15. Ava
15
AVA
Staring at the doll in the crib, my shoulders slump, and my body teeters on the brink of surrender. I’ve fallen for Willem’s ruse. All I can hope for is that my baby is in Townsend, just as Jack has believed from the beginning.
Among the mocking laughter from the men, I realize that my hasty move to check the crib has caused my earpiece to slip.
The raccoon man yanks me away from the crib, eyeballing the bean-shaped object resting on the mattress. He pushes me into a corner. In his rage, his hands tear through my shirt, uncovering the microphone taped to my bra. “You’re fucking wired?” he growls, crushing the device beneath his boot.
Where is Sam? I thought he was coming in.
Seeing what’s unfolding, the bearded man collects the speaker-like equipment emitting Quinton’s fake cry. “Kill her!” he orders and then disappears from the room.
Suddenly, a loud crack echoes from the back of the house. It’s Sam. He has deliberately chosen the rear entry, likely aware of our presence and the fortified front door.
I maneuver past my two captors, only to be stopped by the one who had been standing by the crib. With an iron grip, he grabs me, using my panicked body as a shield. The knife he had waved earlier is now pressed against my neck. He used it to threaten fake Quinton, but the weapon is anything but fake. Its steely blade grazes my skin while I watch the raccoon man aiming his gun at Sam, his finger poised on the trigger.
My neck tenses, pressing against the sharp edge of the knife. I feel a distinct line breaking on my skin, a sharp, stinging sensation that causes me to squeeze my eyes shut.
The room falls into an eerie silence, but not for long. A shot rings out, emphatically signaling a turn of events. Almost simultaneously, I hear a thud next to my ear. The raccoon man sways toward me, his lifeless body sliding down against my shoulder and onto the floor. Sam’s bullet has found its mark in the man’s chest.
The captor holding me tightens his grip, one arm wrapped around my waist while the other keeps pressing the knife against my neck. My eyes widen in terror as he lifts me, using me to cover his face and upper body.
“Release her!” Sam orders. This is the first time I hear the Red Mark leader’s voice so low and menacing.
But my captor keeps dragging me back, his ragged breath blowing against my nape. I struggle to inhale as the tight grip restricts my chest, trying to release the fear that fills me.
Sam stands still in the doorway, blocking any escape route.
My captor warns Sam, “I’ve been given permission to kill her.” I feel the blade dig deeper into my skin. I take it as a sign of desperation—he knows he’s trapped, and I’m his only leverage. “She’ll just be collateral damage.”
But Sam doesn’t wait, rapidly changing his aim and firing low, hitting the man’s foot. A scream escapes my captor as he releases me. Seizing the opportunity, I duck and sprint toward Sam, seeking safety. As he shields me, Sam takes another shot, ending the man’s life.
“Ava, Ava, are you all right?” I hear Sam’s worried voice, his grip steadying me as I struggle to regain my balance.
“I’m fine, Sam,” I pant. “But Quinton isn’t here. Did you hear anything from Jack?”
The silence that follows fills me with unease. I’m too afraid to ask again, so I simply watch him slipping off his jacket, draping it over my tattered shirt. He then guides me toward the front of the house. The wide-open door invites a rush of air and the distant sound of a revving motorcycle.
Sam lets out a growl, clearly displeased that the bearded man has managed to escape. But he looks at me, offering a reassuring nod. I know that I am his top priority. “Come on, let’s go,” he urges me forward.
We run toward my car parked outside the fence, but the tires have been slashed. We have no choice but to head toward Sam’s car, which was left in a spot away from the house.
Adrenaline fuels our steps, and I finally see his car, hidden behind a dense thicket of bushes. Sam remains vigilant, constantly scanning our surroundings, ready to defend us if anyone should approach. We jump in without wasting a second, and he floors the accelerator.
“Please call Jack,” I beg. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”
“No, not yet, but we will soon,” he mumbles, his eyes scanning the surroundings. “We’re heading to Townsend now.”
I gaze at him, silently urging him to make the call to Jack.
“Ava, I haven’t heard from him, but that doesn’t mean something bad has happened. My headset went haywire earlier, around the time you got close to whatever was making that crying sound.”
Ah, that digital speaker. It wouldn’t surprise me if Willem had designed it using some sort of voice cloner. It sounded exactly like Quinton’s cry. So real, as if he was in the room.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, feeling guilty for potentially causing the disturbance.
“Hey, don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.” Sam grips the steering wheel with one hand while his other hand adjusts his radio.
Around the corner, a familiar figure catches our attention. It’s my former babysitter, Greta Hall, running along the road like a fugitive. The woman showed nothing but trustworthiness, order, and gentleness when she first introduced herself. I can’t believe she’s capable of doing this. But that’s the nature of humanity—it can both amaze and shock you.
Sam slams on the brakes and swerves to the right, blocking her path. As soon as the car comes to a halt, I step out.
“Ava, wait!” Sam yells.
I march on. It doesn’t take much to corner her. Her face is flushed, and her legs wobble. It looks like she’s been running for a while. The image of her caring for my baby, as if she were his real mother, ignites a surge of anger within me.
I throw a punch, my knuckles landing on her nose. Then I push her to the ground.
“Where’s my baby?” I shout at her.
She cries out helplessly, then pleads, “Miss West, I can explain…”
“Where’s my baby!” My fury intensifies, and I raise my leg, ready to stomp on her pitiful face.
Sam intervenes, stopping me in my tracks.
“Step away, Sam! This is between me and her!” I protest, my anger directed solely at Greta.
“No, no!” Sam persists, restraining me while pointing his gun at her, even though she appears too exhausted to flee. “ Ava, Jack has Quinton,” he announces, halting my fight instantly. “I just heard from him,” he asserts.
My body goes flaccid as if letting go of all the strain. Those are the words I’ve been desperately longing to hear.
He releases me and takes charge of Greta, allowing me the time to compose myself. When I turn around, I find Sam has tied her up, and she sits on the side of the road, still sobbing uncontrollably.
“It’s over,” Sam whispers. “The sheriff’s coming.”
I give him a heartfelt thank-you hug. He has been there for us from the beginning, risking his safety and opening his home for me, and now, saving me.
Shortly after, the sound of sirens permeates the air as the sheriff and his men arrive at the scene. They grab Greta without any pushback. She walks on, not even sparing me a glance.
The weight of the situation lifts as Sam and I head back to the car.
“Ready to see Quinton?” Sam says behind the wheel.
Just as my ex-babysitter takes a seat in the back of the sheriff’s car, out of nowhere, a motorcycle passes by, the rider aiming his gun through the open door. He’s so close that it stuns everyone. Two quick shots ring out, causing panic among the sheriff’s men. As the smoke clears, we see Greta’s limp body slumped in the deputy’s arms.
The motorcycle, a blur of speed and agility, disappears into the distance before anyone can react. It effortlessly evades the attempts of the sheriff’s men to take aim and fire.
It’s as if something is obstructing my airway. I struggle to comprehend what I’m witnessing. Greta Hall, the woman I despised for her greed and betrayal, now lies completely still on the ground. A spike of guilt pricks at my gut, wondering if there could’ve been a different outcome .
The sheriff instructs us to wait, but Sam explains how urgent it is for us to be in Townsend—citing that my baby is there. After assuring the sheriff that we will provide our statements as soon as we can, Sam is given permission to leave with an escort.
As we drive away, thoughts of reuniting with Quinton consume my mind, gradually erasing the unfolding events.
We veer onto a path off the main road, the tires crunching on the gravel, and it becomes apparent that our destination lies along the Missouri River.
“Shortcut,” Sam remarks with enthusiasm, glancing at the trooper’s car trailing behind us.
My only concern is reaching Jack and Quinton, so I don’t care how Sam does it. Yet, I’m confused. Why the river?
I silently implore my handsome driver to explain with a gaze.
He smirks, a glimmer of mischief bouncing in his eyes. “Quinton is apparently a big nature lover. He grew weary of the Townsend house, so Jack decided to treat him to some R&R at a riverside location.”
His response amuses me. I never knew my little one was an outdoorsy baby!
I notice Sam is driving without a GPS. “You seem to know this area well.”
“Red Mark’s first office was in Townsend. Not on this side of town, but the east side near the center.”
The path narrows, sandwiched by tall trees on our left and right. The scent of fresh pine seeps into the car.
Finally, we reach the trailhead, excitement bubbling in my gut. As the path opens up, the blue waters of the Missouri River come into view, its surface sparkling under the rays of sunlight. With every step, my eyes search for any signs of Jack.
And there it is—the man is seated under the shade of a tree, gazing at the horizon with my baby contently sitting on his lap. My heart leaps with pure happiness at the sight of my two precious dears together. With his sunglasses on, Jack looks like a man who’s enjoying a break. From here, I wouldn’t have any idea what he had gone through to rescue Quinton.
I yell Quinton’s and Jack’s names. My voice bounces against the trees as if following me as I sprint toward them. Kneeling next to Jack, I reach out to Quinton, my fingers tingling. A contagious squeal of delight escapes the boy’s lips, his face lighting up with a smile that etches lines of honest joy. It’s a sound I couldn’t bear to live without. “Are you okay, baby? Mommy’s here,” I whisper.
“He’s okay,” Jack affirms—calm and proud as if telling me he has shielded Quinton with his life and emerged victorious.
Holding Quinton close, I plant gentle kisses on his forehead, stroking him tenderly as his cotton candy hair tickles my palm. “I love you, Quinton. I love you more than anything,” I quaver. “I won’t let anyone come between us ever again, you know that, right, Quinnie-Bear?”
Quinton trails his fingers along my cheek as if trying to wipe away my tears. I can’t resist kissing him again, savoring the sensation of his tender skin against my lips.
I then glance up at Jack, my other baby. His sunglasses are perched on his head, and I notice a wince clouding his face when I rest against his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” he reassures me, quickly regaining composure and planting a kiss on my lips. His touch is like sunlight, radiating warmth that reminds me of something I can’t live without.
Quinton wriggles, prompting us to break the kiss. Jack’s sunglasses slip down from his head, and that seems to excite the boy as he points at Jack. “Po po po!”
I giggle almost as loudly as Quinton .
“He’s been saying that all day,” Jack says. “What is it?”
“ Paw Patrol . That kid’s show.” I look at him, still laughing. “You, in your sunglasses.”
Jack smiles, his lips curving into a heartwarming arc. The sweetness of the moment compels me to lean in and press my lips against his once more.
“Are you all right, Ava Belle?” he murmurs, gesturing at Sam’s jacket, the fabric bearing the remnants of a recent altercation.
“Your brother made sure I was,” I explain, glancing at Sam, who’s patiently standing a few paces away.
Jack’s eyes meet Sam’s, a silent understanding passing between them. With a face filled with gratitude, he says to his big brother, “What are you doing? Come here.”
The four of us come together, embracing tightly, as relieved sighs escape our lips and blend with the sound of Quinton’s babbling. It takes adversity to arrive at this point, but this is one of the best moments of my life.
Sitting on the grass, we encircle Quinton as we let him crawl on a blanket.
I glance around, searching for a glimpse of the infamous Townsend house. “So, where did you find Quinton? I can’t see a house anywhere here.”
“The house is a bit further away, on the other side of the forest,” Jack answers. “I saved Quinton near a creek. There’s a path that runs from a park not far from the house.”
“A creek?” Anxiety creeps into my voice. What could have possibly happened?
Jack rubs the top of my hand, calming me. “Your babysitter panicked when she tried to escape. But Quinton seemed to take it all in his stride. Probably thought it was just a grand adventure. ”
“Oh, baby.” I hold Quinton close, my hands carefully patting his small body, searching for any signs of harm.
“He’s all right,” Jack’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “But—don’t be mad—I did make him cry.” His innocent smirk melts me as he explains, “I believe he thought I was taking him back to the house. So I wandered back into the park, strolling along the tree-lined path until we ended up here. Quinton looked content, and I thought it’d be the perfect spot to wait for you.”
I caress Jack’s cheek. He is my hero, the one who saved my precious child. This will be a story I’ll share with Quinton time and time again, as well as with our future children and their children.
Then Quinton starts to fuss. I gently bounce him up and down, but he continues to squirm. His tiny hands reach out, grasping at the air as if trying to communicate something.
“He may be hungry,” Jack says.
I glance at him, my eyebrows raised in surprise. My potential baby daddy is absolutely spot on. Sam looks at him, too, perhaps thinking the same question—how does the Marine know?
Sam smiles crookedly, then gets up, his footsteps rustling the grass as he walks away. “I’ll go check on Comet and handle our escort,” he said, nodding toward the trooper standing nearby. “Are you two okay here?”
“Yeah,” Jack responds. He watches Sam’s retreating figure.
“We both owe him,” I murmur.
Meanwhile, Quinton continues to squirm in my arms, interrupting my attempts to prepare for his breastfeeding. “Hold him, please?” I hand him over to Jack, at the same time stealing glances at his muscles straining against his snug T-shirt. I can’t wait to lay my body down on those carved abs.
Quinton cries. Jack holds him close, his large hands shaking him gently in an attempt to soothe him. I take off Sam’s jacket, revealing my torn shirt, a stark reminder of the events that unfolded.
“What happened?” Jack’s eyes widen.
“They found out I was wired, but Sam took control of the situation. I’m okay, Jack.” I remove my shirt and unclasp my bra, letting my boobs spill out.
I reach out to Quinton, my fingers brushing against his soft cheek. “Come here, baby.” The warmth of his tiny body brushes against mine as his lips latch onto my nipple. How I missed this.
“Must feel good to be a mother,” Jack whispers.
“I wouldn’t trade it with anything else.” I softly chuckle as Quinton’s sucking becomes more pronounced.
Jack kneels behind me, and his body presses against my back, his strong arms enveloping me. I can feel his chin perched on my shoulder, his warm breath caressing my earlobe.
“I love you, Ava,” he whispers, his words like a gentle river flow.
Emotion fills my chest. I tilt my face, meeting his gaze as I accept his declaration and his kiss. “I love you too, Jack.”