12. Jack
12
JACK
The morning arrives as the hours fly by like mere minutes. It feels like just moments ago she was in my arms, and now, we find ourselves standing face to face, ready to say, ‘stay safe.’ Or perhaps, ‘I love you.’ That’s what I would’ve said, but it’s not the time.
The Montana sun casts a glow on Ava’s hair, creating a display of sparkles. The bright rays make her blink instinctively as she tries to maintain eye contact with me. We exchange a kiss, and as if we had rehearsed this moment, we both pivot away from each other simultaneously. I don’t look back, letting the sound of gravel crunching beneath our shoes be a clue of how far apart we are. Until we enter our respective cars. This is our plan, and Sam is following her, but I can’t help feeling a twinge of unease as the reality sets in—I won’t be by her side.
“Let’s roll!” I tell my partner, who’s been observing me since the moment he got here.
Sam has entrusted me with Huxley Cometti, or ‘Comet,’ a twenty-seven-year-old former SEAL. Despite his celestial nickname, he hails from Montana, and I let him take the wheel so I can focus on our comms and the mission at hand.
“Should’ve gotten a bigger car,” he remarks, observing me fidgeting in my seat as we hit the road. “You’re packed tighter than a bull in a chute.”
What was Sam thinking pairing me with this whippersnapper?
I give him a death stare. “Don’t start, or I’ll throw your balls in the ring.”
He lets out a bark of laughter, surrendering with a raise of his hands.
Over the radio, Sam’s voice is a constant, coaching Ava. “Keep up that speed if you can. And, if you don’t see me, don’t freak out. I’m always close.”
The cab is quiet for a while. Huxley locks his gaze on the road, wise enough to not sneak in another provocation. But silence can be just as trying when you’re looking to bond with your partner in the trenches.
I start, “So, what’s your story?” I’m not just talking about the scar that runs a harsh line down his face, although I’m curious if he’s willing to share.
“Well, I joined the Navy when I was nineteen. Did it for college money,” he answers, his tone unapologetic.
“It may not scream patriotism, but that’s perfectly alright.”
He settles back, a smirk playing on his lips. “And to get a chick.”
I can’t help but let out a short, sharp laugh. “You couldn’t get laid?”
The man is like a baby rhino—solid but not overdone. He’s got a chiseled face, but his eyes have this innocent vibe that’ll surely make the ladies swoon.
He gives me a side glance, quizzical. “What about it?”
From that angle, he resembles friendly danger, like a classic World War II aviator poster boy. How could he ever struggle to woo a girl?
“If you want a chick, you go to a Pilates class,” I advise.
He lets out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. “Ranch life is a solitary gig.”
“A rancher, huh?”
“Born and raised. Had to step up when my dad fell ill. Mom was up to her elbows with the ranch and my kid brother.”
“And your dad, is he doing better now?” There’s a careful tilt to my question, respectful.
A shadow crosses his face. “He left us when I was twelve.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
The car rolls on, and for a moment, he’s lost in thought. “The ranch keeps me grounded. It’s my piece of heaven, near Seeley Lake. It’s me, through and through, and it’s not going anywhere.”
We round a bend and we catch our first glimpse of the Missouri River.
“So you kept the land in the family?” I ask.
He nods, pride lighting up his features. “Yep. The kid’s running it now. Nineteen and bossing like a seasoned ranch hand. I taught him all he knows.”
“You taught him?” I press, genuinely impressed.
He looks straight ahead, conviction in his voice. “Had to be the man of the house. Teach him how to stand tall.”
Turns out, Sam knew what he was doing when he partnered me with Huxley today. He might’ve seemed all bravado and brawn at first, but the Comet’s got layers—made of tough stuff. I think about my own path, how I had to relearn everything after being taken by Scalpel. But even if the kidnapping had never happened, I doubt I could’ve shouldered the world like Astro Boy did, all before he was old enough to drive .
“So, did the Navy bring you closer to finding your one and only?” I venture, trying to keep the talk light, not probing too deep too fast.
“Girls, yes. Soulmate? That’s another story. I signed up for the bonus bucks, not for valor or heroics. But, you know how it is, you get out there, into the thick of it…” His voice tapers off, a hint of harshness seeping in.
The man beside me shifts, a small motion, but one laden with unspoken memories. “Living on a razor’s edge, it gets into your blood,” he says. “Made it through BUD/S, wore my Trident, and stayed in the game until my last op.”
He draws a breath, and I can feel the weight of whatever is on his mind.
“Listen, if this is going to stir up the ghosts, we can cut it right there,” I say, keeping my voice steady. Everyone has got their demons, be it from the battlefield, the operating table, or just life’s cruel twists. “I want you to focus on Quinton, do you hear?”
“You’re the one who poked the bear,” the baby rhino reminds me, not unkindly, just stating facts.
I crack a half-smile. “I was just trying to make conversation.”
His eyes flick to mine, a glint of something—appreciation, maybe—before he returns to the path ahead.
There are still a few miles left to kill, and after all, I started the conversation. Experience has taught me that sometimes, things left unsaid can be more distracting than those we let out. I concede, “All right, what happened in Colombia?”
He smirks, knowing the question burning in me. “We were in a jungle down south, extracting a CIA operative whose cover had been compromised. The intel was spotty—classic CIA’s spook style, keeping us in the dark on half the game. Two members of our team got seriously injured. Well, three if you count me.” He gestures to his face.
Now that he’s given me permission, I examine the deep scar.
He continues, “My face was hanging out, and my chest was a wall of shrapnel. But I suppose it wasn’t as bad for me since I didn’t lose any limbs. But you know, Jack. What shook me was the fact that I failed to protect someone. Even though technically, we rescued the only person we were tasked to bring home safely.” His confession hangs between us.
“An innocent victim?” I murmur.
“A very innocent victim,” he reveals. “I was shielding a two-year-old girl who was standing at the door just as the house behind her exploded. Her twin brother didn’t make it. We never knew they were kids in there.” He shakes his head. “My chief got court-martialed for what happened. It should’ve been the CIA’s asses.”
“That was fucked up.”
“Very fucked up. When I held that girl, I made a promise that when my Navy days were over, I’d dedicate the rest of my life to the well-being of children. I considered joining UNICEF, but I felt like I should start closer to home.”
“Well, it’s our gain.”
“You know, that girl. When she opened her eyes—” I catch a glimpse of a smile forming on his profile. “She held me tight and called me ‘Papa’ for some reason,” he shares, gripping the steering wheel tightly as if he’s reliving that moment. Then the smile fades, and he gulps. “I mean, we were the ones who took her father’s life, and I swear, I don’t look anything like that murderer. Honestly, with my messed-up face, I should’ve looked straight out of a horror flick.”
You don’t have to spend a lot of time with a guy to know what he’s like. Huxley may not be an open book, but underneath his tough exterior, there’s a tender side to him. Considering he helped raise his younger brother, it’s no wonder the girl saw him as a father figure.
“Maybe you smelled like her old man,” I tease.
“He was a millionaire drug lord, so I’m sure his cologne was some top-notch Parisian product. Let’s see if Quinton calls me Papa.”
Now he’s getting cocky. “Don’t you fucking dare provoke him!” I warn. “Even if he says something that sounds like it, it won’t mean anything. Nothing that boy says to you is binding.”
“Yet the smell will linger,” Huxley jokes. “So what’s your story, Jack? You’re an active Marine. How come you’re here?”
“I’m on leave.”
“So you’re on duty while off duty?”
“Well, I thought it was my duty to be here. Until that thought got here.” I tap at my chest.
As if in sync, my senses heighten when we enter Townsend. Instead of heading toward the town center, we veer west, choosing a path leading to the farm area. Our objective perches on a slight elevation, a strategic vantage point that provides a clear view of the surroundings. This was why Willem’s men chose the house. If we drive further, even before they spot us, they’ll know fury is coming.
Determined to remain undetected, we opt to park in the recess of an alleyway concealed behind a row of mulberry trees. We proceed on foot, using the overgrown bushes along the road as our covers.
With our radio on, hooked to a headset each of us wears, we make our approach to the house from the rear. Upon first glance, the surroundings appear unchanged from yesterday.
Huxley and I split up, each of us conducting a quick survey of the exterior. My eyes flit from window to window, tracing the outlines of the structure. The glass remains covered with newspaper from the inside, and the gap in the bedroom window is still there. As I peep in, my heart sinks like a stone in murky water.
There is absolutely nothing inside. The crib is gone, and the room is empty. I step onto the porch. The random junk is still there, but no sign of the baby stroller that was parked here when I came yesterday.
Huxley and I rendezvous at the back door. “It smells like a baby!” he whispers, unaware of the storm brewing inside my head. From the side he inspected, I don’t think he would’ve seen anything that reveals a baby is around. I can’t detect the scent from here, but I wish my partner were right. Perhaps it’s just a lingering scent that the group moved on not that long ago.
Convinced that the house is empty, we exchange a wordless glance. Slowly, I open the door, allowing Huxley to enter with a wide stride, his Glock firmly gripped in his hand, aimed forward. We search the house, finding no trace of anyone. Most rooms are empty and have been cleaned thoroughly. There are only the unmade beds in the bedrooms and a few furniture scattered around the living room.
“Fuck!” I gripe.
As I settle behind the cover of an old leather couch, Huxley positions himself beneath the window, keeping a vigilant watch on the outside.
I contact Sam. “Where are you?”
“I’m in position. Ava is almost here.”
My heart races as I picture her venturing into the unknown alone. But I can’t dwell on it now—she knows what she’s doing.
Sam then asks, “How’s Townsend?”
“The house is empty,” I respond in dismay. Meanwhile, Huxley remains composed in his observations .
I ask Sam, “Can you spot the white van?”
“Negative.” Sam pauses, then adds, “Actually, I don’t see any cars here either.” He gets quiet once again. I sense that he’s on the move. Then he relays, “Two motorbikes parked at the back of the house.”
That will allow them to navigate through narrow passages inaccessible to cars.
I acknowledge him, and he instructs, “Give me an update in five.”
My eyes roam the room, searching for any remnants of baby Quinton. They scan the air as if attempting to catch a whiff of that distinct scent Huxley had detected. Yet, all that lingers is the aroma of cleaning products.
Perhaps I’ve been relying on my instincts too blindly. The urge to leave and join Sam in Clancy rises, but something keeps me anchored here. As Sam told me, those men in Clancy arrived on motorcycles, and transporting a seven-month-old baby on a motorcycle is highly unlikely.
Suddenly, Sam’s voice crackles through the radio. “Ava’s here.”
I switch to her frequency. “Ava, talk to me.”
“Jack. Have you seen Quinton?”
“Not yet. We’ve got to be patient, and you have to focus.”
I can hear her pulling a breath. “I’m ready.”
“You listen to whatever Sam says, okay? If he says get out, you get out. Not a second after.”
“Understood, Jack,” she responds, composed and direct. “I’m going in now.”
The radio falls silent, leaving us on edge. Minutes later, Sam updates us. “She’s reached the door. I’m closing in.”
Just then, Huxley and I hear an approaching car.
Clutching his binoculars tightly, he reports, “It’s a white van with a male driver. ”
“What about the babysitter? And Quinton?”
“Negative. Only the driver.”
Not the answer I wanted. Huxley and I get in position, flanking the door, ready to shoot.
“Are you sure there’s only one man?” I ask Huxley.
“Positive, boss.”
While I could leave Huxley to hold the fort, considering we’re only facing one person, I decide to stick with the plan. I trust Sam to keep Ava safe and have faith in my own intuition that Quinton is still nearby.
The sound of the engine is getting closer. When I listen carefully, something remains in the distance. It’s a cry. It’s faint, but it’s unmistakably a baby’s cry.
My persistence has been rewarded. Quinton is here, and he needs me. Besides, I can’t allow that Comet boy to claim that Quinton has called him ‘Papa.’