Chapter Fifty-One
Phoenix
When we’d pulled up to the airstrip, Lincoln thankfully hadn’t seemed alarmed by the fact that I’d had his belongings in the rear of the rental. Neither had he seemed too concerned about them.
The Gulfstream and his backpack had been another story.
The former he’d stared at nervously, while the latter he’d slung over one shoulder and clutched like a lifeline as he’d wordlessly boarded.
It wasn’t until after I’d done exterior prechecks, handed him a couple of sandwiches and sodas from the galley, and was heading toward the cockpit to second chair with Judas that he’d asked if I was a pilot.
I’d told him that both Judas and I had logged countless flight hours, reassured him that he was safe, and encouraged him to eat, with a promise to join him once we were in the air.
Twenty minutes later, after I’d filed a false flight plan, checked in with Cypher to make sure VA Beach was handled and our tail number was off the radar, I stepped out of the cockpit.
Food eaten, soda cans empty, backpack on his lap, Lincoln was sacked out.
Selfishly, I took a picture of him.
Then I sat across the aisle from my son and stayed there the whole flight in case he woke up.
He didn’t.
Not until Judas brought us down at Miami Executive, and Lincoln opened his eyes with a start, looking no less anxious than he had before he’d fallen asleep.
Guilt, my new mental state of being, ate at me. “How’d you sleep?”
Pushing up in his seat, he glanced around the cabin. “I, ah, sorry…. I didn’t mean to crash—” Catching himself, he reworded. “I mean, fall asleep.”
“I’m glad you did.” Judging by the dark circles under his eyes, he hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.
“We just touched down in Miami at Executive Airport. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to make a stop at the office before we head to the house.
” Ideally, I would’ve had time to take him to the house first, let him decompress for an hour or two, but nothing today had gone as planned.
“Oh, um, yeah. That’s fine.” He glanced out the window as Judas taxied us to the apron.
I felt every year I’d missed of his life. “Full disclosure?”
He looked back at me.
Fate, genetics, life—they all fucked with me. With the same tactic I’d employed countless times, he didn’t answer my question, nor did his facial expression change. It was like looking in a mirror. “I want to introduce you to my core team.”
“Oh.”
“You’ve met Judas. There are six others.” I’d explain Alpha, Talerco, and Christensen when we got there.
“You, um, do all that stuff on the website with only seven…?”
“Operators,” I filled in. “And technically, Paragon Operations has more former Special Operations Forces under our employ, but these are the men I deal with directly.” The ones I trusted with my life.
The engines shut down, and Judas stepped out of the cockpit. “Refuel tonight?”
“Are you flying back out this evening?” After we’d taken off, I’d read Judas in on tonight’s meet at the new HQ.
“No.”
I glanced at my watch and stood. “It can wait until tomorrow.”
“Roger that.” Judas opened the main cabin door, and Miami humidity filtered in.
I looked back at Lincoln. “Ready?”
Still in his seat, he glanced from the lav to his backpack. “Um, I was thinking I should call Gram?” He looked up at me. “To, you know, let her know? Where I am?”
I was an asshole. “Of course.” I hated the woman, but she was all he’d had when his mother died. “I’ll step out.”
“Um, you don’t have to.”
“Okay.” I was missing something.
Lincoln glanced toward Judas.
I pulled the Denali’s key fob out of my pocket and handed it to Judas. “Start the vehicle. We’ll be right out.”
“Copy.” Judas disappeared down the airstairs.
I sat back down. “You can use your new cell phone to call her anytime. It’s safe.”
“The Marshals?” he asked nervously.
“The situation’s handled. We’re safe. We’re here now.” I didn’t only mean Miami. “Understand?”
He nodded, but he didn’t look at me.
I reminded myself that I wasn’t only an operator, I was a father, and in this moment, I needed to be more the latter than the former. “Would you like to talk about it? We can discuss any part of today if you need or want to.”
Taking one of his deep breaths, he shook his head. “No, thanks.” He took his cell from his backpack, but then held it a beat, gaze still downcast.
Unable to see his expression but reading the stress in his body language, I wanted to slay the cruel fucking world that’d put my son through hell, then lay the carnage at his feet. But it wouldn’t bring his mother back, and I’d be in that carnage.
Instead, with a patience I didn’t have, a heavy dose of powerlessness, and a silent vow to be everything this fifteen-year-old needed, I waited.
Another deep inhale, and he looked up. “I don’t know Gram’s phone number. I’ve never called her.”
Ah. “I have it.” Grabbing my cell, I pulled up my background on the old woman. “Ready?”
He swiped a few times across the phone. “Okay.”
I recited the number.
He tapped on the cell, but then glanced up before placing the call. “Can I, um, put it on speaker? Gram is sort of… a lot.”
I gripped his shoulder. “Of course. Do you want me to speak to her?”
“No, I got it, just….” He dropped his gaze again, and his voice quieted. “You know.”
I did. I’d met the woman. “I do.”
Nodding, he placed the call.
Five rings later, her antagonistic voice came through the line. “Hello?”
“Ah, hi, Gram. It’s me.” He glanced up and met my gaze. “Lincoln?”
“I know who this is. What do you want, boy? Don’t tell me you had enough of your father already. It ain’t even been a day.”
Tension hit my son’s posture, and it took every ounce of training I had not to lay into the woman.
But my son held his own. “No, I didn’t call to say that, Gram. I just wanted to tell you where I was and give you my new number.”
I quickly typed a note on my cell and held it up.
No location. Number only.
Lincoln nodded.
The old woman dished out more of her shit. “I know you’re with him, and I don’t use this phone unless I have to. What are you calling me for?”
I swiped to contacts and showed him his new number that was programmed into my cell.
He nodded again. Then, with more confidence than I’d seen from him all day, he didn’t play into the woman’s negative narrative. “Get a pen, Gram. You’ll need to write this number down.”
There was an audible sigh, then the sound of the phone being dropped. A few seconds later, she spoke. “Fine. I got a pen. What’s the number?”
Lincoln recited it. Then, in the face of adversity, my son made me proud. “If you need anything, call me.”
“I ain’t needed anyone my whole life, boy. What makes you think that’s gonna change now?”
Lincoln’s hand went to the back of his neck, but his resolve and calm tone held. “Good night, Gram.”
The old woman paused. Then her voice softened a fraction. “Good night, boy.”
He ended the call and shoved the cell into his backpack before shouldering it. Then my son stood and looked me in the eye. “I’m ready to go.”