Call To Honor. Tawny Weber

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.”

      Diego barely kept from offering his own sneer when he caught the looks on their faces. Disdain-covered horror with a barely concealed side helping of fear. Typical.

      “Is your mother doing time, too?” Adams asked, his usual smirk sliding back in place.

      “Dude,” Prescott protested.

      Diego’s smile dimmed.

      His momma had been shot dead three years back while sweeping the floor in the little bodega where she’d worked. No matter that he’d bought her a house, set her up so she didn’t have to slave day and night like she had most of her life, she’d insisted on keeping that job out of loyalty to Manny Cruz.

      While Diego didn’t mind using his father to get a reaction out of others, he never shared his momma. That’d be disrespectful.

      Besides, it was nobody’s business.

      But Adams’s comment required a response. Instead of going with a smart-ass comment, or better yet the brutal slap down he’d prefer, Diego figured he’d channel Savino.

      “See, here’s the thing.” Diego leaned forward, his elbows on his knees and his expression as serious as a howitzer. “I figure you had no say in your upbringing. And maybe it was awesome, or maybe it was pure hell. But whatever it was, whatever you brought with you from your past, it made you the man you are now. A solid officer, an outstanding IP tech and in your case, Ramsey, a damned good SEAL.”

      Diego took a swallow of beer before continuing.

      “Bottom line, we fight for the same thing. We have the same goal, and we serve the same team.” He had to dig deep for the rest, but, picturing Savino giving him that impatient, just-bullshit-if-you-have-to look, he managed. “I’m proud to serve with you, man.”

      It was a toss-up who looked more shocked at Diego’s words. Adams, who appeared to have swallowed his tongue. Lansky, whose expression warned that he’d puke at any minute. Or Ramsey, who tried to hide his surprise with a frown but didn’t quite succeed.

      Prescott simply grinned as he dashed his name over the bottom of the piece of paper before tearing it from the sketchbook. He handed it to Diego with a wink.

      Diego snickered. His own face stared back at him, finger pointed like a gun, cocked and ready to rock. The caricature emphasized Diego’s dark eyes, his large head teetering on a slender body weighted down with fat muscles.

      “You’re all right, Torres,” Ramsey said, his frown shifting into a grin. “I’m proud to serve with you, too.”

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