Chapter Forty-Eight
Phoenix
Judas gave me a heads-up through comms. “He’s exfilling now. I’ll retreat to my vehicle and follow to the airstrip.”
“Copy. Going radio silent. Switch to cell if needed.”
“Roger that. Radio silent,” Judas confirmed.
I muted my comm.
My son walked out of the Performing Arts building.
I got out of the SUV.
Watching him shoulder a backpack that looked like it housed his life, I didn’t have time to think about who it reminded me of.
Cutting north across the quad, aiming for intercept, I kept my target locked in my sights, but I held back.
Head down, hands in his pockets, moving at a fast clip, weaving when needed, skillfully avoiding other students, my son didn’t know he was on a collision course.
Mission focused, adrenaline surging, my window approaching, I slowed.
Then I held position.
And held.
Held….
Two paces from passing me, he didn’t divert.
I stepped in front of him.
Rearing back, his head popped up, and I was hit full force with a visual and emotional impact that was a hundred-fold greater than the explosion ten years ago.
His gaze hit mine.
Blond hair, green eyes, five-ten.
Lincoln Nilsen Granger.
My son.
Looking shocked as hell.
“Hello, Lincoln.”
His mouth opened, then closed. Then he exhaled his stunned reaction. “Whoa.”
Agreed. It was like looking at myself twenty-three years ago—if I’d been underfed. “Do you know who I am?” If I’d had any doubt he was mine, seeing him in person would’ve annihilated it.
“I….” His Adam’s apple, prominent like mine, moved with a hard swallow. “M-Maybe. Sir,” he added nervously.
Elation, guilt, rage—it all hit me. Most of all, culpability.
I had his texted photo and videos. I had resources. I’d utilized every damn one at my disposal to be here.
But this fifteen-year-old?
He only had a cell phone that was older than him, a number, and a deathbed confession from his mother who’d been fucking manipulated. We all had. I didn’t take his response as anything other than what it was—his reality.
But I still felt that maybe.
I also felt the weight of a night over fifteen years ago when I’d been reckless. Too drunk to give a damn about using my own condom. Worse, I wasn’t sorry for it. I was staring at an incomparable gift. One I didn’t deserve, but one I’d never apologize for.
But what the Vice Admiral had done to my son’s mother, how she’d been forced to raise Lincoln alone, that she’d fucking died—I was so goddamn sorry for it, I didn’t have an apology big enough. I never would.
All I had was now.
Tempering every damn emotion choking the hell out of me, I weighed his expression and his maybe, and I tipped my head toward the perimeter of the quad. “I’ve got a car. How about we grab a meal?” He looked like he could use one. Or twenty. Goddamn Vice Admiral.
“Um.” He hiked his heavy backpack higher on his shoulder. “Okay?”
Staring down a barrel I’d never imagined facing, I did the right thing.
“To be clear, so there are no miscommunications, I’m not here to only grab a meal.
I received your texts, I’ve spent the past two months making arrangements, and I want you to come live with me.
That said, I do realize this an abrupt encounter akin to an ambush.
I can assure you though that is not my intent.
You have autonomy here, Lincoln.” If he changed his mind about the meal or needed to pump the brakes, I’d pivot.
I’d do whatever I had to in order to make this easier on him.
What I would not do was leave him. My son wasn’t spending another night without me.
Stunned motionless, he stared at me wide-eyed. “Oh.”
“Meal?”
Same as in the videos he’d texted, my son wore his emotions in his expressions. Quickly shaking his head, he amended. “No, I mean yes. I, ah, want to—a meal would be good, sir.”
Fucking exhaling, wanting to grab his backpack, wanting to do a lot of damn things, like hug my son, I refrained. “This way.”
Turning, I started toward the rental, then glanced to make sure he was following.
Head down, one arm holding his backpack strap, his long stride almost matched mine.
Pride like I’d never known filled my chest. A second later, guilt crushed it.
The warring emotions battled as I looked at my fifteen-year-old son striding across a college campus in worn clothes.
I was so fucking proud of how resourceful he was.
But I was consumed with guilt about the basic necessities he didn’t have—like a damn backpack that wasn’t frayed at the seams.
Compartmentalizing all of it, I focused up and scanned the grounds.
That was when I noticed every student we passed was staring at us.
More specifically, at him. “Are you nonmatriculated or auditing any courses at this university?” When I’d run his background and tracked his movements, I hadn’t found any records of him, enrollment or otherwise, when I hacked the college Registrar’s office database.
“Um, not really?” He hiked his backpack up again.
“There was this, ah, dual enrollment option at my last school, though? You could, like, take online classes for free.” He shrugged.
“So I figured I could, you know, say that? If anyone asked why I was here? But no one’s asked, and I haven’t done anything except use the library and the music practice rooms. Well, and the Wi-Fi, but, ah, only when I need it because Mom always said being online was bad. ”
Not knowing the extent of what his mother had told him, I didn’t mention that an online presence could’ve jeopardized his and his mother’s safety.
Especially before I’d gotten that first texted video from him and realized he existed.
Hunting down every digital loose end from his and his mother’s past, to which there were thankfully few, I’d erased and contained their fifteen-year history in Texas.
That said, this was yet another fucking egregious act by the Vice Admiral I’d never forgive.
If I’d known about my son, he and his mother never would’ve been isolated or without my protection.
Avoiding his last comment, I angled the conversation back to the university. “Nice library?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is that why you chose this place?” I thought of another trespasser. “Or is it all the coeds noticing you?” Tall for fifteen, good-looking, easily able to pass as eighteen or nineteen, I hoped to hell he wasn’t anything like me at his age.
Embarrassment flushed his cheeks. “I, um, don’t know about any coeds, sir. But the pianos here are really great.” He glanced up. “It’s an All-Steinway School?”
“Understood.” The term was unfamiliar, but I surmised, and it made me even more proud of his resourcefulness. “Sounds like a good place to practice.” Nodding at the rental, I unlocked the SUV with the key fob. “This is us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hating the sir, not wanting to hover or make him any more nervous, I didn’t open his door. Instead, fighting the urge to stand there until he was securely inside the vehicle, I rounded the front while he got in the passenger side.
But before I got behind the wheel, I turned my head slightly, tapped my comm to unmute it, and lowered my voice. “Judas, copy.”
“Affirmative. Have you in my sights. Clear to proceed.”
“Detour. Heading to a restaurant before extraction. Italian place we passed on approach.” Dining room was small, tables visible from the front windows—tactically it was my best option on short notice.
“Park in back. Give us a thirty-second lead, then take up position inside.” I quickly scanned the incoming access road to the campus.
“Roger that.”
Muting my comm again, I got behind the wheel.
In direct contrast to how Lincoln had navigated the campus quad, he carefully pulled his seat belt out while looking around the interior of the SUV. “Is this your car, sir?
“Rental.” Thankful I’d put his things in the cargo area where he couldn’t see them from his vantage point, I addressed the honorific. “You don’t need to call me sir.” I wasn’t my father.
“Yes, sir.”
Ignoring another kick to my chest, I pulled away from the curb. “Italian food okay?”
“Um, yeah, anything’s great. But, I, ah, probably shouldn’t be gone too long, sir.
” Swimming in apprehension, seemingly afraid of me, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
“My grandmother said to come home after practice, and I told her I would, so…?” Drawing the last word out, he raised his eyebrows expectedly.
Two things happened simultaneously.
Pride swelled at the realization my son was a man of his word, and rage hit. It hit so damn hard that, for a split second, I lost it.
I wanted to unload an entire magazine into a Vice Admiral and every other alphabet soup and Brass motherfucker who’d used me.
Fifteen years.
Fifteen goddamn years we’d been robbed of.
He’d been robbed of.
My son. Who was calling me sir and acting exactly how I had with my father at his age.
This pattern ended now.
Reining it in, I controlled my tone. “I’ve spoken with your grandmother.
She’s both aware of my intentions and compliant with them.
You’re under no obligation to her for the immediate future.
” For now, I left it at that. If he wanted to contact her later, so be it.
But the insufferable woman never even mentioned Lincoln wasn’t enrolled in school, let alone showed any affection toward him.
“Is there a specific reason you’re calling me ‘sir’?
” I made a silent vow that hearkened back to his first video, to what he’d called me. I was going to earn that title.
“Um, my mom? She, ah, told me you were… military.” He looked down at his lap, and his voice went south. “She said you were a….” He cleared his throat. “But I wasn’t sure?”
My hand fisting on the steering wheel with impotent anger and guilt, I made another vow. “Pact. Between you and me. No playbook, no judgment. No questions off the table. Open exchange of information.”
He stared at me.
I clarified. “You can say or ask anything.”
He blinked. Then he sucked in a breath, looked back down at his lap, and his voice pitched with emotion. “Are you saying that because you’re my… you know?”
“Lincoln.”
He looked up.
“I ran DNA.” There was a soda can in the background of one of his videos.
When I’d installed surveillance cameras on the property, I’d grabbed the can out of their recycle bin and ran the test. It was a ninety-nine-point-ninety-nine percent match.
“Not because I didn’t believe you. I saw in that first video you sent what you’re seeing now.
I ran paternity because it would’ve been irresponsible of me not to, and because your mother was right.
I was military. Navy SEAL. Then I worked for the government in another capacity.
I’m private sector now. I own a security firm, but I have a past. Because of it, for your safety, I needed to be absolutely sure about paternity before I approached.
Test results confirmed it. I’m your biological father, Lincoln.
Incredibly proud to be. But I’m not saying I want a pact with you solely based on shared DNA.
” I held my son’s gaze. “I’m offering it because I want to be your dad. ”