Call To Honor

“Ramsey showing his face is a long shot. But Savino’s sure if he taps anyone, it’ll be her or his parents. Did you see my report about Ramsey’s old man being in prison? Just shows you what a liar the guy was, saying his family was rich and powerful.”

That report had been a kick in the face. Everything Ramsey had said about his fancy family had been true enough, but a lie.

Diego frowned.

“The guy is doing time for running a Ponzi scheme. Doesn’t negate that the family is rich and powerful. Especially since the feds tagged less than a tenth of what they thought he’d scammed.”

“Maybe.” Lansky hesitated. “Speaking of lies, fact or fiction? Is she as hot as Ramsey always said?”

“Ramsey’s mother?”

“His ex, dude. Was he lying about that, too? She’s a dog, right?”

“Truth be told, she’s even hotter than he said.”

Diego stepped over to the window, his brows rising when he saw Blondie through the window of what he’d determined was her bedroom. The light pooled around her for a moment before she pulled the curtains shut. But he could still see her shadow against the white fabric.

She made one hell of a silhouette thanks to a body that was freaking amazing. The kind of body that would take a man a week to show his appreciation for, then inspire him to start all over again.

He puffed out a breath. She was hot.

“And? Observation and opinion only. Is she dirty or not?”

Now that was a question worth exploring, and one that would likely keep him awake well into the night. But given that Lansky wasn’t scoping out the hot blonde, Diego knew the guy’s question referred to their mission and not her kink preferences.

“It’s hard to tell at this point,” Diego sidestepped. “She’s been in residence the entire time, with company and a kid for most of it.”

“So, what? You’re saying you’ve got nothing?”

Yes, dammit. His career, his team, his fucking brotherhood was in the crosshairs and he didn’t have a thing. And how was he supposed to find anything sitting here in suburban hell watching a hot blonde and her fancy house? He wasn’t built to wait, to watch. He wasn’t made for inaction. He clenched his fist. But orders were orders.

“I’m saying that I’m still doing recon, the target hasn’t been sighted and that I’ll notify you as soon as anything changes.” He didn’t add that his orders had been specific. He wasn’t there to haul the woman off and interrogate her.

The phone did nothing to disguise the sound of Lansky grinding his teeth.

“I’ll figure this out, man,” Diego said in the same tone he’d used when he’d promised Lansky that he wouldn’t leave him wounded behind enemy lines. Quiet assurance.

“I’ll keep working on the electronics,” Lansky said after a couple of seconds. His tone was much less assured, but Diego knew he’d come through. He had to.

Because, yeah...

Their careers were on the line.

Diego hit the off button and tossed his phone onto the bed, watching it sink in the mattress before turning his gaze back to the window.

The moonless sky was a pitch-black backdrop to the lighted window. The curtains hid her features, but couldn’t disguise the shape of the woman undressing in her bedroom. Diego could see the curve of her breasts as she stretched her arms over her head, the slenderness of her waist and the fullness of her ass as she bent down to touch her toes.

Diego shifted his weight from one foot to the other, proof of what he had stiff and hard between his legs. The tapping of his fist against the window frame grew harder with each beat. He was here to prove, one way or the other, Ramsey’s status. The man had been declared presumed dead by the Navy, but things weren’t adding up.

Lusting after Ramsey’s ex wasn’t a part of the mission. And while it might not be sanctioned by the Navy—yet—Diego was on a mission. He was going to settle the issue of Ramsey’s life or death. Once he did, he could clear his team and his own reputation. And expose a traitor.

So no matter how it shook out, Ramsey’s ex was trouble.

Diego glanced back at the darkened window and grimaced.

But there was trouble, and then there was trouble. When a man spent most of his life in danger, he became an expert on recognizing it. On knowing how to use it, how to diffuse it, how to make it explode. And how to simply make it go away.

And his current mission was to figure out which kind of trouble Harper Maclean was.

And deal with it.

* * *

“WE NEED TO FIND you someone sexy. Maybe intense, but not prison break intense. Not that prison break can’t be sexy,” Andi mused. “I’d imagine it could be given the right guy.”

“You have issues. You might consider talking with a professional.”

Harper made the halfhearted suggestion with most of her attention focused on finding just the right shade of blue to complement the yellow color scheme in the Andersons’ atrium.

She was working with a design board, three-by-four-feet in size, which was framed in the same wood that would cover the floors. Instead of paper, it was covered in a muscat-toned plaster she planned to use on the wall, and sketches of the furnishings and various swatches. She used digital software when necessary, but preferred a variety of boards. The colors were truer, the textures and contrasts more visibly appealing.

And she liked to touch.

“What sort of professional are we talking about?” Andi asked, her joking tone coming through the speakerphone as clearly as if she’d been sitting right there in Harper’s office with a smirk on her face.

“I was thinking a health care one, but given your obsession with sex, maybe other options would be more helpful.”

Harper draped a cobalt length of satin over the board and stepped back a couple of feet. Head tilted to the side, she considered the impact of that strong blue against the butter-yellow leather designated for the couches, the rich walnut of the floors and the creamy biscuit hue that would be the cement planters.

Mrs. Anderson wanted the space for friendly luncheons, cozy teas and the occasional intimate dinner party. Why she couldn’t use the dining room was beyond Harper, but who was she to question the rich and snobby? Mr. Anderson wanted a place where he could sit down for some peace and quiet and read a damned book, to paraphrase his only request.

She thought she’d achieved that balance with the comfortably stuffed couches, the feminine, curved lines of the chairs and the oval stained glass table for those intimate meals.

“Speaking of sex,” Andi said, bringing the conversation back in a direction Harper was trying to avoid. “Let’s find you a date.”

“I thought I’d made it clear that I’m not in the market for a guy,” she murmured under her breath as she switched the cobalt-blue swatch for cornflower and stepped back again.

Hmm, personally she preferred the bolder cobalt, but she was pretty sure the client would go for the softer shade. With that in mind, she began pulling various swatches in the same shade from the cedar box where she stored her fabrics. Cotton, linen, brocade, silk.

“Fine. If you don’t want a man, I’ll find you a woman. What type do you like?”

“Exotic brunettes who prefer tequila to champagne, sing off-key and sneak chocolate to my kid,” Harper reeled off, paying more attention to the play of shantung against the leather than to the conversation. Man or woman, doing either wasn’t on her agenda. If it had been, Brandon’s abrupt reentry into her life was enough of a reminder of just what stupid looked like. Since she’d already been there, she didn’t see any reason to go again.