Chapter 7
The silence inside the boathouse was absolute, save for the rhythmic patter of rain and the harsh, ragged intake of Ava’s breath. She stood petrified, her fingers digging so deep into the fabric of Jake’s navy tactical shirt that her knuckles were bloodless.
"He’s alive," Ava choked out, her voice a ragged tear in the dark. "They have him. Jake... they have my husband."
"Get Nora in the front seat," Jake said, his voice dropping into that chilling, mechanical calm that took over whenever a mission went catastrophically sideways. "Buckle her in. Keep her head down."
"Did you hear what they said?!" Ava screamed, losing her grip on her composure. "They want Nora! They want my baby!"
Jake grabbed Ava by the shoulders. His grip was firm, not painful, but unyielding as an iron vice. He forced her to look directly into his eyes, where no fear or hesitation lingered—only lethal calculation.
"Listen to me very carefully, Ava," Jake commanded, his breath warm against her cold forehead. "They don't want Nora. They want what’s inside this tag. They used her daycare because they knew you were the only person who would never let that necklace out of your sight. They tracked you to the hospital because they knew I was recovering there."
"They knew you were there?" she whispered.
"Who do you think authorized my medical transfer from San Diego to a civilian rehabilitation wing in Chicago?" Jake’s jaw set hard. "Aegis Vanguard owns the private equity firm that underwrites this hospital’s foundation. They orchestrated my surgery schedule. They wanted me in that room when Nora brought the tag, because they knew I was the only man alive who could crack Ethan’s military encryption."
"Then we go to the police! We go to the FBI—"
"The FBI will impound that child within twenty minutes, and by morning, the evidence will vanish into a sealed federal archive while Ethan’s body is dumped into the Great Lakes," Jake cut her off brutally. "There is no cavalry coming, Ava. It’s just me."
He limped quickly to the rear of the truck, popped the rusted tailgate, and pried open the wooden floorboard where an emergency smuggler’s cache had been hidden years ago. He lifted out a sealed olive-drab duffel bag. Inside were three loaded thirty-round magazines, a collapsible tactical carbine, and two flashbang canisters coated in cosmoline.
"Where did you get those?" Ava asked, her voice trembling as she watched him inspect the weapons with effortless, deadly familiarity.
"I don't travel unarmed, even when I'm on convalescent leave," Jake replied flatly. He loaded a round into the chamber with a sharp, metallic snap. "You drive the truck. Two miles west of the salt docks is a twenty-four-hour diner called the Iron Kettle. You park behind the kitchen dumpsters. You lock the doors, keep Nora under a blanket, and don't open the windows for anyone who isn't me."
"And what about Ethan?" Ava pleaded, tears streaming down her pale cheeks. "What are you going to do?"
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Jake looked down at the tiny carbon microdot in the palm of his hand, then closed his fist tight until the edges bit into his skin.
"I’m going to settle a four-year-old debt," Jake said.
