SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) (14 page)

C
orrigan got the
call from Tariq and waited impatiently for him to arrive with the results of his inquiry.

“How are you doing, sir?” Tariq said with his usual controlled demeanor.

“I’m doing so well they’re letting me go home tomorrow.”

“Very well, sir. That is indeed good news.” He sat, opened up his briefcase, took out a letter and handed it to Raymond. The envelope had a blue and green logo in the upper left corner from a testing facility in Los Angeles.

Raymond spread the letter over his lap and retrieved his glasses.

Results of Paternity Testing
he read. There were two line items identified by a number as Sample 1 and Sample 2.

For purposes of the DNA testing, there was inadequate material to determine paternity.
He continued reading a few lines of values, several of them circled. At the bottom of the small paragraph he saw the following number:

99.999% subject A cannot be excluded.

Raymond took off his glasses and stared down at the piece of paper that was the evidence of something he’d been thinking about every day for twenty-six years. He looked up at Tariq, whose cold eyes held neither compassion nor joy.

“So we still don’t know if Rory
is
my son.”

“I’m sorry it isn’t better news. You were hoping?”

“I still think he is. Too many coincidences.”

“Sir, I’ve paid an extra fee to have the samples stored cryogenically for ten years. At the bottom of the letter, you can access a reference number, should you need it. They are upgrading their testing all the time, requiring smaller and smaller amounts of DNA. Perhaps in the future they will—”

“No, we’ll have to get the blood test. If he’ll agree.”

“You want I should get this, perhaps a sample from the lab here?”

“That would be theft.”

Tariq returned a smirk. “We’ve done worse.”

“Not to a member of my own family.”

“True.”

Corrigan shook his head to clear his brain. His disappointment was coloring his judgment. “Thank you, Tariq. As usual, you’ve been very thorough. And I thank you for your discretion.”

“Just doing what I was hired to do, sir.” He stood to go.

“I’ll make sure to wire over a little bonus,” Corrigan said.

“I’ve made some changes in my banking arrangements. You could just mail me a check. I no longer am doing wire transfers.”

“What prompted this?”

“Security. Just a precaution. It’s a strange world out there, Mr. Corrigan. I’m just making sure I’m protected.”

His saccharine smile was not right. Raymond saw a small vein in the top of his forehead pop out and his left eye appeared to have a slight tic. The granite that was Tariq’s face almost seemed brittle.

Raymond decided he’d give Tariq some time off.

“Anything else, sir?”

“I thank you. I’ll have Derek mail that check to your office tomorrow. Have a safe flight back to New York.”

“Thank you, sir.” At the doorway, Tariq turned and asked another question. “Sir, does this news—if he is your son, does this change anything for you?”

Corrigan felt his voice break as he tried to whisper, “It changes everything.”

After Tariq left, Raymond stared at the spot his tall messenger had been standing in. He wondered why he had revealed so much to him. He knew what he had to do next.

He rang for his nurse. “I’d like to take a walk, please, before lunch. May I have someone who can help me, and I think I’d like another something for the pain.”

“Right away, Mr. Corrigan.”

The orderly was
patient, helping him carefully into a thick monogrammed robe. He slipped the letter into his pocket.

“You just take it easy there. Go as fast as you can. And you tell me if you are in any pain. Not supposed to be any sharp pain.” The orderly held the walker for him while he put his slippers on and gripped the rolling device.

Corrigan shuffled down the hall to the end and turned. The orderly expected he’d go back the way he’d traveled, but Raymond was on a mission. One room from the corner, just like the doc said, he found Rory’s room.

He’d gotten some nice flowers, several bottles of booze, and a huge green stuffed frog that was easily bigger than a five-year-old. Rory saw him and looked away.

“I’m going in there,” Raymond pointed.

“No, sir, I cannot allow that. Only family is allowed.”

“I
am
family.” Raymond stared at Rory until the SEAL slowly rolled back and met his gaze.

“It’s okay,” Rory said. “Let him come in for a little while.”

“I can’t do that, sir.”

“Go ask your supervisor and give me just five minutes with him,” Raymond said. “Then I’ll go quietly back to my room.”

Raymond sat down with the attendant’s help. “Don’t you go anywhere until I get back,” the attendant said.

Raymond thought Rory looked pretty damned good for one-day post-op. “You look well.”

“I’m okay. So you tell me what all this horseshit is all about.”

Corrigan took out the letter and presented it to his son. “It’s all there.”

Rory read the contents. “Doesn’t make a lick of sense to me.”

“It says there’s not enough DNA to prove you’re my son.”

“How’d you get my records?”

“Water glass. I had it analyzed and compared to my sample. They cannot exclude we are a match, Rory.”

“You asshole. I didn’t give you permission.”

“Would you have?”

“Hell, no.”

“That’s why I did it. Don’t you want to know? After all these years, wouldn’t you want to know you had a father?”

“So where’s my mother, then?”

“Gone. I think she’s gone, son. I looked for the two of you for over five years. I never knew she was pregnant until after you were born. I think she sent me the note telling me I had a son. Could never find her.

“I met a woman once at the orphanage who said she was my aunt. I was about five I think. Not a nice person.”

Raymond explained what he knew. He told Rory what she looked like, what she was like, and how much he’d loved her, and that she’d just vanished from his life. He found it difficult to keep his eyes from watering. He apologized.

“I have some photographs back at my home in New York. I’ll have them sent out to you.”

“Thank you, but let’s wait and get verification first before we start drawing family trees, if you don’t mind.”

“Agreed.”

“I want to ease into this kind of slow. Hope you forgive me if I don’t do the group hug thing. You weren’t a part of my life growing up. Not sure you are now, except you say you are.”

“Fair enough. I understand.” He was grateful Rory was even considering his words.

“This doesn’t change a thing.”

“I say we get some blood testing. I’ll ask the doc. You’d trust the results if they come from him?”

“The answer is still no.”

“Rory, for my sake.”

“I don’t care a shit about your sake. Sort of makes us even
—if
it’s true
.”

“Well, I’m checking out tomorrow. Seems as though they’re less concerned about my ticker now. My bones are starting to heal already, so I’m going home. I’ll have a sample drawn, and have them compare it to yours, when you agree.”

“What part of no don’t you understand?”

“Oh, I understand the word. I just don’t hear it very often.”

“Now you’re threatening me?”

Corrigan knew he was losing the battle. He’d have to regroup and try another time. As he looked at the young SEAL, he just knew the young man was his son. He felt it in his bones. “I’d like to invite you out, show you where I live, get to know you, if you’re agreeable. We can take it slow. As slow as you want.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary.”

“Think about it, Rory. Humor me. I have a lot I can do for you.”

“If I pretend to be your son.”

“Get the blood test. If it says no, you’ll be rid of me.”

“The answer is still no.”

Just as he had promised, the conversation was over in five minutes. They exchanged information, and despite Rory’s reluctance, they agreed to contact each other early the following week.

As Raymond left he realized that Rory didn’t say the one thing he wanted to hear most in the world. Though he called Rory
son
several times during the conversation, Rory never once referred to him as
Dad
.

He hoped he had the time to earn his son’s trust. Then perhaps his love.

‡

B
rady arrived to
help with Rory’s move in the late morning. Rory thought perhaps he’d stop by to see Corrigan, telling himself perhaps he’d been too harsh on the man, but the room was already cleared out, cleaned, and efficiently ready for the next patient. The lab had come to take blood earlier, but he still refused. He’d gone this far without family. No reason to complicate things now.

Brady took custody of the post-op instructions, and he was referred to a good orthopedic doctor at the Naval Medical Center in San Diego. The doctor also asked about the blood testing.

“I’ve turned him down more than three times. Don’t you start on me, Doc.”

The drive to San Diego was uneventful. The big green stuffed frog sat on the center console. They listened to country rock music the whole way. Life was beginning to feel like normal again.

Lindsay was there when he arrived. He was careful, exiting the truck, and walking the short distance to his front door, where she stood. She put her arms around him and together she and Brady helped him into the house.

He was surprisingly on very little pain medication, but his upper leg felt like a huge thick log from lack of exercise. The area around his incision was still swollen and sore. But more importantly, inside, the hip joint itself, did not hurt, and for that he was grateful.

“I bought some things for your kitchen, and threw out some stuff. Hope you don’t mind,” Lindsay said with her nose twisted in a cute wrinkle. “Hope I didn’t dispose of anything you were too attached to.”

He chuckled. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Probably some ancient relic. Even the Kombucha would be too old, I think.”

“I got you some healthy microwave dinners and some fresh salad fixings. Put in our Coronado IPA growler, from the guys,” she rolled her eyes at Brady who shrugged. “And I bought bananas, oranges and apples.”

“God, I’m set.”

“That was the idea. You want some help over here? You want me to call Megan or something? Pretty sure she could help you with some stuff, if you want,” Brady asked.

“No. Not going there just yet. I’m not a cripple, after all.”

“Well, Mr. Tough Guy,” Lindsay stood right in front of him, placing her forearms over his shoulders and bending his ears with her fingers, “I happen to know one little lady who wouldn’t mind a bit. So, don’t be a martyr. Ask for help, and it will be given to you, okay?”

“Point taken.”

She backed away and placed her palms in her back jeans pockets. “Call her, though, okay?”

“Lindsay, I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m not ready for all that. I just want to get well and, except for you guys, I think I need some alone time. Got stuff to sort out. Then we’ll see.”

“Okay.” She shook her head, glared at Brady and grabbed his arm. “Come on, handsome, I’m going to take my frustrations out on you after you buy me a margarita!”

Brady looked like the cat that ate the canary, the cheese-eating grin going from ear to ear. “Yes, ma’am!”

Finally alone, Rory set his cane down and took at a seat at the eating bar. Underneath the ledge was a case he’d installed with a hidden slide containing his Glock. He checked it, making sure it was loaded and hadn’t been tampered with. It was odd he felt the need to handle his gun, but figured it was because he was feeling less than whole as a man.

He’d been staring down at the loaded weapon while thinking about what he would do if he didn’t qualify for the Teams. Searching the list of men he’d known well that were out, he couldn’t find one that was truly happy. He thought Nick, who was going to leave after this rotation, would be. His wife had a stable real estate business in Sonoma County, and they had a winery and gourmet nursery they could run. Nick was that kind of guy. He could tinker with tractors and make things work, like Coop could. Rory wasn’t good at anything else but blowing things up. Killing people.

Staring at the gun was one of the symptoms of PTSD they’d been warned about. He quickly stowed it away, got up and washed his hands, splashing water on his face. He walked to the refrigerator and took out the growler, pouring himself a small juice cup full of the amber liquid. It was gone in one gulp. He went for another and then put everything away, leaving the glass in the sink.

He sat on the living room couch, propping his leg up with one of the throw pillows. He scanned the T.V. More reports were coming in of kidnappings and torture. Part of him was itching to be over there in the fight. Part of him just wanted to get drunk and cause hell. Neither one of those options was very good for him. Hardest of all was the waiting. Just waiting and day-by-day slowly getting better. Moving his leg and developing more strength. Hardest job in the world.