Falcon (Chase Legacy #2)

Chapter 1

ONE

MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

The door shut behind them with a quiet click. No slamming. No yelling. Just that soft, suburban finality that made her skin crawl.

Shannon stepped into the foyer barefoot, the tile cool against her heels.

Her black dress—the same one from the hospital, still wrinkled and still stained, clung to her in places that made her want to rip it off.

She moved on autopilot, brushing past the console table where her mother used to keep fresh flowers and sticky notes with gentle reminders.

Now it held a military shadow box and a flag folded so tight, it looked like it couldn’t breathe either.

Her father, Mike Johnson, Air Force veteran and COO of Chase Security International, locked the door like he expected something on the other side to break in. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t trust her voice or her hands not to shake.

He cleared his throat. “Do you want some water?” That was the first thing he said.

Not Are you okay? Not Talk to me. Water.

“No,” she said, voice flat. “I want to sleep. And then I want to forget this night ever happened.”

He stood awkwardly by the coat rack, his suit jacket slung over one arm, shirt still untucked from rushing from the Pentagon. His tie was half off, hair a mess. He looked like a man who’d dressed for war and arrived too late to fight.

“Shan,” he tried again, stepping forward. “What happened tonight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” she snapped, turning toward the stairs. The silence stretched. Then cracked.

“You’re grounded.”

She stopped cold and spun around. “What?”

Her father didn’t flinch. “School, practice, home. That’s it.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I’m not.”

“You seriously think this was my fault?” Her voice climbed without warning, fast and sharp. “Because I went to a birthday party?”

“You weren’t supposed to be drinking.”

“I wasn’t drunk, Dad. I was drugged.”

His jaw locked. “I know.”

“No, I don’t think you do. Because instead of asking how I’m feeling or what I need, you’re pulling the parent-of-the-year routine and grounding me like I snuck out and crashed the car.”

“You don’t get it,” he said, voice tight. “You’re seventeen. You were in a situation.”

“A situation?” She laughed—cold, brittle. “Call it what it was. A guy tried to assault me.”

Her dad took a sharp breath through his nose. “You could’ve died.”

“And that’s somehow my responsibility?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Her voice trembled as she pushed against the pressure in her chest. “You weren’t there when they called. You were locked in a SCIF talking about war games while your daughter was being loaded into an ambulance.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No,” she said. “What’s not fair is you punishing me for something that happened to me.”

“I’m trying to protect you.”

“No. You’re trying to control me. That’s what you understand. That’s the only language you speak.”

He stepped back like she’d physically struck him.

“I’m not your soldier,” she said. “And I’m not Mom. You don’t get to manage me the way you ran squadrons.”

His hands flexed at his sides. He looked like he wanted to say something, but the words got jammed somewhere in his throat. “Shannon…”

She cut him off with the softest, deadliest words she had. “I don’t feel safe here.”

The silence that followed was a blade that cut him wide open. His shoulders slumped. His mouth opened, then closed. For the first time in months, he looked completely, utterly lost.

And still, he didn’t cry. He didn’t come close. Instead, he just nodded once, like this was a casualty report, and she was another line in it.

She climbed the stairs with rage burning under her skin and didn’t stop until she was behind her bedroom door. It shut with a click. Same sound as the front one. Just… quieter.

Safer.

She dropped to the floor and buried her face in her hands, her body shaking without permission. Not crying—not exactly—just shaking like every atom inside her couldn’t decide whether to run or explode.

CHASE INTERNATIONAL HEADQUARTERS – WASHINGTON, D.C.

The office overlooked the Potomac, with glass walls, no blinds, and the kind of spare decor that said Ian Chase didn’t need to prove anything to anyone. He didn’t rise when Ford entered, just motioned to the chair across from him. “Shut the door.”

Ian didn’t waste time. “Mike wants eyes on Shannon, starting the minute she reports to college.”

Ford sat without speaking, feet planted, hands on his knees. “He say why?”

Ian leaned back, elbows resting on the arms of his chair. “Because he knows what she’s capable of. And he knows how close she is to self-destructing if someone lights the wrong match.”

Ford’s brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Ian continued, “He didn’t ask for handlers. He asked for presence. Quiet. Unobtrusive. Watchful. If she needs pulling back from a ledge, someone’s there.”

Ford’s voice was low. “You want me to do it.”

Ian shook his head. “You’re already in too deep. She knows you’re close to Mike. She’ll sniff out the setup in a heartbeat.”

Ford nodded once.

“It has to be someone young. Clean. Unfamiliar. Someone who can walk the halls without sticking out.”

“Exactly.”

A pause stretched between them before Ian asked, “Any ideas?”

Ford let his eyes wander toward the floor-to-ceiling window behind Ian. “Maybe. I’ve got a few names.”

Ian opened a drawer, pulled out a folded paper, and slid it across the desk.

Ford glanced down. “Her Air Force Academy essay?”

“She never showed Mike,” Ian said. “Meagan read it the week before she died. Told me it scared her in a good way.”

Ford opened it and read silently.

Some people apply because they want to honor their parents’ path. I’m applying because I’ve seen what service looks like from the inside, and I still want it.

My dad flew combat missions with the kind of calm most people only pretend to have.

My mom flew rotary-wing, served in Air Force Intelligence, and carried more secrets than anyone should have to.

Neither of them talked much about what they did.

But I watched. I listened. And I learned what real strength looks like when no one’s clapping for it.

I don’t want to be exactly like either of them. I want to take what they gave me—discipline, clarity, purpose—and build something new from it. I want the sky. I want the pressure. I want the responsibility that comes with wearing the uniform because I know what it costs. And I still want it.

There’s a moment after everything goes wrong—when the plan fails, when someone doesn’t come home, when silence takes over the room.

I’ve lived through that moment. I didn’t freeze.

I didn’t wait. I acted. That’s when I realized I don’t need a rank to step forward.

I just need the training to be the person who doesn’t flinch when it matters.

This isn’t about nostalgia. It’s not about chasing someone else’s legacy. I have more than most. It’s about trajectory. And mine is just beginning.

I want to lead, not because it looks good, but because I know how it feels to carry weight no one else sees. I want to serve, not because it’s expected, but because I’ve seen the difference one person can make when they don’t back down.

My parents showed me how to fly. I’m ready to learn how to lead.

Ford finished reading and set the paper down like it might burn through the desk. “She’s a storm.”

Ian’s voice was quiet. “A storm can power turbines or flatten a city.”

“She’s already watching the world like it owes her blood.”

Ian leaned forward. “Then give her someone who doesn’t flinch. Someone who doesn’t try to parent her. Just someone who sees her.”

Ford nodded slowly. “I’ve got a few names. Let me vet them. I’ll bring you the right one.”

“Do it quietly,” Ian said. “She can’t know she’s being handled.”

“She won’t.” Ford added, “And Mike?”

Ian exhaled through his nose. “Mike wants her safe. But more than that, he wants her to make it through school and whatever comes next. He doesn’t trust the system to get her there intact.”

“Then we do what we always do.”

Ian’s mouth curled into something almost like a smile. “Build the system ourselves.”

Ford rose, paper in hand. “This isn’t going to be easy.”

Ian’s voice followed him out. “Nothing worth surviving ever is.”

MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

Acceptance envelopes were stacked on the kitchen counter, glossy school seals shining under the pendant lights. Georgetown. UVA. Duke. MIT. All thick packets, all congratulatory.

Shannon flipped through them without ceremony, her fingers smudged with ink from tearing envelopes. “Guess I’m smarter than everyone thought,” she muttered, half grin, half challenge.

Her father stood at the end of the counter, arms crossed, watching. She knew he was proud, even though every conversation they had these days seemed to ignite like tinder. Her brother, Sam, hovered in the doorway, silently watching like someone who’d learned to dodge family firestorms.

“You’ve got choices,” Mike said finally.

Shannon smirked. “Guess I won’t have to rely on you to pull strings.”

The air tightened. “Shan, you earned those. Every one of them.”

For a flicker of a second, Shannon’s grin softened into something else. Then the doorbell rang.

Sam bolted to get it, returning with a single envelope, all white, with heavy paper and the Air Force Academy crest pressed into the corner. He handed it to his sister like it was a live wire.

Shannon stared at it, her smirk faltering. She tore the top slowly, her hands uncharacteristically unsteady.

The words were crisp, official: We are pleased to offer you an appointment to the United States Air Force Academy.

She dropped the letter onto the counter and stepped back like it might burn her.

Mike picked it up. “Shan…” His voice broke. “This is what your mom wanted for you. She talked about it often.”

Shannon crossed her arms. “That’s the problem.”

Mike blinked. “What?”

“I don’t know if it’s what I want—or if it’s just her dream you keep trying to shove down my throat.”

The kitchen went silent.

Finally, Sam spoke. “It doesn’t have to be today’s decision.”

She turned on him. “Don’t you start too.”

“I’m not starting anything. I’m saying you’ve got time. And you earned the right to choose whatever you want.”

Shannon wanted to argue, but no words came. She snatched up the letter, threw it on top of the others, and stalked upstairs.

The slam of her attic door echoed through the house.

The porch creaked beneath them, old wood settling with two men who’d carried more than most. Ford Cox sat back in the weather-worn chair, one shoe resting on the railing, beer in hand, untouched.

Mike’s bottle dangled loose between his fingers.

His eyes were fixed on the tree line like it might give him an answer he didn’t want to say out loud.

“You’re losing her,” Ford said quietly.

Mike flinched but didn’t look away from the trees.

“She needs you, Mike,” Ford added. “Not the uniform. Not the ghost in your office. You.”

Mike exhaled through his nose, jaw tight. “You think I don’t know that?”

Ford took a sip, letting the silence stretch again. “I think you know it,” he said finally. “I just don’t think you know what to do with it.”

That earned him a sideways glance, sharp but exhausted. “What do you want me to do, Ford? Sit her down and, what, talk about feelings?”

Ford’s expression didn’t change. “Start with showing up.”

Mike leaned back in his chair, spine stiff. “I’m at work twelve hours a day trying to hold the line. Trying to keep everything from falling apart.”

“You’re doing that at the Pentagon,” Ford said, voice low but even. “But it’s here where things are breaking.”

Mike didn’t respond, just stared out to where the lake shimmered with moonlight.

Ford shifted forward, arms resting on his knees now. “Show her who you are. Be her dad. Stop hiding behind work.”

Mike looked down at the bottle in his hand, turned it once and said nothing.

Ford studied him for a second longer, then added, almost casually, “I’ve been working on your request.”

That got Mike’s attention. A glance, wary but engaged.

“I spoke to Troy,” Ford continued. “I think Dante Olivetti would be perfect.”

Mike frowned slightly. “Tony’s kid?”

Ford nodded. “Quiet. Smart. Military family. Knows how to operate in the background. Clean file. Zero baggage. And Shannon doesn’t know him.”

Mike’s brow furrowed. “Will he do it?”

“He will if asked.”

They sat in the stillness that followed, the name hanging in the air like a quiet solution to a loud problem.

“Martin can handle the Pentagon,” Ford circled back. “The world won’t fall apart without you there.” A pause. “But she might.”

Mike’s hand clenched just slightly around the bottle.

Ford added, “You’ve been in foxholes with less at stake.”

Finally, Mike said, “I don’t know how to talk to her anymore.”

Ford nodded. “Then don’t talk. Sit. Stay. Let her yell. Let her break. But stay.”

They sat there for another minute, nothing moving but the trees in the breeze. Inside, the lights were still on. Upstairs, her shadow crossed the window.