Devil and the Deep (The Deep Six)

by Julie Ann Walker

  Huh. How about that?

  And even though he tried to convince himself otherwise, he was happy Rick had somebody besides Maddy to flash his dastardly dimples at.

  “So who’s hungry?” Alex turned to the three teenagers sitting on the bed.

  Bran glanced at the girls. They’d been put through the wringer, and it showed in the circles under their eyes and the paleness of their cheeks. Poor kids. No one should hafta see what they’ve seen. Not at their age. And he should know. He’d been there, done that. And if there was a T-shirt involved, he wanted no part of it.

  “Anyone?” Alex prodded when the teens just stared at her and blinked. “No? Really?” She looked perplexed. “Is it because of peanut allergies? Because they say that one point four percent of all Americans have peanut allergies. Or maybe…are you guys gluten free?”

  God help them all if any of the girls were gluten free because Alex probably had some mind-numbing statistic to spout. Lucky for him—for all of them, really—the girls shook their heads and Alex was forced to turn her attention to Rick. “How about you? Can I make you a sandwich?”

  The park ranger looked at the peanut butter Alex was slathering onto a slice of bread the way you looked at a dead bird your cat proudly presented you with. Thank you. Barf. He declined with a vigorous headshake.

  Alex’s expression was the same one she would have worn if Ranger Rick had been growing extra pairs of hands from his ears. She eventually shrugged and turned to Bran and Maddy by the front door. “How about you guys? Surely, after all that running and swimming and shooting, you’re both starving.”

  “She’s kiddin’, right?” Maddy asked from the side of her mouth.

  “Not at all,” Bran assured her quietly. Louder he said, “I think you’re on your own, Alex.”

  “So you’re all telling me I’m the only one who eats when she’s stressed out?” She shoved the peanut-butter-smeared slice of bread into her mouth.

  “And when she’s happy or excited or bored or…” Bran let the sentence dangle.

  Alex pinned him with a look. “What are you saying? That I’m always eating?”

  “If the current squirrel cheeks and the Pop-Tart wrappers strewn around your bedroom back home are anything to go by,” he said.

  “Hmph,” Alex grunted, loading up another slice of bread with peanut butter. This time she added jelly before folding it in half and taking a monster bite. “You’re just jealous,” she garbled around a mouthful. “Because I’ve got a metabolism that would make—”

  “Does she ever stop talkin’?” Maddy whispered conspiratorially.

  Bran raised a brow. “That’s a little like the crocodile telling the alligator he has too many teeth, doncha think, Mouthy McGee?”

  Maddy grinned at him. Really grinned at him. And he was so happy to see something on her face besides fear or anguish or grief that he was tempted to scoop her up and press a kiss to that grin. While he was at it, he’d suck that plump top lip of hers straight into his mouth and lave it with his tongue until she met him stroke for stroke.

  What the hell are you thinking, dickhead?

  “My momma always said I could talk the hair off a dog. But I swear,” Maddy said below her breath, “I think Alex has me beat.”

  “You get used to it after a while,” he assured her, absently squeezing his thigh, trying to rub away the dull, annoying ache of his wound. “Eventually it starts to sound like the teacher in the Charlie Brown cartoon.”

  Maddy snorted.

  “Are you guys whispering about me over there?” Alex demanded.

  And because Bran was feeling more like himself, it was easy to fall back into his usual habits. “This just in, Alex.” He lifted a hand to an imaginary earpiece like he was a national newscaster. “Galileo reports you’re not actually the center of the universe.”

  Alex pulled a face, still chewing. “Smart-ass.” At some point she’d rubbed the zinc oxide from her nose so the smattering of freckles across the bridge stood out in sharp relief.

  The sound of the outboard engine on the catamaran’s little dinghy growled to a start, and Bran turned to the open door to watch Mason motor the rubber craft from the sailboat to the beach. Then Mason pulled the dinghy onto the sand and hustled to the ranger’s station, taking the steps two at a time and shouldering his way past Bran only to blink against the dull brightness inside.

  “You’re eating.” Mason frowned at Alex once his eyes had adjusted. “Should’ve known.”

  Alex didn’t bristle or take offense. She grinned and held out the last of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

  Mason hesitated for a whole half second before accepting it. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth. “Thanks. I’m starving.”

  “See.” Alex waved a hand at Mason. “This man has sense.”

  Bran rolled his eyes. “So did the signal work? Were you able to get LT on the marine radio?” he asked Mason.

  “Ya-huh.” Mason nodded, motioning for Alex to make him another sandwich. She snapped him a salute before slathering peanut butter onto a fresh slice of bread. “I gave him the skinny, and he put in a satellite call to the Coast Guard station on Key West.”

  “And?” Bran prompted when Mason stopped to accept the sandwich Alex handed him. Between the two of them, Ranger Rick would soon be eaten out of house and home. Bran knew from experience since somehow it had become his job to keep the cupboards and refrigerator on Wayfarer Island stocked—probably because he was the only one who cooked—and the endeavor was proving to be a full-time occupation.

  “And LT says the closest Coast Guard cutter is three fuckin’ hours out,” Mason said, shoving half the sandwich into his face. When he realized there were underage ears listening in, he turned to the teenagers who were blinking and eyeing him with awe. Bran couldn’t blame the girls. Mason was as big as a Mack truck and twice as tough-looking, what with his M4 slung over his shoulder and a huge Celtic cross tattoo stretched across his mammoth back. “Uh…pardon my French, ladies,” he garbled around his PB and J.

  “Three hours.” Bran made a face.

  Mason nodded and chewed. “We’re supposed to hang tight until they get here. Oh, and by the way, I had to convince LT not to power up the Otter and head in our direction.” He was referring to the single-engine, propeller-driven floatplane that Romeo, one of their teammates, had purchased soon after moving to Wayfarer Island.

  Amusement and affection for his best friend warmed Bran’s heart. “That shouldn’t have taken too much convincing since he doesn’t know how to fly the damned thing.” He winced and turned to the teenagers. “Pardon my French, ladies.”

  “I think he was thinking he’d wing it.” Mason snorted around another huge bite. “But he eventually agreed it was probably best if he didn’t try to become a pilot in one night. He’s going to hang out by the radio in case we need to relay any additional information.”

  Bran nodded, then looked around the room. “So that’s it then. We wait.”

  “In the fort,” Mason added for the benefit of those who weren’t privy to the plan. “At least that’s where all of you guys will hole up. I’ll keep vigil on the cat.” He used their abbreviation for the catamaran. “Just in case the Coast Guard tries to reach us on the marine radio once they get closer.”

  “I’ll help you man the radio,” Alex piped up.

  “F-for fuck’s sake, why?” Mason sputtered. He grimaced as he peeked at the group of girls. “Sorry. I’m not used to having kids around.”

  “Hey, man. We’re not kids,” the dark-haired girl named Louisa said, her Spanish accent barely noticeable. “And we’re pretty proficient in the use of profanity. So you can stop apologizing.”

  Mason lifted his eyebrows. “Duly noted.” Then he turned back to Alex. “Manning the radio is a one-man job.”

  “But I wouldn’t want you to get lonely out ther
e on the sailboat,” Alex said. “And I wouldn’t want you dozing off either. I’ll be there to provide company and keep you awake.”

  “No.” Mason adamantly shook his head. “You need to go with Maddy and the girls into the fort. Stay safe in there while Bran and Rick”—he tilted his head toward the park ranger—“keep watch from the parapets.”

  “Wow,” Maddy blurted from beside Bran. “Do you even hear yourself?”

  “Huh?” Mason frowned at her. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean the fact that this plan of yours reeks of machismo and misogyny.” She crossed her arms and thrust out her chin.

  Uh-oh. Danger, Will Robinson, Bran thought.

  “Well said, sister suffragette.” Alex raised a fist like she was auditioning to be the next leader of the Black Panthers.

  Mason opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. Then closed it again. He started blinking like he had something in his eyes.

  When Mason had been silent for too long, Maddy shoved her hands on her hips. “You have a way of not sayin’ anything louder than anyone else on the planet. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “You can really hear the gears grinding up there, can’t you?” Alex motioned toward Mason’s head.

  Mason turned to Bran. “Little help here?”

  “No way.” Bran shook his head. “You’re on your own with this one, bro.” They were the same words Mason had used when Bran asked for help in the moat.

  Mason sent him a look that promised slow, painful retribution. Bran didn’t care. Any pain he suffered later would be totally worth it. Mason was the kind of man even tough guys called Mister. So seeing him squirm beneath the blistering stare of two women wasn’t something Bran often, or ever, got the chance to do.

  Where’s a bowl of popcorn when I need it? Suddenly, his appetite had returned.

  “Look,” Mason said. “It’s just a fact that it’ll be better for everyone if you ladies stay out of the way where we don’t have to worry about you.”

  Oh, it’s like watching a slow-motion train wreck!

  “Um, yeah.” Maddy’s eyes flashed, her cheeks going rosy red. When she was in full-on pique, she was that kind of beautiful. The discombobulating kind. “If we’ve suddenly changed the definition of the word fact into shit you just made up. I’m done being told to sit in the corner and paint my toenails.”

  “Huh?” Mason shook his head in confusion.

  “It’s like you can see the stupidity cloud handing over his head, am I right?” Alex lisped. A sure sign she was really enjoying herself.

  “I don’t understand,” Mason said, a muscle ticking under his left eye.

  When Maddy said, “Obviously,” two of the teenagers snickered.

  “We could take him out back and try to beat some sense into him,” Alex suggested.

  Bran snorted. The idea was so absurd. Like hearing a second grader challenge a senior to a fistfight. Jungle gym. Three p.m. No backsies.

  He sobered immediately, however, when Alex turned on him. “What’s that, Bran?”

  “Yeah,” Maddy demanded, her gray eyes sparkling. “You want some of this?”

  Oh, she had no idea how much he wanted some of that. All of that, in fact. And that thought was enough to convince him it was past time he put an end to this incredibly entertaining tête-à-tête. “So what would you ladies suggest be your jobs for the next three hours?” he inquired.

  “Alex can help Mason man the radio, and me and the girls will join you and Rick on lookout duty,” Maddy told him. “Girls, grab some more water bottles. We’re headed to the fort.”

  When Mason joined Bran by the front door, he mumbled, “I don’t know how it happened. I thought I was doing a hell of a job in the driver’s seat and then wham! The wheels went flying off the bus.”

  Bran chuckled and slapped Mason on the back.

  “I’ll trade you places,” Mason suggested, and it was the first time Bran had ever seen pleading in the big guy’s eyes. “You can sit by the radio and let Alex keep you company.”

  As enticing as it was to separate himself from Maddy and all her sweet, curvy, kissable temptations, Bran couldn’t imagine spending three hours alone with Alex. His eardrums wouldn’t survive it.

  “I’d rather put on a life jacket lined with razor blades and jump into a pool of rubbing alcohol,” he said.

  “But—”

  “I’d rather jab sharpened pencils into my eyes.”

  “But—”

  “I’d rather eat three-day-old road kill.”

  “I get it,” Mason grumbled. “You’re not trading places.”

  Bran grinned. “What was your first clue?”

  “Go fuck yourself,” Mason muttered, shouldering his way through the door.

  “Tempting!” Bran called after him. “I do have great legs!”

  Mason mumbled something Bran couldn’t make out while he jogged down the three steps.

  “He does that so well,” Alex said.

  Bran glanced over to see she’d joined him in the doorway. But she wasn’t looking at him. Oh, no. She only had eyes for Mason.

  Uh…Mason’s ass, if Bran was correctly tracking the trajectory of her gaze.

  “I thought you didn’t like him.” He eyed her curiously.

  “Can’t stand the talk,” she admitted, then made a face. “Or the no talk, which is usually the case. But, man, do I love the walk.”

  “No shit?” Bran chuckled. “Have you ever thought of telling him that?”

  Alex pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “I’ve considered it.” She shrugged. “But the one time I opened my mouth to say something to him, my brain got really agitated and started shouting, No! Don’t do it! It’ll be awful! Which totally offended my mouth. And then it took two weeks for my brain and my mouth to make up and become friends again. Which meant I spent the first week saying things I hadn’t thought about. And the second week thinking about things I never got up the nerve to say. It was just awful. Terrible. I never want to go through that again. So…yeah. No.” She shook her head and wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry. What was the question again?”

  “I’ve forgotten,” he said, his head spinning because he’d inadvertently hopped on the carnival ride known as Alex Merriweather’s Motor Mouth.

  “Mason! Wait!” Maddy darted past them and ran down the steps to catch Mason on the beach. “Your shirt! I forgot to give it back to you.”

  Mason took the gray T-shirt from her, handing her his rifle so he could tug the garment over his head.

  “Well, now that’s a pity,” Louisa said as she and others pushed past Bran and Alex to gather on the front porch. Bran was overwhelmed by the smells of lip balm, body butter, and hair gel. A million high-school memories swirled through his head. “That man should never wear a shirt.”

  Alex nodded. “Preach it, sister.”

  “And he should be bronzed for posterity,” Louisa added. “So generations of women can appreciate his magnificence. Like Michelangelo’s statue of David.”

  Alex answered with an “Amen!”

  “I’m gonna be sick to my stomach,” Bran complained. “You.” He pointed at Louisa. “You’re too young to be saying things like that about a man who’s old enough to be your father.”

  “Right,” Louisa scoffed. “If he started having kids at, like, what? Sixteen?”

  “It’s a biological possibility,” Bran insisted. “And you.” He narrowed his gaze on Alex. “You shouldn’t be encouraging the delinquency of minors.”

  “No need to be jealous, dude.” The brunette with the Jersey accent and the tough-girl piercings grinned at him. Maddy had introduced her as Donna. “We think you’re totes adorbs too.”

  He shook his head. “I’m sorry?”

  “Totally adorable,” she clarified. “Like an older, taller, hotter ver
sion of Benjamin Ciaramello.”

  “Who?” he was amazed to find himself asking.

  “Ah, come on. You know,” Sally Mae drawled. “He played a high school football player on Friday Night Lights. The TV show, not the movie.”

  “Really?” Alex asked. She glanced at Bran, her eyes narrowed, her expression considering. “Yup. I guess I can see it. Around the eyes and mouth, maybe. Hey, isn’t that show a little retro for you guys? I mean, it was popular when I was in high school.”

  “We stream it on Netflix,” Louisa said. “Mostly to catch shirtless Taylor Kitsch moments.”

  “Ah.” Alex nodded again. “Yes. Those are nice, aren’t they?”

  “What did I just say about contributing to the delinquency of minors?” Bran asked, completely disconcerted to be standing within earshot of this ridiculous conversation.

  “Relax, Rambo,” Alex said. “It’s just girl talk.”

  “Yeah.” Louisa grinned at him, her dark eyes glinting. “Talking about shirtless guys is pretty much de rigueur for the seventeen-year-old set.”

  “Good use of an SAT word.” Donna slapped her a high five.

  “So don’t you go putting a shirt on, too, sí?” Louisa continued, batting her lashes. “You shirtless is by far the best thing that’s happened to any of us tonight.”

  Bran sputtered as Alex hee-hawed beside him like a crazed donkey.

  “You,” he said again, this time pointing at Alex’s nose. “Cut it out.”

  “Hey, I’m just—”

  Before Alex could finish, Sally Mae piped up with, “Are y’all really Navy SEALs?”

  He turned to the blond, ponytailed teenager. “Former Navy SEALs,” he corrected. “Who told you that?”

  “Miss Maddy,” Donna answered. “She said you were the baddest of the bad, and we didn’t have to worry about a thing as long as you’re protecting us.”

  “Man, that’s hot,” Louisa said.

  “He’s hot,” Sally Mae added.

  “Yo, they’re both hot,” Donna finished. “The big one in a fierce, scary kind of way. And this one”—she tilted her chin toward Bran—“in a dreamy kind of way.”