The color over Mason’s cheeks deepened about ten shades, and the look he shot Alex succinctly said What the fuck?
She shrugged. “Sorry. I was suffocating under the weight of their speculation. Besides, it’s not like anything on this island stays a secret for long. They were bound to find out.” She looked pointedly at Doc who’d been the one to catch them canoodling naked on the picnic blanket.
“What?” Doc blinked innocently. “I didn’t say a word.”
Romeo kicked Doc under the table. “You knew and you didn’t tell?”
Doc rubbed his abused shin. “I was waiting until after Fazzle called.”
Alex pointed at Doc, but lifted her eyebrows at Mason. “See? Told you.”
Mason’s expression said he still would’ve preferred she keep her trap shut, but his eyes promised reprisal. Delicious, dirty reprisal.
Hot blood pooled at the tips of her breasts. Mason noticed the instant her nipples furled, because his eyes darted down to her chest and his pupils dilated.
When he looked back at her, she grinned and made sure her expression said she’d see his delicious, dirty reprisal and up the ante with some sexy quid pro quo of her own.
Next to her, Chrissy wiped her arms. “Ew! Stop it, you two! I’m getting splashed by your disgusting eyegasms.”
“I don’t mind it,” Romeo disagreed. “Makes me proud to see my babies all grown up and getting down to business. It’s enough to moisten the old peepers.”
Mason muttered something under his breath that sounded like he might have called Romeo a dildo dipped in beard stubble. But one corner of his mouth twitched. Alex felt her own lips curl in response.
When they were like this, sitting around the table like a family, it was easy to pretend tomorrow would never come. That it would always be just as it was right now.
So natural. So comfortable. So…
Meant to be? that voice in the back of her head singsonged.
Wolf lifted the satphone to his ear when it jangled to life. “Roanhorse here. What do you know?” he asked without preamble.
Agent Fazzle’s voice was tinny and crackling on the other end. Alex couldn’t make out what the FBI agent said, but the look on Wolf’s face didn’t bode well. “Give me a minute,” he grumbled. “I’ll tell the others.”
Setting the phone aside, Wolf glanced around. “Two things. Number one”—he lifted a finger—“Fazzle says the speedboat was rented from a local spot in Key West. The name on the rental agreement was Paulie Gatto. Anyone know the guy?”
Heads shook in unison. Well, every head except Uncle John’s. He rubbed his beard and stared thoughtfully into the middle distance. “Sounds familiar,” he mused, then snapped his fingers. “The Godfather.”
“The movie?” Doc’s eyebrows made a perfect V.
Uncle John nodded. “Paulie Gatto was the traitor who almost got Don Corleone killed.”
“You’re right.” Wolf pointed at him. “I remember that now.”
Chrissy whispered to Alex from the side of her mouth, “What is it with men and that movie?”
Alex’s own mouth flattened. “I think they like the excess of testosterone and the story line’s exaltation of the patriarchy.”
“That’s a bald-faced overgeneralization if I ever heard one,” Romeo declared with a righteous lift of his chin. “Men love The Godfather because it’s nuanced and lavishly acted and—”
“Fazzle?” Wolf picked up the phone. “You still there? Yeah, sorry. The wheels tend to fly off the bus when it comes to conversations around here.” Something Fazzle said made Wolf chuckle. But then he grew serious. “So Paulie Gatto. Gotta be an alias, right?” He listened for a minute longer and then said to the group, “Fazzle’s goin’ to see if he can find any CCTV footage of this Paulie guy. If he does, he’s hopin’ he can use it to make a solid ID.”
“What was the second thing?” Uncle John prodded, twisting the end of his newly rolled joint.
“What?” Wolf frowned. Then, “Oh, yeah. The FBI got a hit on the prints they pulled off the body on the speedboat. Turan Jamshidi was the man’s name. He was an officer in the Islamic Republic of Iran Navy.”
“Those guys were Iranians?” Now Doc’s eyebrows were trying to disappear into his hairline. “What the hell?”
In disbelief and growing dread, Alex looked at the faces around her. Iranians? Like, from Iran? The place where people shouted Death to America in the streets?
“Please tell me the FBI, in all its vast wisdom, is now ready to admit the men who attacked us weren’t the Baitfish Bandits.” Her voice was hoarse. “Or do they think three Iranians would travel halfway around the world to rob fishermen at gunpoint?”
The satphone crackled with the sound of Fazzle’s voice. Wolf translated, “Fazzle agrees that, given what we now know, yesterday’s attack smells less…uh”—he grimaced—“baitfishy. He would also like to know if any of us did work in Iran or had occasion to have a run-in with the navy of Iran during our time with the SEALs.”
Doc glanced pointedly at the phone in Wolf’s hand. “Even if we did, we couldn’t tell him.”
Doc’s words reminded Alex who, exactly, she worked with. Men with secrets so dark and dangerous they were obligated to keep them secure even from the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
Men who were dark and dangerous themselves.
A chill snaked up her arms, lifting the fine hairs there. The thought of being attacked by a boatful of local yokels bent on mayhem and murder was bad enough. Knowing they’d been attacked by Iranians bent on…what? Revenge? For what? Well, that was about as bad as it got.
“Ladies, Uncle John.” Wolf broke into her thoughts. “Would y’all cover your eyes for a moment?”
“Why?” Chrissy looked alarmed.
“I’m goin’ to ask my former SEAL team members a question,” Wolf explained. “And they’re goin’ to give me either a nod of their heads or a shake of their chins. In the interest of national security, we can’t have civilians knowing which way they answer.”
“Sweet Jesus.” Chrissy dutifully covered her eyes with her hands. “I feel like I’m in a bad episode of The Unit. Although…” She paused. “I don’t think there were any bad episodes. I was so sad when that show got canceled.”
“Was that the one with Dennis Haysbert?” Alex followed Chrissy’s lead and covered her eyes. But her intestines writhed. Her heart danced a fast jig.