1:58 p.m.…
Olivia thumbed off the secure satellite phone and turned toward the group still gathered in the pilothouse.
“Well?” Leo asked, unhooking the sunglasses from the collar of his T-shirt and sliding them onto his face when a beam of sunlight caught the crest of a wave and glinted in through the window. She couldn’t help but recall how he’d casually tossed them onto the table in the galley right before he— “What did Morales have to say?”
“Morales? Oh yeah. Right.” She shook her head.Whatisyourproblem?But she knew. It was Leo Anderson. Leo Anderson and his too-handsome face. Leo Anderson and his mind-numbing kisses. Leo Anderson and his—
“Y’okay there, Agent Mortier?” Bran asked. When she glanced over at him, there was a smug, knowing grin tilting his lips. Like Leo, Bran was nothing if not perceptive.
“I’m fine,” she assured him, skewering him with her iciest expression¸ hoping to freeze that smile right off his face. To her utter annoyance, it didn’t work. Bran’s grin only became sunnier.
Jerk.
“Director Morales said theBlackGoldis registered to some sort of Texas oil tycoon out of Houston.” She turned her attention from Bran to Leo.Nope.That was no good. Not if she wanted to remember whatever the hell she was talking about. Because those lips…those fabulous male lips made her forget her own name, much less anything else. His ear, then. She would focus her gaze on his very innocuous earlobe…that she wanted to suck straight into her mouth.Friggin’-A!Okay, so that left…Wolf. There. Good. She would keep her gaze squarely on Wolf’s fierce, uncompromising face.
“Its captain is listed as one Harold Tripplehorn, and its marine logs show it has docked in ports all over the Caribbean and some in Central and South America. Pretty standard for the yacht of a rich Texas businessman.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Morales seems to think it’s legit.”
“And he doesn’t think it’s awfully coincidental that this yacht is anchored less than two hundred yards from the GPS coordinates those signals are sendin’ us?” Leo asked.
Damnit. She was left with no recourse but to turn to him. To address Wolf when answering Leo’s question would be…well…weird.Girding herself against that bearded jaw and that flyaway thatch of golden hair, she shook her head. “He checked the port registries. According to the marina in Nassau, theBlackGoldchecked out of customs and weighed anchor yesterday evening for a return trip to Houston. A slow sail would pretty much put her right about here.”
“And a fast sail might have had her somewhere around Gitmo last night and out here this morning,” Wolf said.
“That’s a negative.” She shook her head, thankful for a reason to turn her attention back to him. “According to Morales’s calculations, even if theBlackGoldwas steaming at full speed, she couldn’t have left Bermuda and made it to Gitmo in time to pick up the terrorists last night. Not by a long shot.”
“And you trust Morales and his calculations?” Bran asked, his expression suddenly serious. It was beyond bizarre how the guy could do that. Go from frivolous to fierce in two seconds flat.
“He didn’t get to his position by being an idiot,” she assured him. Then she glanced around at the faces of the three remaining SEALs. Despite their retirement, theywerestill SEALs. She’d worked with the spec-ops community long enough to know there was no such thing as a “former” SEAL. Once a SEAL, always a SEAL.
“Thoughts, gentlemen?” Leo asked, not surprising her in the least with his question. He was the only commanding officer she’d ever met who never made a decision until he listened to the opinions of his men. Probably one of the reasons why the eight of them had lasted nearly fifteen years running the kind of operations that usually claimed one in five.
Then it hit her like it always hit her, a two-by-four right between the eyes. There were no longer eight of them. There were only seven.Holyshit, the memory of Rusty turning to her from where he had landed on the floor in that hall after armor-piercing rounds cut through his ceramic bulletproof vest flashed in front of her eyes. Blood had been on his lips, flecking his face. More had already begun to pool around his body…
“Run, Agent Mortier!” he bellowed, swinging around to return fire. Thethump, thumpofhisM4 discharging rounds at a mind-boggling rate was interspersed with the higher-pitchedtat-tatoftherebels’ AK-47s.
I shouldn’t have done that,shethought, her mind racing through the chain of events that had brought her…broughtthem…here.I shouldn’t have shot the general.Though, given that he’d been dialing his phone, she didn’t see what other choice she’d had.But surely there was another way…
Herpistoljumpedinherhandasshefiredfromaroundtherelativesafetyofthecorner, waiting for the right moment, a lull in the shooting, when she could drag Rusty down the hall with her. And it was strange, but everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. The plaster on the corner of the wall was crumbling under the barrage of steady gunfire, but she could count each chunk as it flew in front of her face. Theclackofherpistolcyclingafreshcartridgeintothechambersoundedparticularlyloudasherheartbeatasteadylub-dublikeabassdrum.
GoodGod. She’d just killed a man. She’d pulled her gun and placed a round right between his surprised eyes, and—
“Go!” Rusty bellowed again. And with that one word, time sped up. She couldn’t count the plaster chunks. There were hundreds of them. She couldn’t hear her pistol cycling rounds, not above the roar of the firefight. And her heartbeat wasn’t steady. It was thundering!
Turkey-peeking around the corner, she saw her chance. Now!
SheranthethreestepstoRusty, sliding on the tile floor as she grabbed the strap on his body armor and pulled with all she had. Gritting her teeth, her muscles straining, her combat-booted feet scrabbling on the slick tile, she inched his immense weight backward.
Thump! Thump! Thump!HisM4 spit forth a hail of cover fire.
Bang! Bang! Bang!Inherfreehand, her pistol pumped out hot lead. She was shooting blind at the corner the rebels were hiding behind. But she figured even if she didn’t hit any of them, it was enough to keep them there. And that’s all she needed. Just a little time. Just a couple of seconds…
“Leave me!” Rusty yelled again, even as he continued to lay on his trigger. “I’m done!”
“No fucking way!” she screamed just as…click, click, click…her clip ran dry. She shoved the Sig into the back of her cargo pants and grabbed the other shoulder strap on his body armor. With a mighty heave, she pulled him around the corner.
Theminuteshedid, the rebels opened fire and the wall once more began to disintegrate. The plaster exploded in powdery blocks, adding a chalky smell to air that was already rife with the scents of spent cordite and fresh blood.
RustyrolledontohisstomachandangledhisM4 around the corner to continue firing. He was racked by coughing, the sound wet and sickening.Chest wound. She could hear it. Even now his lungs were filling withfluid.
