by Tawny Weber
Ramsey’s face tightened, his glare hot enough to melt the bars on the door. But he still had a good enough handle on his training to keep his mouth shut.
He was pissed.
But not pissed enough to lose control.
So Nic got to try a little harder.
Good. A small smile played over his lips, because he was really looking forward to this part.
“Bet it sucks to be in locked away like this. Imprisoned. Knowing that no matter what goes down, you’re done. Nobody’s coming to your rescue. Not one person cares enough to even stand up for you.”
“Not yet.”
“Not ever. Whoever you think is backing you up, whatever power you think you have in your corner? It won’t get you out of here. You’re going down for murder, Ramsey. You killed Mason Powers.”
“Nope. Didn’t happen. And you can’t prove otherwise.” Ramsey shrugged, stepping closer to the door in case his sneer wasn’t clear enough from a distance. “Who’s going to say different? Powers? Oh, he can’t say shit, can he? Because he’s doing time six feet under.”
Worthless fucker.
Fury surged, hot and intense. Fists clenched at his sides, Nic took the second he needed to grab the ragged threads of control. He’d built his reputation on ice-cold control and he’d be damned if this murderous traitor was going to see him lose it.
So he took that second. Then he took another one for good measure.
Then he smiled.
A chilly look of condescending amusement.
“You can’t take Poseidon down. We’re a fucking legend, dude. Of course, you knew that, didn’t you? You tried hard enough to weasel your way into Poseidon. Must have been hell to realize that you simply weren’t good enough.”
“You think I give a damn about being part of your lame-ass club?”
“I think you gave a good damn about it. I think you tried to pull strings, to tap favors and get Cree to send down an order for Poseidon to open their ranks and let you in.” Nic gave a half laugh. “Dude, that’s like crying to mommy to get daddy to let you have your way.”
“Fuck you.”
Nic had to laugh.
“You do realize that an NCSI was brought in, of course,” Nic pointed out, referring to the Naval Crime Scene Investigator he’d called to Tahoe to re-create and verify the evidence. “And then there is the witness.”
“Some dumb woman? She didn’t see a damn thing because there was nothing to see. I didn’t kill Powers,” Ramsey snapped, trying to appear as if he didn’t care. But his tone didn’t come anywhere near close to the dismissive one Nic had used. “You think anyone’s going to care what the ex-wife of one of your dirty team says?”
Oh, yeah, Nic noted. Someone was keeping Ramsey up-to-date.
“Shall we review?” Nic offered with a chilly inclination of his head.
“With permission from command and with the aid of specific civilians, a trap was laid for your capture. You not only took the bait, you confessed to treason. A confession recorded by Lieutenant Elijah Prescott, and transmitted to command in real time. That sort of thing prevents any accusations of tampering with the recording.” Nic took a second to enjoy the fury flashing across the other man’s face before continuing. “You then, with the aid of an as-yet-unknown accomplice, attacked two SEALs and rather than making a run for it, proceeded to the safe house with the intention of kidnapping your biological offspring. In the process, you killed an officer of the US Navy, attacked a civilian and...how did that end?”
Nic tilted his head to one side, taking the moment to clear his mind of the image of his man lying on the ground with a bullet in his head. He had a mission, and he couldn’t complete it if he was blinded by grief-fueled fury. As soon as he had control, he pointed at Ramsey through the glass.
“Oh, yeah. That ended with the civilian female kicking your sorry ass. How does that feel, Ramsey? Knowing the only way you could take on a man your own size was with an ambush, but that a woman half your weight took you down with a few well-placed kicks.”
He could actually hear the grinding squeak of Ramsey’s teeth as he gritted them together.
And it felt good.
“I was there to get my son,” the other man growled. “I have the right to get my kid.”
“Your biological offspring,” Nic amended meticulously.
“My son,” Ramsey roared, rushing the door with fists raised. He beat his rage against the steel, the sound echoing through the comm but not budging the metal door. “He is my son. Mine. You won’t keep him from me. Not you. Not that bitch, Harper. Not that filthy gangbanging Mexican.”
Nic didn’t try to hold back his smile. He shared it. Hell, he reveled in it.
“You’re referring to Lieutenant Torres and his wife, I take it?”
Ramsey’s eyes bulged, the growl grinding between his teeth before he remembered his training. He wasn’t able to reel it in completely, but he did manage to jerk his chin in dismissal.
“Whatever. He’s welcome to my sloppy seconds, but he won’t touch my kid. My parents, they’re getting custody until I’m out of here.”
“Is that a fact?” Nic rocked back on his heels while he considered that interesting piece of information. To their knowledge, Ramsey hadn’t bothered to let his parents know he was alive. His mother was still crying over the shrine she’d built to her lost son. And now he thought they were going to get control of a child he’d abandoned before the kid was born? “I’ll be sure to let the Torres family know your family’s attorney will be in touch.”
There it was. The lie was just a flash in those blue eyes as they shifted minutely to one side.
“I’ll get out of here,” Ramsey insisted. “I’ll get out, take my son. And when I do, I’ll...”
“You’ll what? Get revenge?” Nic laughed. It felt good. It felt even better when it had the desired effect.
“I’ll get revenge, you stupid asshole. On you. On Torres. On Prescott and his stupid bitch. On all of you worthless losers.”
“Losers? Buddy, you’re the one behind bars.”
“You’re all going to rot in the brig,” Ramsey yelled, spittle flying from his lips as his face ran through three shades of red. “Me? No way in hell I’m staying in here. All I gotta do is keep my mouth shut and wait.”
Not bothering to hide his triumphant grin, Nic took a deep breath.
Excellent.
“Is that the best you can offer? Guess you didn’t pay attention during interrogation training. This is where you’re supposed to assuage my anger, offer up a few false leads. Maybe promise intel in exchange for consideration.”
“I’m not giving you anything.”
Which meant he had something to give.
Good.
“Sir.”
Riding on the wave of triumph, Nic glanced over his shoulder, nodding when the guard tapped his watch. His fifteen minutes were up. He considered it time well spent. Especially when, after shooting Ramsey one last smile, he turned on his heel and strode away without another word.
Still engaged, the comm broadcast Ramsey’s furious protests loud and clear. Cursing, kicking, screaming for revenge.
Nic grinned the whole way out.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I REALIZE WE haven’t known each other for a long time, Darby. I swear, I’ve never seen you like this.” Eyes so round her lashes almost hit her brows, Grace stared across the table in awe. “Don’t take this wrong, but don’t you think that maybe you’ve had enough?”
“Nope.” Ignoring her stomach’s argument that Grace was right, Darby lifted two fingers to signal the waiter for another round. She’d been so upset after Nic’s visit the night before, she’d taken up Grace on her offer of dinner after work. Anything to avoid going back to her apartment in case the man
came calling again.
“Oh, no.” Grace gave a pitying shake of her head. “You’ve already had two. How can you manage another one?”
“Hey. It’s healthier than booze.”
Darby stabbed her fork through the mound of whipped cream into the molten lava cake, specks of shaved chocolate falling to the plate as she scooped up a bite.
“Mmm,” she sighed as the decadent richness hit her tongue. “Nothing like a thousand calories of deliciousness to make a girl forget her worries.”
“No amount of chocolate is going to fix this,” Grace said with a frown, digging her own spoon into the dessert. “Your worries need to be dealt with, Darby. You can’t drown them in syrup.”
“Maybe not, but I can forget them for a little while.” She licked a smear of hazelnut syrup from her spoon, giving herself time to process that. She stared, unseeingly, at the river of chocolate floating across her plate and quietly admitted, “He confuses me so much.”
“Of course he does.” Giving the dessert a look that fell somewhere between regret and disgust, Grace set down her own spoon and leaned her elbows on the table. “You had a thing for the guy when you had a thing with him in Hawaii. Despite your presence in the courtroom, I know you have doubts about the man’s guilt. But at this point, you’re still planning a case of treason against him?”
“It’s my job,” Darby muttered, scooping up another bite in hopes the bittersweet ambrosia would heal the stabbing pain in her heart.
“You care about this man, don’t you?”
Darby wanted to lie almost as much as she wanted to lick the plate. But she couldn’t do either.
“I did care. At least, I did before I knew who he was. What he was.”
“What changed once you knew his name? This case aside, is he a different man now than you thought he was? You sounded so hot for the vacation guy. Aren’t you still hot for him?”
Was she?
Since her plate was empty, she scooped up a forkful of Grace’s cake while she considered that question. Nic was still just as sexy. Just as strong. Just as honorable—maybe even more so now that she knew his reputation. She remembered how she’d felt last night in her apartment. Just standing next to the man was a turn-on.
“It doesn’t matter,” she decided when she could feel her chocolate high starting to fade. “We’re on opposite sides of this case. Win or lose, he’ll always be the man I tried for treason. I’ll always be the person who put him in prison for the rest of his life.”
“You haven’t ruined his life yet,” Grace pointed out. “You said yourself that you don’t have enough to file charges.”
“By the time Paul is through with his case, I will.” Darby blew out a long breath, then gazed around the restaurant searching for distraction. Despite its close location to the US Attorney’s office, she rarely had reason to eat here. Gourmet decadence was all well and good, but she usually had a burger at her desk. However, when it came to distraction, sometimes decadent was the only way to go.
And God, she needed the distraction. She felt as if her heart and brain were at war, neither willing to give way while the other lived.
“I need another dessert.”
“No.” Grace grabbed Darby’s hand before she could catch the waiter’s attention. “One more lava cake and you’ll puke.”
“I was going to order cheesecake this time,” Darby muttered. Tugging her hand free, she swiped her finger through the tiny puddle of chocolate on her plate.
“Hey, set aside the case and all its implications for a moment and deal with your actual feelings. You need to deal with those, clarify them and face the truth, before you can deal with the rest,” Grace suggested quietly. “Just for a minute, pretend the case doesn’t exist. Why wouldn’t you go for it with him?”
“How about the fact that he’s a military officer? A SEAL? A man who risks his life for a living. A man who is probably gone as often as he’s not.” Darby’s voice grew stronger as she warmed to her theme. “He’ll never put me ahead of his career. Chances are, he won’t even share most of what he’s doing. Half of his job would be top secret.”
“Probably more than half,” Grace said before dismissing that with a shrug. “But so what? A lot of your job requires confidentiality. Should a guy ditch you because you won’t serve up government case details over breakfast?”
Darby frowned. Before she could argue that, Grace continued.
“And sure, he’ll probably be away from time to time. But he’s a Commander. That means he’s more into the planning and desk work than boots on the ground, right?”
Why was Grace destroying her resolve? Darby searched for a valid argument to put her back on solid footing.
“What about my mom?” Darby said, sure the sick feeling in her stomach was due to thoughts of her mother instead of the chocolate overdose.
“Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no.” Looking about as ferocious as Darby had ever seen her, Grace leaned across the table with a furrowed brow. “No way are you falling back on that lame excuse.”
“My mother has always blamed the SEALs for my brother’s death. I never really listened, I mean, she blamed everyone in her life for my brother’s death. But it turns out she was right. Team Poseidon did play a part in it.” Darby had to swallow before the bitterness of those words ruined the flavor of chocolate. “As it stands, this case might actually earn her approval. She’d completely disown me if I did anything less than put him in prison.”
“So?”
“What do you mean, so?”
“Look, don’t take this wrong.” Her round face creased with worry, Grace chewed her bottom lip for a second as if trying to think of a right way to frame her words. “But from what you’ve told me, she’s not exactly mother of the year.”
“So? She’s still my mother.”
“And you’re her daughter. Has she ever made that a factor in any of her important life decisions?”
God, she wanted to say yes.
But she couldn’t. She’d lost more than her brother when he’d died, she admitted to herself as she slid her spoon through the chocolate left on her plate, absently doodling designs with the speckled brown puddles.
“No,” she finally said. “But not putting me first in her life and completely cutting me out are two different things.”
“Is it really? Is your mother that black or white?” Grace asked with an exasperated huff.
Was she? Darby blinked in surprise. Was that where she got the all-or-nothing attitude?
“Why would you keep using her as an excuse? Or are you going to base what you want on your own life? Your own needs? Quit seeing life as black-and-white, Darby.”
But black-and-white gave her solid ground. It made life simpler. And as much as she didn’t want to be anything like her mother, living in the gray was too much to risk.
“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said, meeting Grace’s eyes. “The case exists. If we bring treason charges, I’m prosecuting. And win or lose—and believe me, I’ll win—it will ruin his life. There’s no future for us. There is no gray.”
* * *
KNOWING SHE HAD no choice, Darby focused all she had on her work. On crafting an unassailable case. The following day she worked long past Grace’s quitting time, knowing she’d get more done without her secretary peeking in with worried eyes.
“Darby Raye?”
Momentarily startled, Darby looked up from her notes. “That’s me.”
“We need to talk.”
If the fury in that gravelly tone hadn’t snagged her attention, the sharp crack of the door would have. As if someone had wrapped her office in ice, then the temperature dropped and even the furniture seemed to tense up.
She blinked.
Well, hello.
Pretending her stomach wasn’t clenched
as tight as a fist, she leaned back in her chair and gave the men her attention.
She’d wondered when she’d get a visit from Team Poseidon. Paul had pulled her into this mess, but had assured her that they’d be too cowed to draw attention to themselves.
Her gaze swept from one man to the next, noting that each of the half-dozen SEALs looked as if they regularly played catch with jeeps in their spare time. If their military bearing and combative stance weren’t evidence enough of their identities, half of them wore their Navy uniforms.
So much for Paul’s assurances.
Leaning back in her office chair, Darby silently scanned each man’s face, assigning a name based on the photos in her files.
Chief Petty Officer Aaron Ward stood to one side of the door, his hands clasped behind his back and his chin tilted at a stubborn angle. Flanking the other side of the now-closed door was Lieutenant Jared Lansky, his Boy Scout visage rigid with anger. Three more stood in formation in front of them. Parade rest, she supposed it was, with their feet hip-distance apart, hands clasped at the small of their backs and their eyes locked on her as if she was some sort of explosive device they planned on either disposing of or blowing all to hell.
Lieutenants Diego Torres and Elijah Prescott and, if she wasn’t mistaken, Chief Warrant Officer Beau Danby. Although she wasn’t 100 percent on his identity, since the man’s face was covered in still-healing contusions and an explosion of bruises that looked as if he’d been hit by a bus.
All that threatening testosterone might be enough to intimidate a more timid woman.
But intimidation was only a step up from fear, and Darby had years of practice at hiding her fears. So she called on well-honed skills to not only hide her emotions, but also to use them as a weapon of her own.
“Gentlemen. Office hours are eight to five, Monday through Friday. I’d suggest you come back then but we all know better. So I’ll simply suggest you leave.”
“We’ll leave when we’ve finished.”
“Finished what?” she asked the one who’d clearly appointed himself speaker for the group.