by Tawny Weber
“Is it right to narrow our search of the brains behind all of this to either Jarrett or Cree?” Danby asked, shaking his head. “I don’t want to miss the architect of this treason ring because we’re focused on the obvious.”
Agreeing, Nic began handing out assignments. For the next hour, they debated a few, added a couple more and brainstormed where they’d go from there.
The sound of the front door closing echoed through the room like a gunshot. In a blink, all papers were away, laptops closed, tablets off. The men instantly shifted to casual positions as if they’d just been chatting as Diego’s wife walked into the kitchen.
“I’m sorry,” Harper said, biting her lip as she noted the tension still shimmering in the air. “I didn’t realize you were here. I picked Nathan up early because he wanted to feed his cat.”
Which was why the little boy wasn’t already in the room, Nic knew.
“No, we’re sorry for taking over your kitchen,” he said, pouring her a cup of her own coffee. “But we come bearing gifts. Including steaks for the barbecue.”
“Are you sure?” Lousy at hiding her concern, she searched Nic’s face. “Nathan and I can take off for a while. You guys should finish.”
“We are finished.” With that and a grateful brush of his hand over her shoulder, Nic raised his voice and called, “Nathan?”
Tall for a seven-year-old, the tousle-haired boy barreled into the room with his beloved baseball in one hand and a cat toy in the other.
“Wow,” the boy said, his big blue eyes widening at the sight of all of his stepdad’s teammates. “This is so cool. It’s like a party. Are you guys here to play ball?”
“How’s your pitching coming along?” Prescott asked, wrapping his arm around the boy’s shoulder and leading him out the door. After a quick glance at Nic, the rest of the team followed. All but Diego.
“This prosecutor. You trust her?” Diego asked as the others started playing catch in the yard.
Nic looked out the window, watching his men go into goof-off mode with the little boy they’d made their own. A boy who was, in purely technical terms, the child of the enemy. But technicalities didn’t matter when it came to love. If anyone could understand that, Diego would.
“Yeah. I trust her,” he said when he returned his gaze to the man who’d become Nathan’s father. “I’m in love with her.”
“Aw, shit,” Diego muttered, his face creasing in disgust.
“You object to my falling for someone? Or is it this particular someone you object to?” Nic heard the cold formality in his voice, but he didn’t care. For over a decade, nothing had come before his men. He’d vowed to put them first. Not to even consider a relationship until he’d made Captain. Not because the rank held special meaning, but because hitting that rank meant they’d all be on the other side of dangerous missions.
But now?
He wouldn’t put Darby before his men. But he’d be damned if he’d put her behind anyone.
“Object? Dude, we’ve only met her once. And damned if she didn’t face us down. Even Louden, who had his bitch face on.” Diego laughed as he gave an impressed shake of his head. “She seemed cool.”
Nic had to know.
“So if you guys don’t have any specific objections to Darby, why’d you say ‘aw, shit’?”
“Because Lansky called it. After she kicked most of us out of her office, we chilled in the hallway waiting for Louden. And what did MacGyver say?” Diego asked, referring to Lansky’s call sign. “He straight-up said that she was the type you’d fall for.”
Score one for Lansky. But Nic knew there was more. He lifted one palm and gestured with his fingers for Diego to bring the rest.
“He was so sure, he put money on it.” Diego pulled a face.
“He took you all?” Nic had to laugh. “Nice.”
“All but Prescott. You know what a sap he is for romance.”
“And you’re not?” Nic shot an arch look around the cozy kitchen, noting Diego’s satchel tossed over the chair of the built-in desk, the vase of flowers on the counter. Given the haphazard way they’d been throw in the container, he knew the man had bought and personally arranged them. Gracing the fridge was a drawing of a very cozy-looking Diego, Harper and Nathan drawn by the boy’s clever hand.
“Seriously, man, you are so in love it’s practically oozing out your pores.”
“Good thing I’m lucky in love, then,” Diego said with a grin. “Because I lost fifty bucks on your sappy heart.”
“How do you do it?” Nic queried.
“Do what?” Elijah asked as he came through the door, heading straight for the fridge.
“I think he’s asking how I manage to be a kick-ass SEAL while romancing my woman and earning dad-of-the-year cred,” Diego said. His tone was joking but his eyes intense as he studied Nic’s face.
“If you’re looking to El Gato for romance advice, you’re in serious trouble,” Elijah stated. He dumped the dozen bottles of water he’d snagged onto the table to give Nic a long look. “What’s up? You taking about the sexy lawyer?”
“He wants tips on juggling,” Diego said, snagging one of the water bottles before he leaned back in the deeply cushioned banquette, one arm angled across the backrest.
“Priorities, man. You know how to do that,” Elijah said, grabbing the notepad and pen they’d used earlier, doodling as he talked. “You just put that same dedication, determination and skill to the relationship and it works.”
“Didn’t you say something along those lines to Ava?” Diego asked, giving Nic a curious expression. “She told Harper you were all about the relationship advice when she and Rembrandt here were working things out.”
“I guess it’s easier to give advice when you’re not the one putting it all on the line,” Nic replied.
“I don’t agree. You had plenty on the line when you advised Ava to fight for our relationship,” Elijah argued. “You’re just afraid.”
If the man he’d known for a dozen years, had served with for a decade and who Nic had stood as godfather to his late child had leaped across the table and punched him in the face, Nic couldn’t have been more shocked.
“Whoa.” Diego laughed. “You’re gonna need triage if you throw that kind of accusation around.”
“Nope. Because Nic knows I’m right.” With that, Elijah tore a page from his notepad and handed it to Diego.
With the skill that’d earned him his call sign, Rembrandt had drawn Darby’s face. It was a perfect depiction, right down to the sassy tilt of her chin and the challenge in her big eyes. She was it, he realized.
The woman he wanted forever with.
The one who scared the hell out of him.
“I’m keeping this,” he said, folding it carefully so the lines didn’t crease Darby’s face. He got to his feet, tucking the sketch into his pocket. “I’ve got things to do. Tell Harper I’m sorry to miss dinner.”
“More food for me,” Diego said, his words as casual as his gaze was intent. “Where you going?”
“To make a bet of my own.”
The last thing he heard as he headed out the door was Elijah’s triumphant “Pay up, sucker.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
“I DON’T WANT to do this,” Darby muttered as she hooked the back onto one big silver hoop earring, then the other. “I told him I didn’t want to do this. I made myself perfectly clear.”
So why was she doing this?
Because Nic Savino was as stubborn as he was loyal, that’s why. Stubborn, loyal and almost always right. Which could have been totally annoying if he wasn’t such a skilled lover.
All of which Darby had spent the last week learning on a firsthand basis. Her days were spent working on the treason case. Evenings were spent fitting together pieces of the puzzle.
Nights were spent having mind-blowingly hot sex.
And most of her time was spent with Nic.
A part of her—the cynical part she kept fed with fizzled hopes and blown dreams—had figured that time together away from the romance of Hanalei would put an end to any silly thoughts about love. She’d even hoped that all this time would show glaring issues between her and Nic that vacation hid. Personality conflicts or clashes in taste or, hell, she’d take snoring and poor posture.
But, no.
The man was freaking perfect, she decided, glaring at her own reflection. She even admired his stubbornness and formidable insight. He had a way of using facts, logic and reasonable good humor to make his points, leaving her unable to think of any reason to refuse him anything.
Which brought her to tonight.
He’d wanted her to meet his friends.
Friends who happened to be his teammates, many of whom had hulked over her at their first meet, oozing intimidation.
Friends, and their significant others.
That meant women.
As hard as it might have been for Darby to face down the men who had looked like they wanted to tear her to shreds and burn the pieces over a low fire, it’d be even harder to meet the women.
Women giggled. They chattered and shared intimate details and formed cliques.
That sort of thing scared the hell out of her.
That wasn’t why Darby had refused, though.
She’d refused because she was already in too deep. She’d let Nic get too close. She knew her heart was lost. But she’d be damned if the same would happen to her reputation.
She ran it through her head, the same way she’d run it through dozens of times over the last week.
The federal prosecutor’s office hadn’t, as yet, filed charges. She was doing her job, digging out every piece of information she could to nail down exactly which subjects charges should be brought against. She had, other than that one night she’d offered advice, refused to discuss the case with Nic. She’d tiptoed along the gray line as carefully as a tightrope walker, careful—always careful—not to step into the black.
Then he’d pulled that crap on her about wanting her to meet his friends. Even as her heart had danced and her stomach clenched with nerves that he’d make such a sweet gesture, Darby had refused. She’d sidestepped. And, finally, she’d grabbed onto the lesser of two evils like a lifeline and suggested they have a private romantic dinner, just the two of them.
Darby puffed out a long breath and dabbed a little wax on the tips of her fingers, then rubbed them over the ends of her hair to give it a spiky fringe along her jaw.
“This is crazy,” she decided as she rubbed her pinkie under her bottom lashes to give her liner a little extra smudge. Since she’d gone with smoky eyes, she’d done her lips in a pale rose.
She took a couple steps back from the mirror to get a better look at her outfit. She’d paired a sheer pewter blouse with full bell sleeves over a fuchsia camisole with black leggings and matching knee-high leather boots. She narrowed her eyes, debating whether or not the long black lariat necklace was too much.
Nah.
The leather kept the sheer blouse from being too girlie.
Good enough for a quiet dinner for two in a dimly lit restaurant under the guise of wanting a romantic night out. She’d even made the reservations herself, figuring it’d give weight to her claim. And, of course, it allowed her to choose a restaurant two cities away, where nobody she knew would see them.
The doorbell rang as Darby was checking her phone for messages.
Damn.
He was early.
She frowned, glancing at her watch as she hurried across the room to pull open the door. Her frown deepened.
“Grace?”
“Hey, Darby. You forgot your bag at the office,” the redhead said, lifting the leather messenger bag by the strap as proof. “I know you usually work at home, so I figured you probably wanted your files.”
“Thanks.” Taking the bag, Darby studied the other woman. “I appreciate it, but you really didn’t have to come all the way over here.”
“I don’t mind. I figured it’d be a good chance to check in on some things.”
Uh-oh. Darby gave her secretary closer scrutiny, noting the lines of stress radiating from her cornflower blue eyes.
“I have a few minutes. Why don’t you come in.”
“Hey, you look great,” Grace said, giving her a wide-eyed once-over as she followed Darby inside. “Do you have a date?”
“It’s not a date,” she insisted, her fingers digging into the leather of her bag. “I’m just meeting someone for drinks.”
“You should go, then. I can talk to you tomorrow. Or, you know, later.”
“You came by for a reason,” Darby pointed out. “Come in and tell me.”
“I figured you might like to know that Paul Thomas was in the Deputy Director’s office late this afternoon,” Grace said, following Darby into the living room. “According to Carson’s secretary, it was a long meeting and neither man looked pleased when it ended.”
Darby’s stomach clenched for a brief second while her mind raced.
“Do you know what it was about?”
“From what little Eileen heard, Thomas is frustrated that you haven’t moved on the treason charges yet. He’s making noises about someone else taking over the case.”
She’d figured he’d do that when she kept dodging his request, but it still pinched to hear the news.
“Do you know what Carson’s response was?”
“I don’t know all the details. But I did hear that he told Thomas to back off. He said he had complete faith in your ability to do the job and that he trusted you’d do it right. Carson said he’d be making sure of it.”
The stomach that had just unclenched dived right into Darby’s toes at hearing that. Oh, hell. She tried to swallow the sick feeling in her throat, but it wouldn’t go down.
“But you don’t know much beyond that.” Struggling against the sick feeling of betraying trusts, Darby looked down at her hands. She made her living dancing in and out of the nuances of the law, but she personally hated to lie. Not seeing that she had a choice, though, Darby put on her best courtroom face and gave Grace an attempt at a smile.
“So that’s what you came by for? To bring me my bag and let me know Thomas is pressuring Carson?” Darby stood, preparing to see her secretary to the door. “I really appreciate it.”
“Um, yeah. That’s what I came by for.” Worry clear in her face, Grace studied Darby’s expression carefully. “Are you okay?”
“Sure. I’m fine.”
After a long look, Grace shifted her suspicious gaze to her surroundings.
“Wow, I like these pillows.” Sliding her hand over the nubby texture of the red one Darby had positioned in the middle of the couch, Grace wrinkled her nose. “Are they new? I don’t remember you having this much color in here before.”
Her gaze swept over the pillows, which ranged in color from pale coral to deep mulberry. She narrowed her eyes at the deep purple throw draped over the back of the chair, then tapped her finger on one of the trio of fat black candleholders Darby had centered on the coffee table.
Something about the decor seemed to make up her mind, because she squared her shoulders and gave Darby a long look.
“Um, maybe I came by for more than just letting you know about Thomas.” She dropped to the couch and snagged a pillow, pleating the fabric between her fingers. “I didn’t want to say anything in the office. But I’m worried about you.”
“About me?” Aiming for surprise, Darby rounded her eyes. “What’s to worry about?”
“Setting aside the decorating, which anyone who didn’t know you might consider normal, you’re nervous.�
� Grace followed Darby’s pacing path with a wag of her finger. “I’ve seen you tackle some major cases, take on some serious criminals and face down some nasty bullies. But I’ve never seen you nervous before.”
“This is a major case,” Darby reminded her.
“One you have a solid handle on.”
“Says who?”
“Says the woman who’s watched how you work for nine months. I know when you’re struggling with a case, and I know when you’re worried about something else.”
Darby opened her mouth, but couldn’t find another lie. So she shrugged instead.
“Maybe I’m dealing with some personal issues.”
“You mean you’re dealing with Nic Savino.”
Not sure what to say, Darby wet her lips. Before she could figure it out, Grace grimaced and shook her head.
“I feel responsible. I told you go to for it. I encouraged you. I all but pushed you into the man’s arms.” She shoved her fingers through the red curls and blew out a long breath. “Maybe it’d have been better if you’d, you know, waited until after the trial or something. I wasn’t thinking, Darby.”
The worry and friendship in her eyes dissolved Darby’s determination to play dumb.
“It’s not your fault. I’ve never felt like this about anyone before,” Darby admitted, dropping onto the couch. “I can’t say that I like it.”
“Is it because of the risks you’re taking on this case? Or is it because of your feelings for Nic Savino?”
“Either. Both.” Darby faltered. “Nic.”
“You care about him. And you think he’s innocent.”
“How do you know what I think?”
“Because you’d have nailed his ass to the wall by now if you thought he was guilty.”
“What difference does it make?” Darby pushed to her feet, needing to pace off some of the tension. “Facts are facts, and sure, the facts don’t support Nic Savino being guilty. But what if these feelings—feelings I don’t even understand—are messing with me so I don’t see the facts clearly.”
“What do you feel for him?”
“God, I don’t know. Nothing. Everything. Too much,” she admitted. “It’s coloring my judgment. And if I’m wrong, it’ll ruin my career.”
