by Tawny Weber
“Look, NI assumes we’re dirty and they feel justified acting on those assumptions. Are we going to do the same thing? Play cop, judge and jury? Aren’t we better than that?”
“Who gives a damn about better or worse?” Lansky muttered. “You’re stuck believing that crap like honor and brotherhood make a difference. You can’t get past a pretty face to see that you’re getting fucked over.”
Was that what he was doing? Diego stood in the shadows of the front-facing window of his temporary base, watching his target load a duffel, a sleeping bag and a slick-looking backpack into the trunk of her Camry.
For a second—just a brief one—his attention was diverted by the play of sunshine turning the golden strands of her hair silver and highlighting the perfect curve of her cheek.
She did have a pretty face.
Was he letting that influence him? Was that why he was so sure she was innocent? She was a strong woman, and he had no doubt she was smart enough to pull off whatever she wanted. But treason? Aiding and abetting the sale of military secrets, of providing weapons to the enemy, of endangering millions?
Maybe. If she thought she loved Ramsey...yeah, maybe.
But not even for love would she risk her son. That he was sure of. He’d been raised by a woman like Harper.
A woman who would do anything, put up with anything, to make sure her son grew into a man of honor.
“She’s clean,” he murmured as he watched her wrap around her kid to give him one of those rocking-from-side-to-side hugs. He could see the tears in her eyes from here and knew it was slaying her to let the boy go. But when she straightened, her gaze was clear and her smile bright.
“How d’you figure she’s clean? Everything she’s got points the other direction. She’s got means and opportunity. She’s got unaccountable funds. She’s got Ramsey’s kid.” Lansky ticked off reasons why he figured Harper was guilty. “Her kid is attending a pricey camp that she didn’t pay freight for. She’s getting calls from the base. While she’s not done it herself, she meets regularly with various people who do a great deal of traveling outside the US and, helloooo, she’s Ramsey’s old lady.”
“Ramsey’s ex,” he corrected under his breath.
“You are hot for her,” Lansky accused. “You’re wanting her to be clean because you want to do her.”
“Don’t be a dumb ass.” It was up in the air whether he was talking to Lansky or to himself.
Not that the claim was so wrong. He definitely had plenty of do her urges. A man would have to be three months dead and incredibly stupid to ignore a woman like that.
Diego was neither.
“I’m the dumb ass? You’re the one making a wild claim that Ramsey’s old lady is innocent. What’re you basing it on?”
He had a feeling. He had his instincts, his gut. He’d looked her in the eyes; he’d sat with her at a table over cookies and milk. He’d watched her with her kid.
Hell, he’d simply watched her.
“My basis is as circumstantial as the evidence” was all he could say. Because his feelings didn’t make for a valid argument. And they were dealing with treason. And he was on a mission, so what he thought was irrelevant. He had a duty to carry out. “I’ll take her place apart, search every crevice. If there’s proof against her, I’ll find it.”
“Bottom to top?”
Diego eyed the house next door, calculating the variables. He’d gone through this one inch by inch, and while the layouts weren’t the same, there were enough similarities. An attic and four bedrooms upstairs, living room, kitchen, office and great room downstairs.
“Top to bottom,” he stated. “You can handle the electronics, right?”
“You turn ’em on, I’ll tap ’em out.”
Diego watched the taillights flash and Harper pull away. As he watched her drive off, he took a moment to mourn the chance he’d never had with a woman he’d never deserve.
Then, because the clock was ticking, he calculated.
“Five minutes.”
“Check,” Lansky confirmed before signing off.
Diego heard the irritation, figured it was because his friend was chomping at the bit over being left out. About the only thing worse than a clean man being accused of dirt was a man of action being forced to sit on his ass instead of acting. Or maybe that was vice versa.
Either way, Lansky was pissed and feeling put-upon. Throw in the booze the guy was likely sucking up like air, the fact that he hadn’t uncovered anything worthwhile yet, and the litany of I told you sos that were likely running through his head, and Lansky was a time bomb.
Didn’t matter. Not to Diego. Not now.
Like any other possible distraction on a mission, Diego ignored it. He let it roll over him, through him, while he gathered the supplies he’d need to break in and search the house next door.
It felt weird to strap his utility belt on over jeans instead of fatigues. Weirder still to leave behind any weapons. Other than his wits, he thought with a smirk as he slid the electronic devices he’d need into his belt’s various pockets.
Instead of rappelling in, he simply walked through the back gate separating the two houses. Instead of blowing the door with electronics, he used the bump key he’d fashioned in the wee hours while the household slept, breaking in through the back door.
Nice to see his gang education pay off.
Diego spared a quick glance around the kitchen, taking one second to appreciate the slick warmth of the house. The clean lines of the glossy wood of the table and chairs were echoed in the cabinetry. Gleaming marble and a pretty blown glass bowl stood welcoming in the center. There wasn’t a smudge on the stainless steel appliances, but the fridge was covered in Nathan’s art. He was impressed that the place looked like something out of a fancy magazine, yet still screamed comfy home for a kid.
Then, shutting it down, he flicked the button on his comm. “Interior accessed.”
“Acknowledged,” Lansky responded quietly. “Electronics?”
“Stand by.”
Sticking with his plan to start at the top, he climbed the stairs, checking for tech as he went.
“Kid computer.” And a spaceship-shaped one at that, which was pretty cool, Diego admitted. He glanced into the spare room, saw nothing, then moved on to Harper’s bedroom. As soon as he stepped inside, her scent wrapped around him. It was like being hit by a ballistic missile, exploding his entire system, blowing him straight to hell.
Like the rest of the house, this room was warm elegance. Rich colors and soft fabrics were an invitation to imagine Harper there, on that bed. It was a good-size one, too.
Which meant he could imagine himself right there with her.
Focus, dammit. The mission was the priority. The mission was everything. “There’s an iPad, digital photo frame, cell phone charger,” he reported after a quick search.
“Put the iPad on a charger, hit Safari and plug in this code.” Lansky waited for Diego’s grunt before offering the code. As soon as it was in, the tablet took on a life of its own as the tech worked his magic digging into the files.
Diego was happy to use Lansky’s expertise without dealing with his judgmental stare to go with it. Like Covert Ops: Suburbia, being on the outs with his teammate wasn’t something Diego was comfortable with. Then again, neither was searching the house of a woman he’d been having naked dreams of for intel on a rogue SEAL.
“You’re set on the tablet,” Diego said, heading for the attic. “While you deal with that, I’m moving on with the search.”
He wanted this done. Fast. Thorough. Over.
Not finding proof wouldn’t clear Harper in Lansky’s eyes, or in Savino’s. But it would support Diego’s gut feeling. About the situation. About the woman.
He looked around the attic, noting the light sheen of du
st coating the space. Boxes were stacked neatly against the walls, bins tucked under the eaves. No footprints, no smudges. Nobody had been up here for a very long time.
Perfect.
If Ramsey had anything stashed here, proof of his presence would be as simple as disturbed dust. Diego would know if he returned. With that in mind, he slipped one of the lozenge-size devices from his belt and attached it to the door frame as backup.
He tapped the side of the mic in his ear, activating communications.
“Attic’s clear of recent activity.”
“Sloppy searching if you went through it that fast.” Lansky’s judgmental voice sent a spear of irritation down Diego’s spine with enough force to rattle his teeth.
“The space is clear of recent activity,” Diego repeated tightly. “Unless Ramsey came in with a dust blower and expertly covered the entire attic with a perfectly even layer of age, nobody’s been up here since January.”
“You’re taking that as proof of the woman’s innocence?” No need to see him to know Jared was shaking his head in that condescending way he had.
“Your assignment is to track the unsub via electronics. Mine is to observe, assess and take an action I deem necessary. You want to question my abilities, you take it up with Savino.”
Fury ricocheting through his system with enough force to make him want to knock someone on their ass, Diego double-tapped the com, cutting off communications.
The anger almost pushed him into searching the attic. Into disturbing the simple monitoring system. Into wasting time searching through Christmas decorations just to prove he was right and Lansky wrong.
Fucker had him second-guessing himself.
Blood pounding a tribal beat in his head, Diego forced himself to breathe. Level out, he ordered himself.
Nobody should be able to rattle him. Nothing should be able to push him off balance. Not during a mission.
Too many things about this operation were scraping his nerves raw. Time for that to stop. He had a job to do.
He was doing it. The way he’d been trained. The way Savino expected of him—the way he expected of himself.
He’d go through the rest of the house, inch by inch. He’d check every conceivable hiding place; he’d paw through Harper’s underwear. Whatever it took.
And if he did find proof that she was dirty? That he was wrong about her? He’d deal with that, too. Bottom line, he needed to know that his instincts were wrong.
Again.
Then he’d have to figure out just exactly what that meant. To him, and to his career.
To his honor.
* * *
“GOODBYE,” HARPER WHISPERED, the tear-choked word silent in the cool morning air. With burning eyes, she watched the island holding her heart fade into the distance as the ferry made its return trip to the mainland. She had to steel her muscles to stop from diving into the water and swimming back to Nathan.
God, she was pathetic.
She rode on that thought for the rest of the ferry ride, ignoring the other passengers as their chatter was drowned out by the ocean’s waves and the raucous seagulls circling overhead. When they reached the dock, Harper was the last to disembark. Rubbing her hands over her arms, she breathed in the salty ocean air and, finally, forced herself to walk away from the boat.
She’d made it about three steps when the cell phone in her jacket pocket buzzed.
“Talk about timing,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
“I figured you’d need a hug. Since I can’t give you one in person, I’m going to distract you from missing Nathan until you have to get ready to meet your first client.” Andi’s tone was as determined as it was cheerful. “It was this or send a stripper. I figured you’ve got enough to look at next door that a half-naked guy was de trop.”
“You’re the best,” Harper murmured with a half laugh, deciding to focus on her friend’s cheerfulness instead of thoughts of her neighbor half-naked.
“Of course I’m the best. Because I am, I insist that you talk about it for exactly one minute. Then it’ll be out of your system and we can move on to me.” She gave a dramatically short pause, then added, “You see what a good friend I am? Anyone else, it’d all be about me.”
“Since I’m sure you’ve got tons to tell me about your trip, I know what a sacrifice that is for you.”
“I’m glad you appreciate that. Now come on, Harper. The sooner you get your minute started, the sooner I can tell you about the drunken duke and the chocolate soufflé.”
It sounded like a bad erotica novel. Harper’s smile faded as she glanced over her shoulder toward the no-longer-visible boat.
“I’m a cliché. Overprotective and emotionally obsessive. I cried. I couldn’t stop myself. When Nathan hugged me goodbye, he suggested that I might not be quite so lonely if I had a kitten to play with while he was gone. When he got off the boat, it was like my heart was going with him,” Harper admitted, feeling like an idiot.
Needing to work off some of the energy in her belly, her heels tapped a quick rat-a-tat on the wood as she headed toward the marina parking area.
“I’d think it’s only natural. It’s his first time away, and two weeks is a long time. Maybe you can keep your cool mom status if he thinks you were crying because he won’t quit with the idea of getting a cat.”
“I’m pretty sure I forfeited most of my cool mom points already,” Harper said with a grimace, pushing her hair back when the wind sent it tangling over her face. “I packed and repacked his bags four times yesterday. I put my contact information in every one of his pockets and, yes, I admit it, I added a GPS app to the cell phone I purchased specifically for this trip.”
“Is that bad? I did the same thing to my ex.”
Harper’s laugh trailed off on a huff of air as she wended her way around a trio of stroller-pushing moms. She’d never belonged to one of those moms’ clubs, with their playgroups and diaper dates. She’d never pushed Nathan in a stroller along the pier for socializing and a side of fresh air.
Of course, she’d never owned a stroller, either. And the few moms she’d met with babies Nathan’s age didn’t have much interest in hanging out with a seventeen-year-old. Especially when she was single to boot.
“Maybe it’s just as well that Nathan’s gone for a while,” she admitted after casting one last glance over her shoulder at the candy-colored strollers and perky moms in designer yoga pants.
“Ooooh?” Andi filled the drawn-out word with so much naughty allusion that Harper was surprised her phone didn’t catch on fire.
“Nothing like that,” she said with a laugh. “I had another phone call last night. That friend of Brandon’s who sent the package. Apparently he’s missing his BFF and wanted to share stories with Nathan about him.”
“You have got to be kidding me,” Andi snapped. “Where does that son of a bitch get off? Who the hell does he think he is, trying to worm his way into your life like that? Screw him. If he’s missing his buddy, he can visit a reptile house. I’m sure there are plenty of worthy replacements there.”
“Not quite the words I used, but I had the same reaction.”
“How far did you tell him to jump?”
“I didn’t,” Harper confessed as she stepped off the wooden pier onto the sidewalk. The balmy day was pretty enough to lure a lot of sailors, so she had to make her way through the crowd heading into the marina as she aimed for the parking lot. “I mean, I told him no way, but I could tell he wasn’t going to give up.”
Unlike Brandon, who hadn’t thought twice before giving up on his unborn child.
“So maybe it’s best that Nathan’s away. He won’t answer the phone or overhear any distressing conversations while he’s at camp,” she continued.
“Right. This will give the idiot time to realize that he’s no
t worming his way into your life or your son’s. Meanwhile, Nathan will be having fun. He’ll be around other guys, roughing it. Spitting and scratching and making manly noises.”
“Good times,” Harper agreed, pulling a face.
“Maybe it’s time for you to have a great time, too. This is your chance to spend a little time as Harper instead of just Nathan’s mom. To figure out what floats your boat, what winds you up. What pops your cork.”
“I have too much to do in over the next couple of weeks for floating or winding. And my cork doesn’t need popping.”
“Oh, please, are we going to go through all of that again?” Andi sounded so aggrieved that Harper burst into delighted laughter.
The sound snagged the attention of a pair of men in trendy sail wear and Versace sunglasses. They started moving toward her with smiles a few steps toward the smarmy side of charming. Rejection was as easy as a practiced tilt of her chin and a chilly frown as she got into her car and drove off.
“You need to stay focused, keep yourself too busy to fret while knocking around in a silent, empty house,” Andi advised.
“I’ll be fine. I’m booked solid for the next two weeks. I’ve doubled my usual number of appointments and have interviews with three potential clients. I have Mrs. Walcott planning a supersecret surprise room renovation for her husband’s birthday, complete with code words and a burner cellphone. With that much to do, how would I have time to fret?”
“Uh-huh. And the rest of the time? Nighttime?”
She knew Andi didn’t mean to make it worse or nag. Well, at least not make it worse. But all of this support and caring concern was starting to give Harper a stomachache.
“Quit worrying so much,” she asked quietly. Then, before Andi could ignore the plea, she added, “It’s going to be fine. I have a plan.”
“To work yourself into a stupor?”
Well, yeah. Was that a bad thing?
Maybe not, but it probably wasn’t enough to keep Andi from worrying, or worse, sending strippers.
