by Tawny Weber
Yes. Slowly, the knot of tension in Nic’s gut unraveled. Louden was right. They were a team, and, by God, they’d beat this enemy.
“Thanks, Ty,” he said quietly, clapping the bigger man on the shoulder. “I needed to hear that.”
“Awesome.” Before he could say more, a chime dinged. They’d reached their coordinates.
As one, Nic and Louden stood. In less than ten seconds, they stood in the open doorway of the helicopter.
With a bracing “Gentlemen, let’s kick some ass,” Nic tapped his helmet in a jaunty salute and jumped.
* * *
SIX DAYS LATER, they stepped off a plane and onto US soil. The sun sang behind the water in a vivid wash of color, the evening air carrying a hint of chill in a sharp contrast to the desert heat they’d left.
“Home sweet home,” Louden said, finishing his usual homecoming ritual by bending down to kiss his hand and press it to the ground. “Hooyah.”
“Good mission,” Nic said, which was as close to a ritual of his own as he got. “Debriefing in ninety minutes. I need to make my report to Cree. You supervise unloading of equipment and tech.”
“You got it.” Given that he was six foot four, Louden’s slap on the back could have felled a lesser man. But Nic held his ground as his second-in-command slanted him a curious look. “So? First time you’ve had boots on the ground in a hell of a long while. What’d you think?”
“I think I missed it,” Nic confessed with a satisfied smile. “I think I missed it enough that you’d better get used to me commanding a lot more missions from here on out.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.”
Their stride slowed as they both caught sight of Captain Jarrett walking across the tarmac. Nic subtly came to attention as he adjusted the pack on his shoulder.
“What the fuck does he want?” Louden muttered.
“Stand down.”
But even as he issued the order, he wondered the same thing. Whatever it was, he knew it wasn’t good.
“Take the team,” he murmured, jerking his head toward the low, bunker-style armory. “I’ll handle this.”
He didn’t have to look at Louden’s face to know the guy didn’t like that. The guy didn’t believe that second-in-command meant he stood right next to Nic in the line of fire. He thought it meant he stood in front of him.
“Savino,” Jarrett said as Nic was within hearing range, his expression as grave as his tone. “Shouldn’t you send your equipment with your men?”
“Standard procedure is to take responsibility for my own equipment, sir.” He knew the other man was waiting for him to ask why he was there, but Nic refrained. In part because it wasn’t his job to give the man an opening. But mostly because, dammit, the guy shouldn’t be here waiting to greet him like some long-lost lover.
Not when Jarrett was actually here to bust Nic’s balls. He might try to call it something else, but they both knew better.
Jaw clenched, Nic simply arched his brow.
And wasn’t surprised when Jarrett shuffled his weight from one foot to the other, looked over Nic’s shoulder, then cleared his throat.
“As you’ve probably guessed, something’s come up.”
“Something that you deemed appropriate to share on a tarmac within five minutes of my return from a classified mission?” His tone was even, his expression cold. But inside, Nic was seething.
This was bullshit. Total bullshit.
Because of this situation, Jarrett here like this? It meant whatever was going down with Operation: Fuck Up was bad. Really bad.
He wanted to put his fist through something. He wanted to take his weapon and empty it on the nearest target, killing it dead until he mitigated the fury surging through his system.
Nic ordered himself to focus. He could be as pissed as he wanted on his own time. Right now, his time belonged to Uncle Sam and the US Navy and he’d damn well behave accordingly.
“I thought it was better to share this in a less formal setting.” Jarrett gestured toward a series of low-slung buildings in the direction of Officer Country, as he liked to call the buildings housing the brass’s offices. “I knew you’d report directly to the Admiral’s office and wanted to bring you up-to-date before you see him.”
Nic snapped the cap off his head and slapped it against his thigh twice before replacing it. That was the only gesture of concern he allowed himself.
“Then update me,” he said, quick-marching it toward the offices. Jarrett had to double step to catch up.
“Cree wants to focus on the mission debriefing. He considers that priority. But I thought you needed to know that NCIS has assigned a JAG attorney.”
So?
Nic waited a beat, then angled a look at the other man. And said aloud, “So?”
“I told you before. They have an informant. Someone must have fed them new information. That suggests they think they have a solid case,” Jarrett claimed, his tone one degree below frantic.
“Actually, it suggests that they are investigating the possibility of having a case and needed to bring in counsel to advise as to the veracity of their claims.”
He saw Jarrett’s frown out of the corner of his eye.
“I didn’t realize you were so well versed in military law.”
“I’m not. But I’m damn well-connected.”
“So well-connected that you were able to research legal protocols while on a joint military operation in the Middle East?”
What?
Nic’s steps slowed as Jarrett’s words circled. How opportune was it that the first mission he’d run in two years had him off base when some secret informant just happened to slip the prosecution key information?
If that didn’t say “tidy frame job,” he didn’t know what did.
“Convenient” was all he said, though.
“I warned you of my concerns before you left. Do I need to repeat them?”
Hardly.
Nic had spent every spare minute of the last six days considering those concerns. It hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes to acknowledge whom Jarrett was referring to. He would have hit it sooner, but it’d taken nineteen minutes of denial before he’d allow the possibility.
He stopped at the door and faced Jarrett.
“I’ve served with Cree for over a dozen years. If I can’t trust him, I can’t trust anyone.” Nic took one step, moving into the other man’s space. “He’s a decorated career officer with thirty years of service to his country. He recruited me. He trained me. He formed Poseidon. There is no way in hell he’d blame my team for insubordination, let alone framing us for treason.”
Eyes wide, Jarrett visibly swallowed before slipping on a pacifying smile.
“Who said anything about Cree?”
“Nobody,” Nic stated. “Nobody did. Nobody will. Because there is nothing to say.”
With that threat hanging in the air, Nic yanked open the door and strode into the building. He didn’t look back. He didn’t need to see how Jarrett was taking his words.
Because they both knew he’d just uttered his declaration of war. He’d go down in flames before he turned on his commanding officer.
Not even if it meant saving his own ass.
CHAPTER TEN
SOMETIMES GIVING SOMEONE news they didn’t like was pure misery of the gut-wrenching kind.
And sometimes it was better than a chocolate frosted cupcake with caramel filling and candy sprinkles.
Leaning back in her aubergine desk chair, Darby tapped her pen on the desk while giving her recommendation report a final read-through.
After brushing off Paul’s suggestion that they work together, she’d spent the last few days going through every single piece of evidence available. She’d studied the Ramsey case, t
he Adams case and the available military records of everyone involved.
Including Nic.
He was Nic to her now.
What she’d found was reasonable cause to try the first two for treason, and oh, how she wished she could be the one to lead those cases. But when it came to Nic, the evidence was thinner than cheap tissue.
Satisfied, she laid the report back on her desk just as her office door opened.
“Darby,” Paul greeted, his gaze shifting from a careful study of her face to the stacks of files covering her desk. “I’m glad you called.”
“Have a seat,” she invited, standing but not coming around to meet him. She preferred to keep the desk between them. No point in him getting any ideas about just where their relationship stood. “I know we’re both scheduled to meet with Deputy Director Carson soon, but I thought it best to let you know what my recommendation would be beforehand.”
“Excellent.” He beamed, pulling his chair closer to the desk so he could reach across and pat her hand. His smile didn’t dim when Darby pulled hers away and tucked it safely into her lap. “I wish you hadn’t been so stubborn about working with me sooner. We’ve lost almost a week that should have been put toward coordinating our strategy.”
“There’s no need to coordinate strategy—” she began, before he interrupted.
“Of course there is. Timing is essential. My orders are to ensure that charges are brought before the end of the month.”
Because she hadn’t seen anything in the files he’d provided to indicate any need for urgency, Darby narrowed her eyes.
“Who gave that order?”
“Someone with a higher rank than me,” he said with a smile she knew he thought was charming.
“I’m not under any such orders,” she reminded him sharply. “Besides, you know as well as I do that even though our legal jurisdiction is separate, there wouldn’t be concurrent trials on this matter.”
“We could find a way to make it work. But you clearly don’t want that, I see.” His fingers steepled under his chin, Paul leaned back in the chair and gave her a knowing look. “Fine. You want the top spot, I’ll let your office bring the treason charges first. We’ll defer our charges until your trial is finished.”
He was awfully eager to see Nic brought up on treason charges. Darby narrowed her eyes. Why?
Was it personal? Since she was just as eager to avoid seeing Nic face-to-face, she understood the emotion. But she was able to sidestep it and do her job. Was Paul?
“Paul, I’ve gone through the files up, down and sideways. I’ve looked at it from every angle of the law. The evidence simply doesn’t support moving forward with this case,” Darby said slowly, watching his face carefully. Fury flashed just a second faster than frustration.
“Based on the information that you’ve provided, I’ll be recommending that the US Attorney’s office pass on prosecuting this case.”
“The Deputy Director gave you a specific assignment,” Paul said, fuming. He shoved to his feet as if looming over her desk was going to make her change her mind. “You don’t have a choice.”
“Actually, I do. My specific assignment was to assess this case.”
Lips tight, Paul sucked in a sharp gust of air through his nose, then huffed it out impatiently.
“Fine. I wasn’t going to show you this until you’d committed to the case, but I’m authorized to use it if necessary. So here.”
“What is it?” she asked, taking the thick brown legal envelope he’d all but thrown on her desk.
“It’s a little history lesson that Savino and his team prefer to keep secret.”
“Then why isn’t it in evidence?”
“It’s classified.”
Darby stopped in the act of opening the file she’d pulled from the envelope.
“Then why are you showing it to me?”
“Because it’ll change your mind.”
“No, thanks,” Darby responded. “I’m not accessing classified data without clearance from my boss.”
“I’m clearing it,” he insisted. But the ease with which he waved away her concern for legalities made Darby all the more adamant that she wasn’t touching it. He rolled his eyes when she shook her head.
“You can at least read part of it,” he said, grabbing the file himself and flipping through the pages before tossing one on her desk. “There. A statement from my key witness, name and specifics redacted. The witness is a high-ranking officer with an unimpeachable reputation providing specific details that implicate Savino as the mastermind behind these treasonous acts.”
“You’ll need to reveal your source,” Darby pointed out. “You know you can’t spring witnesses or evidence on the defense.”
“I’m following orders,” he said again. “Much of what the witness provides is classified. Those details, and the witness’s identity, are confidential unless a judge orders otherwise.”
“You’ve provided plenty of hearsay already. Why would more of it make any difference?”
“Because the specifics are there. Due to the secure details of this witness’s testimony, his statement will only be given to those with proper clearance. Which you, as you pointed out, you don’t have.” His smile widened. “You will, though, when you take the case. You’ll have access to everything necessary, not only for a conviction, but also to skyrocket your career. This is the kind of case that makes headlines, Darby. The kind that would have made an attorney like your late father proud.”
She knew she was being played, but that didn’t prevent Darby’s buttons from being pushed. Her father was the reason she’d become an attorney. He was why she worked in this office instead of some cushy private practice. Her fingers itched to take the witness statement and read it for herself. But her instincts screamed that there was too much bullshit going on for her to trust Paul. Because as much as she wanted to skyrocket her career, that was only going to happen if the case was solid. And no amount of bullshit was solidifying things here.
“Why the secrecy?” she asked, frowning.
“In part, because some of the information is classified. Added to that, Savino is a particular pet in certain quarters, public testimony would ruin this person’s career. I guaranteed I’d protect that if at all possible.”
Okay. That made sense. And she could tell that Paul believed it 100 percent. But just because she didn’t want to believe didn’t mean she could avoid looking.
Feeling as if one wrong move would cause her to explode into a million miserable pieces, Darby slowly lifted the papers from her desk.
Sworn testimony.
A detailed report of specific incidents, clandestine meetings and covert espionage.
Pages and pages of computer surveillance.
Darby had to wait until the ringing in her head faded before she could look up at Paul. If this information was accurate, she’d have to work with a man she disliked—teetering on hated—to prosecute a man she had major intense feelings for...teetering on love.
“I’ll take this under advisement” was all she let herself say, though. “I need time to read the files and assess this new information.”
“There’s more.”
Darby had to swallow the bile in her throat before she could ask the question. “What more?”
“I know you, Darby. You’re wondering why, given our history, I’m bringing this case to you. Why I’m pushing you so hard to take it.” His gave her that boyishly charming smile that’d convinced her to go out with him in the first place and leaned closer. “I’ll bet you think I did it because I’m trying to get you back.”
Given that he was looking at her as if he’d like to lick his way through her red silk blouse, Darby could only shrug.
“But that’s not it. I wanted you on this case because I know you have reasons to hate
Poseidon as much as I do. And that as soon as you realize it, you’ll stop at nothing to see that they pay.”
Confused now, Darby shook her head. “Pay for what?”
“Poseidon. This club of Nic Savino’s? They’re the reason your brother is dead.”
The room did a long, slow swirl before Darby could blink it back into place. She tried to breathe but the knot in her chest was so tight she could barely do it. She could see his lips moving, but couldn’t hear a thing Paul said through the roaring in her ears.
“Stop,” she finally said, lifting one hand. Because it was shaking, she dropped it right back into her lap. “My brother’s death was an accident. One for which he was found to be at fault. What would Nic Savino or Team Poseidon have to do with that?”
“I have it from numerous sources that Daniel Raye, like so many others in the Navy, wanted to become a SEAL in hopes of joining the revered ranks of Team Poseidon.”
His words brought back vague memories of Danny’s hero worship. Of SEALs, and yeah, she remembered with an aching heart, he’d talked about some elite group that he’d wanted to impress. But Darby didn’t see how that made them responsible for Danny’s death.
“When Daniel Raye earned his trident, he applied to join. And like so many others that were more than qualified, Poseidon turned him down. Three witnesses claim that your brother told them that he’d had a shot, that they’d reconsider if he could prove that he was good enough. That he could handle danger. Danger beyond what most missions would entail.”
“So he was trying to prove something?”
“Not according to my witnesses.” Paul tapped the envelope. “According to them, Danny had a detailed list of what he had to do to join. According to witnesses, he was acting under their directive. They might not have killed him with their own hands, but it was their actions that caused his death.”
She had to swallow, hard, when her stomach lurched. She was grateful she was sitting because her knees were quaking.
