Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(84)

She searched his face, and something there had her blurting, “And will I ever see you again?” She realized how that sounded—exactly like she’d meant it—and quickly corrected herself. “Any of you again?”

He got very still, his expression turning enigmatic. “Probably not,” he admitted after a couple of interminable seconds.

She blew out a breath. “I reckon I should be grateful for that, huh?”

“You’re not?”

She curled her upper lip, feeling…something. Traumatized, maybe? Exhausted, certainly. With a big-O side helpin’ of stupefaction and a bizarre-O attraction to a stranger for dessert. “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I guess so.”

And then for a long time they just stood there, staring at each other. She had the weirdest urge to reach up and brush back the whorl of Superman-esque hair that had fallen over his brow. Just to test its texture. Just to see if it was as soft as it looked.

“Maddy…” he finally whispered, his tone dark, beckoning. She took a step toward him before making the conscious decision to do so. “Would you…”

“Yeah?” She held her breath, leaning forward.

“Happen to have a pen and some paper?”

She was so cantilevered over the centerline of her body that his words had her stumbling. She didn’t know what she’d expected him to ask, but it wasn’t that. “I…uh…yeah.” She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her yoga pants. “Sure. No problem.”

Except it kind of was a problem, because she’d wanted…something.

“Thanks. I need to slip a note under the door of the bathroom to LT and Olivia.” She’d noticed that no one but Olivia called the golden god “Leo.” The men all called him “LT.” Initials, perhaps? “Let them know the…um…the guys”—he hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the quickly disappearing cruiser—“have the case and are headed back to Key West. I’d knock, but”—he grinned—“I don’t want to disturb them.”

Uh-huh. It’d become obvious to just about everyone on board that more than showering was going on in the bathroom of one of the guest cabins. So to recap. Hijacked by terrorists: check. Watched a guy get his head blown off: check, check. Helped government agents retrieve a mysterious metal case from the ocean floor: triple check. And now trying to ignore the fact that said agents were busy doing the deed in one of her father’s yacht’s showers: quadruple check.

Holy shitfire. Can this day get any weirder?

She immediately called back the question. Because even though she wasn’t superstitious by nature, she knew better than to tempt fate.

“A note. Gotcha.” She winked at Bran, pressing her finger to the side of her nose.

Motioning for him to follow her into the living quarters, she tried to figure out exactly what that odd feeling was. And then she recognized it. Disappointment. She was disappointed because for a minute there she’d thought he wanted to kiss her.

When he’d said Maddy, would you…she’d had the crazy notion that he was going to finish with…let me kiss you. So clearly she was turned on by this man of contradictions. This man she knew nothing about except that he was handsome as homemade sin, was kinda, sorta, maybe a real-life salvor who worked for the government, and was cold and dangerous enough not to bat a lash before putting a bullet in the skull of a terrorist.

Yep, sister. It’s official. You are crazier than a bag of wildcats.

*

6:41 p.m.…

Banu dropped the binoculars and cursed. They were anchored far to the east of the Black Gold, far enough away that the rays of the setting sun didn’t reach them, though they continued to highlight the activity on and around the yacht—activity that had the hair atop Banu’s scalp standing on end.

“What?” Ahmed asked. “What is it? Did you see Nassar?”

“No.” Banu shook his head, his voice reduced to a hoarse whisper. What the hell? How the f*ck? His eyes darted about, searching the rented fishing boat as if it might hold the answers. But of course he saw nothing, nothing to explain how, why—

“Brother.” Ahmed grabbed his shoulder. Banu blinked wildly at the man. “What has happened?”

“I—” Banu shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Nassar—”

“Isn’t on the yacht. At least not that I could see. And it’s crawling with men. None of them ours.” He swallowed and glanced about again. Although he didn’t know why. He was blind to the holy fighters gathered around him, to the fishing rods and the life jackets, to everything but what he’d seen through the magnified lenses of his field glasses. “I just saw one of the men moving a set of dive tanks and fins. Someone has been diving. And the only thing down there to dive for are our chemicals.”

“Are you sure?”

He wished he wasn’t. “Maybe Nassar was right. Maybe the people on the salvage ship really were CIA.” And either the descending twilight had caused the temperature to drop, or an icy fist of failure was squeezing Banu’s heart. Didn’t matter which. The result was the same. Goose bumps erupted over every inch of his body. He shivered, dragging in a ragged breath. The sour smell of defeat rose from the drops of cold sweat beading on his upper lip.