Page 56 of Her Faithful Protector

“You’re going to be based here permanently, Jack?” Tyler asks me.

“It’s a possibility, yes,” I respond tentatively. The only military installation in Montana is an Air Force base near Great Falls, which is about a hundred miles north of here. I don’t believe there’s any opportunity for me there, but I don’t want to bring it up at the moment.

“Or, I could come with you to Hawaii,” Ava suggests, possibly picking up my unease.

Shifting my chair closer to her, I put my arm around her shoulder and say, “We’ll need to talk about it, sweetheart.”

“You know what I’m going to say, right?” Tyler nudges. “Would you consider joining Red Mark?”

I lean back, acknowledging his predictable question. “I won’t rule it out.”

“Comet has been talking about you.”

“Has he?” I say. “He’s a great kid.”

“He’s young, but he’s had to deal with a lot of tough shit.”

“He told me he helped his mother raise his brother because their dad passed away when Huxley was only twelve,” Ava says.

“Yeah, that, and did he tell you about Colombia?” asks Tyler.

“He did.”

“That he lost his girlfriend in that operation?”

So the Comet omitted that part when he told me the story. Perhaps he hasn’t made peace with that yet, knowing it might interfere with his focus at the time.

I shake my head in disbelief and mutter, “That’s messed up.”

Away from the ladies who are busy putting on a bib on Quinton, Tyler says, “She was a local, a CIA informant. She was shot a week after the raid, her body left on a bench in front of a church.”

“Fuck,” I mumble to him.

While Ava and Morgan take turns feeding Quinton, Ty and I order our second burgers. The baby enthusiastically devours his carrot puree and honey tea, specially prepared by the chef.

Desserts arrive, drawing a collective gasp of surprise from everyone at the table. Even the ladies, who initially said ‘no’ to the huckleberry pie and ice cream, give in to the temptation.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I glance down and see a message from my captain reminding me about my leave.

Noticing my expression, Ava asks, “You okay?”

Unable to bring myself to discuss it right now, I dismiss the message and stroke my partner’s hand, silently telling her we’ll talk later.

19

JACK

A sneer creeps onto my face as I gaze at the photo in the newspaper. The image captures Willem Botha, a man who falls into the despicable category of assholes. And there are two types of despicable assholes—the ones who have the audacity to confront you directly, and the ones who cowardly taunt you from a distance.

Willem belongs to the latter group. It baffles me how he can appear saint-like in that picture, considering what he has done to his own son. He stands there, all smiles, alongside a group of esteemed information technology scientists at a prestigious London summit. Richard Branson’s absence is notable, but the article emphasizes Willem’s respect and recognition in the industry, even labeling him a trailblazer.

Ava wraps her arms around me from behind. “You’re still staring at that photo?” she comments, resting her chin on my shoulder. Her apron carries the scent of freshly roasted potatoes and vegetables.

“I’m trying to envision what’s going on in his mind.”

“Power, money, pride,” she scoffs. Then she turns mearound, giving me a casual smile. “By the way, how much sauce would you like?”

Tonight, she’s preparing my favorite dish - fillet mignon with mushroom sauce and all the trimmings.

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