Call to Honor

by Tawny Weber

  And now that he did, what had he done? He’d fucked up her life. How did he apologize, make up for everything?

  All of that flashed through his mind in the half minute it took them to walk through his men, out the door and into the shrub-lined dirt clearing just outside the cabin.

  He watched Harper pace from one log-hewn bench to another. Back, forth.

  He wanted to find some way to make it up to her. The lies, the deception. The fact that they hadn’t anticipated this sort of move from Ramsey.

  He knew he should regret the week he’d spent in Harper’s bed, but he couldn’t quite get there.

  When he thought of Nathan, he had intense feelings of pain, regret, a horrible sort of fear he’d never experienced in his gut. What was that poor kid going through?

  Did he know who’d grabbed him? Even if Harper had told him who his father was, Ramsey was a stranger. A murderous, treasonous stranger with the US Navy gunning for him.

  A desperate man.

  Diego resisted the need to pound on something. On someone.

  Before he’d managed to fully yank in control, Harper finished her pacing and strode up to him.

  Standing close enough that their boots almost touched, her face a study of fury that made his seem like a temper tantrum and the wind dancing through her hair, she stared.

  She’d be hell at interrogation. He held out for ten seconds. He blinked at thirty. Discomfort hit at sixty. He kept his chin high and his expression blank.

  Shit. “Look, I know what you’re going to say.”

  With a furious growl, Harper jabbed one finger into his chest. “You owe me.”

  Diego blinked. Okay, he hadn’t known that was what she was going to say.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Diego...” She lifted her brows. “Is that your actual name?”

  “Diego Torres,” he confirmed. She jabbed again. “Lieutenant Diego Torres.”

  “Navy?”

  He nodded.

  “Yeah. You’re Navy,” she said, her words close to a hiss and so disgusted she might have been calling him a gangbanging thief. She’d have been right about that, too.

  “You’re a SEAL like Brandon, aren’t you? Special Ops. Super training, secret missions. All powerful, like you’re a big deal.

  “You targeted me. You moved in next door to me, you hit on me, you kept tabs on me. You had a reason.”

  Technically, she’d hit on him. But Diego didn’t figure this was the time to point that out. Not when it was the only part of that accusation he could respond to.

  “You owe me,” she said again.

  “I do.” He couldn’t deny it. Nor did he figure he could ever pay her back enough to make up for what she was going through right now.

  “You’re going to get my son back.”

  “I am.”

  She didn’t even blink at his fierce vow. Her expression of loathing didn’t change in the slightest.

  “Wherever you go to find him, whatever you find, you’re taking me with you.”

  No. No way. A thousand arguments filled his head. A million reasons, logistical to practical to reasonable, ricocheted through his mind.

  He didn’t have to look back toward the cabin to know that Savino was watching through the window. He didn’t have to check with his commander to know her demand would be refused outright. With good reason.

  There was no room for emotion on an operation such as this.

  Sentiment biased judgment, limited decisions. Civilians had no place in a manhunt. Mothers had no place on a mission.

  Diego watched Harper’s face as those blue eyes narrowed in cold challenge and one brow arched as if she were daring him to try to refuse her.

  Dammit. “Fine.”

  “What?”

  Well, at least that’d made her blink. “I said fine. You want in—you’re in.” He crossed his arms over his chest, giving her his most intimidating stare. The one that made petty officers cringe.

  She simply mirrored his stance. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tilted her head to one side so the blond strands blanketed her shoulder.

  “You think I’m lying?” he asked.

  “I know you lie.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  HARPER STEPPED INTO the camp director’s office, this time fueled by fury instead of terror. Oh, the fear was still there. But she held on to the anger like a lifeline, grateful for something—anything—that’d keep her from falling to pieces again.

  The room was full, some of the men in uniform, most not. It looked as if they’d been called in unexpectedly, which seemed odd. She knew next to nothing about the military—deliberately knew next to nothing—but she’d think they would use ones who were already on duty. Her gaze cut from one man to the other, wondering if any of them was Brandon’s good buddy, Adams.

  Then her eyes landed on the uniformed man who’d tipped her off that they were Navy. Although he stood at the far end of the room, behind the desk, he was the center of everything.

  His hair was short, black like Diego’s. But that and the military bearing was where the resemblance ended. Rather than dusky gold like Diego, this man’s skin was pale, and while his eyes appeared black, too, on closer inspection she realized they were a deep, dark blue. A few inches taller, he had a sleeker build, subtler muscles. And an arrogant tilt to his chin that said not only was he in charge; he planned to stay that way.

  “Harper, this is Commander Savino.”

  She didn’t acknowledge Diego’s introduction.

  “Where’s Andi?”

  “Ms. Stamos has stepped outside.”

  Been taken outside, more likely.

  “I want her here.” Needed her there.

  The man Diego had introduced as Savino didn’t say a word. All it took was an inclination of his head and Harper sensed movement behind her, heard footsteps. Still, she didn’t sit, didn’t say anything until she heard Andi’s lighter steps hurrying into the room.

  “I’m here, sweetie,” her friend said, wrapping her in tight arms.

  “Nathan,” Harper murmured, breaking for just a second as she gave Andi a desperate look.

  “I’ll call my father. I’ll get investigators. Real security people.” Andi aimed an angry look at the men in the room. “We’ll get Nathan back.”

  “Please, ladies, have a seat.”

  They both glared at Savino.

  His expression didn’t change as he swept a hand toward the chairs in front of the desk. They looked as rickety as Harper’s nerves, but she wanted this over with.

  She sat, perched on the edge of the chair. After a moment, Andi followed suit.

  “Thank you.” Savino slanted a quick glance at Andi, then put his entire focus on Harper. His eyes were direct and assessing as he lifted a sheaf of papers, the small recording device that rested on top didn’t shift.

  “Ms. Maclean, I know you’ve already spoken with the local authorities and the FBI and I’ve studied the interviews. I won’t waste your time covering the same ground.”

  “Good. Because I have questions of my own.”

  “That’s reasonable.” He nodded. “Why don’t we call this an exchange of information? I’ll begin, shall I? The sooner I can gather all of the specifics I need, the sooner I can deploy my men to retrieve your son.”

  “You make it sound so simple. As if that’s all it’ll take to get Nathan back. I’ve answered hundreds of questions already. Why isn’t he here?”

  “It’s not a matter of asking questions—it’s a matter of asking the right questions.” He paused as if letting that sink in, then offered a hint of a smile. “And, ma’am? As well intentioned as the locals and FBI officials are, they’re not SEALs.”

  As if that was all it t
ook, Harper thought with a mirthless laugh. “Fine. Go ahead and ask. The ferry leaves in twenty minutes. I’ll give you ten of those to ask whatever you need and to explain yourself to me. Then I’m getting Nathan’s belongings and going home.”

  The man simply arched his brow.

  “The FBI said that’s where I should be. If someone—” she swallowed hard to get past the terror in her throat “—kidnapped him, they’ll likely contact me there. So I’m going home.”

  “That’s a solid plan,” Savino agreed. “But you won’t need to concern yourself with the ferry. We’ll provide transportation at your convenience.”

  Harper considered telling the quiet man just exactly where he could put his transportation. Before she could, Andi squeezed her hand.

  “What do you need to know?” Harper asked instead.

  “Would your son recognize his birth father if he saw him? And if so, would he willingly go anywhere with him?”

  “Brandon’s dead.”

  “Please, answer the question anyway.”

  Harper’s stomach tightened, her heart racing so fast her breath was shoved into her throat. The other authorities had asked about Nathan’s father, but as soon as she’d said he was dead, they’d dropped that line of query.

  What did Savino know?

  “What does Nathan’s abduction have to do with Brandon? Is he why Diego and Jared wormed their way into my neighborhood, lied to my face and pretended to be something they weren’t?”

  “I command SEAL Team 7. Lieutenants Torres and Lansky report to me. As did Lieutenant Ramsey.” When she only stared, he continued. “I’d like to apologize for my team for the invasion of your privacy and the necessary deception employed in carrying out this mission.”

  She clenched her hands together to keep from wincing. It wasn’t like she hadn’t seen that coming. Not when she realized that these guys were with the Navy. Was this that brotherhood thing Brandon’s SEAL friend had spoken of? Just another example of how these guys stuck together, even when one of them was dead.

  “The only SEAL I’ve known up until now was skilled at lies and betrayal,” she said, her eyes sliding toward Diego, who stood at the side of the room with his hands clasped behind his back and his eyes locked on her. “Apparently that’s the norm.”

  She looked away before Diego could respond. Because if Brandon’s connection to the SEALs was somehow useful, if his brothers-in-arms could be helpful, could bring Nathan back to her, she’d take whatever she could get.

  She wanted to scream. She wanted to throw things and break things and pitch a hideous fit. But none of that would get her son back.

  “What do the SEALs have to do with Nathan?” she challenged, her eyes shifting to Diego for a brief moment. “I’m sure you’re aware that other than biology, Mr. Ramsey had no part in my son’s life.”

  “Yes, ma’am. On the surface that’s correct.”

  He arched a brow toward someone behind her in unspoken command. Harper knew before he joined Savino that it was Diego.

  He was still wearing the jeans and leather jacket from earlier. Then they’d given him that irresistible bad-boy appeal. Now he was all military. Harper told herself she could wonder about that later, how with just the slightest change in stance and shift of his chin made such a difference.

  “While nobody doubts the truth of Ramsey’s abandonment of you and Nathan, his lack of parental responsibility or his...” Diego’s words trailed off for a second as if he had to resist the urge to spit. “For all his disregard for his legal and moral obligations, he was still very informed of your and Nathan’s lives.”

  A shiver of trepidation trickled down Harper’s spine. “What do you mean?”

  “He carried photos of the two of you. Some, we’ve been able to discern, were copied from your computer. Whether in person or by remote is undetermined.” He gave that a moment to sink in. “A search of his computer turned up files on both you and Nathan. Health records, grades, even an application to a specific military academy that was open to enrolling Nathan when he reaches thirteen.”

  “That doesn’t make sense.” Harper shook her head, but that only made the thoughts spin faster. She pressed her hand to her temple.

  “That son of a bitch,” Andi hissed. “He was planning to take Nathan, wasn’t he? He didn’t bother sticking around for his birth, never paid a cent for his upbringing, but as soon as Nathan was old enough that scum-sucking pig was going to slap the Ramsey label on him and ship him off to be his legacy.”

  “No,” Harper denied, shaking her head at Andi. “That’s not possible.” Please. Her breath knotted in her throat, her fingers numb as she tried to grasp her hands together. It couldn’t be possible.

  “My father would do it,” Andi pointed out, her words all the more powerful for how quiet they were. Harper wanted to claim that Brandon wasn’t a misogynistic Greek tycoon with power issues. Except, to her knowledge, the only thing different was nationality.

  Still, Harper’s gaze sought Diego’s. “He couldn’t.” She silently begged him to say no. “Could he?”

  His grimace was infinitesimal, so small that she didn’t think anyone who didn’t know his face intimately would see it. But she did. And it broke a small piece of her heart.

  “With the right plan, the right lawyers, he could have tried.” Diego lifted one hand. “He’d had a solid field of groundwork laid. He had the ego, the arrogance and the funds to make that sort of play.”

  She thought back to her sad little comment about being grateful to Brandon, and she remembered the look on Diego’s face. She’d thought it was a hint of jealousy and had been flattered.

  Now she knew it was pity.

  “Ms. Maclean, would your son recognize his birth father if he saw him?” Savino asked again, waiting until she met his eyes before continuing. “If he did, would he voluntarily leave camp with him?”

  “No.” She had to stop and swallow twice before she could get any more words past the knot of misery in her throat. “He wouldn’t recognize him. And he’d never go with him. He was angry when Brandon died. Not because he was dead, but because his death put him in our lives.”

  She wet her lips, staring at her fingers for a moment before lifting her gaze again.

  “He’s young, but Nathan has a very strong sense of right and wrong, a code of honor. His way of dealing with Brandon’s abandonment was to pretend he didn’t exist.” Probably because that’d been her way of dealing with it. “Added to that, he’d never leave camp. Not when he knew I was coming today. Not when he knew he’d see me.”

  She remembered how brave he’d sounded during their last phone call, how proud he’d been to sleep without his night-light. She’d heard the longing for home in his voice, and for her in the way he’d told her that he loved her before he said goodbye.

  She couldn’t take it anymore.

  All of the bottled emotions, the terror and pain and confusion exploded. Harper lost it.

  The tears burst, ripping from her in miserable pain that shredded her into tiny pieces. With her composure destroyed, her heart crumbled. She sank into Andi’s comforting arms but found no comfort. She sobbed on her friend’s shoulder but found no release.

  She was simply finished.

  Harper didn’t recall the end of the meeting. She didn’t remember much after a doctor was called in with medication to keep the hysterics at bay. She had a vague impression of barked commands and soothing hands, of the thumping throb of a helicopter and the quiet hum of a powerful car engine.

  And the soft oblivion of her own bed.

  * * *

  DIEGO PLANTED HIMSELF in their temporary command center, as they’d deemed Harper’s office, leaving the door open and his view of the stairs unobstructed. Even as he worked, reading the intel Savino had provided and sketching out various attack options,
he watched.

  She’d been up there since last night. Had she slept? Did she hate him?

  He calculated various extraction scenarios and wondered if it’d be easier to hate himself. He’d hurt her, and in the process, he’d destroyed them. Why hadn’t he realized how much he needed there to be a them until it was too late?

  Diego gripped the tablet he was working on with one hand, rubbing the other over his brow in hopes of relieving the pressure there. He’d caught an hour of sleep when Savino had ordered him to stand down at 4am, but worry had him right back at the desk now that the sun was rising.

  A sound caught his attention.

  “Son of a bitch,” he murmured when he saw who walked in the front door.

  “Torres.” Light brown hair longer than usual, pretty-boy features tighter than usual, Lieutenant Elijah Prescott stepped into the room with a frown.

  More relieved than he’d admit aloud—and more worried than he’d admit inside at the sight of Prescott’s limp—Diego strode forward to offer his hand.

  “Damned if it’s not good to see you, man.”

  “Suck circumstances.” Prescott’s smile was pained as he glanced around the room, with its pretty antiques and soft fabrics. “Sweet digs.”

  “Beats the hell out of the hospital?” It was as much question as statement.

  “I’d had enough. I checked myself out.”

  Diego inspected his teammate. The brown bomber jacket and baggy jeans hid the burns on his body, but from the way Prescott was favoring his left side, they were still tender. A rippling scar angled from his squared chin, along his jawline toward one ear, but it wasn’t angry as it’d been several weeks ago. There was pain in his eyes, but no blur to indicate he was taking anything for it.

  He shouldn’t be here. He had months of rehab ahead. But fit to serve or not, Diego knew that Prescott was there to serve. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “No big. It’s not like I’m on duty” was all Prescott said. “Doesn’t look like anyone else is, either. Officially.”

  Because making this an official investigation meant NI would step in. Take over. Push them out.