Читать книгу A Soldier's Honour - Regan Black - Страница 12

Bethany Trent pulled into her driveway and checked the clock on the dashboard. Her son, Caleb, still had thirty minutes of soccer practice. She’d arranged for him to have a ride home so she could swing by the grocery store and get a head start on dinner. Overhead, tall white clouds puffed slowly across the rich blue of the October sky, and she paused to appreciate the view as she unloaded the car. This was her favorite time of year, with the heat of summer gone and winter still weeks away.

If she hustled, she could get chocolate chip cookies—his favorite—into the oven before he made it home. Motherhood had taught her that teenage boys were easier to manage and more prone to chatter over food, particularly when their mouths were full. She figured the two of them had earned hazard pay for surviving his angst-ridden year of thirteen, and she was grateful that the sharpest of those edges had smoothed out over the past year.

As was the habit of children, change was inevitable. With Caleb, the changes and growth spurts often happened before she was ready. With his fifteenth birthday just over a month away, he’d started pushing back and, in some instances, shutting her out. His grades were still good, and he hung out with the same friends, but something had shifted. A girl, maybe? She didn’t know because so far she hadn’t found the key to open him up.

While putting away the groceries and gathering the ingredients for the cookies, she let her mind wander through the various approaches. She understood the logic and timing as Caleb asserted his independence. She’d been a teenager herself and recalled that internal tug-of-war between wanting to be autonomous within the steady framework and safety net of her wonderful parents.

She set out the butter to soften, preheated the oven and stirred dry ingredients. Cookies would never make up for the fact that Caleb was still one parental unit short. The pang of guilt she hadn’t felt in years prickled under her skin. As a single mom, she’d counted herself blessed with Caleb from day one. He was an amazing kid, who was growing toward a remarkable adulthood. He was a wonderful teenager, who had never met his father.

Beating the butter and sugar, and then adding the eggs, she coached herself a bit. It wasn’t as if she’d hidden everything from him, only the name. Through the years, when he’d ask, she’d assured Caleb his father was an upstanding man, who was committed to his Military career. She’d told him over and over that his father cared and provided for him; he just had to do it from a distance.

Caleb had never demanded to learn his father’s identity. He’d never thrown a fit, insisted on a meeting or raged at her about the situation. All things she’d heard other mothers cope with, usually in the case of divorce. Yes, she had an amazing kid.

Still, as she finished mixing the cookie dough, the scent of chocolate wafting up as she stirred in the chocolate chips, she worried. If having a father-in-absentia was the source of his recent withdrawal and curt moments, what would be the best next step?

She cut short the litany of “what-if” scenarios that crowded her mind. Caleb had given her no signals of the precise trouble weighing on him. Jumping to conclusions wouldn’t help either one of them. Please let it be girl trouble, she thought.

Well, the cookies were her strategy for today, and with luck, they would soften him up. Dropping the dough on baking sheets, she reminded herself she’d been strong enough for everything else, from giving birth to teething to sitting through the Alien movies while he recuperated from wrist surgery. She slid the first dozen cookies into the oven and set the timer. Telling Caleb the whole truth about his father was likely to expose her to a world of hurt, but she’d do it.

She’d do anything to ensure her son continued to feel safe, valued and loved. Maybe rather than aching over the past, explaining the circumstances and their choices would grant her a sense of relief and closure. And maybe pigs would sprout wings and put on an aerial display in that pretty afternoon sky.

The oven timer went off at the same moment the security system chimed and announced that the front door was open. She’d count that perfect timing as a good sign.

“I’m home,” Caleb called out as the door closed with a thud.

“Kitchen,” she replied, pulling the finished cookies from the oven and sliding the next baking sheet inside.

She turned as he walked in, his backpack slung over one shoulder, cleats dangling by their laces. There were grass stains on his knees, the side of his shorts and one shoulder of his T-shirt. The ripeness of his practice gear almost overpowered the aroma of freshly baked cookies. With his hair mussed and damp with sweat, he took a deep breath and a smile bloomed across his face. The one dimple, inherited from his father, creased his cheek. Here was her heart, her whole world. Today, her normal influx of love and pride was overshadowed by the lingering remorse that she’d kept Caleb to herself all these years.

No. She would not presume to know the trouble. She’d wait for him to confide in her. And she would answer his questions honestly and completely—if he asked. The answer to “why” had been rattling around in her head since the beginning: leaving his father out of the equation had been the best decision for everyone at the time. At twenty, they’d both been too young, with too much on the line to try to build a life together. It would have been a disaster.

Every year around this time, she debated broaching the topic first and asking Caleb if he wanted to extend an invitation for his father to become involved in his life. Every year, she managed to pull back before she blurted out the words and changed everything.

The idea of sharing her son wasn’t the problem. It was the potential for a disastrous fallout that scared her. Opening herself to those old emotions made her feel vulnerable in ways she’d never learned to overcome. She and Caleb were a family of two, a team where the dynamics were clear. For years, she’d chosen to give Caleb that familiar stability over the unsettling unknowns of a father on a high-profile Military career path.

After dropping the mail on the counter for her, he kept going toward the laundry room, where he dumped his cleats and backpack and stripped off his sweaty socks and shin guards. “How much longer on the cookies?” he asked.

She checked the oven timer. “Give this first dozen another minute before I take them off the cookie sheet. Then they’re fair game.” She plucked a spatula from the utensil carousel on the counter. “Did you have a good day?”

“Pretty much.” He shrugged and eyed the bowl of raw cookie dough.

“Don’t.” Bethany laughed. “I saved you the beater. It’s in the fridge.”

“Sweet!” He lunged for the refrigerator and pulled out the treat.

She pounced on his good mood and stole a hug before he could protest or dodge. Leaning away, she fanned her face. “Whew! Finish that and go grab a shower. You stink.”

“You always say that’s the smell of hard work,” he joked around a mouthful of cookie dough. He hooked a finger around the beater, dragging another chunk of dough into his mouth.

“It is when the smell isn’t a foggy stench in the kitchen. Go.” She wrinkled her nose. “I’ll try not to eat all the cookies before you get back.”

He dropped the beater into the sink with a clatter and dashed off, his feet pounding on the stair treads. Hopefully the promise of hot cookies would encourage him to keep the shower brief.

She flipped through the mail, part of her mind sifting through dinner choices to go with the cookies. The timer went off and she swapped out cookie sheets again. Returning to the mail, she’d decided on spaghetti for the speed and ease, as well as the sheer volume, when her hands landed on an envelope with an official government agency seal in the return address corner.

Seriously? Alone, she let loose an aggravated groan. As a contracts officer for the federal government, she’d heard about the breach of Military personnel records. Last week, it was all anyone could talk about at the office. Since she and most of her coworkers had security clearances at one level or another, they were aware their information had likely been compromised, as well.

This must be the formal confirmation that her information had been part of the breach. Good thing she’d taken precautions against personal identity theft years ago. Resigned, she opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper. Not an official notice at all, despite the proper agency letterhead. The two handwritten lines in the center of the page offered up a message far more sinister.

Your bank records don’t match your income.

Your secret will soon be common knowledge.

Blood rushed through her head, making her feel hot and cold simultaneously. She slumped to a counter stool, the single paper fluttering in her unsteady hands as she tried to bring her racing thoughts into logical order. She only had one secret and Caleb deserved to hear it from her, not some sneaky outsider with a gift for breaking through firewalls.

Addressing a threat like this was outside the scope of any standard identity-theft service. Clearly someone had discovered the banking discrepancy, courtesy of the support Caleb’s father sent her each month, but who would bother to look for something so benign in the first place?

She reached for her phone and snatched her hand back. Through the years, he’d practically begged her to call. Anytime, and for any need, his early letters and voice mails had vowed he’d be there for her and Caleb.

Did the two lines on the letterhead really warrant this phone call? Better to ask her attorney to reach out to him through the security office, except that wasn’t her primary concern.

Keeping her hands busy with the last of the baked cookies and then the dishes, she forced herself to think before calling anyone. First and foremost were Caleb’s rights and feelings. The people in charge of her clearance status already knew what the author of the note threatened to expose. Although the extra money might appear questionable to an outsider at first glance, an inquiry would quickly prove that everything was above board.

As a single mom with a daily routine leaning dangerously close to boring, she was hardly scandalous headline material. Good grief, her last promising date had been at least six months ago. None of the contracts currently on her desk were particularly sensitive. No one with any authority would care about her financial life or the private support agreement.

Why would anyone put in the effort to try to frighten her this way?

She dried the mixing bowl and measuring cups, stacked the cooling cookie sheets for Caleb to finish when they were done with dinner, the question stewing. Personally, her concerns revolved around how the news would impact Caleb and their extended family. Temper was a given, she’d known that deep in her heart for years. Her son would likely hate her for keeping the truth from him this long. Once he had the facts, she would be facing the very real possibility that Caleb would think the grass looked greener on his father’s side of the fence. And he was old enough now to speak for himself if his father—or his father’s family—pushed for custody rights.

Bethany scrubbed at her cheeks, wiping away a tear as it slid down her cheek. She would not let her mind run so far ahead and tumble off that particular cliff. She would think, assess and be logical about the next steps.

Officially, she supposed it was possible that this threat posed a real problem for Caleb’s father, putting a dent in that stellar career he had going. Yes, she would have to make the call.

Hearing the water shut off upstairs, she sighed.

It was time to tell Caleb everything about his dad and that side of his family. She couldn’t let him hear it from anyone else. Better if she and his father could do that together.

As she heard him moving around upstairs, she thought maybe the phone call to Caleb’s father would be a cakewalk compared to the challenge of hanging on to her son’s trust in the aftermath.

It was just past eleven when Major Matthew Riley and his boss, Major General James Knudson, walked out of the sports bar to meet the general’s driver waiting in the parking area. Shortly after setting up shop in the Pentagon, the general decided that the Monday-night football game would be a good weekly morale builder for his staff.

Arranging the event was Matt’s first official task as the general’s adjutant. It fell to him to locate a bar willing to accommodate their group and convince the staff members they’d enjoy it. Several weeks into the season, the effort seemed to be working. No one grumbled about the outing and a few spouses had started showing up as well, with the general’s encouragement, since no professional talk was allowed.

From all walks of life, everyone in the office had a different home team and creative methods of disparaging that team’s rivals. The inevitable jokes and teasing had given them common ground and sparked lively conversation and debate. It was the first of many excellent lessons in management and leadership Matt was filing away for the days when he assumed command of an Army battalion.

“I always feel a little guilty when I root against the local team,” the general said. Barrel-chested, with a long, confident stride, he stood a couple inches taller than Matt, who was six-one. His gaze continuously scanned his surroundings, proof that lessons learned in combat didn’t fade easily.

“Isn’t the phrase ‘When in Rome’?” The night had turned crisp while they’d been inside the bar, and Matt turned up his collar against the chilly breeze, and then tucked his hands into his pockets.

“It is,” Knudson replied. “You know, the Army has sent me all over the world, and I’m still the little kid from the West Coast who wants to stand up and do a wacky touchdown dance when my team comes through.”

“Wouldn’t mind seeing that,” Matt joked.

Knudson gave him an assessing glance. “You’d plaster that all over the internet.”

“No, sir,” Matt said, earnestly. “I’d only send it out as an internal memo.”

The general’s booming laughter carried through the clear night as they approached his car. “Need a lift home?” His driver hopped out of the front seat and opened the door for him.

“No, thank you, sir.” Matt pulled out his cell phone. “The app says my ride is only a few minutes out.” His one complaint with his Washington, DC, assignment was leaving his treasured, newly restored 1967 Camaro in a parking garage six days out of seven and letting someone else do most of the driving.

“Tired of my company already?”

Squealing tires interrupted Matt’s reply and headlights momentarily blinded him as a car barreled toward them, narrowly missing parked cars. Matt and the general came to alert and the driver moved into a protective position.

Matt shoved the general into his car through the open rear door, cutting off Knudson’s bellowed protest. “Stay low!” He barked the order at his superior officer and closed the door.

Huddled behind the protection of the car with the driver, Matt told him to call the police.

“On it,” the driver replied.

“Good.” Matt reached for his sidearm before he remembered they weren’t armed and this wasn’t a war zone. He didn’t have enough information to decide if that was good or bad news. The car had screamed past them, but was turning up the next closest aisle. Matt popped up long enough to confirm an escape route and hopefully get a license plate number.

An object hurtled through the air, forcing him to duck. He swore. The police would need more than the make and model of the dark sedan to track down this idiot. Black or dark blue cars with four doors were far too prevalent in this area. The erratic driver might as well be invisible.

A loud crack sounded when the object the driver had thrown hit the windshield of the general’s car before bouncing to the pavement near Matt. “What the hell?”

Tires screeched again and Matt peeked over the top of the trunk just enough to glimpse the sedan speeding away, taking the most direct route to the main street that looped around the hub of restaurants and stores. Thankfully sirens were close.

“Should I stay or go?” the driver asked.

“I’d feel better if you waited for an escort back to the general’s house.”

With a nod, the driver scrambled into the car and started the engine. He must have told the general the threat was over, because the back door flew open, nearly clipping Matt’s knees. Knudson lunged from the car. “What was that, Riley?”

“I’m not sure, sir.” He held out the object that had been thrown.

It was a baseball with a note scrawled on the side.

You will pay.

The ball wasn’t new. Grubby and battered, with several stitches popped, it looked as if it had been through as many campaigns as the general. Matt wasn’t an investigator, but he didn’t think this would give the authorities much to go on.

Emergency lights spilled over the pavement, glaring off the nearby cars while Matt, General Knudson and the general’s driver relayed every detail they could recall about the incident to the responding officers from both the Alexandria, Virginia Police Department and the Metropolitan Police from Washington, DC, who turned out after hearing who had been attacked.

The team from Alexandria sealed the baseball into an evidence bag and labeled it. Based on their grim expressions, it seemed they weren’t confident an old baseball thrown by an unseen assailant in a nondescript car was much to work with either.

“Drunk driver maybe?” One officer wondered aloud.

“Doubtful,” Matt said. “He didn’t clip a single car as he raced up and down the lanes. His reaction time on the corners was spot-on.”

The officer took detailed notes and gathered both work and personal contact information for each of them before letting them go. Matt exchanged business cards with the officers as well. Watching the general’s car drive off, he was pleased to see two metro police cars providing an escort.

Checking the app on his cell phone, he saw the ride he’d called for had waited five minutes at the pick-up point and left. On a sigh, Matt paid the nominal fee for missing his ride and walked back to the bar to call a cab, his mind recycling the incident and reviewing it from every angle.

The attack in the parking lot seemed like an over-the-top effort to break a windshield when such a bland, three-word message could have been sent anonymously by mail, phone, email or even as a text message. The ball could have been thrown with more accuracy and equal impact by someone standing a few yards away. The baseball had to be significant. He’d mention it to Knudson tomorrow.

When the cab dropped him at his building, he was weary and more than a little grateful the Tuesday briefings were always scheduled an hour later in deference to their Monday-night schedule. Accommodating Knudson’s request, he sent a text message that he’d arrived safely.

He took the elevator up to his floor and walked into his dark condo, facing another wave of what might have been. The sensation struck him whenever he took on a new stateside assignment. Though he’d been here almost three months, the persistent melancholy lingered. Working a more nine-to-five role in a vibrant city full of parks, museums and monuments only emphasized what he was missing most: family to unwind with at the end of the day.

It was easier to forget what he didn’t have—what he’d chosen not to pursue—when he lived and worked on Army bases or when he was deployed. Not that he didn’t encounter plenty of families on Military installations; it was just more obvious in civilian surroundings.

A Military brat and proud of it, Matt felt more at ease within the necessary structure of an Army post. He flipped through the mail he’d dropped on his counter when he’d come home after work to change for the game, and then he tore open the envelope with the formal letter about the recent cyber-security attack on Military personnel records and swore. He’d known it was coming, but in his mind the successful breach remained a black mark against the world’s finest Military.

After opening the envelope, he read the precise statement on the first page. The dispassionate phrases were laced with legalese carefully worded to avoid any true claim of responsibility or liability, while promising to track down the culprits.

“Good luck with that,” Matt murmured.

The second page offered instructions on how to register with the selected identity-protection monitoring service.

He laughed. Were people really supposed to trust a recently hacked department to make the right choice on protective measures? The idea seemed counterintuitive to him. Matt wasn’t sure it made much difference these days. Personal information, from social security numbers to credit cards, seemed to be at risk every day, and clearly this incident proved no system was foolproof.

That didn’t make it any easier for Matt to accept. The men and women in uniform should be able to expect that their service records and their personal details, as well as the details of their dependents, were protected.

The only personal risk he could foresee with the breach was that someone other than his attorney and the security-clearance investigators might learn there was a woman out there raising his child. A child he’d never seen. He sent her money each month, had done so from the very beginning, not that she’d shown much enthusiasm for even that minimal involvement from him.

For some ridiculous reason, Bethany’s mile-wide streak of independence put a bright spot in his weary mood. He’d always admired her independence until she used it as both a reason and an excuse to keep him from his son.

He couldn’t see the son he’d never met or publicly acknowledged as being of much interest to whoever breached the personnel information office. Anyone bidding on the data would be eager to cash in on the fast, easy targets of credit cards and social security numbers to recycle and resell.

Matt tucked the letter into the folder with the other bills and business he would deal with tomorrow. Pushing a hand over his short hair, he walked back to the bedroom, too tired to appreciate his sparkling nighttime view of the marina nestled along the Washington Channel.

He made mental notes along the way. He’d call his lawyer first thing in the morning, just in case someone followed the money he sent to Bethany each month. Broadcasting the information wouldn’t be much risk for blackmail or any other unsavory action, but it was better to be prepared. His arrangement with Bethany was legal and only the people who needed to know, knew. If the news got out, it might be uncomfortable for both of them for a time, but it wouldn’t be devastating.

Unless the information wound up on one of those notorious leaks pages and his mother heard about it there before he had a chance to tell her. Matt swore.

His first call should be to his mom. She didn’t deserve to hear she had a grandchild from a hacker leak. That was the kind of error that could get him benched for the next few Riley-family flag football scrimmages. Again, not the end of the world, but not something his siblings would let him live down.

He unbuttoned his shirt and tossed it into the laundry hamper, and then toed off his shoes. He flopped back on the bed and just stared at the ceiling for a few minutes. It was too late to call his mom tonight and he should probably give Bethany a warning call first, in case his mother insisted on learning more about the grandson Matt had kept hidden from her.

Briefly, he entertained the idea of riding it out. Wait and hope to maintain the status quo or come clean and hurt the people he loved most? The odds were in his favor that news of their son wouldn’t come out at all.

Too bad he couldn’t be sure if that was denial, logic or wishful thinking.

Troubled and restless, Matt went back to the kitchen and poured a glass of cold water. As he leaned back on the counter, he drank it down and set the glass aside. He should call his dad and tell him about Bethany and Caleb. His dad’s wisdom and calm insight had been the underpinning throughout his life. Maybe his dad would dredge up a little pity for his oldest son and help him break the news to Matt’s mom and help him find the words to explain that she couldn’t contact the kid.

Now that was wishful thinking.

General Benjamin Riley, US Army, retired, believed choices and actions had consequences, good and bad. When Ben found the love of his life, Patricia, he’d married her, and together they’d raised their five children into adulthood with that core principle as a cornerstone of character. Life as the family of a career officer had been more than strict rules and high expectations. There had been plenty of love, laughter, bickering and tears to round things out.

Despite that vast, wonderful, messy experience to draw from, he’d never been able to convince Bethany to give them a chance to grow as a family. That was the piece of this puzzle that would disappoint his father.

When he stopped to think about it, the security breach was less daunting than the Riley family consequences of keeping such a big secret for the better part of fifteen years. Recently his mother had been dropping hints as subtle as carpet bombs about the potential delights of becoming a grandmother. She would be furious when she discovered he’d been holding out on her.

After loading his empty glass into the dishwasher, he headed back to bed. He supposed it was too much to hope that one of his four siblings was ready to confess a character flaw as significant as a child floating around in the periphery of their lives.

He was being an idiot, he decided, waffling and overthinking the ramifications. The situation—the secret—would have to change in light of the security breach. Since Bethany had sent the first picture and their son’s birth stats to the JAG office almost fifteen years ago, he’d known this day would come. It was really a miracle it had taken this long.

This had to come out, and better if they got ahead of it. First they needed to give Caleb the full, big picture of his family tree. He pressed his hands to his eyes as the first step kept shifting on him. Figuring this out was like walking across loose sand. One footprint changed both the previous and subsequent steps. Regardless, Caleb came first. After that, he and Bethany could figure out how he and his parents could be woven into Caleb’s life.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to sort out what was relief and what was more stress. Countless times through the years, Matt had been tempted to unload this burden on one of his siblings or a good friend. Somehow he’d always managed to keep his mouth shut. According to Bethany’s updates, Caleb was pretty awesome and growing more so every year. The way things stood, Matt couldn’t share school pictures or sports heroics with anyone other than the JAG office.

No, his family and friends wouldn’t be happy he’d lied by omission, but they would come around. “They will come around.” Matt stated the affirmation to the empty condo.

He had his phone in hand and had started to dial before he remembered what time it was and dropped it back on the nightstand. Bethany had been a night owl once. Most likely a career and a kid had revised those habits. He missed that quirk and so much more. The bone-deep longing for her and his son seemed to be the one wound time couldn’t heal.

He stripped off his jeans and socks and tossed them into the hamper and crawled into bed. As he set his alarm for the morning, his cell phone vibrated and rang with an incoming call. Matt gawked at Bethany’s smiling face filling the display. He’d pulled the picture from a post on social media. Maybe she was still a night owl after all. “Hello?”

“We have a problem.” The abrupt statement aside, Bethany’s voice was like silk brushing over his skin. He wanted to wallow in it.

“Yeah, the security breach is inconvenient,” he began, pulling himself together. “But it’s not the end of the world. The odds are a million-to-one they’ll connect the two of us. We have some time to develop a strategy.”

“It’s already happened,” she said, her voice flat.

“What?” He couldn’t have heard her correctly. “What do you mean?”

“I received a creepy, handwritten threat today on official letterhead.”

Those two things didn’t mesh. “I’m not following,” Matt said.

Her soft sigh came over the phone, reminding him of the stolen moments they’d shared when they were younger. Moments that eventually became a wedge between them when she wound up pregnant.

How many times had he dreamed about convincing her to marry him? He hadn’t expected it to be a smooth road, but he’d been willing to navigate every pothole and speed bump with her. With her soft breath in his ear, he could imagine them in this bed right now, together, doing something far more fun than talking about a security breach.

“Matt? Are you there?”

“Yeah.” He sat up and pinched the bridge of his nose. Focus on the reality. “What kind of creepy threat?”

“Instead of the letter I expected about the security breach, this is handwritten. Two lines. The gist is someone has done the math and decided I’m banking more than I make. The threat is that my secret will become common knowledge.”

“On the agency letterhead?” That was as strange as sending a threat via baseball. “Weird.”

“Yes,” she agreed.

He could tell she expected him to say something more profound. “Legally, you’re good.”

“I know that,” she said. “I’m not worried about the job or the clearance—I’m worried about Caleb.” She paused and he could so easily picture her teeth nipping into her full bottom lip. “I’m worried about your mom.”

“That makes two of us,” he admitted.

“You’ve never told her?” Bethany asked.

Was she joking? “If I had, you would’ve known.”

“True enough,” she said.

His parents had a reputation for their unflagging emphasis on maintaining family and balance within the Military framework. “I got my breach letter today, too. Mine was standard issue,” he added. “I figured I’d make time to speak to my parents tomorrow. After I spoke with you. I didn’t feel right saying anything until we talked.”

“Thanks.”

“I would’ve called sooner, except I just got home about an hour ago and thought you’d be happier if I called in the morning.”

“Oh.” The single syllable stretched out. “I couldn’t sleep and just wanted to make a plan,” she said briskly. “I’d like to tell Caleb before you tell anyone else.”

Was she asking for his permission or advice on breaking this news to their son? “Of course. How is he doing?” The last real-time conversation they’d had about Caleb was over three years ago, when he’d broken his wrist during a soccer game. Otherwise, she kept things vague, only sending Matt his school picture and occasional noteworthy updates about his grades or sporting successes.

Those small glimpses of Caleb had never been enough for him, yet he respected her wishes, her rules, because she’d given up everything to protect his place at West Point and, subsequently, his Army career. Time and again, he capitulated to the limits she set, because anything else made him feel grasping and whiny.

“He’s great,” she was saying. “I just don’t want him hearing this from anyone else. I’m not entirely sure how he’ll react,” she added.

“Has something changed?” The worry in her words felt like a knife twisting in his gut. This was only the second time he’d heard anything less than full confidence out of her. The first was when she’d been debating how best to be a mom and fulfill her career goals. “What’s going on with him?”

“Nothing,” she said a little too quickly. “Nothing’s changed. It’s still soccer and school, school and soccer. He’s a teenager, that’s all.”

Matt opened his mouth to push her, to make demands, but bit back the hard words. Instead he changed the subject. “Is he driving yet?” The query was a transparent attempt to learn if there was anything of him in his son.

“He’s studying for his learner’s permit. We’ll take care of that next week, while he’s on fall break.”

Matt remembered how excited he’d been for that same day as a kid. “Has he had any experience behind the wheel?” he asked, wondering if Caleb would have any interest or appreciation for the restored Camaro. Assuming they met.

“My dad has let him drive the four-wheeler on camping trips, and he’s let him drive the tractor on their property. I’m told he’s still pretty rough on the manual transmission, but he’s improving.”

“That’s good. It takes time,” he said. “You have enough set aside to buy him a car? I can send more money—”

“When that time comes, we’ll talk about it,” she said in a stern voice that bore a striking resemblance to Patricia Riley’s mom voice. “It’s still a good year or more away.”

He’d always believed the two women would get along well. They’d met once during a family day at West Point and seemed to hit it off, though his mom hadn’t known how vital Bethany was to him at the time. If she hadn’t forced him to keep Caleb a secret...well, now Matt had no idea what his mom might say or do when they met again.

And they would meet. Once Patricia learned about Caleb, she would be adamant about welcoming him into the Riley clan.

“Look, Matt, I called to make you aware of the creep-factor in this note,” she said. “I’ll report it to the security team at my office tomorrow.”

“Good.”

“Matt, I’d like you to be here.”

“At your office?” He held the phone back from his face as if that would clear up his confusion. “Huh?”

“When I tell Caleb, I would like you to be here with me. Us.”

His hand tightened around the phone. “You mean it?”

“Yes. I think it will help him understand if we’re telling him together. Help him feel valued and that we’ve always wanted what was best for him.”

He was going to meet his son. His heart hammered against his ribs. “Sure.” He had to find some real words. After all these years of wishing and wondering, he’d get to look his kid in the eyes, maybe even hug him or shake his hand. “Tell me when and where,” he managed at last. Too many emotions were warring for dominance. “I’ll be there.”

“Here, please. He’ll be home from practice around six and we could eat at seven.”

Matt was already doing the mental juggling over the drive time from Washington to her place in New Jersey, calculating how early he might need to leave work. He’d speak to General Knudson first thing in the morning, but there was no way he was missing that invitation.

“Once Caleb knows, you’ll be okay with me telling my parents?” he asked.

“I have to be, don’t I?”

He would have preferred the catalyst for meeting his son wasn’t her feeling cornered by some vague threat in a letter. Bethany didn’t have enemies, not like General Knudson or even his dad had. In careers as long and storied as theirs, enemies of several varieties began to stack up, from disgruntled soldiers to politicians, both local and abroad. He sighed. He could hear the conflict and misery in her voice. As much as he hated to give her a pass on this, he felt obligated.

“I can’t think of any reason anyone would target the three of us,” he said. “If you’d like to ride it out, we can. Whoever sent that threat will know soon enough there’s nothing to be gained. If you want to wait a bit before we have these conversations, I will respect that.”

“No.” Her voice was calm and steady, if not delighted by the prospect of tomorrow’s family dinner. “I’ve put this off long enough. I won’t risk him learning about this from another source.”

“All right.” Once more, he gave her full control, let her dictate how this played out. “I’ll be there at seven.”

“Thanks, Matt.”

“Thanks for the invitation.” She could have handled this mess alone and told Matt after it was done. She’d made it clear through the years that she could manage this parenting gig on her own.

He thought he heard a sniffle, but when she spoke, her voice was steady, if quiet. “I know this will change everything,” she began. “I only ask that it doesn’t change everything immediately. Caleb will need time to process this.”

“I understand.” She was warning him away from any abrupt changes over their custody agreement. “I’ve only ever wanted you and Caleb to be safe and happy.”

“Thanks for that,” she said, ending the call.

Matt held the phone to his chest. When he closed his eyes and thought of her, he still saw the athletic young woman he’d met when they were new cadets at West Point. Her big brown eyes had been full of nerves and excitement and eagerness for the challenges ahead. Like every cadet before him, he’d entered West Point with nothing more than his career on his mind.

Bethany had changed that. Success took on more meaning than simple pride in doing a job well for the sake of reaching his goals. She made him want to set and accomplish goals for the good of the team. Meeting her had made him a better person and student from that first day forward, though it hadn’t yet made him good enough for her to keep.

Matt reached up and turned out the light, but he couldn’t sleep. His mind flipped back and forth between the baseball lobbed at General Knudson and the creepy letter sent to Bethany. For both of them to get direct threats in the same twenty-four hour period made him question the motive behind the breach of the personnel records and who was buying the information.

Who would gain from exerting that kind of pressure? And how many other Military personnel and families were suddenly feeling exposed and vulnerable tonight?

He read the reports as they came in with cautious optimism and rising confidence. His first warnings had been successfully delivered. Shots over the bow, so to speak, and now he waited to watch their response.

He imagined them scrambling, racing about in circles and jumping at shadows. They would chase the leads he gave them all the way to inevitable dead ends, only to start over on another path of his choosing. Having the world’s best Army dancing to his tune was an excellent feeling.

His plans were finally coming together. Years in the making, he found a delicious irony in using the security breach to his advantage. His team had been handpicked and painstakingly groomed to the tasks ahead. He’d deliberately given them a cause they could understand and support as he moved both key players and pawns into place for his ultimate revenge.

His charisma was a skill his superiors had consistently undervalued. The pompous fools had been unwilling to blur their clear vision and mission parameters to improve the overall morale in a way that would practically guarantee success on any field of battle.

Their loss.

The skills they didn’t value, he would now use to wreak havoc at both the individual and institutional levels. This was going to be phenomenal fun, as well as a just reward for everything they’d taken from him.

He swiveled his chair away from his desk until he could gaze out at the gathering night through the floor-to-ceiling window. At this end of the compound, there wasn’t another person for miles. Not another soul from here to the horizon. He’d earned the solitude, worked alongside the others to carve this quiet, impenetrable place out of the desert.

Now it was merely a matter of time before his first target came out into the open.

Once he had Matt Riley centered in the crosshairs, the first shot in this war would be fired, with brutal, irrevocable accuracy.