“I’m a better shot than you are.”
“When was the last time you fired your weapon or even went to target practice?” Cooper headed for the door.
“Call me when you head to the firing range. We’ll see who’s the better shot.”
“You’re on. Let me know if Spinetti contacts you again,” Cooper called out over his shoulder.
Stryker needed to head out himself. He was meeting Emerson in forty minutes. As he shut down his computers, his assistant popped in.
“You have another visitor.”
“Not now.” Pushing out of his chair, he rounded his desk.
But she stood there, stone faced.
“What’s wrong?”
“He says he’s your father.”
His brain froze. “What?”
“The atrium receptionist called me after she’d sent him up here. I told him you were in a meeting, but he waited. I didn’t want to interrupt your meeting with Mr. Grant, so I stuck him in the executive conference room.”
“It’s okay.” Stryker had never given his assistant instructions on how to handle his non-existent father.
“I’m sorry,” she replied. “I can tell him he needs to make an appointment.”
Stryker could see how anxious she was. In all the years she’d worked for him, he’d never brought up his dad. His smile elicited a sigh from her. “I’ll handle it.”
She returned to her office and Stryker slid his laptop into his computer bag, threw the strap over his shoulder, and strode out. As he passed the glass-enclosed conference room, his dad looked over. Tyler Truman could not hide his surprise. The last time he’d seen his son, Stryker had been a fifteen-year-old kid, wrecked over his mom’s death.
Over the past twenty years, Stryker had learned how to control and channel his rage. Seeing his father unearthed a world of hatred toward the man who had abandoned his children during the lowest point in their lives. The closer he got, the harder his fists tightened. He wanted to deck the man, then tell him what he really thought of him.
Tyler Truman rose. “Stryker, it’s been a while. You look good, son.”
Pain slashed through him. His father had lost the right to call him “son” when he walked out the door and never came back. When Stryker refused to shake his dad’s outstretched hand, his dad’s face turned bright red. His embarrassment was nothing compared to how Stryker felt.
“Now’s not a good time,” Stryker said.
“Is there somewhere we can talk?” His dad glanced out the glass windows. “I just need a minute.”
One damn minute wouldn’t make up for the lost decades. “Your minute started twenty seconds ago. What do you want?”
“To apologize. I’m sorry I left. I made a mistake.”
Stryker stared at him for several beats. “Twenty years later, you’re apologizing for leaving. But you never contacted us. Not once. What’s your angle? You need money?”
“Trudy said you’re all about giving second chances,” Tyler said.
Stryker stared at the stranger with the thinning hair and heavy bags under his eyes. He was wearing a suit and tie, the turquoise tie clip an outdated eyesore. He didn’t pity him. How could he? He didn’t even know the man he’d once called dad.
“I’m so proud of what you’ve accomplished,” Tyler continued. “This is impressive. Can you give your old dad a tour? How about I come back when you’ve got a few minutes?”
Stryker did not want to see him again. “Wait here.”
He found his assistant working at her desk. “Can you give Tyler Truman a brief tour?”
“Sure.”
