by Tawny Weber
Unsanctioned? Operation: Fuck Up had been led under the auspices of the Admiral, himself.
Cree hadn’t filled in the Captain? Nic knew that most of what they did as SEALs was on a need-to-know basis, but didn’t this qualify? His team’s effing careers were on the line here.
There had to be a reason Cree hadn’t said anything. And while Nic wasn’t one to question his commanding officers, he damn well wanted to ask why.
But not in front of Jarrett.
It wasn’t a matter of trust. It was a matter of training. Cree had done too good a job at pounding protocol into Nic’s head. If he was going to ignore regulations, he’d do it in private.
Until then...
“Permission to withdraw, sir.”
“Permission granted,” Cree said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Report to my office upon your return for debriefing and further instructions.”
Ignoring Jarrett’s protest, Nic gave a sharp nod of his head, turned on one heel and marched the hell out of that office.
The roaring in his head was so loud, it took him until he was halfway down the hallway to hear his name being called.
“Savino. Nic, hold up,” Jarrett called, hurrying down the hallway after him. “I want to talk with you for a minute.”
Nic wanted to keep going. He needed to work off some of the aggression pounding through his system before he took a swing at the wrong person.
But a command was a command.
So, slapping one hand impatiently against his thigh, Nic paused.
“You should have waited. There was more to my report,” the man said when he caught up. “We have a lot to go over.”
“I have a mission to lead in six hours, a team to brief and equipment to check. That’s priority. You can send me an updated report, or fill me in when I get back from the Middle East.”
“This isn’t something I can put in a report,” Jarrett protested. Shoving a hand over his bottlebrush cap of hair, he looked up and down the hall, then jerked his head toward the nearest doorway. “Let’s talk in here. At least we’ll have a semblance of privacy.”
He had the urge to give the other man a rundown of everything that had to be done before the launch of the pending mission. But it wouldn’t matter. Not when Jarrett had that look in his eyes. Nic checked his impatience and followed the other man into the empty room.
“Look, I did what you asked. I told Ramsey’s attorneys no deal. But instead of backing off, they pulled out new intel. Big intel.” Despite the fact that they were alone in the small break room, Jarrett lowered his voice to a whisper. “They’re not telling me what it is, but I got enough to know it’s trouble.”
“Look, I don’t have time for this. As far as I’m concerned, until they present their new intel, it’s still a bullshit conspiracy theory. So unless you have solid facts, I’ve got a job to do.”
“My sources say NCIS has not only confirmed your theory that Ramsey wasn’t pushing the buttons himself. That he, and Dane Adams, too, were simply tools. But that whoever is behind it has a strong network of traitors working with him. That whoever it is, is high enough up the military ladder to be able to run a ghost operation with stealth, skill and aplomb. Whoever is behind this, Nic, they’re a high-ranking officer with enough clout and influence to dump this on someone else and walk away clean.”
Was Jarrett saying what he thought he was? Nic blinked. It didn’t sound like the man was trying to claim that someone in command—someone who outranked the both of them—was the mastermind behind this mess. It sounded like he was pointing the finger at Cree.
And if that didn’t leave a sick taste in his mouth, nothing would.
“I’m not interested in gossip,” Nic said, swallowing back the bile. “Like I said, you get me intel, I’ll work with it. Until then, it’s all a bunch of bullshit.”
“Savino.” Jarrett laid one hand on Nic’s arm to stop him from leaving. “What are you going to do?”
What was he going to do?
Trying to ignore the sinking feeling of dread in his gut, Nic tried to sort through it all. But there were too many thoughts fighting in his head to make sense of it right now.
He wanted a little time, a little space to weigh this new information against what he already knew. To assess how it fit with what he’d always believed. And to figure out who he could trust.
But in the meantime, he had a job to do.
“I have my orders, Captain. As always, I’m going to follow them.”
With that and a ghost of his usual polite nod, Nic strode out the door.
He had to find his men.
They had to figure this out.
Or if Jarrett was right, they were all going down.
* * *
FLUFF.
As Darby sifted through the case she’d found waiting on her desk this morning, she tried not to sigh. She’d promised herself when she’d got off that flight from Hawaii that she’d put the entire emotional roller coaster of a trip behind her. That once she set foot on California soil, all of it was over. Dominic—or rather, Nic, damn him—the affair, stupid vacation thoughts about opening her world to something more than her career? They were history.
And so far, other than the three or four dozen reminders to remember that vow, she’d done pretty well with it.
She had her career. That’s all she had, and all she wanted. Damn if anyone could say she didn’t know her priorities. And right now, her priority was this case.
But, dammit, it was fluff.
A slam dunk.
An identity-theft case against a defendant using such clever names as Bugs Rabbit, W.E. Coyote and Sam Yosemite. And sure, there were hints of money laundering that, once she tied them together would bring down the questionably infamous Sylvester’s Cat House. But in hard-hitting legal terms?
It was still fluff.
Tapping her pen against her bottom lip, Darby glanced around the small, boxy office she’d called home for the last eight months. The ten-by-ten space boasted bland walls and a stingy window overlooking the parking lot, but she’d made it her own.
She figured that her office said as much about her qualifications for success as the way she dressed. Since it was technically a government office and uniformity was the bylaw, she couldn’t change the paint on the walls. But she’d dressed the bland beige surface with care, choosing the art hanging there as she did her jewelry. There was nothing timid or shy about the impressionist splashes of red and purple she’d had matted in deep granite. Like her, she thought it was strong, impactful, with just a hint of sass.
She couldn’t afford better furniture yet, but she made sure the plain black canvas club chairs were clean, the oak file cabinet was topped with a sinuous Art Deco sculpture in bronze and her utilitarian desk was a good veneer instead of the deep cherry she’d prefer.
But she’d get there.
As soon as she got a promotion, she’d take her first pay increase and upgrade those chairs to leather, the desk to real wood and the lighting? Oh, God, whatever it was, it’d be flattering.
But first she had to get the promotion. That’d prove that her choice to make her career her entire focus, to put it over anything and everything—including off-limits, mind-blowingly sexy men—was the right choice.
All she needed was a meaty case. Something intense and demanding that’d prove her skills and showcase her savvy.
Which wasn’t going to happen until she proved she could handle fluff.
So, sighing, she turned her attention back to the papers on her desk. And managed to work her way through a few of them before the door burst open.
“I thought I locked that,” she muttered, glancing up. “How am I supposed to get back into the work groove if people keep showing up?”
Grace stood in the doorway, her
usually cheerful gnomelike expression looking a little worn around the edges.
“Nothing can keep me out,” the woman said, holding a key aloft between two fingers. “Although I might need a raise now. Or at least a cup of warm tea with honey. I talked to more people in the last three hours than we’ve had through this office in six months.”
“How’d you get rid of them?”
“I’m a people person. I can handle ’em. It’s lunchtime. Did you want me to order you something?”
“No. Thanks. I’m not very hungry.”
She hadn’t been much interested in food since she’d gotten home.
“Just as well. Most of the places nearby are probably full right now,” Grace declared. “I’m pretty sure every person who works in this building has been in to see you at least once, and all those questions made them hungry.”
“Thank God. At least going to lunch will distract them from coming in here, pretending to need legal advice when what they really want is for me to offer to show them vacation shots of me in a bikini?”
“Are you offering?” Grace grinned, her freckled face lit with good humor. Her red curls bounced almost as much as she did as she crossed the room to drop into the chair opposite Darby. “If you are, I’m sure the crowd will line up again. Bet if we get it out fast enough, a few of them would even bring food back with them. I heard Clark say he was heading to Panera. I’ll bet he’d bring back some sticky buns.”
Sticky buns in exchange for seeing her buns. What a deal, Darby thought.
“I didn’t even realize that many people worked in this office,” Darby said, pushing back from her desk with a laugh. “I’ve been here eight months and I swear, I’ve never met half of them.”
“Most of the guys in the building are scared of you,” Grace said with a matter-of-fact shrug.
“Of me?” She fought back a grin. “They are not. Are they?”
“It’s your shove-off shield. You wear it more often than you wear high heels.”
“I always wear high heels.”
“Exactly.”
“Shove-off shield, hmm?” She thought about that for a few seconds, wished she’d known about it before she’d gone to Hawaii, then shrugged. “I like it.”
“So now that it’s just us, tell me everything.”
“There’s not much to tell. I simply have no interest in these guys. That probably fuels the shield.”
“I didn’t mean that. I’ve spent plenty of time studying the way you step over drooling bodies to understand the basics. I meant tell me everything about your vacation.”
“Oh. That.” Darby shuffled the papers she’d been working on, tidying the completed pages so they lined up with razor-sharp perfection. “Vacation was good.”
She added a smile for good measure, hoping it went with the perfect vacation scenario she’d claimed. Better to say she’d had a great time relaxing in the sun and surf than to admit she’d had a mind-blowing affair with a man she’d discovered was off-limits, then come home two days early to hide out in her apartment, where she’d been cleaning out her closet, updating her laptop files and experimenting with online fitness programs to work off all that pent-up sexual frustration.
“Yeah. Vacation was really good,” she repeated.
The chipper smile dropped away as the redhead leaned forward, her rounded elbows resting on her thighs as she gave Darby a searching look.
“What happened? And don’t even try to tell me nothing, because I can tell. I’ve got an instinct for these things.” When Darby started to shrug, Grace straightened and wagged her finger. “Nuh-uh. I thought we were supposed to be friends. Good enough friends that you wouldn’t lie to me.”
Darby grimaced as she reshuffled her papers again.
Sure, they were friends. But confessing things like sleeping with a guy she’d just met the first night of vacation was one thing. Admitting that she’d come way too close to falling for him, that she’d started feeling all sorts of stupid, emotionally overwhelming attachments to a guy she’d only known five days, was another. Or worse, that the guy she’d come terrifyingly close to falling for—something she’d have claimed was impossible before Hawaii—was a SEAL, the exact type of man her mother blamed for her brother’s death.
Nope. They might be drinks-after-work colleagues, pedicure pals and even the occasional shoe-shopping binge buddies.
But they weren’t confession confidantes.
Darby didn’t let anyone that close.
But as she looked at Grace’s face, she realized that distance wasn’t mutual. The upbeat, outgoing woman actually considered her a good friend.
Damn. Darby’s stomach did a slow dive into her toes, and a sigh choked in her throat. This was why she preferred to not have friends. They required care and handling and, well, friendship. All things she sucked at.
Just like she apparently sucked at meaningless flings. Because no matter how much she tried to put Dominic out of her mind—No, not Dominic. Nic, she corrected for the millionth time. The man was Nic. The enemy. And no matter how much she told herself that, no matter how many times she told herself to put him out of her mind, she couldn’t forget him.
Not the man. Not his smile or the deep, intense way he talked. The things he said that seemed to reach into her heart and heal long-forgotten wounds, to touch emotions she hadn’t even realized she could feel.
Not the sex.
God, she couldn’t forget the sex.
Nope. Not going there. Pretending her insides weren’t tingling, Darby leaned forward to cross her hands on her desk and gave Grace an apologetic look.
“Grace, I’m sorry. I do value our friendship.”
Before she could figure out what else to say, the sleek black phone on her desk rang out. She grabbed the receiver like the lifeline it was.
“Darby Raye,” she said, her words tighter than she’d intended as she tried her friendliest smile out on Grace.
“Ms. Raye, the Deputy Director would like to see you in his office at your earliest convenience.”
Her stomach did a slow loop at the woman’s ominous tone. But she just replied, “Of course. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“Boss’s office?”
“Boss’s office,” Darby confirmed, trying not to be nervous. She’d interacted with the Deputy Director numerous times since her assignment here. They’d even socialized from time to time. But this was the first summons she’d gotten.
She took a few seconds to gather her thoughts as she settled her now tidy stacks of papers into their respective folders. She then placed the folders in the desk drawer and turned the lock, securing them as per regulations. It might be a fluff case, but in the AUSA office, even fluff was classified.
“Saved by the summons,” Grace said, pushing to her feet with a stiff smile. “I’ll wait until you’re back before I go to lunch.”
There it was. Her out.
Being a smart woman with an eye for opportunity, Darby took it. She pushed to her feet, grabbed her cell phone, slipped it into the pocket of her jacket and headed for the door.
She didn’t make it across the threshold before the niggling pressure tapping at the back of her neck made her cringe.
Dammit.
Sighing, she turned to give Grace an apologetic look.
“Hey, go have lunch now,” she said. Then, noting the sad puppy tilt of the other woman’s lips, she added, “I can’t do it tonight, but maybe we can go get drinks after work tomorrow and I’ll tell you all about my vacation.”
She wanted to snatch the words back as soon as they left her lips, but Grace looked so damn happy.
“Drinks tomorrow sounds great.”
“Great.”
With that, Darby did a neat three-sixty on her five-inch stilettos and headed for the elevator, t
he Berber carpet muffling the sharp snap of her heels.
Once inside, she punched the button for the top floor and automatically checked her reflection in the mirrored elevator walls. Flicked a finger over the edgy fringe of hair skimming her jawline to separate the pieces into distinct points. Tugged the angled hem of her black serge peplum blazer and smoothed her hand over the dark leather of her pencil skirt.
She gave a narrow look to her face, noting the deep chili lipstick suited her lightly tanned complexion, as did the hint of gleam in her bronzer. Her carefully smudged eyeliner was a rich eggplant, giving her daytime smoky eyes a smart elegance.
Slick, sleek and savvy, she decided.
Just the look she’d been going for this morning. Not because she’d expected to be called into her boss’s office. But because she never expected not to. Being prepared was just as important to success as hard work.
Maybe that was paying off, she thought as the elevator chimed her arrival. Maybe Carson wanted to discuss a promotion. Everyone knew there was one in the works, so this could be it. Her chance to step into the big shoes. Challenging cases instead of fluff. Leading her own team instead of assisting.
Making a name for herself. A successful name. Oh, yeah, that’s what she was talking about.
Resisting the urge to dance her way down the hallway now, she hurried toward her boss’s office. She calmed her smile from giddy to professional as she strode past the desk of his missing secretary and into the unguarded office of Deputy Director Carson.
And stopped so fast the heels of her peep-toe pumps—teal to match her blouse—almost caught on the carpet and sent her flying.
What the hell was Paul Thomas doing here?
And why did he look so damn smug?
CHAPTER NINE
WHY WOULD PAUL THOMAS be in her boss’s office?
Even as Darby gave her ex a long careful study, his sky blue eyes ran possessively over her while he smiled a greeting. He looked pretty damn pleased with himself.
