Page 17 of Ransom for His Secret Son

Or rather—sons.

There was no doubt in his mind now. If one was his, the other was, too. Well, unless John Smith was lying.

A hurricane of emotions hit him square in the chest, harder than anything he’d ever taken in a fight or out in the field. It was as if the ground had shifted beneath his feet, leaving him struggling to find balance.

He wanted—needed—time to process it all. Time to sit in the quiet, to look at his son, to memorize every small detail of his face. To feel something other than the tight coil of fear and fury twisting in his gut.

But time wasn’t a luxury he had.

Not when his other son was still out there.

Brody shoved the phone into his pocket, forcing himself to move, to breathe, to focus. The walls of his office felt too close, the cluttered desk a distraction that he couldn’t afford.

Remi was still there, her intense green eyes watching him like she was waiting for him to fall apart. But he couldn’t.

“I don’t have time for this,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Because every second he wasted on the shock was a second too long. And somewhere out there, his son was waiting to be found and rescued.

“Come on,” he said firmly, taking his keys from his pocket. “We’re going to see Christina Turner. Where does she live?”

Remi’s forehead bunched up a moment. “Uh, just outside San Antonio.” She checked her phone and rattled off the exact address. “About a half hour’s drive from here.”

“Good,” Brody snapped out. “Along the way, you can tell me how you found Grace’s baby.”

Remi followed without a word, her footsteps steady behind him. But instead of heading straight for the front door when they reached the bottom floor, Brody veered down the hall, stopping outside the nursery. The faint glow from a small night-light spilled into the hallway, casting soft shadows across the floor.

He looked in and saw his mother sitting on the chair, the baby cradled in her arms, his tiny chest rising and falling in a slow, peaceful rhythm. The sight hit him harder than he expected, like a sucker punch to the chest. His son.

His.

Brody stepped inside, keeping his footsteps light. Sandra looked up, her expression soft but laced with worry. He crouched beside the chair, careful not to wake the baby. He reached out, brushing a gentle finger along his son’s small, perfect hand. The baby stirred slightly but didn’t wake.

Brody’s throat felt tight, but he leaned in anyway, his voice low and rough. “I’m going to find your brother,” he whispered, his thumb tracing the soft curve of the boy’s tiny fist. “I swear to you, I’ll bring him home.”

“He’s really yours,” Sandra murmured. Not a question, but Brody answered it anyway.

“He’s really mine.”

He stayed there for a beat longer, grounding himself in the quiet warmth of his son’s presence before standing. He looked at his mother. “Holt’s upstairs if you need him.”

Sandra nodded, her gaze filled with unspoken emotion. “Be careful.”

Brody gave a short nod, then glanced back at the baby one last time. “I’ll have Holt lock up after we leave,” he assured her, and he fired off a text to have the deputy do that.

He and Remi left the nursery and headed to the front door, meeting Holt along the way. “Keep them safe,” Brody told him. “I’ll be back…” He stopped. Shook his head. “Just stay here until I’m done.”

“Not a problem, boss. Good luck,” Holt added, and Brody heard the snick of the locks after they left the house.

Brody used his phone app to reset the security system and then texted Holt the codes just in case the door had to be opened. Holt wouldn’t be opening up to just anyone, though. The deputy might not have the full picture as to what was going on, but he’d understood there was the possibility of danger.

He and Remi climbed into the cruiser, the engine rumbling to life before Brody put Christina’s address into the GPS. He also sent off another text. To Jolene this time. And he instructed her to request assistance from all law enforcement agencies in locating Tarrant. Since every agency was no doubt already looking for the fugitive, it likely wouldn’t do much good, but he wanted all the help he could get. This would put it fresh in law enforcement’s mind.

Brody gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary, and he started the drive, his gaze fixed on the dark stretch of road ahead.

“Well?” he said, his voice cutting through the silence. “How’d you find Grace’s baby?”

“A lot of luck,” she said. “And breaking the law.”