by Tawny Weber
Nic was responsible for Danny’s death?
There was actually someone to blame? She could almost hear her mother’s sobbing “I told you so.”
“I need to take this to Carson,” she said. “I’ll need his clearance to go through this information. To weigh it into my decision.”
“What’s to decide? We don’t have time to drag this out, Darby.” Paul crossed his arms over his chest and glared down at her. “The preliminary proceedings start in two days. I need to know—”
Needing him gone, knowing her control was on the verge of snapping, Darby lifted the four inches of papers, waving them between them so he had to back up.
“I’m not making decisions based on emotions. Especially not when mine are all churned up, dammit,” she snapped. It took three long, slow breaths before she could calm herself down. “I need to go through all of this before I take my recommendation to the Deputy Director. If you want it before you go to trial, I suggest you let me get to work.”
Brow furrowed, he looked as if he wanted to argue. But he must have seen the barely banked misery in Darby’s eyes, because he slowly straightened.
“I expect to see your list of charges by tomorrow,” he said quietly as he did a neat about-face and strode out the door.
He could expect all he wanted. Darby pressed her lips together, her hands fisted on her desk. She glanced at the clock, noting that it was time for her meeting with Carson. Moving like an invalid, she slowly stood and gathered her notes, her files. Then, frowning, she stuffed the redacted witness statement in its classified envelope and added it to her stack.
Her arms full, she slowly made her way to the Deputy Director’s office. She’d be damned if she was going to rush through the process of ruining a man’s life.
Not even the man who’d ruined hers.
Six hours later, Darby sat at her desk, the sick misery she’d had been working so hard to contain threatening to explode. She wanted to scream, to cry, to rail at the heavens.
Instead, with the Deputy Director’s permission, she opened the envelope of classified information and got to work. Carson had listened to her report, then dismissed her while he read through the file and, according to him, made the appropriate phone calls. And in the end, his orders were exactly the same as they’d originally been.
Assess and recommend charges.
So she’d assess and recommend. Even though doing so made her ill. Not because charges would mean that she’d be destroying any chance she might have had with a man she never planned to see again. No. What was killing her inside was the fact that Nic Savino was the first man she’d ever cared about like this. The first man she’d ever wanted to care about her in return.
And the man responsible for her brother’s death.
Darby forced herself to set aside the misery. She had a job to do. So she gritted her teeth, took a bolstering breath and got to work.
She read through the entire file.
Then she read through it again, this time making notes.
By her fourth time through, she thought she had a solid handle on the scope of the case.
Solid enough that she had to stop to press her fingertips against her burning eyes, trying to relieve the ache throbbing double-beat in her head.
Oh, God.
What a mess.
Her stomach ached. Not just from hunger, but from the choice in front of her.
The strongest evidence against Savino was filled with redacted details from a classified witness. As damning as it was, much of the rest was, at the bottom of it all, hearsay.
But there was enough there to merit action.
Action that would, if proved, mean that she’d slept with a traitor.
Worse, she’d had feelings for him.
See, she thought, biting her lip to keep from screaming. That’s what she got for entertaining crazy thoughts about falling in love.
As much as she wanted to put it off, she knew there was no point. Delaying never did anything but draw out the misery.
So she did the only thing she could do.
She pulled her keyboard close and, fingers flying, typed her letter of recommendation to the Deputy Director. By the time she’d finished and hit Send, she could barely see the screen through her burning eyes.
So what? she thought as she dashed the tears from her cheek. It was after hours. She could cry all she wanted.
Because whether her boss read her letter tonight or whether he read it tomorrow, she’d still be playing a key role in prosecuting the case that could not only convict Nic Savino of treason, but might also put him in prison for the rest of his life.
But even as she told herself that’s what he’d deserve, a little piece of her heart crumbled.
* * *
NIC HAD ASKED a lot of his team over the years. He’d sent them into war zones, he’d ordered them to face fire, he’d spent a decade expecting them to meet his unquestionably high standard, all while regularly putting their lives on the line.
But a few days later as he strode down the hallway toward the office he’d occupied the last three years, he was sure this was going to top every other request.
He stepped through the door, unsurprised to see his men already gathered. He’d ordered them to be there, yet he had to steel himself to walk through the door.
And ignore the urge to turn right around and walk back out.
He didn’t want to go through with this meeting.
Fists clenched at his side, Nic tried to figure out how the hell he was supposed to tell the men he’d served with, trained with, hell, grown up with, that he was facing court-martial charges.
He knew the charges were bullshit. Logically, he knew it was a half-assed frame job. His exemplary service record should stand on its own against the baseless accusations. Logistics alone should prove the impossibility of his involvement.
But employing that same logic, the Navy would be putting its talents and resources to finding the actual criminals. Instead, after months of stonewalling his team’s attempt to find answers, they were throwing those charges his way.
But clearly, logic didn’t always play out the way reason dictated. So when conventional warfare didn’t win the battle, it was time to turn to the unconventional.
With that in mind, Nic stepped into his office. Conversation stopped and while nobody moved, they all turned their attention to him.
“So what’s the deal, boss?” Jared Lansky asked from his position slouched against the door. The man’s body language might say he was too damn bored to even stand up straight, but Nic knew better. Lansky didn’t like to make a big deal out of it, but the guy was as protective as a mama wolf standing guard over her pack. He’d make like he was just chilling, but with ears like a bat and the ability to move like fire, the guy had perfected his early-warning system years ago. Anyone came within a hundred feet of the office, Lansky would know.
“The deal is that we have a situation on our hands, gentlemen,” Nic said. He stepped behind his desk but didn’t sit. He didn’t call them to attention. He wasn’t bringing this to them as their commanding officer. Instead, he spoke to them as brothers. He looked each man in the eyes as he outlined the charges he’d been presented with not an hour before.
“All of us in this room know the truth. Just as all of us in this room know that sometimes, the truth isn’t enough.” He drew a long breath as he glanced from man to man. “Command would prefer I don’t tell you this, but I don’t believe in leaving my men open. Given the nature of this tribunal and the falsified data targeting me, if a judge deems the evidence to be worthy, I will be court-martialed.”
Fury flashed on some faces, frustration on others. But not one man said a word. They simply waited.
Pride wormed its way through the concern sitting like lead in his chest.
�
��A preliminary hearing wouldn’t be called if NCIS didn’t feel there was enough solid, irrefutable evidence to move on. I am to report to the Judge Advocate General’s office at fourteen hundred hours, where the decision will be made as to whether to try or dismiss the case,” he told them in conclusion.
Torres and Prescott exchanged glances. Lansky shifted from one foot to the other, then settled again. A sharp crack echoed through the air as Danby cracked his knuckles behind his back. Based on their years together, he could easily read each man’s reaction. But even as he noted outrage and fury, a small part of him wondered.
Given the recent information, he’d had numerous questions about his superiors. Did his own men have the same doubts about him? Did they wonder if they’d served with a traitor?
He wanted to believe they didn’t.
But like his faith in logic, his confidence in loyalty was in serious question.
Nic knew it was respect that kept them silent through his briefing. After a beat, he inclined his head and prepared for the worst. “Thoughts?”
“This trumped-up bunch of bullshit is what you’re calling a situation?” Looking like he wanted to hit something, Elijah Prescott shook his head in disgust. “No offense, Savino, but as understatements go, that one is a doozy.”
“Situation, my ass.” Torres all but kicked the desk as he paced his way across Nic’s office. “This is complete crap.”
“Call it bullshit, crap or a fairy tale, charges are being filed,” Nic pointed out. He took a deep breath before continuing. “Given the circumstances, I think it best if I step down from command of Poseidon until I’m cleared of all charges. Louden will lead the team until further notice.”
“Nope. No way. Uh-uh,” Louden snapped, shaking his head. “No disrespect intended, but that’s just more of the same crap.”
“No, it’s standard protocol,” Nic argued. “For the good of the team—”
“For the good of the team, you’re in charge,” Torres interrupted.
“Look...” Nic said, grateful but wanting them to be aware of just what was at stake. Before he could point that out, Louden lifted a hand for silence.
“Every step we’ve taken over the last decade was based on what the majority felt was best for Poseidon,” Louden said. “So let’s keep it simple. Savino thinks his presence on the team is damaging. Anyone who agrees, raise your hand.”
That got a few eye rolls, a couple of head shakes and, in Torres’s case a muttered “fuck.” But nobody raised their hand.
And just like that, the aircraft carrier of stress Nic had been hefting on his shoulders fell away.
“There’s a good chance they’ll target Poseidon as a whole if it appears the team supports my actions,” he warned.
“Let them try. Who the hell do these fuck-wits think they are, trying to twist this deal around and point it as us?”
Still pacing the office with a scowl dark enough to scare small children, Torres bit off the words with a growl, his expression making it clear he was ready to spit them out at the first person he saw. Nic didn’t have to check the expressions of the other men in the room to know they were equally pissed.
Gratified, but knowing the danger of ten furious men trained to kill, he focused on bringing them down to a simmer.
“Let’s discuss strategy, then. What’s our plan of attack?”
“We need to determine why Poseidon is being targeted. Is it target specific or is it convenience? Until this point, we’ve operated under the assumption that we were the scapegoat based on Ramsey’s issue with the team,” Elijah Prescott stated, his eyes on the sketchbook propped in his lap. Nic watched the man’s hand fly over the page for a second, wondering how Rembrandt would memorialize this particular moment. Then Elijah looked up to meet his gaze with a look as serious as death. “But I think it’s more than that. They’ve had an agenda in place since Operation: Hammerhead went bad. Now they’re playing it out.”
“They’re playing it out because someone is feeding the NCIS with falsified information.”
“Right before Ramsey is due to go to trial. Damn interesting timing, wouldn’t you say?”
“Damn interesting. Based on the pissant’s personality, he’ll roll before he goes down,” Torres pointed out.
And just like that, the theories were racing around the room. Shared, discussed, dismissed or fleshed out, depending.
And that, right there, was the reason they were the best. Because his men saw the nuances, the big picture, the strategy. He let them talk it out. Nic had learned years ago that his team didn’t need hand-holding. The only time he ever controlled the dialogue was in a mission briefing. Otherwise, rank aside, he considered them all equals.
Something very few people outside this room would understand.
Suddenly, he remembered Darby’s face that night on the beach when they’d talked about loss. She’d understood.
Why the hell was he thinking about her right now? Maybe because those few days on the island had been an idyllic window of time when he’d simply been a man.
If he lost his command, that could be his every day. No responsibilities, no training, no fighting for his life on a regular basis.
But as nice as that sounded in theory and as hot as Darby was in reality, that wasn’t what he wanted. Not at the expense of his career.
Nic glanced at his watch, then stood. The room instantly silenced. All eyes turned his way.
“You shouldn’t be going in there alone,” Louden said, repeating the protest he’d already made three times before. “You are allowed representation in any legal proceeding, even a simple presentation of information. I’m your second-in-command. I should be by your side.”
“Given the situation, your being my second-in-command would be a detriment in this courtroom,” Nic pointed out. “You’re needed here. I’m depending on you to carry out the rest of my orders.”
Seeing the argument forming in the other man’s eyes, Nic waited. It only took a few seconds before Louden gave a jerky nod of agreement.
Nic had expected nothing less. He took a moment to gather his thoughts as he waited for them to settle.
How much had he let his team down, adhering to protocol, taking the correct route? Trying to balance right with truth? He’d followed procedure, he’d toed the line. Even while he circumvented the occasional rule, he’d done so under the orders of his commanding officer.
These men were more than a group of people with a common goal. They were the elite, the best. They were brothers in all but blood. This team, the one he’d built, was a dedicated force with every element working seamlessly together.
And they were under attack.
He couldn’t let that go without warning them.
“Keep in mind that based on the information previously gathered, we know that the person behind this is in a position of command. That means there is a strong possibility that if this starts tipping against them, they’ll take steps.”
Nic had to clear the anger out of his throat before he could continue.
“You’re all in danger. Every one of you is facing fire, and it’s impossible to tell right now who the enemy is. Whatever happens to me, you will continue with your mission. You will keep digging into this issue until you find the answers. You will watch each other’s backs and take any necessary steps to ensure the safety of the team.”
“This is crap,” Lansky muttered.
“Crap, it is,” Nic agreed. “Which means that every piece of information, every scrap of intel you gather, has to be kept off the base. As of the minute I walk out that door, Operation: Fuck Up goes dark.”
Nic arched his brows, waiting until it was clear that they all understood before nodding.
“What happens if whoever is calling the shots railroads this tribunal?” Prescott asked, his fist poundin
g a beat against the wall. “If that happens before we complete our mission, the damage you’ll incur could be irreparable.”
“I hear the food in the brig sucks. Are we going to have to sneak you in field rations?” Danby asked, trying for a smile to go with his lame attempt at a joke.
“I promise you, I’m not landing in the brig.” Nic flashed a tight smile. “I’ll follow procedure until the situation mandates that I take steps.”
As one, the men nodded.
They all knew what that meant. If it came down to it, Nic would fight to clear his name. But if things went FUBAR, he couldn’t clear himself from inside a military prison.
“Gentlemen, someone or ones is clearly targeting Poseidon as a scapegoat for their own illegal machinations. As team leader, I’ll take every step I can to ensure this attack stops with me.” Nic looked from face to face, letting each man see the promise in his eyes. “But if it doesn’t, be aware that every one of you will be next in the crosshairs. Take precautions.”
A glance at the clock on the wall told Nic that his lecture was finished.
“Operation: Fuck Up is still in effect. Nothing less than victory will be accepted in this mission, gentlemen. Louden has your assignments,” Nic told them as he grabbed his white combination cap from the peg on the wall.
Unlike his men, who were all dressed in their working uniforms of camo pants and jackets buttoned over tan T-shirts, he was in service-dress blues. The dark slacks, white dress shirt and navy blue double-breasted jacket spoke of the seriousness of the situation, and the fact that he’d been called to report to his superiors.
A first in his career.
Oh, Nic had been called to speak with superiors plenty of times. He’d been briefed, informed, trained and once even disciplined. But this was the first time he’d been called to stand in front of a tribunal.
Nic clenched his teeth. He’d damn well make sure this was the last time, too.
“Sir?”
Halfway out the door, Nic glanced over his shoulder. Ten men stood shoulder to shoulder, hands raised to their forehead in salute.
“We’ve got your back,” Louden said quietly.
