Lane would have no choice but to report him.
After thirty days he would be considered a deserter. A Uniform Code of Military Justice article 85 followed by a dishonorable discharge, court-martial, and substantial brig time would be in his future. He would be stripped of his trident, no longer a Navy SEAL.
Forcing himself to let go of the air jammed up in his lungs, Dodger turned and pressed his back against the window frame.
This decision was heartbreaking, devastating, yet he couldn’t leave Anna to fend for herself. His honor hinged on his ability to carry out his duty. Duty to country, duty to the Navy, duty to the brotherhood. Anna was Max’s sister, and she was an innocent pawn in this twisted espionage business. The stark fact was indisputable. Saving the US satellite system was worth his absence from the team. He knew they would handle the op as professionally, completely, and thoroughly as if he was part of it. But deep in his gut, it felt like a betrayal. The team was starting to gel, and things were getting better. This could shatter their trust in him. But what choice did he have?
There was national security tied up in each of the missions that pulled him toward each one. On one side a financier who could lead them to Angar Said, the other a twisted riddle-infested one-liner that held clues to the activation code that would take down the tactical advantage the US had over the enemy.
But only one of these missions could take the life of a person that wasn’t only dear to him, but to his teammate. He loved his adopted country and the Navy. It had saved his life. But he loved his team and teammates more. Bottom line is he would sacrifice anything for them.
His life and, yes, even his honor.
But how far would their forgiveness stretch?
He could survive the disgrace and the jail time, but he couldn’t survive Anna’s death. He’d eat his gun.
He’d never be with her or have her the way he wanted, but he wouldn’t abandon her. Ever.
“Hey? You okay?” Anna’s soft voice broke into his musings.
Disconnecting from that line of thought, he smiled the smile he was so used to plastering on his face to reassure when he was jacked up inside. He was the Artful Dodger. He would only be in trouble if he got caught.
He didn’t intend to get caught. He was going to handle this how he saw fit.
“Right as rain, Anna Banana.”
She rolled her eyes. “That’s Max’s nickname for me.”
“I like it. I’m going to use it as liberally as I choose.”
She raised her brows at his challenge. It sure got her mind off the incredible trouble they were in.
She chuckled. “You are…something else, Oliver.” She got a sly look on her face. Ga, he loved sparring with her.
“How about I call you Ollie?”
He touched the back of his ear and stretched it forward. He detested that nickname. Made him sound like some red-nosed clown. “What? I can’t hear you.”
She laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. You’re not going to respond to that nickname.”
He kept her gaze, humor tugging at his mouth. “No. I have a call name. You can use that as much as you want. And, when I’m being a bad boy, you can call me Sir Oliver in that stern tone you think scares me. But when I’m the best boy and my most charming self, you can call me Ducky.”
“If it walks like a duck, sounds like a duck…quack, quack.” Grinning and making a face at him, she disappeared into the kitchen, and he heard the sound of utensils against a bowl. He walked in. She had a package of fresh blueberries on the counter near a glass bowl and a spoon.
“What are you making?”
“Blueberry pancakes.”
“You any good at blueberry pancakes?”
“You think you can do better, British bake?”
“Maybe. They happen to be my specialty.”
“Okay, Sir Oliver, you take over, and I’ll make the coffee.”
He went to the counter, took her place and started the batter. It was good to stretch his legs. Sleeping on that couch was like spending eight hours in a sardine can. “Coffee sounds good.”
Anna opened a cupboard, and as he combined the wet ingredients into the dry, he watched her as she made a steaming pot of coffee, his mind absently registering what she was saying, the knot in his gut tight. She looked like a freaking angel. Her hair was so straight, sleek and black. It cascaded