Call To Redemption. Tawny Weber

man’s way of charming information out of men and women alike and his sick tech skills, made him a force to be reckoned with when it came to intel. Which was why Nic had called him instead of one of his commanding officers. The Admiral? The Captain? They supported Nic’s team, but their first loyalty was to command. Lansky, like the rest of Nic’s handpicked team, had one purpose. To serve Poseidon.

      So when Lansky ran out of gossip, Nic didn’t hesitate to ask the question that had followed him to Hawaii. “What’s the status of the investigation?”

      “According to Captain Jarrett, it’s currently lollygagging in red tape. They’re holding Ramsey in the brig but he’s got a hotshot rep who, while not denying the assault charges, insists his scumbag of a client isn’t guilty of murder or treason.”

      No more than Nic had expected.

      “Jarrett said they’re still digging, but so far his men haven’t discovered any leads on Ramsey’s partner or, more likely, partners. Jarrett doesn’t deny there are others,” Lansky added quickly when Nic gave a low growl. “He simply doesn’t have a clue who they are.”

      Nic exchanged his empty beer for a full one, rubbing the cold bottle against his forehead. He respected Jarrett’s skills, and had faith the guy had Poseidon’s best interest in mind. Hell, the Captain had almost been one of the team. If they hadn’t decided to stick with BUD/S graduates only, they’d quite likely have brought their first-phase instructor in with them. He’d been damn awesome at motivating and pulling them together as a team. But while Nic had been all for it, the others had elected him leader and mandated they close the team at the twelve of them.

      But the guy should have more intel by now. Hell, he should have shut down Navel Intelligence’s investigation of Team Poseidon from the get-go. That he hadn’t was giving Nic a serious knot in his gut.

      “I shouldn’t be on leave,” he muttered. His scowl faded a little as he watched a sexy brunette sashay across the patio, her little sundress highlighting one hell of a figure. But all it took was a blink to put her out of his mind. Because nothing interfered with his focus when it came to doing his job.

      “You couldn’t ignore a direct order,” Lansky pointed out. “Word is Admiral Cree wanted you out of the way until the... How did he put it? Oh, yeah, the shit storm died down.”

      Shit storm. The murder of one of his men in a mission to clear their name and take down a traitor, leaving Team Poseidon framed to take the blame for the entire treasonous network.

      Yeah. Shit storm was a good description.

      “I’m back in six days. Storm or no.”

      “Good. I’ll have something for you then.”

      And just like that, the knot in Nic’s belly loosened.

      “You’re close?”

      “Damn close,” Lansky promised. “I hacked deeper into Ramsey’s computer history. I just need to dig through some layers, pull out a few more bytes. I’ll have it cleaned up by the time you get back.”

      “Good. I’m ready to end this.”

      With that and a few instructions, Nic ended the call with his Lieutenant.

      And wished like hell he was still on duty, doing his damn job. Leave was all well and good when he could roll it into a team-building excursion, or even the occasional family obligation. But this vacation while his men were under fire?

      It was a fuckup.

      He’d have argued against it—the timing was wrong, his team needed him, instincts told him to stay alert and ready for the next hit to strike. But none of his arguments could counter the simple fact that he’d taken a hit. A hard one. It’d left him vulnerable. And his men knew Nic Savino for many things, but vulnerability wasn’t one of them.

      Orders were orders, and Nic prided himself in making the best of any order.

      You’re on leave, Savino. Take a break. Get away. Clear your head, shed the baggage and relax, for God’s sake. The Admiral’s order echoed like a bell through his mind, a loud reminder of why he was here. Or rather, why he wasn’t in Coronado, where he belonged.

      Nic pressed his fingers to his eyes, trying to relieve some of the pressure beating behind them like steel drums. He could have pushed against the Admiral’s suggestion. But he couldn’t ignore the lack of sleep, the headaches or the feeling that he was losing hold of the fraying thread of the control he so prized.

      So he’d finally had to admit it. He needed the break. He needed to get away, before he put them at any further risk.

      So here he was.

      On Kauai, where he’d always come as a child to renew. At his uncle’s resort, where he could kill two birds with one stone. Family obligation and relaxation, all rolled into one.

      He angled his jaw left, then right, and turned in his seat to scan the patio. Tiki-style right down to the totem-pole bar and palm-frond overhang, the area boasted a dozen small bamboo tables set up to provide cozy beachside relaxation.

      To his right was a seashell-shaped dais sporting yet more palm fronds. Since it was too early in the evening for the band, music drifted down from cleverly hidden speakers.

      To his left was his life’s blood. His one true love.

      The ocean.

      The Pacific, to be exact. Oh, he loved the Atlantic, the Indian and the Arctic just as truly. But he’d first lost his heart to the Pacific here. Right here on Hanalei, actually, twenty-five years ago when his uncle had opened his first resort. He’d sat in the soft sand, pail in one hand, shovel in the other, and stared in fascination at the endless waves of blue.

      In the years since, Keola Hanalei had become one of the premier luxury destinations in Hawaii and Nic had continued his love affair with the sea. He managed to make it back here every few years for a little downtime.

      Not just downtime, he admitted as he absently took another swallow of beer. Renewal. There was something about this particular view that always reminded him of where he’d come from—and why he’d ended up where he was.

      He didn’t mind that the reminder came with 400-count sheets, island entertainment and gourmet food. It made for a pretty sweet setup.

      His gaze, always watchful, shifted again.

      Because the sexy powerhouse at the third table was pretty sweet, too. The woman he’d watched sweep down the circular staircase ten minutes before.

      Vivacious was the word she brought to mind.

      Not in a bubbly, sparkling way. She looked like the type to kick a guy in the head before she’d giggle.

      No. She looked alive. Powerful, intense and intriguing.

      He didn’t know if it was his body’s reaction to the woman—hot, intense interest that reached deep into his gut and demanded attention—or if it was simply the idea of having something to focus on other than the emotionally exhausting thoughts that kept circling his mind like a vulture waiting to pick his soul clean.

      Whatever it was, he was grateful.

      Because like Lansky said, if he was going to be forced to take leave, he might as well enjoy himself.

      And he’d just found a way to do exactly that.

      All he had to do was convince the pixie to join him.

       CHAPTER TWO

      AS DISTRACTIONS WENT, Nic had to admit this one was pretty damn compelling.

      Short black hair framed her face with sharp lines and spiked edges, the glossy style reminding him of a jagged piece of obsidian. The late-afternoon sun glinted gold off a face worthy of a second, third and even fourth look. Slashing cheekbones aimed toward her lush mouth and strong brows arched