Call To Honor

“C’mon, Kitty Cat,” Lansky said to Diego when Savino turned to leave. “Let’s blow this joint. Find a place where we can be people instead of military machines.”

“You mean a place where you’re fawned over by civilians who’ll be impressed when you tell them you are a military machine.”

“Curvy civilians. Sexy ones in short skirts and high heels.” Lansky’s Boy Scout smile flashed, a little blurry around the edges from the back-to-back whiskeys. “Gotta love them all, right?”

“Couple more drinks and the only thing you’re gonna be loving is the toilet seat.” Shaking his head, Diego headed for the door.

“Yo, Torres,” a voice beckoned before he’d made the exit.

Diego glanced over to see Prescott waving from a prime table next to the dart board. As usual when he wasn’t on duty, the man had a pencil in hand and that engrossed look in his eyes.

Seated with Prescott was another SEAL and one of the team’s support members. Petty Officer Dane Adams kicked back with his feet on the table and gestured with a dart, making as if he were aiming it at Diego. Next to him, Lieutenant Brandon Ramsey just smiled and murmured something under his breath that made the other man laugh.

Both IP officers, or Information Professionals, they specialized in tech. Adams had a solid rep as a Special Warfare Combatant Crewman, while Ramsey was on his third tour as a SEAL. They’d transferred to Coronado eight or so months ago after deployment in Afghanistan. It hadn’t taken more than a couple of weeks to realize that Ramsey was used to being top dog and not only expected to stay on top but expected everyone to kiss his ass while he was there. Since SEALs didn’t kiss ass, he’d had a little trouble adjusting at first. But Prescott had taken the guy under his wing, showed him the ropes. And made him one of the team.

“How about a few games of pool,” Ramsey suggested with a wink as Diego and Lansky drew near. “We’ll play for shots.”

“I hear you’re good with the cue,” Diego said.

“I hear the same about you,” Ramsey acknowledged with an assessing look. Even in digies, the guy came across as a movie star with his blond hair spiked in casual disarray, intense blue eyes and his perfect smile. “Why don’t we see who’s better?”

“Ego still bruised over Torres busting up your record on the range?” Lansky asked, a sneer creasing his face. “I warned you he would.”

Something ugly flashed over Ramsey’s eyes, but it was gone just as fast. As a man with a temper of his own, Diego had to respect a guy who could reel it back that quickly.

“Then it’s only right that you give me a shot at redeeming my rep,” Ramsey suggested mildly, his hands spread wide in invitation. “What do you say, Torres? You willing to go head-to-head on a universal field? Say, a pool table?”

The taunt “Or are you afraid?” went unspoken, but they all heard it. Insults like that went hand in hand with the dog tags the men all wore. Years of training, both as a SEAL and as a man, had taught Diego to think before he reacted.

“You think I need to stack the deck to win, you don’t know me.” Diego rocked back on his heels to offer a smile. A very small, very effective smile that mocked the idea. And, of course, the man asking it.

From the way his face tightened, Ramsey understood just fine. Not surprising. He was a smart guy. He was also after Diego’s spot on Poseidon. A useless goal, since it was known that Poseidon was made up entirely of graduates of BUD/S class 260. But like everything else, Ramsey apparently figured that he’d be the exception to that rule. It had to be the rich boy in him, used to being number one, always the top of everything. From his rich parents to his perfect son, according to Brandon Ramsey, he had it all and expected more.

Not a problem for Diego, since he respected someone who aimed high. Except Ramsey was going to have to get whatever he was looking for from someone else. Because Diego was keeping his share.

“I’ve already got plans, so pool is out. But I’m happy to buy you a beer instead.” Diego ignored Lansky’s look of disgust. Ramsey wasn’t all that bad. And any time spent with Prescott was time well spent. Besides, for all they knew, it was Ramsey’s relentless focus on competition that’d pushed Diego to step it up and do better. To be better. He definitely had to push past 100 percent to beat the guy. As far as Diego was concerned, that made Ramsey a good man to have on the team.

“You’d rather share a beer than go head-to-head?” Ramsey laughed. “Sure. Why not? You might as well toast my success, too.”

“Success?” Diego waited until Lansky was through rolling his eyes before waving a hand toward the bartender. He circled his finger, indicating another round, then grabbed his own chair. “You finally score with that pretty little redhead you were hitting on so hard?”

“Dude, have you seen pictures of Ramsey’s old lady?” Adams blew on his fingers as if they were on fire, then shook his head. “You’d be so lucky if a woman that hot even turned you down.”

“Can’t say as I have,” Diego said with a shrug. Looking at other guys’ wives had never been a favorite pastime of his.

“Show him that picture you just got, Brandon.” Adams let out a low whistle. “The one where she’s wearing the bikini.”

“You’re a sad, sad man,” Ramsey told his friend with a laugh, even as he pulled his cell phone from his pocket and swiped through the screen. He shot Diego a look. “You want to see?”

Not really. He figured if you’d seen one guy’s old lady, you’d seen them all. But Diego was trying to build a bridge here. So he was already trying to think up polite comments as he took the phone.

Hellooo.

Diego was pretty sure there was an ocean in that shot somewhere. He was vaguely aware of a kid on the screen, but only because he was blocking the view of the blonde.

The woman was stunning. Hair more gold than blond blew in the breeze, the long strands covering part of a perfectly sculpted face. Full lips smiled wide, accented by cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. But it was her eyes that grabbed him. Too dark to tell the color in the photo, they were round with an exotic tilt echoed by the dusky gold of her skin. And oh, man, that skin. It covered a body meant for hot fantasies. She was made up of long, lean lines and lush curves.

For the first time, he envied a man his woman.

“She’s a looker” was all he said, though, as he handed the phone back.

“I’d do her in watercolor. She’s got that mermaid thing going there,” Prescott murmured, his attention on the paper he was scrawling on. It took a second for the silence to hit him, then another for him to realize what he’d said. “I meant I’d paint her. Not, you know...”

They shared a good-natured laugh as Prescott grimaced.

“I just do her,” Ramsey joked, slapping Prescott on the shoulder. His smile turned possessive as he looked at the picture again before tucking his phone into his pocket.

“Thought she was your ex,” Jared chimed in, taking his beer from the server without taking his eyes off Ramsey. “Isn’t that the way of it? She took your kid and split? Dumped you, right?”

Really? Diego’s attention perked up at that bit of news, his body doing a happy salute to the idea of a woman that hot being free and clear. Except she wasn’t, he reminded himself. As much as it might suck—and oh, boy, did it—Ramsey had staked prior claim. Whether he and the gorgeous blonde were a couple or not, she was still his.

Ramsey clearly thought so, too. His blue eyes chilled to lethal ice, his sneer blade sharp.

“As usual, Lansky, you’ve got your details wrong. I left Harper because my career had to be a priority, not the other way around. And given that I can’t take my kid with me while I’m out saving the world—and because I’m a hell of a nice guy—I let her take care of him. She appreciates that, and is pretty damned good at showing just how much on my visitations.”

“Is that how you want to tell it?” Jared’s expression called bullshit.

“That’s how it is.”

Jared leaned forward, that schoolboy face looking for all the world as if he were about to call out what he saw as a lie.

“So what particular success are we toasting?” Diego interjected, wanting to end this before Jared escalated the conversation into something that required everyone to drop their fatigues to prove who had the biggest dick.

“Nominations for DEVGRU are coming up, pal. And I’m going to be on that list.” Ramsey leaned back, crossing his hands behind his head and offering a big smile. “I’ve got Captain Jarrett’s support. And my father’s golfing buddy, Senator Glassman, is gonna make sure of it.”

He waited a beat.

“You got anyone pulling for you, Torres? You know, someone on the outside with influence?”

His first thought was, Yeah, right.

His second was, Seriously? It wasn’t that he begrudged Ramsey the success. But did they have to compete for everything? There were only a few slots offered each year.

He felt like a jerk for coveting the nomination, but he couldn’t completely shake the feeling. After all, DEVGRU was top of the line. A counterterrorism, special missions unit made up of the most elite operatives in the Navy. Once upon a time, some people had called it SEAL Team 6. It was a unit filled with mystery, power and prestige. And Diego wanted in.

So he tilted his chair onto the back two legs, making as if he were carefully considering the question. He pulled off his cap, rubbed a hand over his short, spiked hair, then tugged the hat back in place. Then, giving Ramsey a look of long-faced regret, he shook his head.

“My old man rolled with the Hells Angels as a Nomad. That’d be king o’ the hill to you and me. But he was shot down in ’91 during what turned out to be a rather heated discussion,” Diego mused, tapping his fingers on his knee as he pretended to think it through. “He did leave behind three brothers, though. The ones that are still alive are serving time, one in Quentin, another in Pelican Bay. They probably have the better access to politicians than a golf course, but I guess we’ll see.”