Page 17 of Saving Jennifer
Wooden planks creaked beneath Noah’s weight as he shifted, his eyes automatically scanning the perimeter for any sign of movement that didn’t belong. It had been a long time, far too many years, since he’d spent any time within the cypress trees and dangerous waters of the bayou. Nothing but the occasional ripple from a gator or fish breaking the surface. Still, the unease in his gut wouldn’t subside.
Gator’s words echoed in his head:“They’re finding you too easily, nephew. Something ain’t right.”
He pulled the small electronic device from his pocket—a scanner designed to detect unauthorized transmitters. Gator had handed it over, knowing Noah would recognize it instantly. The thought of checking Jennifer for a subcutaneous tracker made his stomach turn. Was it possible the Amirs somehow got a tracker on her without her knowledge or consent? Another invasion of her privacy, another reason for her to feel like her life wasn’t her own anymore. He hated to be the one to even broach the topic with her, but at this point, he didn’t really have a choice. If they’d put a tracker on her belongings, it had been blown to smithereens when the apartment exploded, because they’d only grabbed the one duffel bag that he’d personally packed, and he knew nobody had touched it except him and Jennifer.
The humid night air was thick with mosquitoes, clinging to his skin like a second layer. Noah closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and suddenly he wasn’t in Louisiana anymore.
The desert heat was suffocating, dust coating the inside of his throat with each breath. Captain Donovan stood before their unit, his face a mask of determination as he outlined the extraction plan.
“This is strictly need-to-know,” he’d said, eyes scanning each of their faces. “The intelligence is solid. High-value target, minimal security. We go in quiet, we get out quieter.”
Six hours later, four of Noah’s team were dead. Ambushed. Someone had known they were coming. The intelligence wasn’t just wrong; it held the taint of a deliberate setup.
He could still see Donovan’s face through his scope two weeks later, as the captain met with the man their team had been hunting for months. No recognition registered when Noah confronted him after, just cold calculation in his eyes.
“You don’t understand the bigger picture, Temple,” he’d said. “Sometimes sacrifices are necessary.”
Noah woke up in a military hospital four days later with two bullet wounds and a pending dishonorable discharge for striking his commanding officer. The official report cited “insubordination leading to mission compromise resulting in fatalities and casualties.” Donovan made sure his version was the only one that mattered—or was believed.
A floorboard creaked behind him, pulling Noah sharply back to the present. He spun, weapon half-drawn before his brain registered Jennifer standing in the doorway, a quilt wrapped around her shoulders.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”
He holstered his weapon, mentally cursing himself for being so jumpy. “You should be resting.”
“We both know that’s not happening.” She moved to stand beside him, her shoulder almost touching his as she leaned against the railing. “What’s that?” She nodded toward the device still clutched in his other hand.
Noah hesitated, weighing honesty against comfort. He wasn’t ready to have this conversation, but it needed to be done sooner rather than later. Meeting her eyes, he handed the device to her.
“It’s a scanner. Gator thinks…there’s a possibility that they might be tracking you somehow.”
Her laugh was short and bitter. “Tracking me? Like I’m some kind of animal? Are you saying they’ve tagged me? What’s next, they’re going to mount my head on their wall?” She shook her head, moonlight catching the golden highlights in her dark hair. “At this point, nothing would surprise me.”
“We don’t have to do this now,” he said, taking back the scanner and starting to slip it into his pocket. “It’s just a precaution.”
“No.” Her voice was suddenly firm, and he watched her let the quilt slip from her shoulders. “Let’s do it. We need to know.”
Their eyes met, and the determination he saw there reminded him why she’d survived this long. Jennifer Baptiste wasn’t just a witness; she was a force of nature disguised as an interior designer who’d accidentally learned too much about a horrific situation and couldn’t keep it secret.
“It won’t hurt,” he assured her, turning on the scanner. “Just stand still.”
He began at her head, moving the device slowly down her body, keeping a professional distance that felt anything but professional. It was intimate and invasive, though he never touched her. The scanner remained silent as he moved it over her arms, her torso, down her legs. Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl as he looked for a tracker, fearing the sound of the telltale beep.
“Nothing,” Noah confirmed, stepping back, simultaneously relieved and troubled. If she wasn’t being tracked, then how were they finding them?
Jennifer hugged the blanket tighter. “That’s good, right?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, not entirely convinced. “That’s good. And bad because we still don’t know how they’re finding you every time you move.”
She stood there in silence for a moment, then asked, “Where did you go before? When you were standing here alone, your mind was somewhere else entirely.”
Noah stiffened. “Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.” Her voice was soft but insistent. “You know everything about me—my life is an open book to you. But you? You’re a complete mystery, Noah.”
“That’s how it has to be.”
“Says who?”