Chapter Sixteen
Sixteen
Fifteen-year-old Andie Delaney walked the brimful macchiato from the espresso machine to the register, still a little slower than many of the other employees here at Cara’s Bakehouse, because this was only her second week on the job.
Andie’s mom’s best friend owned the place, and she’d been hired for shifts after school and on the weekends.
It was tough work at first—this was her first job, after all—but she’d become more comfortable with her duties by the day, even though there were still stressful moments, especially on the weekends, as throngs of locals and tourists ventured in to recharge on coffee here in the attractive Noble Park neighborhood of Boulder, Colorado.
Andie lived just a few blocks away with her mom and her stepdad, both of whom she loved, and her eleven-year-old half sister, whom she occasionally tolerated.
Andie was a bright girl but only a fair student; she had trouble focusing on subjects that didn’t interest her.
Her true love wasn’t academics, it was sports, and she found school so much less interesting than the nearby mountains, especially during the winter.
A competitive snowboarder, she’d achieved a national ranking in her age group in both the halfpipe and slopestyle disciplines.
She dreamed of landing a sponsor and even competing in the Olympics someday, and this job here at Cara’s would, over time, earn her some money to spend on training and gear.
She also enjoyed the comradery with the rest of the staff here, the sense of responsibility that came along with her first job, and she especially enjoyed meeting people.
Andie Delaney was anything but shy.
She was five-five, pretty, soft-featured, and bright-eyed, and she wore oversized jeans and a black XL Cara’s Bakehouse sweatshirt under her apron. She kept her short brown hair back in a ponytail for work today, but more often than not, she kept her hair tucked in a red beanie.
Andie made it to the counter, where she carefully handed the macchiato to a woman who thanked her and headed off to grab some sugar and a spoon, and then she stepped back to the iPad register, spun it back to her, and looked up to see the door open and another patron step in from the sunny but cold afternoon.
He was a regular, at least as far as she could tell as a new employee, and she thought she’d seen him virtually every day she’d worked for the past week.
The man was tall, old—from her perspective, anyway—with short blond and graying hair shaved into dramatic sideburns, a slightly darker beard groomed into a point, and a mustache flecked with even more gray.
He wore a thick Carhartt jacket, roper boots, and jeans, and Andie took him as some sort of a cowboy.
He walked towards the counter with a slight limp, locked eyes with her, and gave her a smile.
“Welcome to Cara’s. How can I help you?” she asked, although she already knew the answer to this question. Coffee, large, three sugars, and a cheese Danish. She didn’t know a lot of people’s regular orders by heart, but this big cowboy was such a frequent visitor she had his down.
The big man continued smiling at her, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “I bet you can guess.”
Andie smiled a little herself. “Coffee, large, three sugars. And a cheese Danish.”
The man continued smiling as he spoke. “You got me all figured out.”
She nodded as she looked down to the screen to ring him up. “As long as you don’t change it, I’ll remember.”
“I never change. You work every day, don’t you?”
She looked back up. “You’ve got me all figured out.”
The man grinned, a toothy smile made even brighter surrounded by his beard.
Andie said, “Just about every day. I’m new, but we’re short-staffed.”
“Must be tough.”
“Nah, I like it. Eleven sixty, please.”
The man pulled a twenty out of his wallet and handed it to her. As she began making change, he said, “If you don’t mind my saying, you look pretty young to be holding down a job.”
Andie was surprised by this. This man was the first person to say she looked too young to be working here.
She handed over his change. “I’m fifteen.”
“Is that right?”
“My mom is friends with the lady who owns the café, and she gave me a part-time job.”
The cowboy nodded, still not taking his eyes off her as he put all his change into a glass tip jar next to the register. He’d given the same gratuity every day, and she thanked him, as always.
“Thanks.”
“It’s great you’re getting some work experience at your age. It will make you stronger.” He quickly added, “Mentally tougher, I mean. Ready to take on the world.”
She looked at him quizzically now. Unsure how to respond, she just said, “I like it here.”
Andie stepped away, poured the man’s coffee and put his Danish on a plate, and then walked back to the counter where he stood. As she poured sugar into the coffee, she said, “You don’t need the Danish heated, right?”
“Right again.” The man took both items from her. “How’s school?”
She cocked her head a little. On his earlier visits here, this guy hadn’t been so chatty. “School?” she asked.
“Yeah. Having a good year?”
“I guess.” She shrugged. “It’s school…how good can it be?”
“I remember thinking the same thing. Just do your best. No one can expect more out of you than that.”
She chuckled. “Yeah? Tell my mom.”
The big man said nothing. His eyes were kind but simultaneously intense.
Andie’s boss stepped up next to her. With authority in her voice, she asked, “Do you have everything you need, sir?”
The bearded man looked away from the girl and towards the woman. “Yes, ma’am, this young lady has taken great care of me.”
“Is there anything else we can do for you today?”
Andie realized Ms. Cara was being protective, and she wasn’t trying to hide it.
The old cowboy smiled at Cara now. “Nothing else, ma’am.” He held up his pastry and his coffee. “Got what I need.” Looking back to Andie Delaney, he said, “Take care. Make it an outstanding day.”
“You, too.”
Andie noticed that Cara kept her eyes on the man until he headed back to the door and left the café, then stepped around the counter and walked all the way to the windows, as if she were looking to see what vehicle he climbed into.
The young girl picked her rag back up and headed up to the front to start wiping down tables. Cara kept her eyes out at the parking lot, and Andie followed them, seeing the man with the coffee and Danish climbing into a white F-150 pickup.
As the Ford pulled out of the lot and disappeared up the street, Cara stepped over to her. “Was that guy bugging you?”
“No, he’s nice. Just a talker, I guess. Every day he leaves like an eight-dollar tip.”
“Something’s weird about him,” Cara said flatly. Then she added, “If he comes back tomorrow, come find me. Let me handle him.”
“Okay. Sure.” Andie didn’t see what the big deal was, but she headed off to clean another table.
—
A minute later, the white F-150 nosed into a parking spot in a leafy park across the street from Cara’s Bakehouse, just a two-lane road and a sidewalk separating it from the front door, and the driver turned off the engine.
The big bearded man sat still behind the wheel for a moment, and then he grabbed his coffee from the cup holder, took off the lid, and blew on it a moment.
He took a sip before reaching into the paper bag; he pulled the Danish out and took a couple of bites while looking across the street at the café.
Andie Delaney appeared in the window, wiping down a table; he watched as she picked up some ceramic plates and mugs and headed back towards the kitchen.
He did not take his eyes off her the entire way.
When she was gone, the man closed his eyes a moment, his hands in his lap, coffee in one and pastry in the other, and his mind drifted back in time, back to another life.
He didn’t let his thoughts creep back often, but when they did, they always took a lot out of him.
Zack Hightower slowly opened his eyes again, and his gaze went back to the café as he took another long slow sip.
A sudden pain in the back of his left leg jolted him upright, a nerve tingle that felt like electrified fire ants biting him, and he focused on this so that he could avoid thinking about his past.
The nerve pain subsided, and a dull ache that he’d almost learned to ignore returned.
Zack had been shot six weeks earlier; he was still recovering, and though his muscles were getting stronger each and every day, the pain lingered.
He had prescription medications in a pack in the seat behind him, but he’d forgotten to take them again.
His mind had been on other things of late. Other types of pain.
He saw the young girl through the window of the coffee shop again as she returned to the counter; he closed his eyes again, and the past flashed into his mind with the immediacy of the nerve jolt in his leg.
Thirteen years earlier he’d been an officer in the U.S. Navy, a lieutenant commander in SEAL Team 6. He’d led a counterterrorism hit into Eritrea to kill the head of Al Qaeda in East Africa, and he’d accomplished his mission, gotten himself and his men out alive and unscathed.
A few months after this, however, his name and his role in the op were leaked to AQ by an investigative reporter. Zack was living with his young family at the time outside San Diego, and Al Qaeda sent a cell of three operatives living in LA down to extract some payback.
The big American Navy man was with his wife, Tiffany, and his eighteen-month-old daughter, Stacy, in a shopping mall in La Jolla when Zack detected the trio of foreigners wearing backpacks following him.
He separated from his wife and child in the food court and reached into a fanny pack just before the terrorist cell pulled folded stocked rifles out of their backpacks.
As the men leveled their weapons at the American, Zack Hightower drew a Glock 27 and opened fire.
The terrorists got off a few rounds, but Zack’s shots had been more accurate.