Page 4 of Her Redeemed Protector

He then comments, “I thought you weren’t due in until this afternoon.”

“Bed’s as comfy as a porcupine’s back. Figured I’d be productive instead.”

“You don’t look that bad for a man who’s been wrestling with the night. Watch those wrinkles, though. They catch up on you,” the former Green Beret quips, clapping me on the back. I learned after our first meeting that he’s actually older than his business partner Sam Kelleher, but he’s got fewer lines than any of us.

I offer him the cakes, and he takes one without hesitation. “You’re in early, boss. Handing out birthday bonuses?”

“It might just be in the cards.” He doesn’t dismiss the idea. “Sam and I are pitching hard for a new outpost in Bozeman,” he adds. “Investor pow-wow this afternoon.”

“That’s awesome. The boys will be thrilled.”

Bozeman’s been a chess piece waiting to move. We have a solid crew there, contractors who bleed Red Mark’s ethos yet have shied away from the full commitment due to the commute.

Sam joins us and immediately hugs me, tapping my back repeatedly. “Many happy returns, Comet. Glad you’re still with us. We might not shed all your baggage, but hopefully, we’ve lightened the load.”

“Thanks for holding the line with me, sir,” I acknowledge him.

I owe it to Mark and Sam. Through their guidance and the support of my comrades, I’ve learned how to navigate the fine lines between duty, compassion, and the often-overwhelming wave of public scrutiny accompanying each case. You can’t do this job unless it’s calling for you. Sadly, most of the time, it’s a personal tragedy that sculpts this call.

My epiphany came in the jungles of Colombia. Tasked with extracting a compromised CIA agent, our SEAL team was blindsided by the presence of children in our target zone. It was there, in a moment marred by loss and salvation, that my new purpose crystalized. I vowed to become a guardian for the innocent once my military career ended. And when Sam and Mark burst into my day that morning, I knew it was fate.

Nibbling on his strawberry cupcake, Sam asks, “How’s the royal ranch duo, your mom and bro, holding up?”

“It rained all weekend, sir, so they’re happy.”

“Did I smell cupcakes?” a voice travels through the corridor. It’s Cora-Lee Rancic, the queen of the command center, a tech guru, and an overall adorable genius.

“Join us!” I invite her.

“For you.” She hands me a translucent plastic key etched with intricate designs. “It means you’ve got priority access to my lab. Anything you need.”

Mark and Sam whistle, knowing how in-demand she is.

“Come on, we’ve gotta go,” Mark says, dusting his palms off to remove some sugar powder, and gestures to Sam.

Cora-Lee grabs a cupcake and throws me a question, “Still wrestling with that ghost in your Xbox controller? Need me to exorcise it?”

“Nah, it’s been laid to rest,” I wink at her.

She arches an eyebrow. “You caved and bought a new one, didn’t you?”

I shrug with feigned innocence.

She shakes her head with a knowing smirk, then says, “Catch you later, Comet. I’ve got a stack of facial recs to process. Hope your day’s easy!”

I wave at her as the distinct ring of an international call comes off my cell.

“Huxley!Feliz cumpleaños!”

It’s Marta Rojas’s voice, brimming with a cordiality that crosses oceans. In her neighborhood back in Colombia, she’s affectionately known as Mama Marta. How I got to know her is complicated, but one thing is sure. She always remembers my birthday.

“Marta,gracias,” I reply, employing one of the few Spanish words I know. “How are you?”

“Buena, buena. Rodolfo grows up fast,” Marta says in her strong Spanish accent. “I sent you photo. He looks like Valentina, no?”

A name so formidable, yet uttered only by her mother—and whispered silently within my own heart.

“Visit him soon,” Marta urges.

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