Devil and the Deep (The Deep Six) (12 page)

Finally, Bran said, “Look, I’m being magnanimous here and giving you two choices. You can drop your weapons, tell us where you’ve stashed the girls, and leave this island alive and well. Or you can keep your weapons, keep your secrets, and leave this island in a body bag. I’m happy either way.”

“You seem to be miscountin’ again,” the Southerner piped up. “There’s three of us and only one of you.”

“Man, you seriously need to get your eyes checked.” Mason’s low voice rumbled from the opposite direction. Maddy reckoned he’d skirted around the other side of the magazine house to come up behind the bad guys. He and Bran were quite a pair. And, boy howdy, she was glad they were on her side.

“Shit,” the third guy cursed, probably after having glanced over his shoulder to find Mason taking aim at his head.

Yessiree, boys
, Maddy thought with a savage, frantic sort of glee.
That’s what you might call bein’ stuck between a rock and a hard place.
Bran being the rock and Mason being the hard place, of course.

“Don’t try it,” Bran rumbled. His voice had all the gravity and solemnity of someone speaking at a funeral.

Try what?
Oh! She
so
wanted to peek her head out and see what the heckfire was going on.

“I’m serious,” Bran continued. “I won’t hesitate to turn you into an organ donor. There’s a real shortage of assholes lately, so I hear.”

And Maddy suddenly had the distinct urge not only to peek her head out, but to march out there and wring Bran’s neck. He was baiting them. Egging them on almost as if he
wanted
a reason to—
BOOM!
The sound of a shot echoed around the fort and inside the magazine house like an exploding cannonball. She was pretty sure her heart exploded right along with it.

8:15 p.m.…

The guy with the bad knee is a grade-A, double-D douche canoe
.

That was the thought that spun through Mason’s brain when the fuckface squeezed off a shot that flew by Bran’s head and stuck in the brick corner of the old gunpowder magazine house.

Bran returned fire without flinching. Two shots. Both hit Bad Knee center mass, dropping the man in under two seconds.

Mason sighted down his barrel as he readied himself to take out the remaining masked men. But they took one look at their buddy and tossed their rifles to the ground.

Now, not every decision Mason had ever made in the midst of a gun battle was one of moral clarity. But this one was. There was no way he could justify shooting two unarmed men.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa!” the one who sounded like he should be skinning squirrels and sipping sweet tea on a porch swing yelled when Bran swung the business end of his M4 in his direction. “We’re unarmed!” He and his pal threw their hands in the air. “Don’t shoot!”

Should’ve given that advice to your buddy, fucknuts.

“Dustin!” Southern Boy shouted, glancing at his squirming friend who was flat on his back, writhing and clutching at the wounds in his chest.

“Forget it,” Mason told him. “He’s a dead man. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

When Bran aimed to kill, he didn’t miss. It was just one of the many things Mason loved about his brother-in-arms.

“Damnit!” the third guy screamed. “I didn’t sign up for any of this shit. It was supposed to be an easy snatch-and-grab. It was supposed to be—”

“Shut up!” Southern Boy snarled.

“Screw you, Luke!”

“Why don’t you both shut the fuck up,” Mason grumbled, having heard enough.
An easy snatch-and-grab?
So this
had
been about kidnapping.

“I’d listen to him if I were you,” Bran said, skirting around Bad Knee, kicking his dropped SCAR-L away, and not sparing the dying man a glance. It wasn’t that Mason and Bran were unmoved by death and killing. It’s just that very early in their SEAL careers they’d learned that sometimes there was nothing to do but put rabid dogs down.

“And while you’re listening to him,” Bran said, “you can tell us where you’ve hidden those girls.”

“Well, which is it?” Southern Boy asked. Even though Mason couldn’t see his face because of the balaclava, he was pretty sure by the sound of Southern Boy’s voice that he was sneering. “Do ya want us to do what that jackhole says and shut the fuck up? Or do ya want us to tell you where the girls are? I’m gettin’ mixed signals here.”

Bran glanced over the man’s shoulder at Mason, raised brow saying,
Can you believe this bozo?
When he turned his attention to Southern Boy, he said, “Wise guy, eh? Well, wise guy, unless you fancy a round in your shoulder, you’ll stop with the lip service and answer my goddamned question.”

“We really didn’t hurt them,” the second half of the duo answered quickly. “We tied them up—”

“I told ya to shut up!” Southern Boy screeched. “Those girls are our only bargainin’—”

His sidekick ignored him and went on as if he hadn’t spoken. “They’re in the far north casemate on the second floor and—”

“Shut up! Shut up!
Shut up!
” Southern Boy was apoplectic.

“Thank you,” Bran said. “Now, both of you get down on your knees and put your hands behind your heads.”

“B-but,” the chatty man stuttered, “earlier you told us we could leave and—”

“Sorry,
gavone
,” Bran told him. “That ship sailed. And then it sank. Now, on your knees.”

They hesitated and Mason rolled his eyes. He contemplated swinging his M4 like a baseball bat at the backs of their knees. The longer they fought against the inevitable, the longer he had to wait to send up that flare.

And the longer Alex is alone out there.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about her—worrying about her—since the moment he’d chucked himself overboard the catamaran. Then again, she’d pretty much been a plague on his brain since she exploded onto Wayfarer Island like the pint-sized bombshell she was.

Bran proved he was suffering a similar fate—having a woman on the brain—when, instead of insisting the masked assholes do as he told them, he yelled over his shoulder, “Maddy? Y’okay in there?”

For a couple of seconds no sound emerged from the gunpowder magazine house. Then Maddy poked her head around the corner. She held a piece of driftwood aloft like a baseball bat.

“Bran?” She scooted out from behind the building, glanced at the unarmed men, and swallowed. “Can I go find the girls?”

Her firm chin and straight back were a testament to her mettle, but Mason heard the tremor in her voice. And even under the dim light of the moon, he could see that her complexion was so pale she looked like she’d been to the blood drive but hadn’t been given the requisite post-donation cookie and juice.

He wondered if he’d ever met a woman as dauntless and determined as Maddy Powers.

Alex
, a voice whispered inside his head. Ya-huh. Sure. Alex was what you would call dauntless and determined…if you were prone to understatement.

And fuckin’ hell! Were
all
his thoughts going to lead back to her tonight?

“Wait ’til we—” Bran began, and the masked men took advantage of his distraction.

“Run!” Southern Boy shouted, taking off like a shot toward the fort’s arched entryway. His cohort bolted after him.

Mason swung his weapon in their direction and took aim. But he didn’t pull the trigger. Once again he drew the line at shooting unarmed men in the back.

“Let ’em go,” Bran said.

Mason didn’t take his eyes off the targets as his breathing slowed right along with his heart rate. His finger twitched on the trigger. “I could wing them. Or take out a knee.” Apparently, he was having a knee fixation tonight.
Odd.

“No need,” Bran said as the duo zigzagged their way across the parade grounds.

“But what if they’re going to the ranger’s station to—” Maddy started, only to be cut off by Bran.

“They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb,” he said. “They’re outnumbered and weaponless.” He nodded to the SCAR-L rifles lying in the dirt. “Dollars to doughnuts they’re making a beeline straight to their boat. But don’t worry, even then they won’t get far.”

“What do you mean?” Maddy asked, skirting the body of Bad Knee to come stand beside Bran.

When she reached for his hand, Mason saw Bran stiffen. But that only lasted a split second. Then it was like something inside Bran broke loose and he curled his fingers through Maddy’s, dragging her close to his side. The look on Maddy’s face when she glanced at Bran was one Mason recognized. Longing and hero-worship and…something more.

It was the something more that worried him.

Bran didn’t believe in happily-ever-afters. Which meant at some point in the near future, that bouquet of heart-shaped balloons flying above Maddy’s head would inevitably meet the sharp pins of Bran’s unshakeable resolve.

This’ll get ugly
, Mason thought as he lowered his weapon and swung the strap of his rifle over his shoulder. The metal of the weapon was cool where it rested against his bare back, the weight comforting.

“While I was in the surf, watching and waiting to see what the masked assholes were getting up to,” Bran said, “Mason snuck aboard their fishing boat to disable their radio and satellite phone. Rule number one for any successful battle is knock out the enemy’s communications. While he was there, he cut a hole in their fuel line. Rule number two for any successful battle is to block any avenue of escape. They’ll make it
maybe
a mile or two before they run outta gas. You didn’t
really
think I was serious when I told them they could leave the island no questions asked, did you?”

“Well…I…” Maddy blinked. “I reckon I did.”

“Much to learn you still have,” Bran said, doing a pretty spot-on impression of Yoda.

A smile more radiant than the lighthouse’s glow spread across Maddy’s face.

Going to get so fuckin’ ugly
, Mason thought again. Aloud he asked, “So what now?”

“Now, Maddy and I go get the girls,” Bran said, just as the sound of an outboard engine sputtered to life. Fuckheads One and Two were on their way to nowhere fast. “You still got that flare handy?”

Mason reached into his pocket to remove the flare stick.

“Good.” Bran dipped his chin. “If Alex is still out there, it’s time to bring her in.”

Mason was overcome by the urge to run up to the parapets and fire off the flare, but he managed to keep his cool. They had a plan to make. “If she is still out there, you think we should load everyone up on the catamaran and sail back to Wayfarer Island?” He’d seen just about all he’d wanted to see of Garden Key and Fort Jefferson, thanks.

“Not sure that’s a good idea.” A concerned line sliced between Bran’s eyebrows. “Bum Knee kept calling this a
job
. Which means this wasn’t their brainiac scheme but someone else’s. They won’t be able to call that someone else with their coms down. But the thought that there are others involved makes my asshole pinch. Being out on the open ocean when we aren’t sure who else might be skulking about…” He trailed off.

“Ya-huh.” Mason nodded. “Better to be inside a fuckin’ fort should whoever hired them get tired of waiting on their call and decide to come investigate.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Bran agreed. “Hopefully the marine radio on the catamaran will be able to reach Wayfarer Island. If so, we’ll have LT make a satphone call to the Coast Guard on Key West and tell ’em to get their asses here ASAP.” Before Mason could raise the issue of the wrench that might get thrown into that plan, Bran addressed it himself. “Sure, whoever those asswipes are working for might hear our call over the marine channels, but so what? Again, we’ll have the high ground, we’ll be inside a fort, and we’re not lacking in weapons. I think the odds are in our favor should anyone attempt to make landfall here on Garden Key.”

“Agreed,” Mason said. “And if Alex
isn’t
out there, then hopefully she’s well on her way back home and the end result will be the same. A satphone call back to Key West and Coast Guard to the rescue.”

“You got it,
paisano
.” Bran dipped his chin.

But there was one last hitch. And even though the flare stick was burning a hole in Mason’s hand, he forced calm and asked the final question. “What if the marine radio isn’t strong enough to reach home?”

“Then we stay holed up in the fort until the fast ferry or a floatplane arrives tomorrow.”

“Right.” Mason nodded. And then he couldn’t stand it a second longer. He turned and ran for the nearest casemate and the stairs that led up to the top of the parapets. As his legs chewed up the distance, his fisted heart seemed to pound out a name in Morse code against his ribs.

Alex…

She was the thorn in his side. The bane of his existence. But he hoped she hadn’t set sail for Wayfarer Island. Because everything that was anything inside him desperately needed to see her and make sure she was okay.

* * *

8:17 p.m.…

“It’s takin’ too long,” Gene insisted.

For the last hour, he had been trying to pace a hole through the deck of the yacht, and it was starting to drive Tony in-fucking-sane. The fact that he was on his third cocktail should’ve meant the sharp edges of his nerves were smoothed over by top-shelf scotch, but to his dismay, they were not. He was so wired it was a wonder he wasn’t shooting sparks from his ass.

And Gene wasn’t helping, damnit!

“Sit down, Gene,” he snarled, not hiding the impatience in his voice.

“Screw you, Tony,” Gene snapped, whipping off his Stetson to run his shaky fingers through his thinning hair. The ocean breeze blowing across the back of the motor yacht caught the sweaty strands and lifted them in hunks. “I don’t take orders. And I’m tellin’ you, it’s takin’ too goddamn long. Somethin’ is wrong. You get on that satellite phone, call up
your guys
”—when Gene stressed those two words, Tony squeezed his highball glass so hard it was a miracle he didn’t shatter it—“and get a situation report right now.”

“I’m not going to do that, Gene,” he said as calmly as he could.

“The hell you say!” Gene thundered, his blood pressure boiling so hot and fast that his face flushed ruddy in the overhead light, his eyes going bloodshot in an instant. “In case you’ve forgotten,
Anthony
, we’re partners in this. And she’s my fuckin’—”

“I won’t call them.” Tony cut him off and waited to see if that vein snaking up the center of Gene’s forehead would blow. It pulsed frantically for a couple of seconds, but seemed to hold. “We need to stick to the plan. And the plan is I wait for them to call me. I won’t disturb them before then. Who knows what they’re dealing with? They could have run into some kind of issue.”

All the blood drained from Gene’s face as he stopped pacing to glare at Tony. “Like what?” he demanded. “What possible issue could a group of highly trained, armed men run into on a remote island filled with nothin’ but three teenage girls, one woman, and a guy who decided to make a career out of huggin’ trees?”

“If I knew the answer to that,” Tony told him, feeling the vein in his
own
forehead pulse menacingly, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation, would we? Now sit down, Gene. I’m sure everything is fine and the phone will be ringing any minute to tell us they’ve got them. Then they’ll sail Maddy and the girls out to international waters and call in the ransom, just like we planned. The ball will be rolling into our court.”

“I don’t know…” Gene shook his head.

Tony glanced over his shoulder at the man who covertly poked his head around the door leading into the cabin. Gene thought he was just another one of Tony’s
guys
, brought onboard to help pilot the little yacht
.
And that was true. That was
part
of his job description. The
other
part of his job description was that he would help Tony implement Plan B, should the need arise.