Call To Honor

Diego had just finished installing cameras and listening equipment around the exterior of her house when he’d seen her heading out the back door. He’d had his cover handy, jumping right into a tai chi workout. She’d been emotional, but she hadn’t acted suspicious. He’d have thought she’d act a little warier if she were dirty. But maybe she was cucumber cool. Maybe Ramsey hadn’t shared the extent of how bad his actions were.

Or maybe Ramsey was alive, and she knew just how deep in the ugly her ex swam.

As Diego headed inside his temporary quarters, he brought her image to mind.

Her eyes were a work of art under strongly arched dark brows. Lushly lashed, they were large in her delicate face. Probably because they’d been a little puffy and red.

What had she been crying about? Ramsey?

What little intel they had so far on her showed that she’d lived within her means until about six months ago when she’d moved into the fancy house next door, that her kid attended a pricey private school and that she had a pretty high credit card limit that she charged up and paid in full each month.

None of that, or his own limited observations, pegged her as the overly emotional type. So he doubted an evening of popcorn and chick flicks had leveled her like that.

Alive or dead, he’d figured she was crying over Ramsey. The guy had to be in her head right now. If he was alive and dirty, did she struggle with her part in treason? If he was dead and dirty, was she upset to be holding the bag?

And if he was innocent? Maybe she had simply loved the asshole.

Diego rubbed his hand over his hair, then shook his head.

God, what a thought.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t Ramsey who’d put that upset look on her face.

Maybe it had been Diego himself?

He’d kept it friendly, totally nonconfrontational, and the woman had left looking as if he’d punched her in the gut. No accusations, no grilling, not a hint that he was wondering if she was maybe harboring a supposed-to-be-dead, treasonous, backstabbing bastard.

Maybe he’d been too focused on doing all that to hide the fact that he thought she was hot, but he figured she was used to that. She had to be. The woman looked like a cross between a centerfold, a society princess and a sexy Betty Crocker. The kind of woman who’d wear diamonds and one of those cute white aprons while baking homemade cookies...naked.

A man would have to be a month dead and incredibly stupid to ignore a woman like that.

Diego was neither.

He just had to figure out which one Ramsey was.

An hour later, his skin cool from his shower and his stomach comfortably full thanks to a freezer full of take and bake, Diego glanced out the window at the house next door. The lights were off downstairs and faint enough upstairs to give the impression that she and the kid had both hit the sack. Turning away, he flipped through his notes, hoping to find something new that would spark an opening. They had to find Ramsey. Had to confirm dead or alive, then go from there.

And he had jack diddly toward that end. He’d had eyes on the blonde for fifty-six hours now, but he didn’t have much to add to his notes. At least, not much that was relevant.

Frustration dogging his mood, Diego tossed the file onto the little table next to the window. Papers slid across the dark wood, a mocking reminder that he had nothing.

Probably because there was nothing to have, dammit.

It was crazy to think Ramsey was alive.

If he was, it meant that the guy had betrayed his country, his vows, his team.

Diego dropped onto the bed, almost sinking into the cloud-soft mattress as he covered his eyes with his forearm. As if shading the light would dim the headache brewing behind them while he tried to shove through his tangled thoughts.

The facts were clear enough. The mission had been compromised, confidential information had been sold and someone was a traitor. Lansky was sure that was Ramsey. Diego still wasn’t sure if that belief was fueled by certainty or by Lansky’s hate for the guy.

But Savino must believe there was a chance that Lansky was right, or Diego wouldn’t be here.

And Savino was never wrong.

So Diego’s reluctance to believe they’d been fucked over by one of their own didn’t matter. He had his assignment. He might not be wearing his dog tags, but he was on duty. It didn’t matter if he was stationed in the baking heat of Afghanistan, diving to the icy depths of the Pacific or watching a sexy blonde from the window of a piece of prime US real estate. And like any other assignment, he wouldn’t walk away until his mission was complete.

He pushed himself to his feet. He skirted around the fancy furniture that had come with the sublet. He would be fine with a sleeping bag and a crate to sit on, but if he had to do recon sitting on a cushy chair, hey, he was a SEAL. Trained to handle any conditions.

Any conditions and any situation. The SEALs were trained to kick ass, to do the impossible and to cover one another’s butts, no matter what.

No matter what...

Fury, tangled and confused, pounded through his head. He’d spent his entire adult life in the service. He’d gotten off the streets and joined the Navy at eighteen with one goal. To survive. It’d been twelve years since boot camp, and he’d learned that there was more to life than just survival. Oh, survival was still tops on the list. Doing the impossible against all odds would be straight-up stupid otherwise. But he’d learned to excel. He’d grown out of his in-your-face, badass attitude and learned to take—and value—orders. And he’d embraced the concept of brotherhood. Of trusting in others, and knowing without a doubt that his team had his back.

He’d trusted that.

He’d believed in it.

He’d put his life on the line for it, without a moment’s hesitation.

And now he was supposed to believe that trust was for naught? That a SEAL would betray his own team?

Diego growled, his chest as tight as his fists. He wanted to beat something, smash it, pummel it to dust. Screw the security deposit. He grabbed the bedside lamp, his fingers gripping the thick metal base. Before he could swing, he heard a buzz. The red haze blurring his vision dimmed, and he heard it again. It took another second before he realized it was his cell phone.

A deep breath, then two, cleared the haze.

“Yeah,” he answered, still clutching the lamp.

“Miss me, Kitty Cat?”

Like a smack upside the head, the words knocked Diego right out of his crappy mood. Laughter trumped anger every time. Even if the laughter was coated in bitterness.

“That’s El Gato to you, MacGyver,” he shot back. “What’s your status?”

Let it be an opening. Anything that’d get him the hell out of suburbia and away from the temptation of the blonde.

“Still digging in the dark,” Lansky said, his tone a verbal shrug. “Make my job easier. Tell me you saw Ramsey. Tell me you’ve got something we can take to the NI team.”

“First off, you don’t know that Ramsey is alive. All of the intel points to him being ash. Second, don’t assume that he’s the traitor. Assumptions are half-assed work, unworthy of a SEAL.”

Diego let the silence roll over him. He didn’t need words to hear Lansky’s fury, his pain and frustration. Hell, all he had to do was check himself, since he was sporting all those feelings and more. But sloppy intel wasn’t going to get them off the hook with the Naval Criminal Investigation team.

“Have you got anything at all?” Lansky finally asked, his words tight. Diego heard the clink of glass against glass and grimaced. The guy wasn’t going to have a liver left if they didn’t get this put to bed soon.

“I’ve had eyes on Ramsey’s ex. So far, nothing suspicious.” A whole lot of interesting, sure. But nothing that played into their situation.

He remembered the kid’s offhand comment about the two guys who’d lived there. Andy and Matt? But since neither had been Ramsey, it didn’t play into the situation. But it did feed a few of Diego’s fantasies.