7. Jack
JACK
Two Weeks Later
The glowfrom a bank of monitors bathes the room in a ghostly light.
I lean forward, my eyes scanning each screen with practiced precision, searching for anything out of place at Diego’s safe house.
It’s like trying to find a needle in a stack of needles—every shadow could be a threat, every rustle of leaves could spell danger.
“Come on,” I mutter under my breath, rewinding the footage from the camera that covers the back perimeter.
Nothing.
Just the usual flicker of moths drawn to the infrared lights. I switch to another feed, and there it is—a brief flash of movement by the front gate. Could be a cat, could be more. I zoom in, enhance the image. Still, nothing conclusive.
This security system is supposed to be state-of-the-art. But I guess even Fort Knox has its weaknesses. My mind races as I consider the potential vulnerabilities—blind spots in camera coverage, the delay between motion sensors triggering and alarms blaring,
As I’m double-checking window locks, door seals, and panic room integrity, Diego walks in. He holds out a beer towards me—a peace offering or maybe just an attempt to lighten the mood.
“No thanks,” I decline without looking up from my task. “I don’t drink on duty.”
Diego shrugs nonchalantly and sinks into one of the nearby chairs with his own bottle. “Any luck?” he asks after taking a long gulp.
“None yet.”
“This whole thing... it’s like something out of a spy novel,” Diego finally breaks the silence again, his tone laced with confusion and frustration. “I was sure it had to be someone from our own security team.”
He’s right—it doesn’t add up, none of it does—but there’s no sense in dwelling on what we can’t understand right now.
“Don’t beat yourself up over it,” I advise him while finishing my checks—all clear for now. “We’ll figure this out.”
A sudden creak of the door has us both turning our heads.
Instantly, I whip out my gun, aiming it towards the unexpected interruption.
A man with thinning hair, dressed in a blue beach shirt and khaki pants, saunters into the room. Then he freezes as he takes in the sight of cold steel pointed his way.
“Easy there, Jack,” Diego says as his expression relaxes. “It’s just George.”
“Who the fuck is George?” I keep my weapon trained on the intruder.
The man raises his hands in surrender before answering. “The landlord,” he squeaks out.
Jesus Christ.
My gaze remains locked onto him as I slowly lower my weapon. But something doesn’t sit right with me. “Landlords aren’t supposed to barge in unannounced.”
“That was my bad, Jack,” Diego admits sheepishly. “I asked him to check on that clinking noise from the roof.”
George nods, eager to explain himself further. He rambles about how this last-minute rental hadn’t given them enough time for necessary repairs and that was what caused the clinking sound.
As he speaks, I feel my jaw ticking in annoyance over Diego’s casual disregard for security protocols.
“By the way,” George says, turning back to me as if he’s just remembered something important, “Patricia wanted me to extend our congratulations on your wedding.” Then he nudges me with his elbow. “Heard your wife is a real looker, too.”
My gaze drops to where George’s arm meets mine. The desire to break this guy’s skull for commenting on my wife’s looks roars within me. But I rein it in, reminding myself that there are bigger battles ahead.
“She is,” I respond coolly “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Seems this town loves a good wedding, huh?” George chuckles obliviously. “You know how people talk—everyone’s expecting an invite soon.”
“Anything else you need, George? We need to get back to work.”
I know I’m coming off as a jerk, but it’s the only way I know how to handle situations like these. The older man’s expression crumples slightly.
“Nope, I’ll let you get back to it. You know where to find me if you need anything.” George tips his hat and turns to leave.
Sometimes I wish I could be as open, as trusting as George. But in my line of work, trust is a luxury I can’t afford. Even good men like him can unwittingly give away too much.
As I watch him go, I make a mental note to recheck everything he touches—just to be safe. Because in this game of cat and mouse, the slightest slip-up could cost us everything.
By the timeI leave Diego’s place, it’s nearly seven a.m. the next morning.
I’ve been up all night, my mind a whirlwind of surveillance footage and unanswered questions. And now, all I can think about is hopping in the shower and letting the hot water wash away this grueling night.
But as I cross the threshold into our living room, any thoughts of shower or sleep evaporate.
Marlie is sprawled on the couch in a tangle of brunette waves and soft snores. She’s bundled up in an oversized sweatshirt that drowns her curvy frame, and I’m struck by the urge to reach out, to run my fingers through a loose curl that’s fallen across her face.
Suddenly, she stirs awake with a yawn. “Hey,” she mumbles sleepily as her eyes meet mine, “what time is it?”
“Just after seven,” I reply, leaning down to press a gentle kiss against her lips. “Baby, what are you doing out here?”
“I was waiting for you,” she replies. “I got worried when you didn’t come home at your normal time. I decided to sit out here, but I guess I fell asleep.”
I curse under my breath.
Over these past few weeks, we’ve fallen into a routine. Marlie leaves my bedside lamp on before she goes to bed. When I get home at around one or two in the morning, I wake her up with a quick kiss and turn it off. Then we both go to sleep.
Tonight though—or rather this morning—I’d broken that pact.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Marlie. I got so caught up with work I didn’t think about how late it was,” I tell her.
“It’s okay,” she replies. “I know you’re busy.”
“Still. I should have called you.”
Unable to resist any longer, I capture her lips with mine in a passionate kiss that ignites every nerve ending in my body. In seconds flat, sleepiness gives way to desire burning fiercely within me.
“I need you,” I whisper hoarsely against her skin as I pull off her sleep shorts. Even from here, I can already see she’s dripping for me.
“Such a good little wife,” I groan as I nip at the side of her neck. “Always so wet and ready for me. Bet you can’t wait to get this cock inside that needy little pussy. Tell me how much you want it, baby.”
“I want it so bad,” Marlie pants as she spreads her legs wider to give me better access.
With urgency overtaking us both now, I quickly drop my pants and slide into my wife’s sweet, tight heat. The sensation is intoxicating.
Marlie lets out a loud moan. “It feels so good,” she breathes out. Please, don’t stop.”
My voice is thick with desire. “I won’t, baby.”
And within moments, we’re both spiraling over the edge.
Marlie lets out a contented sigh as the last of her tremors fade. “I wish I could wake up like this every day,” she says as she snuggles closer to me. “I would love to spend all day with just the two of us.”
“What if we do?” I murmur against her lips, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. “Spend the day together—just me and you.”
She blinks at me, surprise flickering in her eyes before it’s replaced with curiosity. “What would we do?”
“We could walk on the beach,” I suggest, drawing mindless patterns on her bare shoulder as I speak. “Grab breakfast at that little diner you love so much...maybe even take you shopping.”
The suggestion earns me another giggle, but it’s laced with delight this time. “I’d like that,” she admits softly.
And just like that, it hits me—a tidal wave of emotion so strong it steals my breath away. Love—that’s what this is. Pure, unadulterated love for this woman.
But I don’t tell her that.
Instead, I offer her a smile and say, “Great. Let me hop in the shower.”