lettering denoting it to be from Admiral H. M. Cree, Special Ops commander.
Her brow creased as she read.
The room narrowed, and all the air disappeared. The words spun into a swirling blur of black on white. She needed to sit down. But she managed only a single step before her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, the letter clutched in her hands.
“What is it?” Instead of pulling her back up, Andi dropped down next to her, gathering Harper into her arms. She tried to read the paper, but Harper couldn’t let it go. “Sweetie, what does it say?”
“He’s dead,” Harper murmured, her voice sounding as if it were coming from the other end of a long tunnel. “Brandon is dead.”
MOURNING THE LOSS of a brother was never easy.
SEALs, support personnel and civilians gathered in the backroom at Olive Oyl’s bar to toast the memory of a warrior and to share their grief. Lieutenant Brandon Ramsey was memorialized with words like honor and skill and dedication. Captain Jarrett had choked giving his toast, and a visibly grieving Petty Officer Dane Adams had to be led out after delivering a eulogy so heartfelt that it was hard to hear over the audience’s sobs.
But when it came time for the men who’d served on that ill-fated mission, the core team, to say goodbye to their brother, they kept it private and took it off the beaten path. Savino chose a bar in Lemon Grove, far enough from base for them to mourn freely. The place was just a few steps up from a dive, and seedy enough that nobody would feel constrained by good behavior.
“Kinda crap that they won’t offer a military funeral for the guy. Decorated SEAL and all that, he’d have liked the fancy send-off.”
“Bet he’d like being alive even more.”
“Shame that none of his family showed. Not even his kid.”
“Sometimes civilians can’t handle it.”
“Dude isn’t officially declared dead—chances are they’re holding on to hope.”
“No point. Even if they didn’t find enough of him to declare him dead, he’s gone. Still, the Navy’ll tie it up in red tape, drag it out as long as they can to avoid paying survivor benefits.”
“I hear he had an in to DEVGRU. Guy went down before he got a chance to snag an elite spot.”
“Poseidon is the real elite.”
“He didn’t get a shot at that, either.”
“Yeah. Totally crap if you ask me.”
All excellent points. Conversation floated around him as Diego kicked back in the corner. Boots propped on the table and his chair tilted back, he considered his next shot of whiskey.
“You’d think I’d be drunk by now,” he said, the words slurring in his ears.
“Dude, you are shit-faced,” Lansky corrected, his bloodshot eyes as round as dinner plates.
“Yeah?” Not sure why he didn’t trust Lansky’s word—after all the guy spent half his time drinking—Diego looked toward Savino. “You think I’m drunk?”
“I think Lansky might be a few ahead of you, but you’re well on your way.”
“I’d better catch up, then.”
“Yo, Torres. There’s a pool table back here. I figure you being three sheets to the wind is the best chance I’ve got to beat you.”
Diego pulled his eyes off his glass to look at Aaron Ward. He tried to return the guy’s smile, but found he could only shake his head.
“You go ahead. It’ll take another fifth before I’m drunk enough for you to beat me.”
Amid laughter and a few crude suggestions, everyone headed for the poolroom except Diego and Lansky. His cell phone chiming, Savino stepped away, too. Diego felt like a jerk, but a part of him was glad to see them go.
“The last guy to ask me to play pool was Ramsey,” Diego realized, feeling like shit all over again. “This sucks.”
Images of the mission played through his head like a movie reel. They’d fast roped from the helo, landing just over the hill from the enemy base. Powers, Lansky and Ward had headed into the compound to rescue the hostage while Ramsey, Prescott and Lee secured the control center to begin downloading secret files. Everyone had been in place; everything had run exactly as planned.
Until it hadn’t.
The explosion had come just as Lee had signaled the all clear. Lee and Prescott both moved with their usual stealth as they exited the building, Diego provided cover. Then it had all blown to hell. The explosion had taken out half the building, the fire burning too hot for any survivors.
Diego had been faced with the choice of going into the flames in search of Ramsey’s remains or getting an injured Prescott, the rest of the team and the extracted hostage the hell out of there.
He’d chosen the unthinkable.
He’d left a man behind.
Eyes hot, he poured more whiskey, knocking it back before pouring again.
“You didn’t fuck it up,” Lansky said quietly.
“Listen to MacGyver,” Savino ordered as he rejoined them from wherever he’d gone to take his call. The guy spent more time on the phone than a teenage girl. Diego figured he’d mention that when he was a little more numb.
“Why should I listen to him?” he muttered.
“Because you didn’t fuck it up. There was no way to retrieve Ramsey. The fire was too intense. When support hit the site the next day, there wasn’t even enough of him to ID. Your orders were explicit. Your first duty was to the hostage. You got him out of there and Prescott to medical care so he didn’t die. That’s enough.”
It wasn’t, though.
It’d never be enough.
“He was a damned good SEAL,” Diego said quietly.
“He was a strong officer,” Savino murmured, his eyes scanning the room.
“He was an asshole.”
“What?” Lansky’s eyes widened when Diego glared at him. “I’m supposed to lie? Like getting himself blown to hell suddenly makes the guy less of an asshole?”
“You never liked him.”
“And he never liked you. The guy wanted to take you down in a bad way. He’d have done anything to screw you over.”
“Would he?” Savino asked. His voice didn’t change. Nor did his expression. So Diego couldn’t tell why Savino’s tone pierced through the alcohol hazing his brain.
“What are you thinking?” he asked his commander, studying Savino’s face. He had to blink a few times to bring it into focus.
“That things aren’t always what they seem.”
Even well on his way to drunk, Diego could see the dots Savino was laying out. But they didn’t connect.
“Ramsey is dead. We saw him go up in flames when that command center blew.”
His throat dry as the images pounded through his brain again, Diego grabbed his glass.
Savino laid a hand on his arm before he could drink.
“What?” His gut clenched when he looked at the other man’s face. Serious as a heart attack didn’t come close.
“Sober up” was all Savino said before glancing at Lansky. “Make your excuses. Then the two of you take a room nearby. Don’t return to base until you hear from me.”
“What—”