“Your middle name is Meridius?” She looked up from his birth certificate as he set a bowl of piping hot soup down on the counter.
He groaned and opened a drawer. “My father was a Maximus Decimus Meridius fan.”
“As in the Gladiator?” she asked, raising her voice to compensate for the noise created by Jeff streaking across the room with Miss Kitty hot on his tail.
“As in the commander of the Armies of the North and Felix Legions under the Roman Empire, and the greatest general to ever lead, according to the colonel.”
“The colonel?”
He nodded and pulled out a couple of spoons. “My father. Colonel William Grayson, US Army, JSOC Special Missions Unit Commander, and leader of the Joint Task Team.”
“Your father was Colonel Grayson?” she blurted as he pulled out a carton of sour cream along with several blocks of cheese from the oversized fridge. She looked back down at his birth certificate to verify, and the two names listed under “mother” and “father” made her heart beat faster.
Diane Heughan and William Grayson.
Oh, Jesus. Oh, shit! She recognized both names but had to be sure. “The Colonel Grayson?” she asked. “The one shot and killed in front of the Justice building in October of last year?”
“Yes.” Adam opened the container, added a swirl of thick cream to the bowl, and garnished with some grated Parmesan and fresh basil.
“And you’re working with Jay?” Occupying the number one spot on America’s most wanted, Jay had been framed for the colonel’s murder, and while she knew with a hundred percent certainty he hadn’t been involved, she had no clue if Adam knew the truth.
“Jay didn’t kill my father,” Adam said, pushing the bowl toward her, and the soup smelled so damn good her stomach growled in anticipation. “Jonas Johnson did.”
Her mind reeling and her mouth hanging open in shock, she accepted the spoon he handed to her, and it hovered in the air between them. Holy shit! Holy shit! They were on the same side. How? When? Where? What the fuck? Who the fuck?
Knocked off her socks by the discovery of a possible ally, she didn’t think to shoo Kitty from the counter when she wandered back into the kitchen and parkoured her way onto the island.
“Eat,” Adam ordered, pointing toward her bowl like he hadn’t just dropped an anvil on her head. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese to go with the bisque. And you”—he scooped the Duchess off her paws—“we have one rule when it comes to cohabitation with our pets. No animals on the counters. Got it?”
He rubbed his hand over Miss Kitty’s head, flattening her ears, and loving the attention, the traitorous beast swished her tail and meowed like a cat in heat as he set her down on the floor.
When he reappeared, Adam cocked a brow and hitched his chin in Becca’s direction. “Go on. Eat,” he ordered. “And keep reading.”
Too hungry to care about his bossiness, she managed to on-board a spoonful of liquid heaven without spilling—or burning the roof of her mouth—and without a doubt, if tomato soup cookoffs were a thing, his would win the big prize, hands down.
“This is delicious.”
“Glad you like it.”
Credit given where credit was due, she settled in and ate as she read, skimming through the file and taking way too many mental notes to remember while he went about the business of sandwich making.
And yeah, Adam Meridius Grayson had an impressive résumé.
Entry into West Point Military Academy at seventeen. Immediate enlistment into the US Army as a second lieutenant upon graduation with honors. Fast-tracked into the special forces process after a couple of years spent in the infantry. Passed the assessment and selection phase and completed the special forces qualification course to graduate as an Army Green Beret in his early twenties.
Gained operational experience while serving with distinction in combat missions around the globe before being invited to apply for Delta selection. Almost five years with the 1st Special Forces Operational Detachment-Delta as an operator until he was killed in action on a hostage recovery mission in Iraq.
Pictures of a deceased Adam, his body covered in blood, and a list of the extensive damage he incurred during the gunfight with ISIS extremists followed a detailed mission report, including an official certificate of death.
The last document—DD form 214—Certificate of Release or Posthumous Discharge from Active Duty. Signed by his father, Colonel William Grayson.
End of file.
But clearly, not the end of his distinguished military career.
“So, you’re supposed to be dead?” Feeling sad for reasons she didn’t understand, she looked up at Adam as he slid a plated sandwich her way.
“Yep.”
