When the world is in chaos and the center cannot hold, the men of Deep Six are here to join the fight. Jump right into the action if you're ready for: Former Navy SEALs who thought their fighting days were behind them - Fearless women who don't back down from Black Ops OR stubborn military men - A ragtag group of specialists who can solve any problem―even on the high seas - A hero who will risk everything for the woman he can't live without New York Times bestselling author of the Black Knights Inc. series doesn't pull any punches in this action-packed romantic suspense. Only two things could make former Navy SEAL Leo Anderson return to the world of weapons and warfare. First, a capsule of chemical weapons lost on the ocean floor, and second, a plea for help from the one woman he can't seem to forget―CIA Agent Olivia Mortier. Now, working together to race against the clock, Leo and Olivia must find the missing capsule while battling the intense desire burning between them. If they can survive, can their growing attraction become more, or will everything go up in flames? "If Hell or High Water is a taste of what’s to come, the rest of the Deep Six series is going to be one exhilarating ride. " ― RT Book Reviews "Hot men, hot action and hot temperatures make for one hot romance!" ― BookPage "Walker blends the tender romance of a reassuring touch with lusty sex scenes, and her dialogue is spot-on. Readers will be panting for the next in the series." ― Publishers Weekly "Readers who already love Walker will welcome her new series, as will military romance fans who love tales about SEALs." ― Booklist Julie Ann Walker is the USA Today and New York Times Bestselling Author of the Black Knights Inc. romantic suspense series. She is prone to spouting movie quotes and song lyrics. She'll never say no to sharing a glass of wine or going for a long walk. She prefers impromptu travel over the scheduled kind, and she takes her coffee with milk. You can find her on her bicycle along the lake shore in Chicago or blasting away at her keyboard, trying to wrangle her capricious imagination into submission. For more information, please visit www.julieannwalker.com or follow her on Facebook www.facebook.com/jawalkerauthor and/or Twitter @JAWalkerAuthor. Chapter One Present day 10:52 p.m.... "And the Santa Cristina and her brave crew and captain were sucked down into Davy Jones's locker, lost to the world. That is...until now..." Leo "the Lion" Anderson, known to his friends as LT―a nod to his former Naval rank―let his last words hang in the air before glancing around at the four faces illuminated by the flickering beach bonfire. Rapt expressions stared back at him. He fought the grin curving his lips. Bingo, bango, bongo. His listeners had fallen under a spell as deep and fathomless as the great oceans themselves. It happened anytime he recounted the legend of the Santa Cristina. Not that he could blame his audience. The story of the ghost galleon, the holy grail of sunken Spanish shipwrecks, had fascinated him ever since he'd been old enough to understand the tale while bouncing on his father's knee. And that lifelong fascination might account for why he was now determined to do what so many before him―his dearly departed father included―had been unable to do. Namely, locate and excavate the mother lode of the grand ol' ship. Of course, he reckoned the romance and mystery of discovering her waterlogged remains were only part of the reason he'd spent the last two months and a huge portion of his savings―as well as huge portions of the savings of the others―refurbishing his father's decrepit, leaking salvage boat. The rest of the story as to why he was here now? Why they were all here now? Well, that didn't bear dwelling on. At least not on a night like tonight. When a million glittering stars and a big half-moon reflected off the dark, rippling waters of the lagoon on the southeast side of the private speck of jungle, mangrove forest, and sand in the Florida Keys. When the sea air was soft and warm, caressing his skin and hair with gentle, salt-tinged fingers. When there was so much...life to enjoy. That had been his vow―their vow―had it not? To grab life by the balls and really live it? To suck the marrow from its proverbial bones? His eyes were automatically drawn to the skin on the inside of his left forearm where scrolling, tattooed lettering read For RL. He ran a thumb over the pitch-black ink. This one's for you, you stubborn sonofagun, he pledged, flipping open the lid on the cooler sunk deep into the sand beside his lawn chair. Grabbing a bottle of Budweiser and twisting off the cap, he let his gaze run down the long dock to where his uncle's catamaran was moored. The clips on the sailboat's rigging lines clinked rhythmically against its metal mast, adding to the harmony of softly shushing waves, quietly crackling fire, and the high-pitched peesy, peesy, peesy call of a nearby black-and-white warbler. Then