Call To Honor. Tawny Weber

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      “Nope.” Now that he’d outlined the situation and given the orders, Savino was finally comfortable enough to step out of command mode. “You’re volatile, MacGyver.”

      “Me?” Lansky pressed his hand to his chest and tried for offended. “Kitty Cat is the one with the temper. He’s the one with the rep. I’m the guy next door.”

      “Your specialty is tech. We need you on the computer researching, digging. Prescott is our expert in information warfare, but he’s still in the hospital, recovering. Torres trained under him for two years, he’s got solid IW skills. He’s our best bet.”

      Savino considered the stakes. A chemical formula in the hands of militants whose mission was mass terrorism spelled every kind of ugly in the book of possibilities. The threat to US security abroad was high. The threat to the SEAL team, and especially Poseidon, was even higher. If they didn’t reel this in and reel it fast, there was going to be blood on the floor. Too much blood to mop up.

      So Savino added, “Besides, you’re biased.”

      He didn’t add that Lansky was hitting the bottle a little too heavy these days.

      “Ramsey was an asshole,” Lansky argued. “He had a grudge against Torres because our boy is the best. Add means and opportunity, and that’s realism. Not bias.”

      “Right. You want him to be guilty.”

      “So? Better him than one of us.”

      “And that’s your bias.” Savino leaned back in his chair. “Torres here is coming from the opposite end. Not neutral, but opposite.”

      “Come again?”

      “You believe Ramsey’s dirty, so you’ll work to find facts to support that premise. Torres wants Ramsey to be clean. He’ll work to prove the man’s innocence so he can clear the team’s name. The truth lies somewhere in between, and by coming from opposite ends, the two of you will find it.”

      “Yeah, but Kitty Cat gets to work his end with a great view chatting up a sexy broad in a fancy zip code. Me? You’re gonna stick me here, aren’t you. In bumfuck nowhere with orange drapes.” Lansky gave the motel room a sneering look. Ignoring them both, Torres switched from push-ups to sit-ups.

      “Nobody knows you’re here, so this is as good as any until we have a direction,” Savino agreed with a nod. The bone-deep tension finally starting to loosen now that he knew things would be handled, he rested one booted foot on the opposite knee.

      “Bottom line, Torres is the one whose head is gonna roll farthest if we don’t figure it out. He’s the one I want staking out the ex.”

      “You think he’ll go to her?”

      Savino glanced at Torres, who’d finally hit his wall and sat, arms draped over his knees, trying to catch a breath.

      “Everything I’ve seen indicates that if Ramsey’s our guy, dead or alive, he’d involve her.”

      “The way he talked, they were a pretty hot item,” Lansky agreed. “Maybe that’s why she didn’t bring the kid to the memorial. She knew Ramsey wasn’t dead and didn’t want the boy blowing their cover.”

      “Or maybe she simply didn’t want to bring her kid to a bar to meet a bunch of strangers for the first time while they share stories of his old man going up in flames,” Torres muttered.

      Exactly. Savino knew Torres’s history, knew where the guy had come from. Just another reason he wanted him leading this mission.

      If Ramsey was dirty and his girlfriend complicit, the kid’s life was going to be blown all to hell. Torres had been there himself; he’d felt the betrayal of a selfish father who’d put corruption ahead of his family. Who’d put his personal vision of glory over his son.

      Torres would take care not to point the finger and put another boy on the same painful path he’d walked.

      Which was something Savino was counting on. Not so much to protect the kid, although he wasn’t indifferent. But because that care, that meticulous focus on detail, was what they needed if they were going to present a clean case to NI and clear Poseidon’s name.

      Of course, if Ramsey was truly dead and they confirmed that he was whistle clean, SEAL Team 7 was up a creek. That would mean there was a traitor in their midst. That kind of thing was a black mark against the entire team. It could be a major blow to Torres, who’d led the mission. It could result in loss of rank, loss of command, dishonorable discharge and quite possibly imprisonment.

      At odds with Savino’s usual cool, fury flamed hot and livid in his gut. NI already had it in for Poseidon, disliking their air of exclusivity and admiral’s auspices. This was all they’d need to disband and destroy the Special Ops group.

      Savino wanted to lay that all out. To underscore the severity of this situation.

      For each one of the team personally.

      But that’d be indulgent.

      Stating the obvious would show a lack of faith in his men. And it’d waste time.

      “Your orders are to watch, engage if engaged, but don’t give any hint that you believe Ramsey might be alive.”

      Mid-sit-up, Torres paused to give Savino a look that was clearly a pledge.

      “Watch, engage only if engaged? I specialize in recon and counterterrorism. That sounds like babysitting.”

      Distaste and discomfort were both evident in the man’s voice. Sitting and watching, not acting, it was the antithesis of what they were trained for. And a man like Torres, who, as he said, specialized in action, probably thought an assignment like this was next to impossible. But that’s what they were trained to do. The impossible.

      “Observe, blend, engage if engaged. Play nice and, if possible, earn their trust. Consider yourself undercover as a nice guy.” Savino almost grinned at Lansky’s snorted amusement. He couldn’t stop himself from adding, “Nailing this guy will put an end to this investigation. Otherwise...”

      The end of Poseidon.

      “We’re clean. We fight the good fight. We fight the clean fight. Until we have to fight dirty.” Elbows on his knees now, Torres shrugged. “Poseidon is clean. Nothing they find can prove it any other way. But we’ll do their job for them and prove it our way. Prove we’re crystal.”

      Exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

      And that was why Torres was the best man for the job.

CHAPTER FOUR

      DIEGO HAD BEEN to a lot of places. Stinking slums and baking beaches, crowded cities and ice-crusted mountains. He’d served with people from all walks of life and had gone through most of the states in the union. But he couldn’t recall ever actually bunking down anywhere he fit in less than the exclusive Riviera Enclave in Santa Barbara.

      Throttling his Harley back from a roar to a grumbling purr, he prepared СКАЧАТЬ