by Tawny Weber
“Day after tomorrow,” Darby confirmed, trying to ignore the pang in her chest at the reminder that this might be the end of things with Dominic. She draped the linen napkin over her lap and looked toward the string trio, their elegant pewter suits accented with white leis.
Oh, yeah. Romance.
She exchanged a few more pleasantries with the older man and after he promised to return quickly with her wine, settled back to enjoy the ambiance. And glance at her watch.
She was early. She’d deliberately come down early so she’d have to sit quietly instead of pacing her hotel room while she obsessed over various ways to convince Dominic that it was a good idea to keep seeing each other.
“Your wine, Ms. Raye.”
“Thank—” Her words trailed off when she looked at the man setting her glass on the table. Not the maître d’. Not a waiter. He was a good-looking man, young and oddly familiar. It only took her a second to realize he was Dominic’s cousin, the one with the band.
“I’m Luc,” he said with a wide smile reminiscent of his cousin’s. “You’re Darby, right? Mind if I join you?”
“Please.” She gestured to the empty chair. “I’ve heard you play. You’re great.”
They exchanged chitchat for another minute or so, proving to Darby that, yes, every man in Dominic’s family seemed to have the same friendly charm.
“It’s easy to see why Nic hasn’t been around much on this visit,” Luc said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table and give her an affable smile. “And why he seems so happy every time I’ve talked to him.”
“You call Dominic ‘Nic’?”
Darby smiled into her wineglass at the nickname. She liked it. It had a strength, a power that fit the man. Except when they were naked. Then the more romantic Dominic fit him perfectly.
“Yeah, Nic. Only my father calls him Dominic. Well, my father and Nic’s dad’s side of the family. The Savinos are almost as stubborn as Pop when it comes to their idea of tradition.” Luc laughed. “It’s probably more protocol than tradition on the Savino side, though. All that Navy training, you know.”
Afraid she’d drop it otherwise, Darby carefully set her glass on the table.
Navy training?
Dominic—Nic—was in the Navy?
Like Danny had been?
Darby’s mind raced almost as fast as her stomach spun.
“I didn’t realize Nic came from a Navy family,” she said through tight lips.
“Oh, yeah. He’s something like fourth generation,” Luc said with an enthusiastic nod. “He’s the first SEAL, though. Pretty amazing one, too. He’s like the elite of the elite, you know? And the way he founded that exclusive group within the SEALs, that is so cool. When we were kids he was fascinated with Greek mythology. I suppose that’s why he named it Poseidon, huh?”
Somewhere in the back of Darby’s stunned mind, that name rang a bell. But her thoughts were racing too fast for her to listen to it.
She could almost hear her mother’s screams of betrayal. She could almost see her brother shaking his head in disappointment, hurt in his golden eyes so like her own.
Loyalty.
Her family had never been big on love and they’d rarely shown affection. But loyalty? Loyalty was mandatory in the Raye house. And now Darby had betrayed that.
She gulped down what was left of her wine.
Dominic was Nic.
And Nic was a Navy SEAL.
As much as she might resent her mother’s obsessive hatred of all things Navy and more, Navy SEALs, she’d never deny that Laura had good reason for her feelings. As much as she’d buried her own grief, tried to ignore her fury over her brother’s death, a part of her shared her mother’s feelings.
Now, even as clichéd and overdramatic as it sounded in her own head, Darby felt like she’d slept with the enemy.
Slept with him over and over and over.
Slept with him, fell for him, imagined a future with him.
She wanted to blame Dominic. But she knew better. It was all her fault.
She’d insisted they play this fantasy game, keep their lives and careers secret. And look at that whole sexy mystery angle biting her in the butt. Nausea churned in Darby’s belly.
“Excuse me,” she said, interrupting whatever Luc was saying. She pushed to her feet, and gave him a blind smile. “I’m not feeling well.”
She didn’t wait to hear what he said and could only be grateful that he didn’t try to stop her as she hurried from the restaurant. Darby wove through the crowd, muttering apologizes when she bumped into people but not slowing. She took the stairs instead of the elevator because she was afraid she’d scream the minute she stood still.
As soon as she reached her room, she did just that.
She threw her purse on the bed, clenched her fists at her sides and, head thrown back, screamed her lungs out.
But it didn’t make her feel any better.
Dominic was Nic.
Lieutenant Commander Nic Savino, Navy SEAL.
A goddamn SEAL.
Didn’t it just figure.
Struggling not to curse, Darby shoved both hands through her hair. When that didn’t help, she gave it a good tug.
She’d slept with a Navy SEAL. Slept... Hell, she’d had all sorts of indescribably wild, intense, mind-blowing sex with the man. Multiple times.
She’d come the closest she’d ever been to falling in... Something. Not love, she assured herself. Infatuation. She’d fallen into infatuation.
With a man who, through no fault of his own, epitomized misery and pain.
What did that make her?
How often had she listed to Danny sing worshipful praise of the almighty Navy SEALs?
But Danny was dead.
Tears burned her eyes, rolled down her cheeks. Darby threw herself on the bed to bury her face in a pillow. Finally, out of breath but no less miserable, she rolled to her back and stared at the ceiling.
As she saw it, she had two choices.
First, and easiest, was to make her excuses, call a cab and head straight for the airport before she had to see him again.
Second, she could face him like the grown woman she was and tell him they were through.
As much as she liked her reputation as a hard-ass, Darby knew she was taking option one.
And she was taking it right now. She shoved herself into a sitting position and grabbed the phone to call for a car. This time she couldn’t ignore the blinking light, though. She pressed the message button. Her stomach dropped into her feet as she listened to Dominic’s voice on the recording.
“Darby, I’m sorry but I was called back to work. I’m sorry I couldn’t wait until you returned, but time was of the essence. This week was amazing. I hate to see it end, especially like this. I know we had a deal, and I won’t break it by asking my uncle for your contact information. But I’m offering you a new deal. Let’s get to know each other. If you’re interested, the front desk has my phone number. I hope you call.”
Dominic was gone.
But he wanted to see her again.
Even as the tears ran down her cheeks, her brave, girlie plan from an hour ago mocked her.
It was better this way. Darby wiped her wet cheeks and sighed. He was gone, and that was for the best.
Now she could pretend that this week had never happened.
That she’d never met Dominic...or Nic, either. She hadn’t betrayed anyone.
Not even herself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“LIEUTENANT SAVINO, REPORTING as ordered.”
“Welcome back, Lieutenant.” The stern blonde tilted her head toward the closed door. “The Admiral is waiting for you.”
Nic offered a quick nod and half smile on his w
ay across the small office. The beige walls were bland, the beige linoleum spotless, the beige metal desk clear of everything but a telephone, a monitor and the Admiral’s beige-clad admin. The only spot of color was the photo of the United States flag framed on the wall. He’d once wondered if the lack of color was a statement of seriousness on the Admiral’s part, or if the guy simply had lousy taste in decorating.
Now, he simply used the bland backdrop as a reminder to take a breath, clear his head and prepare.
For anything.
When he stepped through the door, he noted that the Admiral might have been waiting, but he was using that waiting time on the phone. So Nic stood at parade rest, legs shoulder-distance apart, hands clasped behind his back and eyes staring straight ahead.
And waited for his mentor’s orders.
A burly man, his personality as imposing as his size, Cree had seen something in Nic back when he’d been a new recruit, his ensign bar still shiny and fresh. Nic, a cocky and focused twenty-one-year-old, had thought he was quite something. The Admiral had shown him how to be better. He’d pushed, he’d guided, he’d demanded.
Nic figured he’d have made a good officer on his own, but would he have become one of the best? He’d have been a SEAL with or without Cree, but would he be Poseidon’s leader? Would Poseidon even exist without Cree?
Doubtful.
Cree had made Nic the officer he was today.
He’d made him the man he was today.
The man was his mentor. His commander. And, although Nic would never admit it aloud, his hero.
But damn if this wasn’t the first time he’d ever wished his commanding officer had picked someone else for an important mission while letting Nic finish out his leave.
As the force of the Admiral’s voice reverberated off the office walls as he wound up his call, Nic focused on the matter at hand.
Duty.
“Savino,” Cree intoned when he hung up the phone. “Take a seat.”
“Sir.” Nic pulled a wooden chair away from its companions along the wall and sat. As soon as his butt was down, the Admiral tossed a file folder across the desk. Typed in bold black letters were the words Operation: Barracuda. Confidential.
“You’ve called up your team?”
“I contacted them while in the air. They’re on base and ready to deploy by oh-five-hundred.”
Nic took the file, but left it closed. He didn’t need it to refresh his memory as the Admiral updated him on the status of the mission.
“Upon arrival, you’ll meet Captain Shamon and his team,” Admiral Cree instructed, winding up his briefing. “Remember this is a joint operation. Which means I expect you to take the lead and hold control throughout. Any questions?”
“No, sir.” Nic glanced down at the file to hide his grin. “Rest assured, we’ll handle it.”
“On to the other business, then.” Cree leaned back in his chair in his version of “at ease,” with his hands folded over his belly. “The continued fallout of Operation: Hammerhead. You’ve been informed of Lieutenant Ramsey’s change of counsel?”
“Captain Jarrett brought me up-to-date.”
“Did he update you on Naval Criminal Investigation’s renewed interest in your team?”
“It was mentioned.”
“Something tipped them off,” Cree growled. “On my orders, you led Operation: Fuck Up to catch Ramsey. In doing so, you verified that the man wasn’t working alone and, in my considered opinion, cleared Team Poseidon of any wrongdoing. After Powers’s death I was informed the investigation would be closed.”
“What changed?”
“That’s the big question. The only answer I’m getting is that new information has come to light.” Cree’s face folded into angry lines. “In other words, I’m being stonewalled.”
“Perhaps I’d better serve the team here instead of leading a routine mission, sir. It seems that this new information has the potential to be a time bomb. I should look in to it immediately.”
Nic was proud of himself. He’d managed to make that suggestion as if he wasn’t steaming with fury unlike anything he’d known before. What the hell was going on? They’d thought Ramsey had tried to frame Poseidon out of jealousy because he couldn’t join, only to realize it was so much bigger. They kept shutting down this ridiculous witch hunt, and someone, somehow, kept lighting it right back up again.
“No. You’re needed to lead Operation: Barracuda. You’re the best man for the job, you have the strongest skills in diplomacy and to be honest, you need to get back in the field, Savino.” Cree shook his head. “Damn if I don’t wish I was your age. Still young enough to ride the thrill. You put together a damn good thing with Poseidon. Maybe not the way I’d have done it if it was mine, but you made it shine.”
Nic frowned.
“Is this an indication that you have a problem with my performance, sir?”
“Don’t be stupid, boy,” Cree said, dropping protocol long enough to roll his eyes. “You’re one of the best officers I’ve trained and a credit to your command. But if Poseidon is on the line, I think it’s best that you proactively show the extent of the talents, skills and loyalty of every member of the team.”
In other words, they were all on trial, and this mission, like any more that came their way between now and wherever this damn mess was cleared up, were tests. Tests of Nic’s leadership, yes. And of the team’s skills. But also of their moral fortitude, since every mission was likely to be carefully monitored for treasonous acts.
“I’ll give Operation: Barracuda my full attention, sir,” Nic vowed. “The mission is slated to last four days, in and out. We’ll leave in the morning.”
“When you get back, it’s time to find a legal rep to advise you on this other situation.” Cree said situation like it was a dirty word. “I’ll have a list of names for you to consider.”
Nic didn’t want names to consider.
The entire concept of Poseidon was that they were self-sufficient. Between the twelve of them they’d covered medical, cryptography, EOD, linguistics and, dammit, legal.
Or they had. Before. Nic clenched his teeth and tried to focus through the stabbing grief.
“Although Powers covered our legal end before he was killed, Louden has training. While he doesn’t practice, he has gone through Naval Justice School.” Before Cree could point out how useless an unused law degree was to their situation, Nic added, “He has connections. He’ll use them to gather advice in a purely hypothetical sense. If nothing else, he has sources to tap for ideas while we try to figure out what NI is looking at.”
The hesitation was clear in Cree’s face, but finally he nodded.
“Tap away, then. I want you and your team prepared. I’m scheduled to travel to Afghanistan next month to serve on the Special Operations Command. Communication will be difficult for a short time, so I’d prefer this was settled before I go.”
As Nic processed that information, there was a knock on the door.
“Enter.”
Cree and Nic glanced over as Captain Jarrett walked in. Nic automatically got to his feet, to greet the ranking officer.
“Captain,” he said, giving Jarrett a nod as the man took his place at Cree’s side. But even sitting, the Admiral dwarfed his second-in-command, both in size, and in the aura of power that he wore as comfortably as his uniform. The Admiral radiated strength like an implacable wall.
Jarrett, on the other hand, radiated calm. Amiable, organized and ambitious, the quiet man plowed through problems with the focus of a stealth missile. He’d worked his way up the ranks with the same steady determination in which he served his commanding officer.
“Savino,” the Captain returned with a nod of his own. His expression was friendly enough, but there was enough worry in his eyes to put Nic on edge.
&nb
sp; “Captain, I was just explaining to Savino his role in the pending operation. I also brought him up-to-date on the Ramsey situation,” the Admiral said. Before he could continue to explain his take on said situation, Jarrett leaned forward to whisper in his ear.
The Admiral’s face was like a rising pool of lava, reddening, heating and looking as if it’d be deadly when he exploded.
The older man sucked air through his teeth, then clamped his jaw as tight as the hands fisted on his desk. But that was the only show of emotion. In a blink, it was gone. His expression cleared, his eyes calmed and his hands flattened.
And that, Nic acknowledged, was yet another reason why he considered Cree a role model. The man kept his shit together.
“Very well,” Cree said after clearing his throat. “Jarrett informs me that we have a new situation at hand.”
Are you fucking kidding? Nic barely managed to keep the words behind his teeth. Instead, he growled, “Sir?”
“As I told you before, I called you back for two reasons. First, because I feel you’re the best man to lead Operation: Barracuda,” the Admiral said, his tone as sharp and direct as a one-two punch. “And second, to inform you that NCIS was investigating the possibility of bringing charges against yourself and members of your team.”
Yeah. The new situation was going to suck. All he had to do was watch the other men’s faces to know that for sure. Nic’s own expression didn’t change, but he did get to his feet and brace himself.
“According to the Captain, here, they’ve concluded their investigation and intend to bring those charges within the week.”
Nic took the news the same way he’d take a fist to the face. With feet planted wide, shoulders back and chin high, he didn’t flinch, didn’t blink, didn’t react.
But inside, fury seethed.
“My team?” he asked to clarify. “Poseidon?”
The Admiral inclined his head, but Jarrett, apparently thinking more intel was needed, hurried to explain.
“Naval Criminal Investigation is looking into the events that lead to the death of Warrant Officer Powers. In light of the circumstances surrounding Operation: Hammerhead, they consider his death in an unsanctioned mission after the fact to be a breach of protocol at best, treason at worst.” Apology dripped from the words, but Nic ignored Jarrett’s puppy-dog stare because he was looking at his commander.