Chapter Twenty-Three
O’Connor
Their headlights illuminate my garage as they pull into their driveway, but I keep my head ducked under the hood as I tweak some wiring.
I hear Avery’s pitter-patters first.
“Mr. Jack! Our fence is gone!” She comes skipping up my side of the driveway after clearing the underside of the fence railing.
All the chain link is rolled into a bundle at the curb.
“You’re taking down the fence?” Linden’s voice comes closer as she ducks under the fence rail, too.
“It seemed to be too far gone. Figured starting over wouldn’t hurt.” I wipe my hands on a rag and toss it into the open garage.
“That’s what you’ve been doing all evening?” She asks hesitantly, letting her eyes roam over me.
I shrug. “That, and working on my truck.”
“What exactly is wrong with your truck?” She glances towards the engine, but I know she doesn’t know much about cars.
“Nothing is wrong. Just old. I need to replace some parts before they go bad.”
“Hmm.” Her mouth pinches like she’s deep in thought.
“Everything okay? Things okay up on the hill?” I ask, glancing toward where Avery is skipping around in circles in my garage.
“Yeah. No bee stings tonight, but…” Her eyes flash to mine, and I hold her stare.
“But, what?”
“Nothing.”
“Has your ex been around? Is he bothering you?”
She shakes her head. “I haven’t seen him.”
I shut the hood of my truck slowly, and she watches my every move from the top of my head down to the tip of my boots. “How’s the bed?”
Her lips part and then shut again, quickly, before she finally speaks. “It’s really comfortable. It’s saved my back, so I can only imagine what my air mattress is doing to you.”
“I shoved that thing in the trash a few days ago.”
“You bought a new bed? Let me give you some money–”
“No.”
“Jack–”
“If Avery would like her own bed, I could help you get one.”
“I’m not letting you get us another bed.”
“Okay, well then you can buy it, and I can haul it in my truck and get it in your house.”
“I don’t think that’s necessary right now… But thank you.” Her shoulders finally relax, and this time when her eyes roam over me, they do so slowly and appreciatively.
“Anything you need… Let me know. I like being in your good graces,” I utter softly, and her eyes lift to mine. The corner of her mouth lifts in a smile, and I know we’re both thinking about that night.
I haven’t stopped thinking about it. Shit, I’m hard right now thinking about her crawling onto my lap.
I clear my throat as I readjust my hat, and I feel the tendril of sweat escape down my temple. Her eyes track it, and immediately narrow.
It’s not that hot out tonight.
No, this sweat is from running two-seven-minute miles and arriving back at my house 90 seconds before they did.
From ditching my clothes in the middle of the kitchen floor and pulling on new ones without skipping a beat, and being tucked under the hood of this truck by the time their headlights hit me.
If Avery pops open the door that leads into my kitchen, my secret life will implode.
The blowback would be catastrophic, yet… I’d finally be free from my lies.
“Come on, Avery. Bath time.” Linden reaches for her daughter, and doesn’t shift her weary gaze from me. “Night, Jack.”
“Goodnight, Linden. Night, Avery.”
“Night night, Mr. Jack!”
They disappear into their house, and I think I breathe fully for the first time in an hour. The moment I saw her stepping foot into Edmund’s wing in the mansion while I knew he was talking business, my adrenaline spiked.
I don’t sweat. I don’t get nervous about tactical situations. But watching Linden walk into a wolf’s den killed me.
Then she started recording, and genuine fear forced me from my hiding place. I have no idea what Edmund is capable of doing to his former daughter-in-law. Especially since I know that he and Merrill would be glad to see her dead.
There is no question in my mind that they wish to have custody of Avery. They can pretend all they want that they are grieving parents and that they are only worried for their granddaughter’s well-being, but I know they are more sinister than that.
I go inside and deposit my new recordings into my computer to get them translated, and wait to see what new information I get.
I am ready to get off this op.
For the first time in my life, I’m ready to be out of the fight.
* * *
“Go for Eagle-One.” My handler’s voice sounds in my left ear, and I respond immediately.
“Eagle-One, clear.” It’s been a few days since they cracked the French translation, and now I’m making my first descent into the underground levels of the mansion.
“Hard drive confirms five sales being orchestrated for next week. Look for medical-grade storage, or a location where these transactions take place.”
“Copy.” I move down the stone-walled corridor. It’s not uncommon for historic homes to be built on stone foundations, and for root cellars to be converted to something else. But this area of the mansion remains nearly pre-industrial.
Other than the electrical lines along the ceiling that wire the lone incandescent bulbs hanging above my head every few feet, I feel like I’m in a cave.
The walls are slick and cool to the touch, and there is a rhythmic dripping coming from somewhere. Other than that, it’s completely silent.
I clear the corner, delving deeper into the underground system, and stop short at two doors.
I clear the first one easily, covering myself in cobwebs as I check rows of mason jars and old furniture. It’s an old storage area, and nothing indicates that this area sees regular activity, but I need to be thorough.
Before I leave the room, I sweep it with my flashlight, pausing as my light bounces off the glass jars.
These aren’t vegetables.
Organs are suspended in these jars by some preserving liquid. The size indicates they’re possibly human.
I examine each dust-covered jar closely, noting as much as I can about the contents.
Hearts. Livers. Kidneys. Even a brain stem.
All could be acquired legally by medical professionals, but I’m sure that isn’t likely here.
The last row appears to have more of the same until I get to the end.
Five jars containing different stages of fetuses. From the size of a strawberry to the size of a… baby. The last one looks old enough to survive outside the womb.
Little eyes, a nose. You can still see the peach fuzz on its skin.
From what I’ve learned about the Scotts, the possession of a fetus in this state makes me sick to my stomach.
What did they do to get it? And, to whom?
I relay my findings over my com to my handler and re-enter the cave-like hallway.
“The other door is locked.”
“Can you slip a camera under the seam?”
“Negative. The door is sealed against the stone and armed with a mechanical lock. The dial will need to be cracked manually. Drilling into the stone will be too loud and take too long. There’s probably another entrance from inside the house.”
I got lucky getting in through the outdoor cellar doors without being detected. I won’t have the same luck inside the house. There are too many people on the main floor at any given point to search for a cellar door without being walked up on.
“Copy. You can’t make your presence known until we know you’re on the right trail. Take photos, and fall back. We’ll need a new plan of engagement.”
“Copy.” Fuck. Of course, this couldn’t be the resolution. A safe door built into the stone foundation of the house. No fucking shot this op is going to wrap up quickly.
Linden might not ever know what I’ve been doing behind her back, but I long for the day that I can look her in the face without lying.
My guilt for evading her eats at me every minute while my body craves to be near her. I’ve never wanted someone inside of my soul like I want her.
But I’m forced to bide my time until the truth comes to light.
“Eagle-One, come in.” My handler’s voice comes in right as I’m emerging from the underground portion of the mansion.
“Eagle-One, clear.”
“The latest translation came back. Scott is discussing buying technology equipped for cell replication.”
“What does that mean?” I’m a soldier, not a scientist.
“Likely, DNA cloning.”
Without needing any further information, my thoughts go directly to the innocent little girl with the bee sting on her hand… The blood they took.
How much easier would it be for them to have taken a few strands of her hair, too? Her saliva…
The pit in my stomach after seeing the late-term fetus only grows, thinking about what the Scotts truly intend to do with little Avery’s blood.
And Linden has no idea.