Hell or High Water (Deep Six #1)(95)

Bang! The sound of a fifth shot blasted by Leo’s head. The whiz of the bullet slicing through the air by his ear told him Olivia had been the one to take aim.

Floppy Hat’s neck burst open at the same time his eyes flew wide. He dropped his weapon to claw at the wound that was spurting thick sprays of blood in rhythmic, steady streams. He made an awful gurgling noise, then collapsed onto the deck of the fishing boat next to two of his men, his legs scrabbling dreadfully in his death throes. The remaining two men had fallen over the railing, their arms dangling down, their heads dripping blood into the sea between the boats. Five dead in less than two seconds. It was as gruesome as it was impressive.

So much needless horror today. So much dying. He wished there could have been another way and sent a prayer of thanks up to Rusty once more for making them all promise to stop living in a world that required this of them on a daily basis.

Blowing out a breath, he turned to see Olivia lower her weapon to the deck. She was trembling, her face completely drained of blood like she’d been exsanguinated, and her blue eyes taking up her whole face.

“See,” he said, realizing he was trembling too. “I told you that you didn’t have anything to worry about. You had my back, stepped up, and did what you had to do and—”

He stopped right there because she bolted upright and raced for the railing, the back of her robe billowing out behind her in a navy-blue ripple of terrycloth. Leaning over the side, she gasped again and again like she was trying to keep from retching. He shook his head at the brave, fearless, softhearted woman he loved. He felt a lump in his throat as he swung his M4 over his shoulder and started in her direction.

He’d gone no more than two steps when he saw the barrel of a machine gun edging from around the corner, pointing straight at Olivia’s slender back. He didn’t think, he didn’t hesitate, he simply roared her name and ran. Three leaping steps brought him to the corner of the living quarters. His right hand connected with the barrel of the weapon, pushing it off target just as the motherf*cker operating it squeezed the trigger.

Boom! The shot flew wide. Thank Christ! From the corner of his eye, Leo saw Olivia spin around, hands raised to her mouth. Then he was ripping the weapon away from some guy in a wet suit, snarling as he tossed it overboard. He started pummeling the sack of shit in the face with both fists. The rage was on him now. He was seeing red. This man, whoever he was, had been a split second away from shooting Olivia in the back. And that meant Leo would kill him, beat him to a bloody pulp and then stomp on his remains.

Wet-Suit Guy’s nose exploded under Leo’s fist, blood streaming over his mouth and chin. He staggered back against the bulkhead as Leo aimed body blows to his midriff over and over again, growling, howling, loving the ache in his arms and the skin that split over his knuckles. He was a beast. An animal bent on protecting its mate. Savage and unyielding. Mindless. Berserk.

He didn’t know how long he stood there slugging away at the guy, hearing the crunch of bone meeting bone, watching as skin flayed open and bled. But at some point, he realized Olivia had laid a hand on his shoulder and was whispering his name in that smoky, beloved voice.

“Leo. Shhh. Stop now.” The red slowly eased from his vision. The rage roaring through his veins like molten steel cooled. He dropped his hands, flexing his fingers. And without his fists keeping Wet Suit upright, he crumbled to the ground at Leo’s feet, curling in on himself.

“It’s okay.” Olivia brushed his hair back from his face. “Leo, look at me.” He glanced over at her, breaths sawing from his lungs. She smiled and stood on tiptoe to press a soft kiss to his lips. It anchored him, grounded him, settled him in a way nothing else could have. “I’m fine,” she whispered. “See? I’m alive. You got him.”

To his utter dismay, what sounded like a sob burst from somewhere deep in his chest. And then he was grabbing her up, holding her close as his friends and the crew of the Black Gold gathered around them. For a few glorious moments, he breathed her in and felt her strong heartbeat against the lips he pressed to her neck. Then the guy lying in a heap at his feet groaned, and Olivia turned her head, gasping.

“What?” Leo asked, reluctantly releasing her. If he had his way, she’d be permanently attached to him. Conjoined twins, connected at the genitals. Okay. All right. He was making jokes, which meant he hadn’t gone off the deep end for good. He covertly released a pent-up breath. For the first time in his life, he understood how it was possible for a man to lose it, to slip over the edge of sanity. And it was a chilling glimpse into the dark void. Goose bumps lifted the hairs on his arms.

“I think I…” Olivia bent down, looking at the stranger. “You’re Agent Jonathan Wilson, aren’t you?”





Chapter Twenty


7:48 p.m.…

“So tell me, Agent Wilson, are you working with someone inside or are you working alone?”

Maddy sat on the plush sofa in the yacht’s main living quarters, watching Olivia question the bleeding, trussed-up sole survivor of the shootout. And she must be in shock or something…or…maybe more shock was what she was in. Is it possible for shock to compound on itself? Because her hands weren’t shaking. Her heart wasn’t racing. And she wasn’t ten seconds away from passing out. As far as she could figure, after witnessing what she had secretly titled “Yosemite Sam-style Dustup Número Dos,” she should be experiencing all those things.