“Mason!” Donna squealed.
Too late, Wolf thought as Donna’s shriek hit his ears like grinding metal. Cue the drama.
Donna skirted the gate in a flash of Daisy Duke shorts, long hair, and bouncing body parts. Wolf thought it a wonder she didn’t come out of her halter top when she jumped on Mason, wrapping her arms around his neck and her shapely legs around his waist.
She planted a loud, smacking kiss beside his ear before saying in a single, urgent breath, “The island is buzzing with news of what happened. And when I found out you were involved, I ran straight over here. I’m so happy you’re okay.”
“Donna,” Mason wheezed, sounding like he’d swallowed a tea towel. Looking like he wanted the sky to open up and flash down a thunderbolt to strike him dead.
Meat growled low in the back of his throat, and Donna, still stuck to Mason like a cocklebur, laughed at the dog. “Jealous as always, huh, Meaty?”
“Damn it, damn it, damn it,” Wolf hissed to Chrissy. “Look at Alex’s face.”
Alex’s eyes, usually filled with mirth and mischief, were as brittle as green glass. And her expression, usually so open and earnest, was contorted into a mask of disbelief and… Yup. He was pretty sure that was hurt.
“I’ll kill him,” Chrissy muttered, hands planted on her hips Wonder Woman style. Her stare was sharp enough to cut glass as it sliced violently in Mason’s direction.
Alex did that to people. Brought out their protective streaks. Probably because she was so friendly, so eager and sincere in everything she did.
Everyone who knew Alex grew to love her. And to a man—and a woman, given the deadly smile that crept over Chrissy’s face; like, seriously, it was the kind of smile that ended in a body bag—they would defend her honor as if she were a medieval maiden.
“Hi!” Donna, completely obvious to the chaos she was creating, held out a hand to Alex. “I’m Donna Crestone. Pleased to meet you.”
Alex looked at the woman’s hand and blinked as if it didn’t make any sense. Then she clenched her jaw as if she were girding herself and firmly shook Donna’s hand. “Pleased to meet you, Donna,” she said in a voice so flat that had Wolf not been watching her lips move, he’d have sworn up and down the sentence hadn’t come from her. “I’m Alex.”
“Alex!” Donna squealed. “I’ve heard so much about you!”
Wolf could tell by Alex’s face that she was holding back from saying Well, that makes one of us.
“Donna.” Mason squeezed the woman’s firm thigh. Wolf saw Chrissy’s right hand clench into a fist and knew she was envisioning planting it into Mason’s nose. “Hop down. I had a wicked-sharp hunting knife sticking out of me not ten hours ago.”
“Oh my god!” Donna unwrapped her tan legs from Mason’s waist and gaped at the bandage visible beneath his shirt. Then she cooed “Oh, baby!” and grabbed his face so she could pepper his jaw with more tiny kisses. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”
Alex looked like she might throw up.
“Time to kick some ass.” Chrissy took a step in Mason’s direction.
“Don’t bother.” Wolf hitched his chin toward Doc, who was quickly striding Alex’s way. “The cavalry has arrived.”
“Alex!” Doc boomed in his deep Montana-boy bass. His muscular arms were open wide. “Come to Papa, Baby Bear!”
Doc and Alex had been spending a lot of time together since the shit went down on Garden Key. No doubt because Doc, who’d joined the Navy SEALs when he was a mere three months away from completing his medical residency to become a doctor, knew a thing or two about helping people cope with the aftermath of trauma.
“Doc!” Alex broke into a run and threw herself into Doc’s arms. One of Doc’s big, work-worn hands came up to cup her head. The other splayed firmly against the small of her back. His wide palm completely spanned the width of her waist.
A look of surprise—and creeping fury—slid over Mason’s features. Wolf felt vindicated on Alex’s behalf, and just a little bit disloyal to his old swim partner.
“Ah, baby girl,” Doc bent to murmur in Alex’s ear, “I heard you had one hell of a day.”
At six and a half feet, Dalton “Doc” Simmons was the tallest of any of the Deep Six partners. With shaggy hair, sea-green eyes, and a lean, mean face that’d been carved by the Mission Mountains wind, he was the kind of man other men called sir, and the kind of man women tripped over themselves to get near.
“That’ll teach Mason.” Chrissy made a sound at the back of her throat that was damn near diabolical. “Talk about a big, steaming pile of quid pro quo.”
Before Wolf could respond, Uncle John and Romeo walked up behind him, each of them clapping a hand on his shoulder. “That’s the last time I trust you to take my boat out.” Uncle John’s tone was teasing.
Technically, John was only LT’s blood relative. But everyone who lived on Wayfarer Island called him “uncle.” John liked to tell people it was an honorary title, like “your grace” or “your lordship.”
Wolf turned to offer Uncle John an apologetic shake of his chin. “I’m sorry as hell about the catamaran.”
John, decked out as always in an eye-bleeding hula shirt, cargo shorts, and flip-flops, shook his full head of thick gray hair and ran a hand over his Hemingway beard. “Bah. Just shittin’ you. My insurance company already sent out a boat to tow her back in. Nothin’ a little patch, some antifoulin’ paint, and a couple of new engines won’t fix. I’m just happy everyone’s okay.”
“Donna’s right,” Romeo broke in. “The news is all over the island. You think it was really the Baitfish Bandits?”
“Your guess is as good as mine. I’m hopin’ we know somethin’ solid tomorrow mornin’ after all the uniforms do their thing.” Wolf suddenly felt every single one of the hours of the day and every single drop of the adrenaline that’d coursed through his system. His eyes were gritty in their sockets.
“We reserved some rooms back at the hotel,” Uncle John told him. “Reckoned after the day you’ve had, you’d want a beer, a bath, and a bed.”
“You read my mind.” And when a pair of taxicabs pulled up next to the fencing—their rides back to the hotel, no doubt—Wolf added, “Come here and let me kiss you.”
“Try it”—Uncle John held up a hand—“and you’ll be walkin’ funny for a week.”
“My house is on the way to the hotel.” Chrissy’s tone sounded as weary as Wolf felt. “Can I share a ride with you guys?”