Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

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      Mr. Savino didn’t have a team of men depending on him, trusting his judgment. He didn’t have to face those men when his judgment failed. When, for the first time in his career, he wondered if their trust was misplaced.

      His knuckles whitened as his fist clenched tight around the beer bottle.

      Mr. Savino didn’t have a damn thing to do but relax and enjoy the forced vacation his Admiral decided he needed. But it was hard to relax when tension was spiking down his spine like a harpoon gun.

      He hitched up one hip and snagged his cell out of his back pocket.

      “Yo, Lansky here,” greeted the voice on the other end.

      “It’s Savino,” Nic said, since even on vacation, his cell transmission was scrambled and wouldn’t show a name or location. “Status report.”

      “Aren’t you on leave?” A heartbeat later, he added, “Sir?”

      “When was the last time I was on leave?”

      Nic took a couple swallows of his beer while he waited for his Lieutenant to figure that out. When he’d downed half of it, he put the guy out of his misery.

      “Four years,” he said, answering his own question. “That’d be four years ago, when you and I, Torres, Danby and Powers went to Spain to take those bulls for a jog.”

      “We ran with bulls. Danby missed out because he was holed up with that pretty Spanish dancer,” Lansky reminisced with a laugh. “Time before that was when six of us did the Everest climb. Before that was Brazil for Carnival.”

      The tension in Nic’s spine slowly disappeared as he listened to Lansky recite their various trips over the last decade. Each trip was accompanied by the memory of one of the team’s adventures with the opposite sex. By the time the man got to the Vegas trip the twelve of them had taken to celebrate earning their tridents, Nic had found his place in the zone again.

      “Now that we’ve had that little trip down memory lane, how about that status report,” Nic said with a laugh. His tone was light. But the command was clear.

      “Reporting, sir. Ward, Torres and Danby are due back from Yemen in two days. Word on base is that their training mission went well. They had three platoons doing night maneuvers to the tune of Maroon 5’s ‘Don’t Wanna Know’ and adding ketchup to their field rations.”

      “Nice,” Nic replied with a laugh.

      “Prescott and his lady are still debating whether to do the wedding thing the second time around or just hit up a justice of the peace. Ava’s trying to be practical with the no-fuss angle, but you know Rembrandt. He’s all about the romance. He’ll have her decked out in a fancy dress, carting pretty posies while they say their second ‘I do.’”

      Lansky paused to crunch into what sounded like an apple before continuing. “On your orders, Louden, Rengel and Kane are retracing Ramsey’s contacts, talking to everyone in the Navy they can find who knew him. They’ve tracked down some interesting stories. You want the deets?”

      “I’ll debrief them when I get back. Anything else?”

      Nic finished his beer while Lansky filled him in on the rest of the team, base gossip and the status of his own relationship. Damn if the man didn’t scope gossip better than a granny at a church social. That, combined with the man’s way of charming information out of men and women alike and his sick tech skills, made him a force to be reckoned with when it came to intel. Which was why Nic had called him instead of one of his commanding officers. The Admiral? The Captain? They supported Nic’s team, but their first loyalty was to command. Lansky, like the rest of Nic’s handpicked team, had one purpose. To serve Poseidon.

      So when Lansky ran out of gossip, Nic didn’t hesitate to ask the question that had followed him to Hawaii. “What’s the status of the investigation?”

      “According to Captain Jarrett, it’s currently lollygagging in red tape. They’re holding Ramsey in the brig but he’s got a hotshot rep who, while not denying the assault charges, insists his scumbag of a client isn’t guilty of murder or treason.”

      No more than Nic had expected.

      “Jarrett said they’re still digging, but so far his men haven’t discovered any leads on Ramsey’s partner or, more likely, partners. Jarrett doesn’t deny there are others,” Lansky added quickly when Nic gave a low growl. “He simply doesn’t have a clue who they are.”

      Nic exchanged his empty beer for a full one, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. He respected Jarrett’s skills, and had faith the guy had Poseidon’s best interest in mind. Hell, the Captain had almost been one of the team. If they hadn’t decided to stick with BUD/S graduates only, they’d quite likely have brought their first-phase instructor in with them. He’d been damn awesome at motivating and pulling them together as a team. But while Nic had been all for it, the others had elected him leader and mandated they close the team at the twelve of them.

      But the guy should have more intel by now. Hell, he should have shut down Navel Intelligence’s investigation of Team Poseidon from the get-go. That he hadn’t was giving Nic a serious knot in his gut.

      “I shouldn’t be on leave,” he muttered. His scowl faded a little as he watched a sexy brunette sashay across the patio, her little sundress highlighting one hell of a figure. But all it took was a blink to put her out of his mind. Because nothing interfered with his focus when it came to doing his job.

      “You couldn’t ignore a direct order,” Lansky pointed out. “Word is Admiral Cree wanted you out of the way until the... How did he put it? Oh, yeah, the shit storm died down.”

      Shit storm. The murder of one of his men in a mission to clear their name and take down a traitor, leaving Team Poseidon framed to take the blame for the entire treasonous network.

      Yeah. Shit storm was a good description.

      “I’m back in six days. Storm or no.”

      “Good. I’ll have something for you then.”

      And just like that, the knot in Nic’s belly loosened.

      “You’re close?”

      “Damn close,” Lansky promised. “I hacked deeper into Ramsey’s computer history. I just need to dig through some layers, pull out a few more bytes. I’ll have it cleaned up by the time you get back.”

      “Good. I’m ready to end this.”

      With that and a few instructions, Nic ended the call with his Lieutenant.

      And wished like hell he was still on duty, doing his damn job. Leave was all well and good when he could roll it into a team-building excursion, or even the occasional family obligation. But this vacation while his men were under fire?

      It was a fuckup.

      He’d have argued against it—the timing was wrong, his team needed him, instincts told him to stay alert and ready for the next hit to strike. But none of his arguments could counter the simple fact that he’d taken a hit. A hard one. It’d left him vulnerable. And his men knew Nic Savino for many things, but vulnerability wasn’t one of them.

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