SEAL My Home: Bad Boys of SEAL Team 3, Book 2 (SEAL Brotherhood Series 9) by Sharon Hamilton Page B

or so the man told him. Corrigan knew enough to understand that although his henchman was from the Middle East, he was a naturalized U.S. citizen. His knowledge of Middle Eastern politics was invaluable in dealing with foreign companies and kingdoms.
    The competitive nature of Corrigan’s business meant that he was at war with someone or some Board of Directors or ruling family every day. It paid to know as much as possible about either the enemy or the prey, and the man with the alligator briefcase was very good at digging up details that could be exploited for Oakwood Partners’ advantage.
    He’d found Tariq several years ago when one of his wealthy clients, an Iranian relative of the old Shah, suspected her husband was having an affair and had hired Tariq to find out. And he did. The job was done professionally, without the torrid photographs but with just enough detail and surveillance to make the case. She was able to excise her cheating spouse before he could organize a takeover of her family’s fortune, doing it all without any scandal hitting the papers or affecting the value of her portfolio.
    Corrigan considered the handling of his client’s case a thing of beauty, so ever afterwards Tariq became Oakwood’s inside henchman, an important element in his recipe for success. Tariq told him he was divorced and had no children. However, one day when they were chatting he’d let slip that he had family inside Syria.
    Raymond had decided he personally wasn’t the marrying kind because he never trusted anyone he couldn’t pay. Love was expensive and very messy, often foolish. He’d seen lives and fortunes ruined because of it.
    The heart is the most vulnerable, the weakest part of a man’s soul. Tariq had told him he was a wise man.
    Corrigan had a gift when it came to making good decisions, sometimes very tough ones, but he never did things on an emotional hunch that he couldn’t back up with evidence. Tariq brought certainty to his world.
    Therefore, today’s job was different. He wasn’t asking Tariq to check on the dirty little secrets of a competitor or client. He needed to identify or rule out paternity. He trusted Tariq with this information because he paid him. And paid him very well.
    Corrigan had a plastic baggie with a water cup inside. He handed it to Tariq.
    “The person I need tested drank out of this cup. I believe he’s the only person to do so.”
    “And what are we going to match it with?” Tariq’s cool demeanor, the way his accented words cut to the meat of the matter in an instant, told Corrigan he didn’t leave anything to chance or possible misunderstanding. Tariq did not guess.
    “Mine. I want to know if he is my son.”
    Tariq didn’t flinch. He never flinched. “We’ll need a swab. I don’t have the testing kit here. You should have told me. I would have been better prepared.”
    “Not over the phone. Never over the phone.”
    “Why is this so important to you?” Tariq asked. He dished out a clipped smile, the first one Raymond had seen in many months.
    “Wouldn’t you want to know your own son?”
    Tariq examined his fingernails. “No.”
    “Why not?”
    “You don’t pay me for that information. I am not your client. I am your employee.”
    The steely answer left Raymond in shivers.
    Tariq tried to smile again, perhaps reconsidering his answer. “I apologize. I should not have asked you.”
    “I don’t have a problem telling you, my friend, if I may call you that after all these years.”
    Tariq bowed humbly.
    “I tried to find him some twenty-five years ago. She was not my wife at the time.”
    “Nor subsequently.”
    “Correct. She simply vanished. After years of searching, I gave up, thinking that perhaps they both perished somehow. There was no trace of them. Not like today. It would be easier today. But then, all I knew was that she had a son.”
    “Who told you this?”
    “Someone sent me a note. All it said was that I had a son.”
    “You still have