Bill danced from foot to foot, although he didn’t rush in to help his friend. “We got her, boss. Just like you said. The president’s daughter. This is her.”

The leader released non-Bill and curled his hands into fists. He stared at Darcy through the slits of the mask and growled.

“Not this one, you idiot. The other one. Lauren. No one cares about this one.”

Less than thirty minutes later the van came to a stop. Darcy was still too stunned to react, even as the rear doors opened and the two men reached in to pull her out. One of them cut the bindings on her wrists while the other collected her purse and tossed it on the ground next to her. The broken sandal followed. Then they ran back to the front of the van, jumped inside, and sped away.

She had enough functioning brain left to look for a license plate-there wasn’t one-and to note the color and make of the van. Then she sank down on the curb of the deserted loading area at the rear of the mall and rested her filthy arms on her scraped and bloodied knees and her head on her arms.

This hadn’t happened, she told herself, even as the truth of it settled around her like a hot, sticky fog. She’d been rejected by kidnappers, which made the event a new high in a lifetime of lows.

Talk about a photo opportunity, she thought grimly. Here she was, battered, bruised, cut up, scraped. Her clothes were dirty and torn, her shoes broken, and she’d just been tossed aside like a used tissue.

Darcy straightened, pulled the tape off her mouth, then gasped as skin tore with the adhesive. That wasn’t going to be pretty as it healed. She felt around on the cement until she found her purse and pulled out the panic button. Better late than never, she thought as she pressed down on the bright red button and waited for the cavalry.

Lieutenant Commander Joe Larson had always considered the admiral a reasonable, if distant, commanding officer. All that had changed at 9:18 the previous evening. The admiral wanted someone’s head on a stick, and he was gunning for Joe’s.

“What kind of half-assed, goddamn asshole…”

The tirade continued, but Joe didn’t bother listening as his captain got reamed. He could figure out the highlights without hearing them. Besides, the captain would be passing them along personally to Joe soon enough.

Such was the chain of command. The admiral chewed out the captain, the captain chewed out him, and he, well, Joe hadn’t decided what he was going to do. Like they said-shit rolled downhill.

He crossed to the window of the office foyer and stared at the activity below. There was plenty of it at the Naval Amphibious Base. And just beyond the building, the Pacific Ocean sparkled in the bright summer morning. Other careers might offer better pay, but none could beat the location on Coronado Island.

Given the admiral’s temper, there was every chance Joe could soon be exploring those other careers. Or stationed on a naval base in Greenland. Screwups came in all shapes and sizes. This one had all the potential firepower of an aircraft carrier. Explaining to the captain that it hadn’t been his fault wasn’t going to change a damn thing.

Fifteen minutes later, the door to the captain’s office opened and the admiral stormed out. Joe stood at attention as the angry man stalked by, then he looked at his commanding officer.

“Come on in, Joe,” the other man said in a weary voice.

Joe entered then closed the door behind him. “Sir.”

Captain Phillips waved to the empty chair in front of his desk. “You hear all that?”

“Yes, sir.”

Phillips, a tall man in his early forties, sighed. “He loved that boat.”

Joe didn’t respond. The information wasn’t news. The admiral had been restoring his nearly eighty-year-old boat for the past five years. The engine was new, and the electronics state-of-the-art, but the rest of it was original, lovingly sanded and varnished by the admiral’s own hand.

The man’s wife had left him, claiming she refused to come in second to a floating hunk of wood, and his children rarely visited, knowing they would be put to work on the boat. Six months ago the admiral had decided to live aboard.

Then, last night, at 9:18, the admiral’s pride and joy had been accidentally blown up by men under Joe’s command. They were lucky the admiral hadn’t been on board at the time.

“Want to tell me what happened?” the captain asked.

Joe shrugged. “The team was celebrating being back,” he said. The Navy SEAL team in question had just returned from six months of hazardous duty out of the country. “They’d all made it out alive. Even Grayson.”

“How’s he doing?” the captain asked.

“Lieutenant Grayson is still in the hospital, sir. He’s recovering from his injuries.”

Grayson had been shot on their last op. His men had brought him back and kept him alive until he’d been evacuated to the hospital ship, then brought back home.

Joe remained perfectly still as he continued. “I spoke with the men on the team yesterday afternoon. They’d had six missions back to back, with minimal downtime in between. I suggested they burn off some steam.”

Phillips nodded. “They decided on boat races.”

“Yes, sir.” Made sense. To a SEAL, the water was a second home. “They used small boats and kept within the marina speed limit.” Sort of. “Unfortunately their racing course took them over a BUDS training exercise.”

The future SEALs had been in their second round of training, learning to dive and work with explosives underwater.

“Last night the explosives were live. Apparently the movement of the boats racing overhead confused a few of the trainees. They’re not allowed to surface to get their bearings. Instead of putting their explosives on the target, they placed them on the admiral’s boat.”

Talk about plain bad luck, Joe thought grimly. “The explosives were small and shouldn’t have caused much damage. Unfortunately the admiral had recently refueled his craft. There was a small leak in the engine. When the explosive went off, it triggered a chain reaction that turned the admiral’s pride and joy into kindling. At least that’s the preliminary report.”

Captain Phillips didn’t speak for several seconds. “Aren’t you going to tell me that the admiral tied up in a restricted area? That he shouldn’t have been there in the first place?”

“No, sir.” What was the point? Joe had been in the navy long enough to know excuses only made the situation worse. Besides, who would have told an admiral to move his boat?

“You have a great career,” his captain told him. “You’ve worked hard, moved up the ranks. I was confident you’d make it to admiral yourself, before you retired.”

Joe had walked into some of the most dangerous situations in the world and lived to tell the tale, but nothing he’d experienced prepared him for the sense of fury that gripped him as he sat there and heard his career talked about in the past tense. The navy was all he knew, all he’d ever wanted.

He’d told the men to go have fun. It was his responsibility. Technically, he could pass the punishment on down, but next in line was Lieutenant Grayson, currently missing most of his right leg and facing a long road to recovery.

No. This time the chain of command stopped here. With Joe.

Phillips flipped open a file. “You’ve been with the SEALs nearly ten years, Joe. You’re a fine officer and one of the best men I’ve ever worked with. The admiral wants you punished, and I want to save your career if I can.”

“Thank you, sir,” Joe said, feeling the first hint of relief.

The captain smiled. “You might want to hold off on your thanks. The best way I know to punish you is to temporarily reassign you to a special project that has nothing to do with the SEALs. The best way I know to save your ass is to get you the hell out of here for a few weeks and let the admiral cool down. As an interesting point of fact, my brother-in-law is fairly high up the chain of command in the Secret Service. I don’t think you knew that.”

“No, sir,” Joe said, not sure what the information had to do with anything.

“You’ve mentioned you have family here in California,” Phillips said. “The Marcellis. They own a winery just north of Santa Barbara?”

“Yes, sir.” Joe had no idea what was going on, but he didn’t like it. Technically he was related to the Marcelli clan, but they weren’t his family.

“What you don’t know,” the captain said, “is that the president’s daughter was kidnapped yesterday.”

Joe stiffened as he pictured the attractive, curvy blonde who frequently served as the president’s hostess. “Lauren?”

“No. The other one. Darcy. Apparently they grabbed her by mistake-Lauren was their actual target.”

“How could they screw that up?” Joe asked. Darcy was nothing like her sister in looks or temperament.

“No one knows. The point is, both women are being taken out of Washington and sent to different locations. Safe houses, if you will. They’ll have their usual Secret Service protection, but until the kidnappers are caught, they need to lay low. This is all confidential, Joe. You aren’t to discuss this information with anyone.”

“Of course not, sir.” Joe had no problem keeping quiet. What he didn’t understand was what any of it had to do with him.

Captain Phillips leaned forward. “There is some concern about Darcy. She’s not generally cooperative, and frankly no one wants to be locked up in a safe house with her. The thought is if she can be kept safe but still have a semblance of a life, it will be easier for all concerned. Basically a place that is isolated but not solitary. I thought of what you’ve told me about your family’s winery. There’s a large house, plenty of room for the team and Darcy. I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince you to take this assignment. After last night, I don’t have to.”