by Tawny Weber
She felt as if she’d never get enough.
But, as he lifted his head away, she felt a frown crease her brow. “Diego...”
“I know, I know. We’re just friends.” She didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was rolling them. His tone made that perfectly clear. “If you don’t want Nathan to know we’re more than neighbors, I’ll refrain from jumping you on the rock-climbing wall.”
Her mind suddenly filled with the image of her foyer wall, the one she’d been pressed face-first against while he sent her screaming over the edge of ecstasy.
“Maybe we have rock-climbing walls close to home,” she murmured, making him grin.
She unzipped his leather jacket so she could splay her hands over his chest, then brushed a kiss over his down-turned lips.
“I appreciate you coming with me,” she said softly against his mouth. “I know Nathan will be happy to see you.”
For a moment, Diego looked as if he wanted to say something. His eyes were pained. He opened his mouth, then kissed her instead. A hot, intense thrust of his tongue that sent her swirling into turbulent need and aching want.
“We’d better go or we’ll miss the ferry,” he said when he lifted his head.
Because it was a beautiful, balmy Saturday, they had to wend their way through the crowded marina. The ferry, which hauled tourists and made multiple stops in addition to the little island where the Seafarers camped, was no different. It took them five minutes to find an empty bench on the top level where they could sit together.
The air was cold on the top deck. She warmed herself by leaning into the shelter of Diego’s arms.
She couldn’t wait to see Nathan. She knew he was happy and that he was having fun. But the couple of phone conversations over the last week weren’t enough. Anticipation danced through her system, making her want to jump up and run to the rail to gauge the distance to the island. She checked the clock on the far wall as her fingers danced a rat-a-tat over her thigh.
“Just a few more minutes.” Diego perfectly read her restlessness.
The anticipation turned to warmth. He knew her so well. Probably too well, she realized. How was it possible that it was almost sexier—and definitely scarier—than the lust?
Before she could dwell on it, the small leather purse she wore strapped across her body vibrated. Harper shifted out of Diego’s arms to check her cell phone.
She’d brought her private cell. When she’d opened her own business, she’d gotten a separate cell phone, not wanting to use the same number as her personal line. But she’d left her work phone home, on her dresser. Something she rarely did, usually only holidays or special outings with Nathan. That she’d done so today, to be with Diego, was something to worry about later.
Harper glanced at the screen and frowned when she saw that the same number had called ten minutes ago. She must not have heard it over the bike’s engine. She started to tuck the phone away.
Diego grabbed her hand.
“Answer it.”
“But I don’t recognize the number.” And she didn’t feel like explaining that one of Brandon’s grieving BFFs had been calling the house and had probably switched to her cell in his attempt to glom on to any connection—however perceived—to his lost friend.
“So?”
“So, too late,” she said, relieved when it stopped ringing and the screen blanked. “They’ll leave a message.”
As if mocking her, it immediately rang again. Stress jabbed with sharp fingers along the back of her neck. Harper wanted to throw the phone back in her bag and return to the romance of the ride, but Diego looked grumpy, so she answered.
“Hello?”
“I’m trying to reach Ms. Maclean.”
Harper sighed. She didn’t recognize the voice, but with the wind blowing and the sound of the ferry’s engine filling the air, that didn’t mean it wasn’t that Dane guy again.
“This isn’t a good time.”
“Ms. Maclean, I’m calling about Nathan.”
“Nathan?” She frowned. “Who’s calling?”
“Ms. Maclean, there’s been an incident.”
“With Nathan?” Had he done something? He never caused trouble at school; she never got calls for misbehavior. “Did something happen?”
“Ms. Maclean, this incident needs to be discussed in person. I see your name is on the list of attending parents for Parents’ Day. What time will you arrive?”
Worry starting to take on the sharp edges of dread, she looked at Diego. Whether it was the expression on her face, or whether he simply had that take-charge thing down pat, he took the phone from her suddenly trembling hand, pressed speaker and held it flat between them.
“Who is this?”
The phone crackled like papers wrinkling; then the man on the other end cleared his throat.
“This is Bob Marin, Seafarers Adventure Camp director. As I told Ms. Maclean, there’s been an incident. Her presence is required at the campground as soon as possible.”
The world took a fast spin as Harper’s blood dropped into her toes. She gripped Diego’s hand, squeezing tight as if it were her only anchor to the world.
“What happened?”
“That’s better explained in person.”
Harper wanted to grab the phone and demand that he quit dancing around and tell her what the hell was going on. But all she could do was stare at Diego.
His expression as hard as granite, Diego wrapped his hand around hers. He glanced at the clock on the ferry wall.
“We’re five minutes out. Meet us at the dock.”
“I’d prefer that Ms. Maclean come to the office. This is better discussed in private.”
“Meet us at the dock,” Diego repeated adamantly before hitting the off button.
Harper had no idea what was going on. But she was sure that the director would be at the dock.
“Why wouldn’t he tell me what happened? Nathan must be hurt—why didn’t the man tell me how hurt? He could have broken a bone. What if he fell and has a concussion? Or cut himself and lost a lot of blood.” Her voice rose with each word as she imagined her baby hurt, broken and bleeding.
She stood, pacing the small area between the wooden bench and the protective wall of the ferry. She gripped her fingers together, then pushed them through her hair, then gripped them again. She craned her head to look toward the front of the ferry, trying to see if the island was in sight. All she could see was water. Her breath lodged in her chest. So much water.
“First things first,” Diego advised in a tone so calm that half her panic simply melted away. “And right now you need to chill out.”
Harper spun around, ready to get in his face and tell him just what he could do with his first thing. “Chill out?” she repeated, the words forced through her teeth.
“Yeah, chill out. Put a cap on whatever you’ve got brewing there and have a little faith that everything is okay.” He studied her face, then grimaced. “Or just pretend to have faith. Whatever.”
“I do have faith. I have faith that this was a mistake. I shouldn’t have let him go to camp. He’s only seven. I should have kept him home, where he’d be safe.”
“And when he was ten? Would you keep him home then? What about fourteen? Eighteen?”
Maybe.
“Look, the kid’s a pistol. He’s smart, he’s courageous. He’s probably having the time of his life. Getting hurt at adventure camp? For a boy, that’s like earning the big daddy of all merit badges. If you go in there wailing worry and leading with drama, you’re going to embarrass him.”
Her jaw dropped.
“Embarrass...”
“I know you’re thinking about Nathan right now as your little boy. And to you, he is. But he’s also a guy. This situation, going to camp, handling an inj
ury, it’s a proving ground. Don’t take that away from him by flying in there with your momma face on and making him look like a pansy.”
He was right. The worry would never go away. But that was her problem. Not Nathan’s. Harper dropped onto the seat next to Diego.
“Atta girl.”
In contrast to his unyielding expression, the hand he skimmed over her hair was gently soothing. Harper wanted to curl into the comfort of his touch, to fold herself into his arms.
“Harper?”
“I’m fine,” she said with a smile. It was probably a little shaky around the edges, but it must have been enough since he gave a nod of approval.
Then, as if he’d read her mind—or maybe just the hope in her heart—he pulled her onto his lap.
“Just practicing for later.”
Harper tried to relax. She told herself that everything would be okay.
But as the ferry approached the island, she held on to Diego’s hand like a lifeline.
* * *
FIVE MINUTES LATER, that lifeline was all that was holding her upright as the camp director’s words buzzed around her head like an angry swarm of wasps.
She stared into the face of the aging surfer, with his closely shorn blond hair, fishing shorts and blue Seafarer Adventures tee, trying to take in his words.
“We’ve notified the authorities, and they’re on their way.” The network of lines etched on Bob Marin’s face deepened as he finally met Harper’s eyes. “I’m sorry, Ms. Maclean. We’ve checked and double-checked everywhere since his absence was reported an hour ago. There’s no question that Nathan is missing.”
Harper attempted to repeat the word missing, but no sound came out.
She looked beyond the man, her gaze flying over the faces of his counselors, the camp’s security team. There was no comfort in their worried expressions.
“Who reported his absence? Who saw him last and where? What is the extent of the search so far, and who is in charge?”
It took her a moment to realize that those demands and that tone of absolute authority came from Diego.
Within minutes, he’d organized the counselors into search groups, issued orders that all of the campers and guests be held in one area, the ferry closed to departures and that the director take them to his office.
The crowd dispersed, some in tears, others looking glad to have something to do. Leaving only Harper, Diego and the man in charge of her son’s safety.
“The authorities are on their way, they’ll handle this. I assure you, we don’t need another person trying to take charge.” His feet planted on the wood dock, Marin scowled, looking at his clipboard as if searching for something there that gave Diego permission to call the shots.
“Mr. Torres works in security. And he cares about my son.” Harper got in Marin’s face with a look of ice-cold fury. “You will listen to him. You will do everything he, and the police, direct you to do in order to get my son back. Or I will have a team of high-priced lawyers here faster than you can belt out the opening lines to ‘Kumbaya.’”
Either worry about a missing child or worry about being sued overrode his clipboard protocols, because the harried lines on Marin’s face deepened as he tucked his collection of rules under one arm. With a sharp nod, he marched them through the trees, along the sun-dappled path toward the cabin she knew to be his office.
It was as if that show of strength was all she had. Harper sat in the rickety chair in Marin’s office, her arms wrapped around herself and her mind blank.
Diego continued to snap out orders, this time through the phone line. Words like perimeter control, air support and search logistics filtered through the buzzing whiz of panic spinning through Harper’s head. Air eked through the knot in her chest, one painful breath at a time.
It could have been a few minutes. It could have been a few hours.
Harper had no idea how much time passed. She only knew her son wasn’t there, hadn’t been found. And other than running around this forsaken island screaming at the top of her lungs there was nothing she could do.
Except hold on to the fact that Diego was in command.
He’d find Nathan.
Finally, something pulled at Harper’s attention. She blinked, clearing the tears from her eyes to look around.
The room was wall-to-wall testosterone.
Eight men stood facing the desk, listening to Diego snap orders. Her swollen gaze moved from one to the other, a tiny spark of awareness starting to poke its way through the pain in her head.
Who were these men?
Not policemen or FBI. They’d come and gone, offering no comfort or information other than, based on a sighting of an unauthorized boat seen leaving at the estimated time of his disappearance, Nathan had been abducted.
Diego had said he’d take care of everything. Her gaze landed on Jared. Maybe these guys were from the security company he worked for?
Then a man caught her attention as he walked past the window. Like the police, he wore a uniform. But his was a crisp khaki. Like the government official who’d asked so many questions, he wore dark glasses and an air of power. But her throat closed up when she saw the small silver insignia on his collar. She recognized that insignia.
Shock faded as reality slapped her upside the head. These men were Navy. They were Special Ops.
Had they served with Brandon? Why had nobody said anything to her?
Harper couldn’t breathe.
The pain squeezing her heart was so tight, the terror smothering her thoughts was so intense, that her entire world had narrowed to two simple facts.
One, someone had stolen her son.
And, two, Diego had lied to her. He must have.
She buried her face in her hands, trying to squeeze feeling back into her numb flesh.
This had something to do with Brandon. There were too many coincidences for it not to. The letter informing her that Brandon was dead, Diego suddenly showing up in her life, now her son missing and the Navy stepping in to handle the search. Somehow they were all tied together.
Tears leaked through her fingers, soaking the denim of her jeans. She didn’t know how long she sat there, didn’t listen to the talk surrounding her.
But she recognized the soothing hand brushing over her hair. She knew the scent so well that she wordlessly threw herself into the comforting arms without question.
“I know, sweetie,” Andi murmured, the words choked, the petite frame shaking with her tears. “I’m here. It’ll be okay. Somehow, we’ll make it okay.”
Harper’s mind cleared. The blinding terror, the miserable pain, even the niggling hint of anger, they were gone.
“How’d you know?”
Andi handed her a handkerchief with fingers shaking so hard, the lace fluttered. She waited for Harper to wipe her face, to dab her eyes; then she tilted her head toward the reception area where the men had gone. Through the open door, Harper could see half a dozen men, two of which were Diego and Jared.
“He spent the night at my place,” Andi said, gesturing toward Jared. “When he got the call about this, he apparently decided I’d be useful here, so he brought me along.”
“I’m glad you came.” She gripped her friend’s hand tight, offering as much comfort as she took. “I need you. Need someone I can trust.”
“They’re not security, are they?” Andi murmured, her icy gaze tagging Jared and Diego.
“No. Navy. But apparently they didn’t lie about working together.”
“I didn’t lie about a lot of things.”
As one, the women turned their heads.
Diego looked from Harper to Andi, then back again. They stared right back. After a moment, he scowled and rubbed his hand over his hair, looking like he wanted to punch something.
Goo
d. So did she.
“We need to talk.”
Suddenly her tiny niggle of anger exploded, expanding to mammoth proportions. She grabbed the anger. She needed the anger. It was all she had to keep the terrible pressure at bay, to stop that looming black hole of heart-wrenching misery from swallowing her whole.
“We don’t have anything to talk about.”
His expression didn’t change. One brow arched over those intense eyes, he simply stared.
A part of her wondered what he was thinking. The rest of her didn’t care.
“We need to talk,” he said again.
“We have nothing to talk about. Not a single thing,” Harper snapped. “Unless you’d like to try the truth for a change?”
Diego didn’t flinch. Instead, he angled his head as if he figured she had the right to her anger.
How fucking generous of him.
* * *
WELL, THIS HAD gone FUBAR insanely fast.
Diego drew in a long breath. He could feel Savino’s stare at his back. He could see the accusation in Andi’s glare. He could hear the betrayal in Harper’s voice.
None of that touched on the fury ripping through his skull. He’d fucked up. Their intel had failed; the team had taken another hit.
And Harper paid. Harper and Nathan.
Because his gut clenched with unfamiliar anxiety, Diego shoved all thought of the young boy aside. The guilt, the worry, he’d deal with them later.
Right now, he had his orders.
Contain and control.
“We need to talk,” he told Harper again, tilting his head toward the door. He’d prefer privacy.
For a moment, Harper looked as if she’d refused. Then, after giving Andi’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze, she swept from the room with the grace and dignity of a princess mowing through peasants.
With a wary eye and brief thanks that he’d been there when she’d dressed and so knew she didn’t have any weapons tucked away, Diego stayed one step behind Harper as she made her way outside.
He had minimal experience soothing angry women. He’d never cared enough about one to have to.
