by Tawny Weber
And Diego would be damned if he was going anywhere before Nathan was home in his mother’s arms.
“Ramsey’s confirmed as our hostile?”
“You tell me,” Diego invited, since Prescott’s specialty was cryptology. Lansky was the computer whiz, but Prescott oversaw cyberwarfare. He was the team’s go-to expert for deciphering communications, for understanding the signals that Lansky unearthed. Added to that, the guy spoke, like, eight languages—there wasn’t a whole lot that got past him.
“I’ve gone over our records, as well as the information Lansky hacked from NI. My analysis is that while the initial codes were sent prior to the explosion, there was a brief period after the first detonation where another message was sent.”
“You know what it said?”
“I’m out.” Prescott gave that a moment to sink in before leveling what Diego could see was going to be a major blow. “The message was crafted to look like it was going to one of the team. It bounced a few times, though.”
Diego could see the same shock of betrayal in Prescott’s eyes that he felt in his heart. Could hear the same disgusted fury in Prescott’s voice that he felt in his gut.
“You’ve confirmed with Savino that Ramsey is our hostile. That he set us up? Can you prove it to NI?”
“You betcha.”
“And his partner?”
Prescott slowly shook his head.
“Lansky traced the rental of a power cruiser and a Humvee to one of the various bank accounts linked to Ramsey.” Trying to push past the frustration, Diego rubbed his thumb over his forehead. “Whether it was Ramsey or his as-yet-unidentified partner is the question.”
“You guys think he stole his own kid?”
“His own is a misnomer,” Diego snapped. “He’s never met the kid, never showed any responsibility for him. At this point, he’s stroking his ego while putting a child in jeopardy.”
Prescott’s jaw tightened, his pale eyes dimming for a moment as his gaze dropped to the floor. Diego knew the guy’s history, knew that this had to bring history to the forefront, slapping at him with the memory of losing his own son.
“The kid is the priority,” Diego said quietly, as close as he could come to reassuring his friend. He held out the electronic tablet he’d been studying, Savino’s preferred method of communicating during missions. “We’ll have him home before the weekend is over.”
“Let’s hope,” Prescott murmured after a moment. Then, with a heavy sigh and on pained steps, he crossed over to take the tablet. “Nathan Maclean, age seven. Risk?”
“Minimal.”
“Minimal?” Harper repeated, her quiet words not hiding the disgust in her tone. “You call someone kidnapping my son minimal?”
They turned toward the woman who’d appeared in the doorway.
“Harper Maclean, this is Lieutenant Prescott.”
“Ma’am.”
Diego scanned her face, noting the dark circles and deep grooves. For all that she’d rested, it obviously hadn’t been restful.
“You should get more sleep.”
“You should go to hell.”
“Already have my room booked,” he assured her, taking her arm to guide her to a curvy little couch by the window. If she wouldn’t sleep, she could at least sit.
“Keep your hands to yourself.” Yanking her arm free, Harper glared with the fury of a she-wolf about to spring. “I don’t want you touching me.”
“Harper, you need to sit down.”
“Diego, you need to kiss ass.”
Prescott, with the tact born of brotherhood, simply stood there enjoying the show. Diego pointed toward the exit, but the Lieutenant just grinned and leaned against the desk.
Since Diego couldn’t justify kicking an injured man’s ass, he did the next best thing. He ignored him and focused on Harper. “You want to be updated?” Ignoring her frustrated expression, he pointed to the couch. “Sit.”
“I could spend a lot of energy hating you,” she said in an ill-tempered mutter as she dropped onto the couch.
Good. He wanted that energy. As long as she had it for him, there was a chance he could change it to something else. He’d figure out what later, after he’d brought her son home.
“We know that Nathan was taken off the island by boat. We know what direction he was taken in.” Diego wanted to promise that he’d be home soon. But he couldn’t. Not because his training told him not to. But because he couldn’t bring himself to raise her hopes any more.
“It’s been less than twenty-four hours. We’ll get him back soon” was the best he could offer.
“Why is my house filled with men?” She flicked a glance toward Prescott, then back to Diego. “Are they all your kind?”
“Heterosexual Hispanic hunks?” The only smile that got was from Prescott. “They’re Poseidon.”
He waved away Prescott’s move of protest. He’d been cleared to give her that much.
“We’re an elite team within the SEALs, led by Savino.” Her expression didn’t change, but Prescott did grab a chair. “Ramsey wasn’t one of us.”
“Bet he hated that.”
He arched one brow in agreement.
“We’ve made a lot of progress since last night.”
“Minimal?” she snapped, referring to his previous comment.
“I said the risk was minimal, meaning that we don’t believe Nathan is in danger.”
“Because you think Brandon has him.” Her tone was as resigned as the expression on her face. “I thought your kind pronounced him dead.”
“Not officially,” Diego said. “Bureaucratic red tape keeps the door open until an official determination can be made.”
A frown tightened her brow, her eyes blurring for just a moment as she were trying to remember something.
“Torres.”
Blinking away his frustration at the interruption, Diego turned. “What?”
“Three possibilities locked.”
Jared looked past him to give Harper a tentative smile. She gave him a nod in response, which was friendlier than anything she’d offered Diego.
“What’s that mean? Three possibilities?” Harper glanced from Jared to Diego to Prescott. “Have you found my son?”
“Have you found Nathan?” She repeated when nobody responded.
“Gentlemen,” Diego murmured. This time, Prescott took the hint—or order—and hobbled toward the door, where Jared waited. Once they’d cleared the room, Diego took a breath and made a choice.
He crossed to Harper but didn’t sit. He knew she didn’t want him to. He could see she’d rather he went straight to hell, but he didn’t do that, either. Instead he waited.
Until she leaned back on the couch and met his eyes.
Until she let out the angry breath he could see she was holding.
Until he heard the foyer clear and knew they were alone.
Until he knew that what he was about to do was the right thing. The one thing he could live with. No matter the outcome.
“That I was under orders is a poor excuse, but it is the truth.” He met her glare with a nod. “As bad as I feel about that, as much as I regret it, there are still things that I can’t tell you. Things that are classified. Top secret.”
She simply crossed her arms over her chest and one leg over the other, her foot bouncing with irritation. The disdain in her expression didn’t change.
Crap. Diego rubbed a hand over his hair and wished he could do anything other than what he knew he had to. But there was no other option.
So he sucked it up and told himself to take it like a man.
“I’m sorry,” he muttered.
That got her attention.
Harper’s gaze shifted to meet his for a brief moment before she loo
ked away again.
“I was under orders, and this is a matter of national security,” he continued. “But I let it go too far.”
“You mean your orders don’t usually include sex.”
Diego rocked back on the heels of his boots and considered.
She wasn’t going to forgive easily. That was okay. He didn’t need life to be easy. He did need to do the right thing, though.
“I’m going to Northern California in less than an hour.”
Her foot froze.
“Brandon’s parents live there.” She wet her lips. “Do you think they have Nathan?”
“No,” he said honestly. The team had the house under surveillance and there’d been no sign of Ramsey or of Nathan. “But I think they might have key information that could help us find Nathan, and help resolve this mission’s objective.”
“Which one is your priority?” she wondered quietly, her eyes drenched with pain.
“Nathan,” he heard himself say.
Civilians were always a priority. But for all of Diego’s life, his reputation, then his career, had been the most important thing.
Not anymore.
“Come with me.”
“What?”
“Come with me. I’m flying in and out of Alameda. It’s what? An hour from there to where Ramsey’s parents live. We’ll be back tonight.”
He shouldn’t take her.
It was against regulations.
She shouldn’t go.
The FBI had made it clear that her best place was here at the house in case a call came in or Nathan was found.
But Diego reached out and skimmed his hand, light as air, over the stress-induced tangles of her hair.
“Come with me.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
SHE HAD TO put it away.
The heart-wrenching terror and the soul-crushing sense of betrayal had to be set aside. She couldn’t think about Diego’s betrayal. She couldn’t ask herself what Brandon had done, or she’d curl up and start crying again. And Nathan? Harper pressed her knuckles against her mouth to keep from sobbing. She couldn’t think about that, couldn’t let herself think about it or she’d start screaming and never stop.
So for now, until she’d dealt with what had to be dealt with, she’d put it away.
Harper stared out the window of the Silverado 3500HD, watching the green hills of Oakland give way. Apparently SEALs didn’t bother with rentals. They simply borrowed whatever they wanted from other guys on base, in this case, a big daddy of a diesel truck.
With every mile they were farther from her home. With every mile they were closer to her past. She’d never personally driven this road, had left before she’d got her driver’s license, but she recognized the entrance to the Caldecott tunnel.
She watched the walls of the tunnel slide by, noting the gray cement. There had been an explosion in this one years before she was born, but it still wasn’t retiled or pretty like the others. She’d always wondered if that meant this one was bad luck.
It wasn’t until Diego asked if she was okay that she realized her fists were clenched around Nathan’s baseball. She didn’t even remember taking it from her purse.
“You were next door watching me, you got to know me, got to know Nathan because of Brandon,” she said, voicing the realization that’d played through her head over and over in those foggy hours the night before.
“Yes.”
Harper would have laughed at the matter-of-fact simplicity of his response, but she couldn’t find the energy.
“Is it because you think I have something to do with whatever Brandon did?” She didn’t ask what it was. Since Savino had used the term treasonous activity, she knew they wouldn’t tell her.
“It was a possibility that had to be looked into. The way Ramsey talked about you gave credence to the suspicion. And—”
“And, what?” she prompted when he snapped his mouth shut.
“The phone calls, the burner phone. They added weight to the idea,” he finally said, slanting her a quick look.
“Burner phone?” This time, Harper did manage a laugh. It was rusty and painful, but it was still a glimmer of humor. “Mrs. Wolcott. A client who wanted to surprise her husband with a renovated and decorated man cave for his birthday. She went a little over the top in her attempt to keep it secret.”
“Ah.”
“That’s it?” she asked with a frown. “No further explanation, no apology. Just an ah.”
“Would you accept an apology if I made it?”
“No,” Harper realized as her shoulders drooped.
She tried to find the fury. The sense of betrayal. But she was so empty inside that nothing was coming through. Nothing except...
“Do you think he’s alive?” she asked, the question barely more than a whisper. “Brandon, I mean.”
“Do you think he could do this? Stalk you and your son. Fake his own death. Steal Nathan. Put you through this sort of terror.”
“You make it all sound horrific. Like I should say no. Like I should deny that the man who fathered my son was capable of such repugnant behavior.”
“Is he?”
Harper stared out the window, watching the hills turn even greener, the buildings farther apart, the houses on the hills fancier.
“Growing up, it was just me and my mom. She tried. She had two jobs, sometimes three, but we never had much money. Food stamps, state help. She worked so much that she was hardly ever around. It was like an ugly circle with no way out.” She’d never told anyone that. Not even Andi knew how bad her childhood had been.
“What happened?”
“She got sick. Cancer.” She wiped her cheeks dry, but the tears kept falling. “Then she died, and I was alone.”
“How old were you?”
Ancient. “Fifteen. Old enough to think I was so smart, dodging the authorities and flying under the radar to avoid child services. I figured I’d learn from my mother’s example, so I stayed in school. Even though I was working two jobs, I aced my classes, snagged a scholarship.” She gave a watery little laugh that mocked that naive girl. “Then all of a sudden, there he was. Brandon was my knight in shining armor. Or, rather, in a Navy uniform. He strode into the restaurant where I worked as a hostess and swept me off my feet. He made me believe in magic. In happy-ever-afters.”
“I can see that.” When she frowned at him, Diego shrugged but didn’t take his eyes off the road. “He had that boy-next-door thing going on.”
“I’d like to say I didn’t realize he was rich, that it didn’t matter to me one way or the other.” She heard the GPS’s warning to take the next exit, knew her past was a blink away. “I did care, though. I wanted a better life. I wanted out of poverty.”
“Nothing wrong with that.”
That’s what she’d told herself at the time. But she could think of so many things wrong with it right now.
“And then I got pregnant,” she said quietly as Diego pulled off the freeway.
She waited until he’d stopped at the red light, until his eyes met hers.
“I didn’t get pregnant on purpose. I was terrified when I realized that I had more than a flu bug. But I was sure Brandon would be thrilled.” God, she had been stupid.
“I take it he wasn’t.”
Harper wasn’t sure if she was glad or not when, instead of continuing on his way, Diego pulled into a nearby parking lot.
“Want all the dirty details before we arrive there? That’s what you’ve been trying to get from me since we met, right?” she asked, not ashamed at the bitterness of her words.
“Your life is in turmoil because of the actions of one man. Your world had been violated, your trust betrayed. As much as you resent the intrusion, maybe even hate the people involve
d, you’re depending on a team of elite SEALs to put your world to rights.” He paused as if waiting for her to confirm or deny, but Harper could only frown. “That’s on a personal level. Imagine the threat on a global level and instead of one person being betrayed, it’s an entire country.”
Betraying one’s country? Harper’s chest hurt with the effort to push air through the cracks of pain.
Diego was talking about treason. That was the word for it, wasn’t it?
She tried to swallow but couldn’t as she remembered how for so many years she’d thought she had no feelings for Brandon, had believed that he was completely irrelevant to her life. Only to have the past thrown in her face with his supposed death.
Then, just as she’d found a way to make her peace with his abrupt reentrance to her life—and to force the reality of him into Nathan’s world for the first time—she had to accept the possibility that he was not only alive but he’d outright stolen her child from under her.
Now they were asking her to accept that the father of her child was capable of such a heinous act? Harper had to clench her teeth tightly together to keep from screaming in horror.
“Do you think he’s really alive?” she was finally able to ask again.
Diego put the truck into gear. Before he pulled into traffic, she caught the expression in his eyes. If possible, it made her feel even worse.
That look, the pained betrayal, told her that Brandon being alive was a possibility that hurt Diego even more than it hurt her. Brandon had been a part of her world for three months and out of her world for almost a decade. But Diego had served beside him. He’d worked with him, trusted him, put his life on the line next to him.
“You want him to be dead,” she realized.
“I wish I could say I did,” Diego admitted quietly. “I believe he deserves to be. But as ugly as things are if he’s alive, they’re uglier if he’s dead.”
Harper’s breath shook, her stomach churning so miserably that she spent the next minute worrying that she was going to be hideously sick all over some poor stranger’s truck. She’d already figured that whatever Brandon had done, it was bad.
But it must be worse. A million times worse.
