He Defused the Wrong Bomb, Then Lost Everything

The timer on our daughter's chest showed twenty-three minutes, fifty-six seconds, and three hundredths of a second when I finally understood what had happened. Zane Forrest, the elite EOD specialist who had never made a mistake in his career, had snapped the wrong wire on purpose during our daughter's k********g. To make matters worse, he had summoned his clueless childhood sweetheart, Yara Wells, as backup. Yara's scissors deliberately slipped, and she halved the bomb's countdown. My hands shook as I collapsed to my knees, and I pleaded with him to save our baby before the detonation. He just zipped his toolkit shut and stood up. "Serena Hayes, don't be dramatic," he said. "Yara's specialty is last-second rescues. If she pulls this off, she'll bag the Golden Detonator Award." I was coming apart at the seams, and I desperately called every other expert I could reach, but none of them dared cross Zane. With the clock bleeding seconds, I screamed about Yara's lack of certification. He responded by slapping an explosive vest onto my chest. "Complain, or watch me push this button," he said. "Your call." "Twenty-five hours from now, I'll bring her home myself. Everyone's happy, right?" "Zane, the bomb only has twenty-four hours left," I said. The timer read twenty-three minutes, fifty-six seconds, and two hundredths of a second. Every beep of the timer flayed me alive. On the video feed, our daughter curled into a fetal ball, and her vacant stare screamed pure terror. Zane barely glanced at the display, but his eyes gleamed like a proud mentor's. "Yara, this trial by fire will make you an outstanding EOD tech," he said. The realization hit me like a sledgehammer. He had chosen the wrong wire deliberately. This man, a legend with zero failed operations, had botched the simplest call while our daughter had been in captivity for two full days. "Zane, do you know what sixty more minutes could cost?" I asked. He turned to face me, and all traces of humor vanished from his face, replaced by irritation. "Serena, I made a mistake," he said. "If Yara hadn't stepped in, your daughter would be Swiss cheese right now. Instead of thanking her, you doubt her?" He crossed his arms. "Sit tight. Once Yara wins her award, we'll all take a beach getaway." A hysterical laugh burst from my mouth, and tears streamed down my cheeks. Yara did not even have a proper license, yet he had made her his apprentice just because she had once gushed, "Bomb disposal looks so cool. I want to win awards too." And just like that, he had treated our daughter's life as nothing more than a training exercise. How could he call himself a father? My blood boiled, and my voice cracked with desperation. "If you don't save her right now, you will regret this." He waved the detonator, and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Serena, even my patience has limits." "It's just one more day. She has food, and she has water. What else does she need?" He took a step closer. "You have coddled her like a princess. If she cannot tough it out, then she does not deserve the Forrest name." His words were like daggers, and each one carved deeper into my heart. The man who had sworn to shield me forever now looked at me like I was nothing. Five years ago, when I had been eight months pregnant and kidn*pped, he had charged in without hesitation. The bomb back then had been rigged differently, and he had drenched his uniform in sweat while he frantically worked for two hours with no breakthrough. I blinked back my tears, and I shoved at his chest, but he only clamped down on my hand, and his eyes blazed with rage.