Hot as Hell (The Deep Six) (14 page)

Only after the front door slammed did Bran dare push up to his knees. And then the closet was opening and there was Momma, bending down to him. Her face wasn’t bleeding this time, but a ring of purple bruises was forming on one side of her jaw.

“You ready to go watch
Bambi,
birthday boy?” she asked, smiling. But it wasn’t her
Little House on the Prairie
smile. It was her fake smile.

“Can’t we stay in?” That sick feeling in his stomach was swirling around and around.

“But you’re turning five today,” Momma said, her dark eyebrows pulled down. “We can’t stay in on your fifth birthday. We have to celebrate!”

Bran wasn’t sure what
the word
celebrate
meant. But he was sure he wasn’t going to like it. Still, if Momma wanted to go…

“Okay, Momma.” He took her hand and let her lead him from the closet. “But first I needa go potty.”

“Can you do it yourself or do you need me to help you?”

“I’m a big boy now,” he told her, puffing out his chest. “I can do it myself.”

“Okay,” Momma said, playfully swatting his bottom when he turned toward the bathroom.

Closing the door behind him, Bran walked over to the toilet and lifted the lid. It smelled strongly of the cleaning stuff Momma used. She was always scrubbing. Daddy liked a clean house.

Bran waited a little while, long enough to fool his mother into thinking he was peeing, before he flushed. The moment the toilet made its loud
whooshing
noise, he bent over and threw up every last bite of his macaroni and cheese…

“It’s a long and sordid tale,” Maddy said, dragging Bran back to the present.

“Sorry.” He shook his head, trying to jostle away the sense of impotent rage that always came with memories of his miserable childhood. “What’s a long and sordid tale?”

“How we know each other,” she said, digging back into the medical kit to pull out a rolled length of Ace bandage. While he’d been sucked down Memory Lane, Maddy had finished stitching him up.

His chin jerked back, his brows drawing together. “It’s not
sordid
,” he insisted.

“Well, then it’s just a
long
tale. One we don’t have time for.” When she bent down to grab the loose end of the bandage she’d wrapped around his leg, her warm breath fanned the inside of his thigh. She might as well have wrapped her amazing mouth around the head of his dick the way his shaft pulsed with delight.

He must’ve jumped or sucked in a sharp breath or something, because she looked up at him sharply. “Now how in hellfire did
that
hurt? I didn’t even
do
anything.”

“Uh…sorry,” he told her, disgusted to hear his voice was little more than a gravelly croak. “Just a…a…phantom pain, I guess.”

She curled her lip before finishing her work, using the little metal cleats that came with the Ace bandage to secure the loose end. Then she sat back on her heels, cocking her head.

“I think it should hold,” she declared, her expression tinged with satisfaction.

He pushed to a stand—happy his loose cargo shorts disguised the semi he had going—and tested the strength of his leg as well as the integrity of the dressing. Both held up surprisingly well.

One more mark in the Maddy Powers plus column.

Like she needed one. By his calculations, when it came to Maddy, every mark landed in the plus column. “It’s good,” he told her. “Thank you.” Then, without thinking, he reached to hoist her up.

The minute they were palm-to-palm, a flash of awareness blazed through him and he nearly lost his balance. He hoped to cover his stumble by making a grab for his weapon.

He must not have been all that successful at hiding what he was feeling—contradicting his earlier thought that he could have a job on the stage—because Rick narrowed his eyes and blurted, “So, are you two, like, an item or what?”

Bran’s spine did its best impression of a ramrod.

“No. We aren’t an item. We’re just…”

What are we exactly?
Not mere acquaintances. Those hundreds of emails and those few heart-to-heart phone conversations had pushed them far beyond such an insipid term.
Friends, maybe?
But that implied a strictly platonic relationship. And even though there was only that one kiss between them—that one
amazing
kiss—every time they touched it was obvious they were more than just
friends.

So, what? How to define them?

“We’re…um…pen pals,” he finished. And the minute the words were out of his mouth, he wanted to call them back.

And the trophy for Asshat of the Year goes to…Bran Pallidino! Otherwise known as King Dipshit from Dipshit Island!

Mason made a strangled noise like he’d accidentally swallowed his tongue. Maddy just narrowed her eyes at him. And Rick nodded enthusiastically and said, “Oh, that’s good.” The underlying
because I’m hot to trot and looking to fill that slot
was so obvious the guy might as well have said the words aloud.

“Oh yeah?”
Is that my voice that sounds more like the growl of a grizzly bear?
“Why is that good?”

Rick’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “Uh…” He glanced sheepishly at Maddy. “I just meant that…” He trailed off when something outside suddenly snagged his attention.

“What is it?” Bran demanded, marching over to nudge Rick aside so he could see. He assured himself he didn’t use more force than was necessary, but the wide-eyed look on the ranger’s face called him a big fat liar.

“I…” Rick swallowed again, backing away from Bran as he hitched his chin toward the window. But he didn’t say anything more. Too scared Bran might point the business end of his M4 at his head, maybe? And why wouldn’t Rick be scared, given the way Bran was acting?

Shiiiiittt!

And
this
was why Bran insisted his relationship with Maddy remain exactly as it was. She provoked the part of him he was most ashamed of.

“One of the girls just crossed the bridge and is headed our way,” Mason said, his big shoulders tense as he angled his rifle through the open front door and scanned the face of the fort for additional movement.

“One of the girls?” Maddy’s voice broke, the sound of the fear she’d been holding at bay bubbling up through the crack.

Bran could feel her come up beside him. She spotted the blond girl with the ponytail hustling over a little dune at the same time he did.

“It’s Sally Mae!” she cried, throwing an arm around his waist and hugging him tight. “Oh, thank heavens she’s okay!”

Her relief, her excitement was catching. So even though he knew better, he hugged her back. Just as he’d suspected, the instant he had her in his arms, he didn’t want to let her go.

7:36 p.m.…

“Oh, come on!” Maddy huffed. “It’s not like I asked you to skin your neighbor’s cat. So you can stop with the googly eyes. I just asked to come with y’all to rescue Donna and Louisa.”

“No.” Bran shook his head while sliding out the magazine on his machine gun to check how many bullets he had left. Or at least that’s what Maddy assumed he was doing since that’s the reason the movies always gave for that particular move.

Sally Mae had managed to escape her captor’s clutches when he was dragging her across the grassy parade grounds inside the fort. The way Sally Mae told it, a bit of cat and mouse had ensued with him chasing her, and her hiding in various places before she was eventually able to make it to the entrance. Her pursuer had stopped there, not daring to follow her further. And after seeing the light on in the ranger’s station, Sally Mae had headed straight for it. Now she was sitting on Rick’s bed, drinking the bottle of water Maddy had pressed into her hand and watching them with wide, red-rimmed eyes. But she was especially watching Bran, who was being obstinate and tyrannical and…and…
male.

Truly, Maddy was tempted to smack the handsome right off his face. Of course, if she was being totally honest with herself, some of her temper might have a smidge to do with that whole “pen pals” comment.

I mean, pen pals? Really?

If he believed that, he was crazier than a catfish carrying a canteen, as her grandma used to say.

“Those girls out there don’t know you from Adam.” She pointed to the front door. When he simply lifted a brow, she curled her finger into a fist. “What if they don’t understand that you’ve come to save them?” she continued, infusing her voice with determination. “And what if that causes them to do somethin’ silly? Like, not obey your orders? Or run off the first chance they get? Or…or…” She searched her brain frantically, but it’d run out of examples. “Or somethin’ else equally foolish?” she finished with far less
oomph
than she would have liked.

“That’s a lotta hypotheticals,” he said.

Her jaw clenched. It would be so easy. Just
pow!
And there would go the handsome. In her fantasies, at least. In real life, he’d probably look even
more
tough and delectable with a fat lip.
Ugh.

He slammed the magazine back into his weapon. The move made his biceps bunch, drawing Maddy’s attention to the tattoo inked onto the skin on the inside of his forearm.
For RL
the scrolling black letters read. And she knew it was both a testament and a promise to a fallen teammate. Rusty Lawrence’s horrific and untimely death was the reason Bran and the others had retired early from the Navy. And their pledge to Rusty to live life to its fullest was the reason they were all now determined to find the lost treasure of the
Santa Cristina
.

And see! That’s not the kind of stuff people who are mere pen pals share with each other!

As soon as she had the thought, she brushed it away.
Stay on target. Stay on target.
Right. When all else fails, fall back on Star Wars references.

“Bran…” She took a step toward him. Up close, she was struck again by just how powerful he was. Big enough to hunt a bear with a switch.
Another of Grandma Bettie’s favorites
. A smarter gal would’ve taken one look at his scowl and backed down. But Maddy had been dealing with overgrown buttheads her whole life. “I know the ins and outs of Fort Jefferson. I have a mental blueprint”—she tapped her temple—“right up here.”

“And how’s that?” Bran asked, but she could tell he wasn’t really interested. He was just humoring her while he planted his foot on the kitchen chair and checked the knife strapped to his calf.

“I studied up,” she said. “I was plannin’ to give the girls an in-depth tour and history lesson tomorrow.”

And there you go! This trip wasn’t totally about me bein’ selfish and wantin’ to get within spittin’ distance of you. I was goin’ to make it educational too
.

Her conscience immediately answered with a snidely worded,
Whatever you have to tell yourself to sleep at night, sister.

Sometimes her conscience really needed her smarty-pants ass kicked.

“No,” Bran said again. Just that single syllable spoken with the utmost authority.

Maddy wanted to shove her hands on her hips and scream,
Well, who the hell died and made you King Shit?
But she’d learned long ago that another old saying was true: It was easier to catch a fly with honey than vinegar.

She batted her lashes and pasted on a false smile. “So you’re tellin’ me you already know you need to be careful around the northeast side of the fort’s parade grounds?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. She could see him struggling. Finally, he gritted, “No. Why there?”

“Because there’s a weird openin’ in an old magazine house that the bad guys could easily pop out of.” She tried not to sound smug. She wasn’t sure she managed it. And given that was the case, she reckoned,
Oh, what the hell. Might as well press my luck
. “And do you know the placement of all the old gun rooms?”

He shook his head and shrugged. “But this won’t be the first time we’ve had to go into a situation blind.” He turned to Mason. “You ready?”

“What’s the plan when we find them?” Mason asked.

“Well, we already tried the carrot. So let’s give ’em the stick, what’d’ya say?”

Mason nodded. “My thoughts exactly.”

Bran turned to Rick, leveling on the young ranger a hard look, one he’d probably perfected in places and in situations he’d just as soon forget. “Now, like I told you, if anyone but me, Mason, or those girls comes through this door, you don’t hesitate. You shoulder that rifle and let ’em have it.” He tilted his head toward the machine gun he had taken from the bad guy. Bran had quickly gone over how to operate the weapon with Rick, all the while handling the rifle as easily and familiarly as if it were his own.

“I’ll hold down the fort,” Rick said, weapon in hand, his handsome face contorting. “No pun intended.”

When Bran and Mason turned for the door, Maddy’s frustration turned to desperation. She clutched Bran’s forearm. The heat coming off his skin was nearly enough to burn her.

“Please let me come,” she pleaded. She couldn’t stand the thought of staying safe inside the ranger’s station while Bran and Mason were out risking their hides. Besides, she truly believed she could be an asset. And if Bran would just take a moment to consider—

“No,” he said, going for a world record or something.

“Ugh!” She threw her hands in the air. “No?
No?
That’s your favorite word, isn’t it?”

“It’s a classic,” he told her calmly, succeeding in making her more irate. “So much simpler than, say,
ain’t gonna happen
or
not a chance in hell
.”

Mason made a move toward the two of them, and Maddy’s irk boiled over. “You”—she swung on the big man—“shut up. I’m warnin’ you.”

Mason held his hands in the air. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Doesn’t matter. I heard you thinkin’ from three feet away.”

“That a fact?” Mason lifted one black eyebrow, his startlingly blue eyes sparkling in the light from the bulb.

“Yes, that’s a fact.”

“Then you must’ve heard me thinking you’re absolutely right.”

Maddy was nodding before he finished. “That’s right. And I could really do without you—” She stopped so suddenly she was surprised her vocal cords didn’t leave skid marks on her throat. “I’m sorry.” She did a double take. “Did you just say you think I’m right?”

“Let Miss Maddy go with y’all,” Sally Mae piped up. “If it was me out there with those men”—her voice hitched, but her chin was held high—“I wouldn’t be fixin’ to trust anyone but her to come and get me.”

Maddy sent her a grateful smile before turning back to Bran. She didn’t have to say
Well, what do you have to say to that?
She made sure her eyebrows did the talking for her.

With a curse, Bran turned to Mason. “You really think this is a good idea?”

Mason shrugged. “None of this is good.” The man had a way of making the obvious sound strangely discerning. “But I think it’ll be
better
with someone who knows the grounds. Besides, if those guys are still hoping to hold her for ransom, they’re not likely to take any potshots in her direction.”

“Good. Yes.” Maddy nodded. “I hadn’t thought of that. I can totally be your shield. She fisted her hands on her hips and turned to Bran. “Looks like you’re outvoted.”

A muscle was twitching beside his lips. “This isn’t a democracy.”

“Oh, come on!” She’d tried the honey. It hadn’t worked. So bring on the vinegar. “Don’t be such a pigheaded…uh…pig.”
Great. Brilliant, Maddy.
“Unless you can come up with two reasons why I shouldn’t come along, I’m comin’. No matter what you say.”

“You don’t know how to fight.” He lifted a finger. “You don’t have a weapon.” Up went a second finger.

“Name
ten
reasons,” she challenged, pretty sure steam was pouring from her nose.

“Fine,” he agreed after a long, tense standoff where they waged a bloody battle with only their eyes. “You can come.” Maddy beat back the urge to holler
Victory is mine!
“But you do exactly as I say when I say it.”

“Roger that.” She realized she’d mimicked his standard comeback when he narrowed his eyes. “Um…what I meant was ten-four.” She had to curl her fingers around the hems of her shorts to keep from saluting.

“Christ, this is gonna come back to bite me on the ass,” he muttered before turning to Mason. “You want me to lead the way?”

“Now where’s the fun in that?” Mason said, and Maddy knew from the emails she’d exchanged with Bran that the phrase was their old SEAL Team motto.

“Then be my guest.” Bran motioned toward the door before turning back to Maddy. “You stick to my six like a bad rash, you hear me?”

“You got it.” She threaded her fingers through his belt loop when he followed Mason out the door. With a “six” as fine as Bran’s, sticking to it wasn’t a hardship.

* * *

7:41 p.m.…

“Well, here’s another fine mess we’ve gotten ourselves into,” Bran whispered to Mason, trying to forget that Maddy’s little fingers were still twisted around his belt loop. Her knuckles had brushed against his lower back with each step they’d taken to their current position, which was hiding behind a bramble bush a few yards from the spot where the body of that teeth-sucking shit-for-brains lay cooling on the sand.

The imposing redbrick walls of Fort Jefferson filled their vision. Ninety percent of Bran was already second-guessing bringing Maddy along. It was the ninety percent that, in the cold light of the moon, considered her a liability, not to mention a goddamned distraction. As for the remaining ten percent? Well,
that
part of him growled with feral approval every time she as much as breathed. So just for the record, that ten percent part of him was a complete and utter imbecile.

“This sucks,” Mason muttered, scanning the bridge over the seawater moat.

“Roger that.” The heat of the night pressed down on Bran’s shoulders like a pair of strong hands, making him feel like he was carrying more of a load than just his weapon. He gritted his teeth when Maddy pushed up on tiptoe behind him to see over his shoulder. Her warm breath fanned his ear and raised the hairs along the back of his neck. He swatted at his ear and turned to scowl at her.

“I can’t see,” she whispered. “You’re blockin’ my view.”

And because he didn’t want her to know how shaken he was by her nearness, by her touch, he decided to play it cool. Play it smart. Give her exactly what she’d come to expect from him. “Babe”—he turned and flashed her an exaggerated wink—“I
am
the view.”

Even in the low glow of the spotlights on the seawall and the occasional flash of the lighthouse, he could see her roll her eyes and fight a grin. “And
there’s
the Bran I’ve come to know and love. Hi there. I’ve been missin’ you tonight.”

Hearing the word
love
on her lips in reference to him had him swallowing hard and searching frantically for some pithy reply. He couldn’t come up with one, so he went with the decidedly
un
pithy reply of a silent scowl.

Maddy considered him for a second before shaking her head and releasing his belt buckle. He heaved a sigh of relief when her knuckles were no longer pressing against his back. “He always like this?” she whispered to Mason.

“Like what?” Mason asked.

“Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

“Pretty much.”

“I think they make meds for that.”

“Mmmph.”

“You two realize I’m standing right here, right?” Bran demanded in an incredulous whisper.

“Right,” Mason said. “So how do you want to handle the fatal funnel?”

“That sounds ominous.” Maddy curled her lip. “What’s a fatal funnel?”

“It’s when you enter through a narrow space, like a hallway or an alley or a damned bridge through an archway, and you’re silhouetted against the entry point to the defenders inside,” Bran explained. “That’s the
funnel
part, anyway. I suspect the
fatal
part is self-explanatory.”

He heard her gulp.
Yeah. You got it, babe.

“And considering no one took any shots at us as we were making our way here,” he whispered to Mason, “that probably means the dickheads are holed up inside with a defensible position, biding their time and just waiting for us to go on the offensive. Makes sense. Considering they’re in a goddamned
fort
, which was built for exactly that strategy.”

“Wish there was another way in,” Mason muttered. “Maybe we could swim around back and try to scale the seawall and then the curtain wall. Get in that way.”

“Maybe,” Bran mused, turning to Maddy and looking her up and down. He frowned when he did some quick muscle-mass to body-weight calculations.

“What?” she demanded. “What’s with the face?”