by Tawny Weber
“You’re too young to understand” came the easy dismissal. “You don’t know what a hero really is. How could you, being raised by just a woman.”
Nathan wanted to yell that his mom wasn’t just a woman. And she never did that. She never blew him off or treated him like a baby who was too stupid to understand things. She either explained whatever it was or she said he’d understand when he was older.
Nathan wasn’t stupid. He could see how much smaller than the guy he was. He couldn’t defend himself. He couldn’t fight his way out of this. And until he found an opening, he couldn’t run.
* * *
DRESSED IN PLAIN CLOTHES, armed to the teeth, Diego stared at the small house set back in the hills surrounding Castaic Lake. A cabin, really, but not isolated like he’d expected. He supposed that was smart. There was appeal in a remote location. But the team was trained to avoid civilian casualties, so one man had a better chance when surrounded by the potential of collateral damage.
“You should wait here, Rembrandt,” he told Prescott without looking around. “Monitor communications—try Savino again.”
“Want me to do a coffee run, too? Maybe play secretary?”
“Nah.” Knowing it was what his teammate wanted, Diego did turn now, giving Prescott a once-over. “You’d make a crappy secretary. You don’t have the legs for it.”
He saw Lansky’s wince out the corner of his eye, but Prescott only smiled and angled out his damaged leg.
“Yeah. I guess skirts are out for me. That leaves MacGyver. His face is pretty enough.”
“Not as pretty as Kitty Cat’s here.”
And that was all Diego needed to know the men had his back. That they were, for all that’d happened, still a team. A brotherhood.
“Let’s do this,” he said, jerking his chin toward their goal. The small house had no growth around it, no trees or bushes to disguise their approach. The sun was low, but darkness was still at least four hours away. Too long to wait when a boy’s life was at stake.
“Options?” he asked quietly, more than willing to hear a better one than his. But his friends stood, one on each side of him, and kept their silence.
“Our priority is to extract the hostage. Without equipment, we can’t tell if Adams is in there alone or if he’s got backup with him,” Lansky pointed out. “Without intel, we don’t know if he’s working alone, or if our suspicions are correct and he’s following Ramsey’s lead.”
“You’re stalling,” Prescott said.
“He always repeats the obvious when he’s trying to do something noble.” Diego didn’t need to look over to know that Jared’s words were accompanied by a roll of his eyes. “Next, he’ll point out that if we hold back, the report won’t show us disobeying orders. He thinks he’s covering our butts.”
“Big boys don’t need diapers.” With that, Prescott pulled a jammer from the pocket of his bomber jacket and aimed toward the cabin. “All tech in a half-mile radius is down for the next five minutes. Computers, alarm systems, cellphones are jammed. Let’s rock and roll, gentlemen.”
Since force was out and stealth not possible, they went with what they did best.
Balls-out cockiness.
They strode up to the house nearest the cabin as if they were expected guests, knocking loud enough to alert the entire neighborhood of their arrival.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Jared said as soon as a pretty redhead answered. “Is Mary here?”
While Jared worked his charms at distraction, Prescott fiddled with his cell phone. As soon as he got the tech wizard’s nod, Diego slid along the blind side of the cabin, working his way toward the back.
He had to time it just right, waiting for a count of ten to give Prescott time to create a diversion. Diego crossed the distance in a low sprint, his ears tuned to any hint of jeopardy. Not for himself but for the boy. All was silent.
He rounded the back of the cabin, pressed his ear to the window. When he heard nothing but silence, he moved to the back door. The plan was to wait for the two men to join him, but Diego silently picked the lock and slipped inside alone.
Not out of heroism or because he didn’t trust his men. But he’d gotten them into this. Whatever the risk, it was his to take. Whatever the payment, it was his to make.
The back of the cabin was unprotected, a small kitchen with a sink holding a single glass, a rickety stove and the quiet hum of a sickly green fridge. Pressed against the far wall, Diego angled his eyes around the doorway to check the next room.
Empty but for a sleeping bag thrown over a sagging brown couch, a table holding a laptop and a nice arsenal of weapons. He counted four rifles, two semiautos and a Glock cozied up next to a rusty hunting knife.
Somebody believed in being prepared.
Diego checked his SIG but didn’t bother to pull the knife from his belt or the backup Glock from his ankle holster.
There was prepared.
And there was simply damned good.
He and his men? They were damned good.
* * *
NATHAN WAS SCARED.
He hadn’t heard anything, but the man had. In a flash, the guy pulled a gun out from somewhere as he moved from the window to the bedroom door. Nathan’s gaze locked on the gun. It wasn’t anything like the ones in the movies. This one was ugly and shiny and mean.
The man’s face tightened, his eyes narrow as he peered around the corner. Nathan wanted to yell out a warning. He wanted to let whoever was coming know he was here, to scream for them to get him out, to keep him safe.
But he didn’t know who was out there.
“I want my mom,” he sobbed, no longer able to hide from the ugly monster’s teeth and claws that made up his fear. “I want to go home.”
“You are home, Nate. Now shut up until your dad gets here to rescue us.”
He didn’t have a dad, Nathan wanted to shout.
And he was pretty sure whoever was out there would rescue him. Hoping, praying, crossing all his fingers using the wishes of every birthday and Christmas rolled in one, Nathan dropped to the floor to roll under the bed.
He’d hide. He’d wait. The good guys would come. They had to.
* * *
A SHOT RANG OUT.
Nathan threw his hands over his head, biting back a scream.
The good guys sounded scary.
He heard a grunt, it sounded like the guy who’d brought him here. He waited for more, for another gunshot. But there was a thud and what sounded like something heavy sliding down the wall.
Then nothing.
Terror spun in circles, swirling like a pinwheel in a windstorm, making Nathan’s head hurt and his stomach rebel. He wanted to cry out, but he couldn’t find his voice. He wanted to run, but he was afraid to leave the safety under the bed.
A pair of boots, black and polished, stepped into the room. His throat clicked as he tried to swallow the bubble of fear, as he tried to burrow silently back farther against the wall.
Those big feet stepped closer.
Nathan pressed himself as flat as he could to the wall and squeezed his eyes shut tight. He felt the mattress shift, weight bearing down so it almost touched his head.
“Hey, kid. I figure you’ve been missing this.”
Nathan knew that voice. His lips trembled at the sound, at what it meant. The fear that’d tied knots in his belly loosened enough that he felt safe enough to peel open one eye.
His heart stopped. Both eyes flew open and he couldn’t keep the gasp of surprise quiet.
His baseball.
He was safe!
Nathan scrambled out from under the bed as fast as he could, his eyes wide and his heart racing. “Diego. You came. You saved me.”
Nathan threw himself into the man’s arms and held on as if his life
depended on it. He didn’t care that he was crying all over a man he admired like none other. He didn’t care that his words were a blubbering mess, impossible to understand.
Diego was here.
Diego had saved him.
Everything was okay. It was really okay.
“Hey, kid. It’s good to see you, too.” Diego’s words finally penetrated enough that Nathan released his stranglehold so Diego could lift his chin and inspect his face.
“You okay, kid?”
Nathan tried to look toward the door, but Diego was too big to see around. Still, he saw the shadow on the floor.
And he knew.
“Is he...” Nathan wet his lips and tried to swallow past the rock that was caught in his throat. “Did you—”
“Don’t worry about him.” Diego snagged his chin between two fingers and lifted Nathan’s face so their eyes met. “Was there anyone else here?”
Despite his comfort in the arms of his rescuer, a spark of fear chilled its way down Nathan’s back.
“Just him. He talked like someone was coming, but he was mad when nobody did. He kept talking about that guy.” His mouth bitter, Nathan had to swallow the nasty taste before he could finish. “The one he called my dad.”
“He’s not going to bother you. Nobody’s going to bother you,” Diego promised. “You’re okay.”
Looking up at the man he’d thought would be a cool hero, Nathan wanted to admit that he’d been scared. He felt like he should confess that he’d cried. But even as Diego patted him down for injuries, Nathan knew he didn’t have to.
Diego already knew.
“You’re a SEAL, aren’t you? Like that guy wanted to be. But you’re a real hero.”
“I’m a real SEAL, sure. I don’t know about the rest, though.” Diego’s smile was the same as it’d been the first time Nathan saw him. Amused, kind and just a little weirded out. Nathan liked that smile. “I do know we should get you out of here, though.”
“I want...” The words choked in Nathan’s throat. His eyes slid to the floor again, there just behind Diego. He swallowed hard, then met Diego’s eyes again.
“Anything you want, kid. You name it—I’ll get it.”
“My mom,” the boy murmured as he buried his head into the curve of Diego’s neck. He breathed in the man’s scent and felt safe. “I want my mom.”
“You got it, kid.” Diego’s words were a warm blanket of comfort, wrapping tight around Nathan. Making him feel safe. “Let’s get you home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
HARPER WATCHED THE chilly expression on Commander Nic Savino’s face as he stood in her great room, hands clasped behind his back and his attention on the window that faced the street.
She, on the other hand, paced. She strode from one end of the room to the other, fluffing pillows and adjusting trinkets as she went. With every pass, she studied the scowling SEAL team leader.
“You’re sure Nathan’s okay?” she asked for the fifth time since he’d walked in the door with news that Diego had apprehended the kidnapper and retrieved her son.
“The operation was a success. The hostile has been apprehended and the boy safely extracted from danger.” He slanted her a patient look. And, for the fifth time, said, “Your son is fine.”
Even as she told herself to believe him, Harper fought the nerves dancing down her spine.
It was only when, hands still clasped behind his back and his face inscrutable, Savino turned toward her that Harper realized that it wasn’t Nathan she was nervous about.
She knew her son was safe. Diego had him. And he’d promised to bring him home.
It was Diego she was worried about.
How much trouble was he in? She almost asked aloud, but Savino tilted his head before she could get the words out.
“There were mistakes made in this operation. Will you file a complaint?”
“What?” Baffled, Harper shook her head. “Against who? Brandon, for lying and scheming and, apparently, doing something heinous enough to put an entire SEAL team, possibly our entire country, in danger? Or this Adams guy, who has, according to you, been apprehended?”
“Torres, for misleading you. Myself, for ordering him to do just that.” He paused for a moment as if debating, then added, “The Navy, for not taking a decisive stand on Lieutenant Ramsey’s life or death, and as such, opening the door to just this sort of incident.”
He sounded like a lawyer. Someone who chased accident victims down the hospital corridor, trying to con them into becoming a client.
But somewhere in the last few hours, Harper had decided that she wasn’t going to be a victim. And she wasn’t looking to extract a pound of flesh from anyone. Not the Navy, not Savino. Not even Diego.
She had blamed him. She pressed her hand through her hair, tugging at the ends as if it’d help relieve some of the pressure her thoughts were causing.
She’d blamed Diego for lying to her. For deceiving her and making her think he was just another guy.
She’d blamed him for spying on her, for searching her house and for having sex with her without telling her why he was really there.
For a few brief moments she’d even tried to blame him for Nathan’s kidnapping. Of course, that’d simply been a desperate grasp to try to avoid the misery of blaming herself. But, eventually, she’d reasoned that Nathan’s abduction wasn’t her fault. And it wasn’t Diego’s.
No. That one was completely Brandon’s responsibility.
Which left only one thing.
The one that, if she were honest with herself—which she tried to be whenever possible, was at the core of any blame she held Diego responsible for.
She’d blamed him for being a man she could fall in love with. A man who made her believe in possibilities. Who made her see what it’d be like to be more than content, more than just a mom. He’d made her see what it’d be like to live in a bigger world with huge emotions. He’d shown her what it was to want, to need, to desire. He’d seen where she was from and he’d accepted it. He hadn’t been appalled, but impressed.
He’d made her want to be happy. Happy in love.
Was that Diego’s fault? Did she blame him for showing her all of that?
Harper swallowed hard, but couldn’t dislodge the knot in her throat. “No,” she finally said, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t complain about anyone.”
“Just checking. And for the record, Torres declared your innocence long before the evidence supported his claim.” A hint of a smile played over his lips while he gave Harper time to digest that. Before she could respond, he tilted his head a moment before the door slammed open with Nathan’s usual entrance. “Your son is home.”
Harper was already halfway across the room, running as fast as she could. She flew into the foyer, her feet sliding across the slick marble, but she didn’t slow.
Not until she’d wrapped her arms around Nathan, squeezing his small body tight into hers. She held him as close as she could, as if feeling his heart beat against her hand, his breath move over her skin, she’d be sure he was real. That he was really home. Really here.
“Mom, I can’t breathe,” he mumbled against her shoulder with a choking laugh.
She loosened her hold just enough to look into his face. Running her palm over that smooth skin, she checked for marks as her eyes searched his for pain.
“Are you okay? You’re okay,” she said, when she saw the look in his eyes—somewhere between relief, impatience and embarrassment. But no fear, no pain, no horror.
He was okay. Her baby was home. Right here, in her arms. And he was okay. Relieved tears clogged her chest as all of the horrifying images she’d tried so hard to lock away flashed through her mind. Ripping at her composure, slicing her heart open.
But she had Nathan back. And n
one of that was going to happen.
Since she knew he’d hate her crying over him, she pulled him against her again so he wouldn’t have to watch.
“You’re getting my hair all wet,” he said. But she felt the clutch of his small hands holding tight the fabric of her shirt.
Harper gave a wet laugh, shifting so she could look over his head at the men still gathered in the doorway. Elijah and Jared appeared uncomfortable, their bodies poised as if they were going to run at the first opportunity.
Diego looked satisfied. His eyes met hers, his gaze direct and filled with the same relieved pleasure coursing through her own heart.
“Is everything okay?” she asked quietly. “Is it finished?”
Diego hesitated, then gave her a half shrug. She didn’t miss the glance he shot over her shoulder and knew he was getting clearance before saying anything.
“Everything is under control.”
Under control? That’s it? That’s all she got?
Her son had been abducted. She’d spent the last forty-eight hours in terror. She’d been lied to, deceived, spied on and—yes, it was a questionable point, but she had climaxed under false pretenses.
And all he’d say was that everything was under control?
She waited for the anger, and for a second wondered why it wasn’t there.
Then as Diego met her eyes again, she understood.
Saving one small boy, chasing down bad guys, that wasn’t his job. Diego was a warrior, a fighter. A man who spent his life battling to protect hers and others like hers. He did the hard job, the impossible job, the scary job. He fought the ugly fights, he waged the incomprehensible battles. He was one of the very best Special Operatives in the US military. He was a SEAL.
He’d spent his entire adult life working at being the best. He’d endured more than she could comprehend to make himself the best. He’d trained, served and studied with the sole purpose of becoming one of the elite.
And he’d put all of that on the line to bring her son home. How could she be mad at a man who risked his all to give her back hers?
“Brandon?” she murmured, having to at least ask that. She didn’t know if Diego would tell her, but she had to ask. Wanted to know if he was actually alive.