Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(93)

“Fifty million dollars in a Swiss bank account and assurances from your government that I will not be hunted.”

Jesus, fifty million? He’s got a giant set of brass clackers!

“And if I don’t give you these things, you’ll call your buddies in the IS and out my assets,” she said, gritting her teeth until they creaked.

“Precisely.”

Her mind raced through the possibilities. She knew Morales wouldn’t go for fifty thousand, much less fifty million. The lives of the five locals she’d groomed and trained to infiltrate IS weren’t worth all that much to the CIA, worth even less to Uncle Sam. But they were worth something to her. Because those five men had families and homes. They had loved ones who were counting on them to come back to them. They had everything she’d never had. So very much to lose and yet they’d still agreed to lay it all on the line. They were brave, good, valiant men, and she couldn’t just sit back and let them die.

“My boss will never agree,” she told the general.

“Then I am left with no other choice.” He grabbed the cell phone.

Olivia’s Sig was in her hands before she even realized she’d reached for it, pointing it straight at Al-Ambhi’s face. “Don’t.” Just the one word.

“Ah.” He smiled again. That oily smile. That wretched smile. “But you see, I must. If I cannot have the Americans and their money protecting me, then I will have the IS and their gratitude protecting me.”

“I’ll kill you before you ever make the call,” she warned.

“No you won’t,” he scoffed. “If you kill me, my men will kill you. You and the soldier you have waiting outside.”

The soldier she had waiting outside…Rusty Lawrence. The SEAL who’d been assigned her bodyguard for this meeting because, even though they were all supposed to be friends here, an unaccompanied female was always a target. Al-Ambhi was right. She and Rusty wouldn’t make it out alive if she pulled her trigger. But when she weighed two lives against five, she just couldn’t see how the ledger added up in their favor. Except, maybe…

“Not if I tell your men you’re really working for IS.” She was breathing hard now. She couldn’t help it. And her Sig was trembling in her grip.

“Pfft.” He waved a hand through the hot, arid air. “They will never believe you. You are an American, after all. A great infidel. A great liar.” He waited a beat, and when she didn’t lower her weapon, he rolled his eyes and punched in a number, holding the phone to his ear.

He would do it. She could see it in his eyes.

And he must have seen that she would do it too. Because his face slackened and his mouth fell open right before she squeezed her trigger.

Olivia gripped the handle on the door of the shower, anchoring herself in the here and now. Trying to forget the way the general’s skull had exploded, the horror of the blood and the gore. Trying to forget the way Rusty had burst into the room, taking one glance around before yelling at her to run. Trying to forget the sound of the rebel gunfire that had cut him down when they were racing through the hall toward the back of the general’s house.

A million times she’d gone over that day and tried to figure out what she could have done differently to keep everyone alive. And a million times she’d come up with nothing.

She blew out a ragged breath and stepped from the shower, draping her wet clothes over a towel rod. She was just slipping on the robe and cinching the belt when she heard raised voices out on deck. The hair along the back of her neck lifted in warning, and her heart took off like it was in a race and someone had fired the starting pistol. She was slipping out the door, running across the guest cabin, and dropping to her belly in the main living area two seconds later.

She could see through the big windows and in the glow of the Black Gold’s exterior lights that a fishing boat had indeed tied up to the back of the yacht. But that’s not what had her kissing carpet. Hell no. What had her kissing carpet was the five dark-skinned men who were standing at the fishing boat’s railing pointing weapons straight at Leo and his guys. For their part, the SEALs were locked and loaded, aiming their M4s right back in a good ol’ fashioned high-seas standoff.

She lifted her chin, trying to see where everyone else was, and got a glimpse of Maddy and the crew of the Black Gold standing stock-still and slightly off to the side. Their hands were raised in the air. And the deckhand, Nigel, appeared to be holding two quarts of oil.

What the ever-loving f*ckety f*ck? How? Why? Who?

She hadn’t a clue. Figured whatever the hell was going on, whoever the hell these new guys were, it was simply the olive atop the shit sandwich that was this day.

She glanced at the occasional table where she’d laid the AK-47 and crawled over to it, the carpet beneath her smelling so strongly of deodorizer that her eyes watered. Carefully slipping the weapon onto the floor, she checked the clip, found it half full, and gently reinserted it, wincing when it clicked into place with a loud snick. Then she was belly crawling toward the door that led out onto the main deck.

Fear was a hot fist squeezing her heart. Guilt was a rough stone sitting in the pit of her stomach. Leo was out there. Brave, beautiful Leo. The man she loved. And there was a rifle aimed at his head. It was unthinkable. Untenable. She would never forgive herself if—

She cut off her own thoughts as she slowly, cautiously slid open the door. A night breeze blew into the main cabin. It ruffled her damp hair and slipped under the lapels of the robe, bringing with it the smell of fish and sea. And the sound of a man’s voice…