The SEAL's Stolen Child

She refused the sedative the doctor had left and dismissed the nurse. What she needed was privacy—not coddling.

Hugging a bottle of merlot, grateful the staff and her father’s longtime housekeeper, Juanita, were off with family for the holidays, she returned to her father’s room. The coroner had taken her father’s body a while ago and the nurse had changed the bed linens and removed all signs of this having been a makeshift hospital room. Even the sick scents had been sanitized away. Now all that remained of her once strong father was the faint trace of his spicy cologne.

Seated in a wing chair before the dancing fire, Eve poured the wine, but left her glass on the side table, too exhausted to lift it to her mouth.

Eyes closed, she struggled to wrap her mind around his words. Your son isn’t dead. I lied. For best.

“Daddy,” she whispered, “how could you?”

With her father’s cancer, her divorce from Matthew only a year behind her, two miscarriages before that, she was afraid to hope she might truly have a son. For so long her mind had been focused on grief, she was afraid to even hope for light.

Lately, aside from work, it seemed her life had been nothing but a succession of grief-filled episodes. It’d been so long since she’d truly been happy, she feared permanently losing her smile.

But with this news…

She fumbled for her wineglass, taking a fortifying sip.

She’d loved Garrett more than she’d thought it possible to love. The only time she’d ever fought her father was when he’d sent her away. How different would her life be had she stayed? Faced the ridicule of her classmates and no doubt the whole town? How hard could it have been compared to losing Garrett? Their son?

My father. His admission compounded the pain of her most recent loss. Not only was he physically gone from her life, but she wasn’t sure he was the man she’d forever admired. Forget the fact he was her dad—the one person she’d always believed unconditionally had her back. Where was his soul? Who told his own daughter her child died, then justified it by saying it was for the best? When was a lost child ever best?

Eve pressed the heels of her hands to her forehead and struggled to make sense out of a night that’d been sheer chaos.

Abandoning her wine, Eve sought her room—not the nondescript luxury guest room she’d slept in since leaving Matthew the year before, but the space she’d occupied in what felt like another life.

As dusty and disorganized as the place felt in her mind, it came as a shock to find it in pristine condition—as if none of the memorabilia, pictures and uniforms had actually been used, but were merely props for a catalog diorama.

Eve fingered her cheerleading skirt, recalling the thrill of working the crowd at her first varsity game. Of Garrett kissing her after that game. He’d scored his first varsity-team touchdown and she’d rewarded him with what started out to be seven kisses, but ended as so much more. Her gaze skipped to history and chemistry texts that’d never been returned. To snapshots of her friends making faces in the locker room before that long-ago season’s first basketball game. Garrett’s Christmas gift—a giant stuffed alligator—still sporting his big, red bow. Folded love letters that’d been passed during class were in a box she’d decoupaged with magazine clippings she’d found in Coral Ridge High’s blue-and-gold colors.

Having left school in January, she’d never gotten yearbooks for her junior and senior years, but as she perched on the foot of her bed, she flipped through page after page of sophomore memories, chest aching when tracing Garrett’s image on the page they’d shared for being on the homecoming court. Funny how pics of her ex-husband, Matt, only made her angry. Seeing Garrett reminded her how rich and full her life at fifteen had been compared to now.

Two pages were dedicated to the class trip they’d taken to Disney World. Space Mountain had not only terrified her, but given her a wicked case of motion sickness. Garrett hadn’t pressed her to get over it, like some of his jock friends. He’d bought her a Sprite with his precious lawn-mowing money, then held her hand while they’d explored what most of their crowd considered to be the more childish sections of the park. They’d ridden the boats on the “It’s a Small World” ride five times, always laughing and singing along. That day, with Garrett by her side, she’d felt like the luckiest girl alive. Like nothing or no one would ever break them apart.

Throat aching for the many losses she’d suffered, she touched the tip of her finger to the phone number he’d childishly written on the photo sideways up his tie. They’d moved, necessitating the change to his home line. He’d wanted a cell, but his parents refused. How many times had she called? Lying on her pink striped comforter, talking with him until his mom yelled for him to go to bed.

Eyeing the phone on her nightstand, knowing Garrett’s mom still lived in the same house, Eve couldn’t help but wonder if the family number was also the same. If so, who would answer? Dina? What would she say? If Eve asked for Garrett, would his mother pass him the phone?

As badly as she’d earlier wished to be alone, she now craved her old boyfriend’s company—not for any romantic sentiments—all of those were long gone. More to verify she hadn’t been dreaming. That there really was a chance she might be a mother.

On autopilot, she lifted the handset. The low, flat dial tone seemed to fill the room, much the same as her pounding pulse reverberated in her ears.

Chapter Two

Garrett planned to be at Eve’s by sunrise, but his mom talked him into the more reasonable hour of nine. A mistake. In the night, Hal had indeed died. The place now crawled with attorneys and funeral-home suits.

Upon ringing the front doorbell, he’d been greeted by a uniformed maid, then shown to the solarium. “Ms. Barnesworth will be with you shortly.”

“Thanks.”

This had been Eve’s favorite room. Was it still?

Garrett had to admit, it was pretty cool. Outside, it was fifty and raining, yet in here the weather was always in the balmy eighties, smelling of loamy earth and sweet orchids. Beneath the domed glass ceiling resided a tropical rain forest, complete with palm trees, blooming hibiscus and a pair of huge, red lories. He couldn’t believe the birds were still alive. What were their names? Rhett and Scarlett? Brick paths meandered alongside a slow-moving stream. In the massive room’s center were wrought-iron tables surrounding a splashing, three-tiered fountain.

Garrett had a seat, trying to let the soothing surroundings calm his erratic thoughts. What if Hal’s deathbed ramblings were true, and he and Eve did share a son? He was no P.I., and didn’t have a clue how to find a child who no doubt Hal had wanted to remain lost.

“I almost called you.” When Eve appeared, his pulse soared. She wore a figure-skimming black dress and matching pumps. Her long blond hair had been restrained in a fancy updo he didn’t much like. This flawless woman wasn’t the Eve his memory knew. He’d first loved her messy, wearing her red-and-white cheer warm-ups with a crooked ponytail, painting homecoming posters while sitting on the gym floor. A lousy painter, she’d always managed to get more on her and her surroundings than whatever she was supposed to be creating.

“Why didn’t you?”

She shrugged, joining him at the table. “What would we have said? All of this seems easier handled in person.”

“Probably true.”

Hands clasped, she said, “Daddy’s lawyer will be here soon. I find it easier to think out here than in my father’s office.”

“Agreed. Last time I was in there wasn’t good.”

“What did he say?”

Her question and overall fragility threw him off guard. How many times had he rehearsed what he’d do should their paths ever cross? Yet now, all of that escaped him. Her complexion pale, body rail thin, his sole thought was to wonder when she’d last had a decent meal.

Garrett cleared his throat. “Hal told me our baby died and that you’d chosen to complete your basic education in a Connecticut finishing school. Had Google been what it is now, I probably could’ve found you, but…” He shrugged. “Water under the bridge.”

She stared past him, deep into her own world. “I was so devastated over losing the baby, I just did what I was told. To go from feeling life growing inside you, to grueling hours of lonesome labor, only to come out on the other side with my arms empty, I…”

“For what it’s worth, I hurt, too. I used to have nightmares you’d died. I spent so much time moping my folks took me to a shrink. I know you loved your father, but I’ve gotta tell you, the man meant nothing but trouble to me.”

“Good. You’re both here.” Barry Stevens had been Hal’s personal attorney, friend and Coral Ridge bigwig for decades. Every edition of the Coral Ridge Gazette carried an ad for the guy’s law firm featuring the Scales of Justice, along with Barry’s meticulous swoop of white hair and supersize smile. Though they’d never formally met, the lawyer extended his hand and worked his trademark smile as if they were long-lost friends. “Garrett, good to see you. Each and every one of us here in town is darned proud of all you’ve accomplished.”

“Thank you, sir.” Garrett would’ve preferred a more flippant retort but, for Eve’s sake, kept his sarcasm to himself. If he’d been president, it wouldn’t have been good enough for Garrett to be with Hal’s little girl.

“Okay.” Barry set a few files on the table before taking his seat. “Eve has filled me in on her father’s deathbed confession and in doing so, I believe, given me just cause to break attorney-client privilege.”

“Wait…” The comprehension of this suit’s admission hit Garrett harder than any stray bullet. So it was true? He actually had a son? Mind spinning, chest tight, he found it hard to breathe. During the endless night, he’d convinced himself the whole thing was a cruel joke. That in the morning, Hal would pop out of bed with his pompous barrel laugh, bragging about how he’d gotten them good. “You knew about this from day one, yet did nothing to stop it?”

“Slow down there, partner.” Barry tidied his files. “My hands were tied.”

Eve started to cry.

“The only thing Hal told me—and this was only after a couple glasses of Macallan Scotch—was that your son hadn’t died. I pressed him for more, told him you both had a right to know, but he admitted neither of you had even wanted the baby, so this resolution was best. Absolved you both from any guilt, so you’d feel free to get on with your lives.”

Barry reached out to comfort Eve, but she pushed him away. “Don’t touch me.”

The lawyer held up his hands. “I’m sorry. I advised Hal he’d handled the whole situation poorly, but he was insistent no one ever know.”

“Where is our son now?” Garrett pressed clenched fists to his knees. There was so much he wanted—needed—to say, but what would going off on this guy solve?

“God’s honest truth?” Barry’s expression was sober. “I don’t have a clue.”