
Leo threw back his head and laughed. It was a good laugh. Deep and rolling. The kind that made you smile when you heard it. The kind that boomed around the room and inside her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
4:31 p.m.…
The instant Leo’s fins touched the sandy bottom of the Florida Straits, he checked his diver’s watch, then the dive computer beside it. The glowing readout said he was at a depth of 198 feet. Deep. But he’d been deeper. Numerous times. Of course, he’d always had a team of well-trained men swimming beside him.
He noticed the comfort he usually experienced when wrapped in the arms of Mother Ocean was strangely absent, the sense of solace oddly missing. In fact, as he switched on his headlamp, illuminating the dim water around him, he realized all he felt was…alone. Not scared or panicky, simply…separate.
Or maybe that’s the gases messin’ with my head. Was he a little dizzy? He checked his mixture, adjusted it a bit, tapped the gauges on his tanks to make sure they were reading correctly, and concentrated on his breathing. The gentle sssskkkk, sssskkkk of his regulator joined the chorus of bubbles that burbled happily as they traveled toward the surface. The water here wasn’t cold…more like cool. A pool on the first day of summer. Still, he was glad for the protection of Maddy’s brother’s wet suit. The exposed skin on his hands and face grew chilled.
After a bit, he felt more clear-headed, though a twinge of loneliness remained. He supposed that was natural. He was alone. No other human being anywhere around. In fact, he might as well be on another planet.
Havin’ yourself a bit of a “Ground control to Major Tom” moment, are you?
He shook his head at his own whimsy, then lifted his chin, his gaze following the beam of his headlamp as it traveled up the line of the nylon rope that attached him to Wolf and Wolf to the positional buoy they’d launched. He couldn’t see his friend hanging out at the halfway point. The water was too murky at this depth. The minimal sunlight that managed to filter in from above was barely enough for him to see five yards in either direction.
He jerked on the rope twice. The signal he’d arrived safely on the bottom. Waiting, he counted off the seconds. One. Two. Three. F— A double bump on the loop of rope attached to his weight belt told him Wolf had received his message and was standing by. Good. Even though Wolf was thirty feet above the cutoff point where it was safe to breathe regular oxygen, it was still possible to suffer nitrogen narcosis—what divers referred to as “rapture of the deep.” It made you feel stoned, impairing your reactions and decision-making abilities. But Wolf’s quick response told him the man was A-okay, good to go.
Leo puffed out a breath of relief, bubbles emerging from his regulator to trickle over his cheeks and into his hair. He detached the handheld flashlight from his gear belt and flipped on the switch. A thick beam of light blazed through the water, cutting through the gloom like a shooting star through the night sky.
There. Ten yards away. The rusting hull of the tangos’ sunken boat—it looked like an old recreational trawler—rose like a phantom from the ocean floor. An intruder in this alien world. He swam in its direction, managing his breathing and carefully reeling out the loop of rope attaching him to Wolf as he went.
The trawler had landed right-side up. A blessing. Because Olivia suspected the only reason the tangos hadn’t been able to get to the capsules before the vessel had sunk was because they’d stored them in the cabin or the engine compartment. And he hadn’t welcomed the thought of having to wiggle his way between the boat and the sand in an effort to access the entrance to either room.
Olivia… He would swear he could still taste her on his tongue, that salty mix of woman and passion. And the way she smelled…musky and sweet, all health and life and sexual heat. She’d been so wet for him, so swollen for him, so unbelievably soft… And yet, not. The strength of her inner muscles clamping down on his fingers when she’d climaxed had surprised him, left him breathless, anxious to feel those same muscles squeezing the head of his dick when he—
Oh great. Now I’m hard. In a wet suit. Nearly two hundred feet beneath the surface. In search of three capsules of deadly chemical weapons.
He blew out a breath of self-disgust and adjusted his goggles. It occurred to him as he hovered above the trawler’s deck that being in love with a spy came with more than its fair share of complications. She was going to disappear on him for weeks, sometimes months, on end. She would keep secrets, tell lies by omission. Not because she wanted to, but because she had to. It was going to be hard. He knew it would be hard. But if there was any man on the planet who would understand, who wouldn’t push for answers, Lord knew it was him. He’d been there. Done that. And he had a Navy SEAL Budweiser pin to prove it.