Call To Honor

Blinking as the kid jumped tracks, Diego shook his head.

“No pets. But your bike is set.” Diego rose. With a quick flip of one hand, he righted the bike, then gave it a little shake for good measure. When everything stayed in place, he nudged the kickstand down and let the bike rest on it. “That should hold it for a while.”

“You’re the best, mister.” The kid had to get his smile from his mother, Diego decided. Because not once could Diego remember Ramsey’s smile making him want to offer one in return.

“Diego,” he said after a second, figuring talking was better than standing here on the sidewalk, grinning like an idiot. “You can call me Diego.”

“Cool. I’m Nathan. I’m seven. I’m gonna be a stuntman when I grow up. Or a veterinarian. I’d rather be a Jedi warrior, but Mom says we’ll see about that one. She says that about a lot of stuff. We’ll see. What are you?”

Huh? Was that a question? The kid’s expression said it was, so Diego did a mental replay.

“I’m in security,” he said, using the cover Savino had decided on.

“Bet you’re good at it.” Grabbing the bike by the handles, the kid gave it a good shake, then grinned when the chain stayed in place. “You’re good at fixing things, too. Maybe you could teach me to fix some things?”

Diego didn’t have much experience with kids—hell, he didn’t have any experience. Despite that, he had to figure this one was something special.

Before he could answer him, a delivery truck rumbled its way to a stop in front of the kid’s house. Something he’d noticed was a regular occurrence. At least once, sometimes twice a day.

“You sure get a lot of deliveries,” he observed, watching a guy in shorts carry a stack of boxes toward the door.

“Yeah. Mom gets tons of stuff. She decorates for people’s houses. She orders pillows and bowls and things like that. Sometimes she gets material and things to help her decide colors.”

Convenient. Or it would be if Ramsey were running drugs or stolen goods—that’d be a solid cover. But unless he’d shipped himself home in an ash can, it probably wasn’t pertinent. Lansky would claim otherwise, though, so Diego made a note to mention it in his next report.

He caught a flash of something out of the corner of his eye. All it took was a casual glance toward the house to send him rocking back on his heels.

Damn.

Not even signing for a slew of packages and fending off the flirtations of the delivery guy were enough to keep Harper Maclean from sending her son a protective frown.

So far his glimpses of her had been at a longer distance than the twenty feet currently separating them. Her photos didn’t do her justice. He’d known she was a looker, but no way he’d have thought fully dressed in person could trump that bikini shot, even if that bikini shot had been kind of blurry.

He’d have been wrong.

Even glaring at him, as if she thought he’d get greasy cooties all over her sweet little boy, she was gorgeous.

From the tip of her tousled blond hair to the toes of her strappy high-heeled sandals, she screamed California girl. She was too far away to see many details, but he knew from the file Lansky had compiled that she had strong features. A wide mouth with its generous bottom lip and dark brows that arched over big blue eyes.

Diego wasn’t sure why he felt as if he’d just taken a kick to the solar plexus. He’d never gone for the good-girl look, and there was nothing particularly sexy about what she was wearing. The turquoise pleated skirt flared in a way that made her waist look miniscule and her cream-colored top looked like a silky T-shirt, but both were a little too generous with the fabric for his tastes.

Which didn’t matter, he reminded himself as the woman walked from the front door to her courtyard’s arch. Sexy or dog ugly, she was a means to an end. And that end had nothing to do with getting her naked, more’s the pity.

“Hey there,” he called in what he figured was a friendly manner.

From the way she frowned and hugged one of the delivery boxes to her chest, she didn’t seem to agree.

“Hello,” she responded after a moment. “Nathan, you need to come inside.”

“But, Mom—”

“Now, please.”

With that uncompromising edict and one final stare at Diego, she was gone. Leaving an open front door and a whole lot of curiosity bouncing through Diego’s head. Only some of it having to do with his mission.

“Guess your mom’s not much on being neighborly,” he murmured.

“She’s not mad. She’s just, you know, suspicious about me talking to strangers. I had to call when I left Jeremy’s house, and she times it, you know? She’s probably watching now through the window.” The boy rolled his eyes. “It’s the paranoia. That’s what Jeremy’s dad says. Moms are paranoid about stuff happening to their kids. He says you gotta indulge the paranoia sometimes.”

Wrinkling his nose, the kid grabbed the bike by the handlebars. “What’s that mean? Do you know?”

It meant that Jeremy’s dad better watch out or one of those moms was gonna kick his patronizing ass.

“What do you think it means?” Diego asked instead of sharing that opinion.

“I dunno. I asked my mom, and all she said was that even Neanderthals had their uses. What’s that mean?” Never taking his eyes off Diego, he straddled his bike. “Isn’t a Neanderthal a guy who rides dinosaurs?”

Diego grinned at the image of a caveman saddling a T. rex for a ride through lava flow.

“I suppose your mom meant that some people’s attitudes are stuck in the dark ages. That their brains haven’t grown much since the caveman days.” After half a second, Diego added, “Maybe you shouldn’t say that to this guy, though. People who think that way tend to dislike being called on it.”

“Okay.” The boy shrugged. “I’ll see you again, right? Cuz we’re neighbors now.”

“Yeah. We’ll see each other again.”

The boy flashed a bright smile and waved one grubby hand before riding away.

Diego watched the boy drop the bike against the side of the house in clattering disregard before running toward the front door, pausing to toss another friendly wave over his shoulder.

The kid had talked more in that ten minutes than Diego had in the last ten days. And that, Diego realized, was a certified entry into Ramsey’s world.

As he strode toward his fancy new barracks, he assessed the neighborhood’s security and debated various means of getting to see that kid again. Another twenty minutes, half hour tops, and he’d get all the intel he needed to clear Ramsey or nail his ass to the wall. And maybe, just maybe, get a little more info on the sexy blonde and who had apparently a very creative sex life.

It wasn’t until he stepped through the front door that he realized he was grinning.

* * *

HARPER COULDN’T RELAX.

Not even after Nathan was inside, safe and sound.

Feeling like she’d been punched in the gut, she could only stand in her kitchen and stare at the box from Petty Officer Dane Adams. Apparently the man thought she, or rather, Nathan, would want some of Brandon’s effects.

Why?

They’d done just fine without a single thing from him—other than DNA. Why would that change because he was dead? She’d figured it didn’t matter. Even after she’d received notice of Brandon’s death, she’d decided she’d set it aside to tell Nathan later, when he was older and might better understand.

She glared at the box, hating it and everything it represented. She wanted to ignore it. Her gut told her to ignore everything, to continue to pretend that it didn’t exist. That he didn’t exist. But she couldn’t. Not anymore.

Once, when he’d been four, her sweet little boy had asked why he didn’t have a dad like some of the other kids in his preschool class. All she’d been able to come up with was that the man had made a choice and gone away. That must have been enough for Nathan, because he’d never asked again, and she’d been happy to leave it that way.

Harper pressed her hand against the churning misery in her belly. She’d told herself she was waiting for the right time to tell him. Really, she’d been ignoring it, and quite nicely, too. And it had been working just fine.

A part of her wanted to continue ignoring it, to throw the box in the trash and be done with the entire issue. Taking a deep breath she tore open the plastic packing slip envelope. Inside was a simple note.

Ms. Maclean,

Brandon Ramsey was a hero. A man to be proud of. His death is a blow to his friends, to his team and to the country. It’s important that we honor our heroes. Please pass on these things to his son, so he can honor his father.

Dane Adams

So not only had Brandon known about Nathan, and where to find them, but his friend did, too. Which meant she couldn’t ignore this. Not until she was sure that the Ramseys with their high-powered attorneys weren’t going to show up next. She forced herself to cut through the packing tape. She unfolded the flaps and, cringing only a little, lifted aside the neatly folded tissue paper.

On top was a large envelope with her name on it, and beneath that what looked like a small leather-bound book or photo album. She didn’t open it. Couldn’t. Not yet. She set it aside to look at the rest. A rosewood box of ribbons and medals. At least a dozen bound certifications for things like marksmanship and diving. Even a cap, the white fabric and black plastic formal and stiff.

She didn’t know this world. She didn’t know the man who’d belonged in it. Why was she bringing it into her son’s life?

Because she didn’t have a choice, she realized with a sigh. Eyes burning with tears she refused to shed, Harper tucked the box under the kitchen desk, then tossed the note and large envelope addressed to her on the built-in kitchen desk to deal with later. She wanted to toss the box out the door but refrained.

Did she need this right now? She stormed through dinner prep like a woman riding a tornado. Oil heated, lettuce ripped and—screw it—the oven door slammed on frozen French fries.

Wasn’t it enough to have to deal with Nathan going away on his first trip longer than an overnight sleepover? Not only away, but away at camp on a tiny island in the middle of the freaking ocean. Okay, not quite the middle, but it was an island and it was surrounded by Pacific waters.

She was handling that, wasn’t she? Granted, she hadn’t told him that he was going yet. Once she did, she wouldn’t be able to change her mind. This morning Andi, with her usual efficiency, had forwarded the email showing the camp registration fee paid in full. Now Harper had no choice. But she hadn’t had a tantrum about that, had she?

Had she climbed onto the roof, yanked at her hair and screamed her throat raw yet over Brandon’s dramatic reentry into her life? Leave it to him to force his presence into Nathan’s life in a way she couldn’t stop. He would have known she’d tell him to take a flying leap if he’d contacted her about meeting Nathan, about being a part of her son’s life. He’d had his chance. He’d made his choice.

Now he’d never get to change his mind, or try to change hers. Her gaze slid to the red-and-blue-striped priority shipping box that’d been delivered an hour ago. She’d shoved it under the small kitchen desk, half-hidden but all too visible.

Harper grabbed her drink. Her teeth clenched tight on the straw as she sucked down a long sip of lemon-infused water and tried to settle the flood of emotions pouring through her. The water cooled her throat, but it didn’t help with the confusion storming through her chest.

Was she supposed to be sad? Was she supposed to grieve? And how did she tell her son that the father she’d never once mentioned was dead? Would he care? By trying to keep him from getting hurt, had hiding Brandon from Nathan actually hurt him?

And how was that for a convoluted guilt trip? Harper closed her eyes to the pain she didn’t understand and took a shaky breath. A part of her wanted to gather Nathan and run, hide. The rest wanted to climb in bed, pull the covers over her head and pretend that none of this was happening.

Since Harper was made of stronger stuff than that, she did neither.

Instead she finished dinner preparations.

“Mom, I’m starving. Like, I could eat a whole Tauntaun,” Nathan announced as he ran into the kitchen.

“I didn’t have time to stop by the planet Hoth for Tauntaun, so we’re having chicken instead.” Harper forced a smile. She had to struggle with some of the Star Wars references, but anything from the first three movies, she was solid on. She pointed a finger at her son before he could slide into his chair. “Wash. Then set the table.”

“’Kay.” He hurried to the kitchen sink, nudging the stool in with his foot and turning the water on before she could remind him of her opinion on kicking the furniture. “Chicken is way better than fish. Jeremy said his mom is making him eat something called hall butt tonight because he’s going to adventure camp.”

“Halibut.” Harper’s lips twitched and just like that, the bulk of the stress drained away. “And you hate eating fish.”

“I’d eat it if I went to adventure camp. It’d be different there, cuz I’d be catching it and all that stuff. Jeremy says they go fishing and hiking and all sorts of cool things. They even learn how to tie knots.” Nathan jumped down, not bothering to move the stool aside before hopping over to gather the dishes she’d already set out on the island. “Do you think they tell ghost stories around a campfire, too? That’d be cool. I know some good stories.”

Harper let the questions roll over her as she tried to figure out how to tell Nathan that his father was dead. Did she explain that before she told him he was going to camp? Or did she start with the camp news and let him revel for a while before she burst his happy little bubble?

“Mom?”

“Hmm?” Forcing herself to shake off the what-ifs and focus on what mattered—Nathan—Harper brought the salad to the table.

“Those are guy things, aren’t they?”

Guy things? She replayed the conversation as she handed Nathan a bowl of salad, then arched one brow.

“Are you trying to say that a woman couldn’t hike or fish or sail?” she asked, dishing up her own salad while giving her son a narrow look.

“Sure. Girls can if they want.” He stabbed a chunk of cucumber, then shot her a wicked smile. “Not you, cuz you don’t like anything that’s dirty or slimy. After we tried camping last summer, I heard you tell Andi that you’d rather eat slugs than sleep on the ground again. But I suppose some girls prob’ly like dirt and slime. It’s okay that you don’t.”

“Smart boy,” she murmured. Andi was right. She couldn’t be enough for Nathan. Not by herself, she admitted as a wave of guilt washed over her. This guilt was as familiar as her own skin. It’d come with the pregnancy hormones and never left.

“Eat your salad” was all she said.

“I met the guy who’s living at Mr. Lowenstein’s house.”

“So I saw.”

Oh, yeah. She’d seen the guy. A muscle-bound, Harley-riding guy with an intimidating stare, and most likely an IQ lower than he could bench-press. Starting on her own salad, Harper told herself to relax. She was sure he wasn’t dangerous. The Riviera Enclave was an exclusive gated community and the Lowensteins were vigilant in their screening. Added to that, the longest they ever sublet was a month. So the man might be a little intimidating, but he wasn’t likely to have any real impact on their lives.

“His name is Diego. He fixes things and secures stuff. He doesn’t got a kid, but he likes pets.” With the look of wide-eyed guile that he’d perfected, Nathan smiled at his mother. “That’s a good thing, right? In case we ever had to go on a job that’s overnight like the one you did in San Diego last summer for that music lady, there’d be someone next door to feed a pet. If we had one, I mean.”

Nicely done, Harper thought, appreciating how many creative ways he could make that pitch. While he rambled on about the care and needs of a kitten and debated the cuteness factor of gray tabbies versus orange, she pulled the warming chicken and finished fries from the oven.

“Chicken fingers?” Nathan exclaimed, pausing in his recital of possible cat names. His excitement slid into a frown as he noted the potatoes she was scooping onto the royal-blue Fiesta platter. “And fries? Why’re we having Saturday food? Isn’t today Wednesday?”

“Sure it is. But you’ll be at camp on Saturday, so we’re having Saturday food today instead.” Nathan’s jaw dropped. He gave a war whoop at the same time he shot out of his chair and launched himself into her arms.

His grateful enthusiasm was almost enough to drown out her concerns.

“You’re the best, Mom. The absolute best. Thanks. I’m gonna call Jeremy. Can I? Can I? I want to tell him so we can bunk together.”

“After dinner.” Harper held on a moment longer. Then because she knew she had to start getting used to it, she slowly let go. She scooped her fingers through the wavy mass of his hair, then tilted her head toward the table. “That way the two of you can talk as long as you like.”

That he’d still have words for later was just one of those things that always amazed her about Nathan. He’d talk through the meal about everything from camp to the LEGO project he was working on to baseball and back again. Unlike his mother, he never ran out of words. Never had to search for them.

But she was searching now. For the words, for the right way to tell him what she had to share. As he scooped his last fry through his ketchup, she still hadn’t figured it out. But like most of motherhood, she realized she’d have to figure it as she went.

“Leave the dishes for now, Nathan.” She laid her hand on his arm to keep him from jumping up from the table. “We need to talk.”

“Am I in trouble?” His face creasing, Nathan settled into his chair again.

“No, sweetie,” she rushed to say, sliding her hand down to mesh her fingers through his smaller ones.

He was growing so fast. Once, those fingers had been tiny as they’d wrapped around hers, his just-born eyes staring into her face as if she were his world. Those fingers had gripped hers as he’d taken his first teetering steps; that hand had held tight the first day of school.

She’d spent her entire life trying to protect him. To give him the best and keep him as happy as she could. Now she had to hurt him. God help her, she blamed Brandon.

Harper took a deep, shaky breath as she tried to fight back the tears clogging her throat, then gave her son a reassuring smile.

“You’re not in trouble. I just need to tell you something.”

“Something bad?” he ventured when she bit her lip, trying to gather the words she still hadn’t found.

She wanted to assure him that it wasn’t bad. She wanted to continue ignoring Brandon’s existence. His death shouldn’t change that.

Except that she couldn’t. And it did.

Once again, Brandon had managed to turn her entire world upside down, and once again, he hadn’t stuck around to watch the fallout.

CHAPTER FIVE

SO THIS MUST be what it felt like to get run over by a truck.

A very large, dirty truck overloaded with painful regrets and parental guilt.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, head resting in her hands, Harper used her fingers to try to massage away the pain throbbing a tango on her scalp.

He’d taken the news well.

Too well.

She’d told him that the man who’d fathered him was dead, and Nathan had simply nodded. He hadn’t asked any questions. He hadn’t been interested in Brandon’s heroics as a SEAL, or why he’d never been around. He didn’t care what was in the box of effects sent to him by the person who claimed to be Brandon’s best friend. The first time he’d shown any emotion was when she’d suggested he might want the glass-fronted rosewood case of medals to keep in his room, and that’d been to throw the case back into the packing box with a scowl.

Before she could ask if he wanted to talk about it, or if he had any questions, he’d demanded to know if they were done yet so he could call Jeremy.

Harper hadn’t known what else to do other than wave him toward the phone. Maybe he was just too excited about camp to focus on the other. Or maybe he simply didn’t care.

She’d spent the rest of the evening watching for signs while pretending not to. She’d done her yoga in the TV room while he chatted on the phone. She’d worked on her laptop in the dining room while he’d tossed his baseball in the backyard. And she’d curled up with him on the couch while he grumbled over his summer reading.

But she hadn’t seen a single sign of grief or confusion. He’d been his usual, upbeat self.

Maybe he was repressing something.

Or maybe he simply didn’t care.

“Mom?”

Harper jumped to her feet, hurrying down the hall to Nathan’s bedroom.

“What do you need, sweetie?”

“I can’t find my baseball.” In Thor pajamas, wrapped in the bedtime scent of coconut soap and bubblegum toothpaste, Nathan sat in the middle of his floor surrounded by LEGO pieces. “I wanted to use it as the power source, but it’s not here.”

“Power source, huh?” Harper knelt down next to him, careful to avoid jabbing a tiny plastic block into her knee. “Is this going to be a space station?”

“Yeah. It’s gonna be Kylo Ren’s hideout.” He didn’t look at her, but Harper didn’t need to see his eyes to conclude he was upset. “He’s gotta recover and learn to control his temper and figure out stuff.”

Kylo Ren. Harper’s breath came slow and painful as she tried to figure out how to ask her little boy if he was suddenly relating to the villain’s father issues. She wanted to gather Nathan tight in her arms and rock away any pain, soothe any confusion.

Her eyes burned as she looked at the top of her son’s tousled hair as it lay drying in shaggy waves. He wasn’t a baby anymore. And while she didn’t claim to understand much about the male ego, she knew her little boy was already too much a man to accept either words or hugs until he was ready for them.

She didn’t know what it said that she grieved over that more than anything else today. But there it was.

So she did what she always did. She sidestepped the emotional drama and went for the practical.

“You were playing with your ball when you were in the yard. Did you leave it out there?”

“Maybe.” His face creased as he continued to snap the tiny gray pieces together. “I think so.”

“I’ll find it,” she said, giving in to the urge to run her hand over his hair before rising.

“Can I listen to a story, too?” he asked before she reached the door.

“Percy Jackson?” Harper asked, reaching for the remote she kept on the spaceship-shaped shelving unit and aiming it for the CD player. Already queued to chapter 7, the narrator’s voice filled the room with the adventures of Percy and Grover. Harper waited another moment, but Nathan seemed content.

He wouldn’t be in a half hour when she called for lights-out, though. Not without his ball. He’d never had a blankie or teddy bear. Just like he’d never had a father.

He’d had her. And he’d had his baseball.

Since he’d probably left it in the backyard, she started her search there. It wasn’t until the evening air cooled her hot cheeks that she realized they were covered in tears.

Harper dried them with an impatient swipe of her hands, bending low to peer under chairs, stretching sideways to check behind the bank of variegated hosta plants and rich purple spikes of salvia.

It took her a few seconds to realize she was hearing more than crickets in the night. Was someone yelling hiyah?

She stepped through the iron fence and froze.

The new neighbor was in his backyard. Barefoot and shirtless, he wore what looked like black pajama bottoms. He simply flowed across the moon-drenched lawn. Kicks, turns, chops and punches flowed in a seamlessly elegant dance.

Was that martial arts he was doing?