Page 102 of The Archer Brothers

“What were you doing for six years?”

“Hunting,” I reply, getting right to the point. I’m not willing to elaborate, either. Regardless of how I feel, I’m a SEAL through and through, and no one is going to get classified information out of me.

“Hunting. Right …” Trailing off, Marley looks as if she’s pondering whether I’m telling the truth. “So you came home and your wife was gone?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And that’s it?”

I shrug. It’s my new automatic response to the repeated same question. “Everything I’ve been told, which has all been the same, is she left right after we were buried, yet I don’t know if I can trust the source. But she did so without saying good-bye to everyone.” I leave out any information about Frannie Riveria being my source and her involvement because that’s for me, and right now I’m not convinced Frannie has anything do with Penny and Claire disappearing. If she does … well, that just makes the bullet I plan to put between her eyes even sweeter. I don’t care if River was our team’s leader; his wife is a traitor and is responsible for everything that has happened to them. She’ll pay.

“Have you checked in her hometown?”

My blood starts to boil and I want to ask if Marley is stupid, but I bite my tongue. “Her father died when she was younger and I never met her mother. Penny and I met in a bar. She was in San Diego on vacation. To say we hit it off would be an understatement. When she left I thought I wouldn’t see her again, but she proved me wrong immediately. As soon as she made it to her first layover, she turned right around and came back to California. I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her, but had no idea she felt the same way until she came back. We married quickly because there wasn’t a reason to wait. Penny told me she was pregnant a few months into our marriage and our daughter, Claire, was born. She’s nine-years old.”

“This may be a sensitive question, but is Claire yours?”

I smile at the thought of my daughter and reach into my back pocket to pull out my wallet. I take out the last picture I received from Penny, well Frannie, and its Claire’s second grade photo. Marley isn’t the first person to ask if Claire is mine, but all it takes is for the person asking to take a look at Claire and see she looks just like me. Placing the photo on Marley’s desk, I slide it toward her.

“Well that answers my question,” Marley says, nodding.

Taking the photo back I look at Claire and silently tell her that I’m coming for her.

“If you ‘died’ four months into your mission and you say that your daughter is nine, how’d you get that picture?” Marley asks.

“Well, this is where shit gets complicated, ma’am. Our team leader’s wife knew we were alive and kept sending us care packages so we wouldn’t know something was up.”

“That’s fucked up.” The statement must shock Marley as she quickly covers her mouth. Thing is, her response was so quiet that I almost didn’t hear her, but I like knowing she’s not afraid to drop the f-bomb when it’s warranted.

“Yes, ma’am, it is.”

“I feel really sorry for you, Tucker.”

I want to tell her thank you, but I don’t need pity. I want answers. I want my family back. “Please, just help me find my wife and daughter.”

Marley nods and wipes an errant tear that’s fallen down her cheek. I direct my gaze down at my lap because I don’t want her to know how she’s affecting me. I don’t want to see her heart break for me because I’m not worth it. The ache she’s feeling in her heart needs to be focused on finding Penny and Claire.

“Claire’s in second grade?”

I sit up, rubbing my hand up and down my leg. “Third, now.” The only reason I know this is because of the care packages and the reports cards I was receiving. “She’s just like me with having a birthday that is later than your classmates.”

“Okay. I’ll need that picture and one of Penny.”

I quickly hand the picture back to Marley and pull out the last one I received of Penny. If I had to guess it was probably seven or eight years old. Even when I deployed after Claire was born, Penny would only send pictures of our daughter. Rarely would she be in them. It didn’t matter because I always kept my favorite picture of Penny in my helmet. I take a long look at my wife, with her blonde hair in a messy bun and her sunglasses resting on the top of her head. We had just come back from the beach and she was outside hosing off Claire’s toys when I called her name and snapped the photo. Reluctantly, I hand the photo to Marley, who puts each one into her scanner. A few clicks later and they’re both back in my hand and tucked inside my wallet for safe keeping. That is until I pull them out later when I’m lying in bed, wondering if they’re safe.

“What’s your wife’s name?”

“Penelope Ann McCoy,” I say with a sigh. I finally feel like Marley has listened to my plight and she’s willing to help me.

While typing on her computer, Marley rattles off her next question without glancing at me. “Maiden name?”

“Kolowski.”

“And Claire’s name?”

“Claire Ann McCoy.”

Marley continues to ask pertinent questions with me giving her everything she needs to know and then some. With each click of the keyboard, I grow more anxious. Could Marley be the one to find my wife and daughter? I don’t want to get my hopes up, but maybe Carole is right and a woman private investigator will have a better chance than a man—especially one who focuses on searching for kidnapped children.

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