Chapter 2
518 Words
2
Peter
Sara is unusually quiet as we leave the clinic, her slender fingers cold in my grip, and I know she’s again entertaining doubts about us, her overactive mind going over all the reasons why what we have is wrong and cannot work.
I wish I could reassure her, explain my new idea and tell her she just needs to be patient, but I don’t want to make promises I might not be able to keep. There are so many layers to my plan, so many moving parts, that the odds of failure are much greater than those of success.
If I accept Danilo Novak’s hundred-million-euro offer to eliminate Julian Esguerra, my team and I will be tangling with the most dangerous man I know.
Under different circumstances, I wouldn’t even entertain the idea. Esguerra has sworn to kill me for endangering his wife in order to rescue him, but before that, I spent a year working for him as a security consultant in order to get the list of people involved in my family’s m******e. I know the Colombian arms dealer; I’ve seen how violent and merciless he is. His organization singlehandedly wiped out one of the deadliest terrorist groups in history, and he’s done unspeakably cruel things to other enemies. With his enormous wealth and contacts in governments all over the globe, Esguerra is next to untouchable, his compound in the sss jungle the equivalent of a military fortress. And that’s why Novak is offering that kind of money: because no one in their right mind would go up against someone so powerful and ruthless.
The only reason I’m even thinking about embarking on my plan is Sara.
I have to make up for the crash that nearly killed her.
I have to do whatever it takes to give her the life she deserves.
Anton is already on the plane when the twins and I drive up with Sara, and as soon as I get her safely seated, we take off. It’s a fourteen-hour flight to Japan, so once we’re airborne, I remove Sara’s sneakers and tuck a blanket around her feet, hoping she’ll be comfortable enough to take a nap.
I myself haven’t slept much since the crash, but I want her to rest and heal.
She regards me with somber hazel eyes as I reach for my laptop, and I ask, “Hungry, my love?”
We had breakfast before leaving the clinic, but she barely ate, so I brought extra sandwiches for the flight.
She shakes her head. “I’m okay, thanks.” Her voice is melodious and a little husky—a singer’s voice, I’ve always thought. I want to listen to it forever, whether she’s speaking or belting out one of the pop songs she loves. Most of all, though, I want to hear it croon a lullaby to our baby, so the child knows he or she’s safe and loved.
With effort, I push that alluring image away. I can’t think about starting a family with Sara now… not when I have such a dangerous task ahead.
It’s for the best that Sara is not pregnant, and until we’re past this hurdle, I’ll make sure she stays that way.
- Writer
