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“And what about my handsome sperm donor?” she asked, nodding in the direction the Chinook had just flown off. “What was so important that they grabbed him so quickly?”
“Devyn’s specialization is deep search and rescue,” Maverick replied.
She looked confused, so I sank into the seat beside her.
“Ever heard of the Kursk?” I asked.
Her hair danced and shimmered as she shook her pretty head. “No.”
“It was a Russian submarine on a naval exercise back in 2000,” I explained. “A couple of torpedoes went off in the forward compartment, and the whole thing sank to the floor of the Barents Sea. Russians wouldn’t admit they had an emergency for several days. By the time they were finally willing to accept some help, all one-hundred eighteen souls on board had perished.”
Her expression was genuine. “That’s horrible.”
“It really was,” I agreed. “Especially since half the crew could’ve survived. Someone like Devyn would’ve helped in a situation like that. He’s one of the most skilled deep-sea divers in the entire world, much less the US Navy.” I glanced at Maverick. “And trust us, he’s seen some real crazy shit.”
There was a whooshing sound off in the distance, as a rush of sand was flung against the plastic storm barrier. I saw Juliana shiver. The whole house had gone abruptly cold.
“So right now, somewhere out there, someone’s in a lot of trouble,” she murmured softly.
“Unfortunately yes,” I told her. “But with a little luck, and a lot of speed…” I shrugged. “Maybe Devyn works some magic.”
Maverick read my mind by grabbing the remote that operated the fireplace and turned it on. The gas ignited in a rush of heat and noise, as a warm blue flame erupted across the stonework insert.
Juliana sipped her wine, then stood and moved instinctively closer to the fire. She turned to look out one of the windows, and into the coming storm.
“I’ve never seen it so dark for this time of day,” she marveled.
“Neither have we,” Maverick pointed out.
“I’m not getting out of here for quite a while, am I?”
“Nope,” I replied, tipping my beer back. “Looks like you’re stuck with us.”
Juliana turned her back to the fire, then stuck her ass out, warming it. There was a gleam in her eye though. A definite sense of satisfaction at being where she was, safe inside with us, with a glass of wine in her hand.
“Or maybe,” she suggested coyly, still bent sexily at the waist. “You boys are stuck withme.”
Thirteen
JULIANA
The first hour with the boys had been informative, the second one relaxing. By now though, three and a half glasses of wine into our killer sandstorm, I was feeling pretty damned good.
“Show me that one.”
Maverick pointed to where one of my tattoos peeked out from my left upper arm. I rolled it up obligingly and sauntered over to him.
“That’s a Valkyrie, isn’t it?”
I stared down into his handsome, attentive face and gave him an impressed nod. “It sure is.”
The tattoo was one of my favorites: a black-and-grey portrait of a fierce viking woman in a winged helmet, soaring through the sky. Interlaced throughout, and spreading down my arm, was the word ‘Invincible.’
“Alright, let’s hear it,” smiled Gage.
“Hear what?”
“The story of that tattoo.”
