Page 15 of All Along The Watchtower

I jerked my head toward the hall, urging Willa and Sawyer out ahead of me. Quietly, I shut the door behind me, not wanting to spook the terrified teenager I’d left in my office. My heart was still hammering against my ribs, trying to process what was happening.

“Are we sure this is real?” Sawyer’s voice was low. “I mean, how do we know she’s really Ford’s kid?”

I fixed him with a look. “Take one good look at that kid and tell me she doesn’t look just like him.”

He scrubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah, okay. She’s like a teenage, female version of him.” Even his stance shifted uncomfortably as the reality fully sank in.

Willa’s brow furrowed, her analytical mind already working through the implications. “If her mother’s dead, someone had custody of her. They’re probably missing her right now.”

I could see where she was going with this, and I held up a hand, protective instincts I didn’t even know I had surging to the surface. “We aren’t contacting the police. Not yet. Not before Ford knows. By rights, this is his to deal with.” And something in the girl’s eyes told me there was more to her story than she was letting on.

Sawyer ran a hand through his sandy hair. “Want me to call him?”

Bless him. I could let him do it. I could offload this whole thing onto someone else’s shoulders. But then I thought of Peyton, of the fear and desperation in her eyes. I’d been where she was, lost and alone and aching for someone to give a damn. Doing anything else felt like abandoning her.

And I wouldn’t do that. Couldn’t do that.

I shook my head. “No. I’ll do it. Y’all want to head on back out front? See if you can do anything to head off the gossip train?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Willa squeezed my shoulder, her eyes full of empathy and warmth.

To buy myself another few minutes, I grabbed a Coke from the cooler and took it in to Peyton. The can was cold and slick against my palm, condensation already beading on the surface.

“Thanks.” Peyton’s voice was barely more than a whisper as she wrapped her fingers around the can.

“I’m just gonna go call your dad.” I hesitated for a moment, wanting to say more, to somehow reassure her that everything would be okay. But I didn’t make promises I couldn’t keep, so I just gave her a small smile and turned away.

I closed myself into Monty’s office down the hall. Unlike my own shoebox of a space, his was twice as large, with neat rows of filing cabinets and framed black and white prints of the island decorating the walls. A sleek computer perched atop the desk beside an ancient rotary phone that he’d picked up in an antique store to use as a paperweight. Weird, wonderful man.

I slumped back against his desk, took a deep breath, and pulled out my phone to dial a number I should have deleted years ago in order to break ten years of silence.

CHAPTER 8

FORD

I rolled my shoulders as I headed down the hall toward the conference room, satisfied with how the afternoon’s exercises had gone. The new protocols we’d been testing showed promise, though there were definitely some rough spots to iron out. Nothing we couldn’t handle. My muscles ached pleasantly from the physical demands of the training—a comforting sensation that reminded me of my track and field days at UGA.

“Lieutenant Commander.” Captain Patton nodded as I fell into step beside him. “Good work out there today.” His weathered face showed approval.

“Thank you, sir.” I straightened instinctively, falling naturally into the posture that had become second nature after all these years in service.

The rhythms of base life settled around me like a well-worn uniform. Here, I knew exactly who I was and what was expected. No complicated history. No ghosts of past mistakes haunting every corner like back home. The Navy had given me structure, purpose, and most importantly, distance from the mess I’d left behind with Emily when I’d called it quits with her for good—though sometimes, late at night, I still found myself thinkingabout that summer, about Bree, about all the things I’d run from.

We entered the conference room where the rest of the team was already gathering. The smell of stale coffee lingered in the air as everyone took their seats, notebooks open and ready for the debrief. Lieutenant Rodriguez was sketching something on the whiteboard—probably that tricky maneuver we’d attempted during the third run of the drill. Chief Warren had already claimed his usual spot near the window, methodically arranging his pens in perfect parallel lines.

“Alright people, let’s break this down,” Captain Patton called out as he moved to the front of the room. “Starting with the morning exercises…”

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as we dove into the analysis. My pen moved across the page, taking notes on improvements needed for tomorrow’s runs. Here in this sterile conference room, surrounded by the structured routine of military life, I felt centered again. Ready to face whatever challenges tomorrow’s exercises might bring.

My phone buzzed against my thigh, interrupting Captain Patton’s analysis of our formation issues. I shifted to pull it from my pocket, ready to send it to voicemail. I could call Mom or Mimi back when we finished—they were probably just checking in like they did every week, Mimi eager to share the latest island gossip while Mom fretted about whether I was eating enough. They could hardly be expected to know when I was through for the day. But the name on the screen stopped my heart.

Bree Cartwright.

The same Bree who’d excised me from her life a decade ago with surgical precision, cutting away every trace of our friendship like it was diseased tissue. The Bree whose number I couldn’t bring myself to delete from my contacts, even thoughshe’d made it crystal clear she never wanted to hear from me again.

Bree did not call me. She did not text or email. She’d said nothing at all to me in ten years, maintaining a silence so complete it felt like we’d never existed in the same universe. This could not be anything good. My gut twisted with a combination of dread and something that felt dangerously like hope.

“Sir,” I cut in, already pushing back from the table, metal chair legs scraping against the floor. “I apologize, but I need to take this call. It’s urgent.” My heart hammered against my ribs like it was trying to escape.

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