Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

the courtroom’s silence. As he stood at attention on the stand, the sound ricocheted down Nic’s spine like a piece of shrapnel, ripping and tearing.

      “Commander, do you understand these charges?”

      Understand? Nic had a solid understanding of the fact that he’d been framed, that he was the fall guy for some treasonous son of a bitch. Someone in power with a network of Navy personnel was focused on lining their bank account at the expense of their country.

      Yeah.

      He understood that.

      That, and everything that came with the charges leveled against him. Court-martial. Prison time. The end of his career. The loss of his freedom. The destruction of his team. Fury rose, rolling like waves that crested higher with each heartbeat.

      But none of that was evident on his face. Neither awareness nor fury was allowed to show.

      “Affirmative.”

      “How do you plead?”

      Nic’s gaze didn’t shift left, didn’t move right. His dead-eye stare was aimed straight ahead, focused on the rippling glory of the American flag hanging over the courtroom’s double doors.

      He replayed the accusation. He thought back over the previous year’s events.

      An operation gone horribly wrong that’d resulted in life-threatening injuries to one team member and the supposed death of another.

      The realization that a SEAL, a man sworn to serve his country, would steal classified information to sell to the highest bidder, put his teammates lives in peril and fake his own death—all for money. That shocking acceptance that the same man would target a young child and a defenseless woman, and kill a fellow SEAL.

      And now the emotional train wreck of watching his team targeted by an asshole with an agenda who was determined to ignore the fact that Poseidon was being framed by a traitorous sociopath with psychotic tendencies.

      It’d all been coming down to this.

      The moment of truth.

      After fourteen years of service protecting the safety and freedom of his country, it wasn’t Nic’s life on the line this time. This time, it was his team. His career. His reputation. His own freedom.

      Ignoring the tight knot in his gut, he shifted his gaze infinitesimally to the right. He gave Lieutenant Thomas a look cold enough to freeze the man’s innards and, in a clear voice, stated, “Not guilty.”

      Thomas’s eyes narrowed, his lips tightened. Why the man would flash frustration was baffling. Any first-year JAG would have expected that exact plea. Nic filed away the expression to decipher later.

      For now, he simply let his stare intimidate until the Lieutenant turned away. But not before Nic caught the line between his brows twitching.

      For the first time since he’d walked into the courtroom that morning, the tension tying his intestines in knots loosened.

      He was innocent.

      Poseidon was clean.

      No matter what information the Lieutenant and his team thought they’d bring to the table over the course of this trial, Nic knew that neither he, nor any of his men, had done anything illegal, against orders or in any way traitorous.

      But knowing that didn’t ensure he’d walk away from this trial. Not with his freedom. Quite possibly not with his career and reputation intact. The odds of keeping his command, of holding together an elite Special Ops team after being brought up on such charges, were slim.

      But now?

      Nic watched as Thomas exchanged frowns with the Lieutenant Commander seated at the prosecutors’ table.

      Now? He had hope. More, he had faith that he’d not only be vindicated, but that he’d also keep his command, his team and, dammit, that they’d nail the real traitor before this was over.

      It was then and only then that he allowed his gaze to shift. For a millisecond, he glanced toward the gallery.

      His team spanned the first row. Ten men in uniform, each one wearing a look of implacable determination. Each one radiating strength and dedication. And yes, each one looking equally pissed at the insult they knew they’d been served.

      Nic’s gaze shifted to the right, toward the woman sitting just behind the prosecution.

      Beneath an edgy fringe of bangs, a pair of huge gold eyes stared back at him. In those molten depths he saw two things. Strength and challenge.

      How had he gotten this far in life without her?

      And what the hell was he going to do now that he’d found her?

      Nic had spent his adult life training, leading, fighting for his country. Without hesitation, he’d put his life, his guts and his reputation on the line time and time again. But today, his innocence wasn’t the only thing at stake.

      Nor was this a simple matter of justice.

      He was a Lieutenant Commander in the United States Navy.

      He was a multidecorated Navy SEAL.

      He was a SEAL team platoon leader, he commanded over a hundred military and civilian personnel.

      He’d fought in wars. He’d led missions. He’d orchestrated clandestine operations. He’d conceptualized, created, evaluated and nurtured the elite force of Team Poseidon. He’d honed his skills in leadership, combat and procedure.

      In the last six months, he’d lost a man. He’d killed another. He’d had a building explode around him. He’d been betrayed and brought to trial to face the accusation of the very crimes he’d fought to end.

      And for the first time in thirty-three years, Nic risked something that many people—including himself—had come to believe didn’t exist.

      His heart.

      Lost it to the woman who could easily destroy his life.

       CHAPTER ONE

      Two Months Earlier

      OH, MY.

      She’d been told the views in Hanalei were impressive, but she’d had no idea just how impressive.

      Darby Raye ran her tongue over her bottom lip, planted her elbows on the balcony railing and leaned out farther to get a clearer view. Not of the beach, although the pristine surf churning over the sand of Hanalei was unquestionably worth a second—and third—look. And she wasn’t sighing over the indigo-streaked cerulean sky, although there was no denying that it deserved a few deep breaths of appreciation.

      Nope, what had snagged her attention on her first night of the first vacation she’d taken in years was the unbelievably gorgeous man seated at the beachside bar below.

      There was something familiar about him, but whether it was the double Scotch she’d already knocked back or the glare of the sun off the ocean, she couldn’t quite figure it out. Eyes narrowed, she leaned out just a little farther.

      Dark hair was cut short enough to frame a face made more powerful by the contrast of angles and curves. Sharp cheekbones were emphasized by a goatee that ran along his chiseled jaw while full lips and lush lashes hinted at softness. She couldn’t tell the color of his eyes from here, but they looked dark. A worn blue T-shirt was draped over broad shoulders, cupped biceps impressive enough to bench-press a Harley and lay flat against abs that didn’t appear to even have a concept of the meaning of the word flab.

      But how was his ass? Great abs were all well and good, but the true measure of a man was how fine of an ass he had.

      She craned her neck to the side, squinting a little behind the amber lenses of her shades. But the angle was wrong. She shifted a couple of steps to the right and tilted her head a little, brushing at the swath of