Page 35

Jack

“Dad, are you going to the shooting range today?”

Sophia comes into my office wearing incredibly short shorts and a Cage the Elephant concert t-shirt that’s so long you can barely see the hem of those short shorts.

Her golden hair is wet and based on the extensive wet areas on the cotton shirt, she didn’t bother to towel dry her hair.

Her blue eyes sparkle, so much like her mom’s that sometimes I feel like I’m looking at the reincarnation of Cassandra.

“I am.” My fingers hover over the mouse, closing the website I had been visiting. “What are you planning on doing today?”

My gaze travels to my bookcase and the shelf with her phone sitting unused.

There was a time when I would have loved for her to refuse a phone.

But now it’s just a blatant reminder that something is wrong.

My daughter still hurts, and she hasn’t yet fully recovered.

I have more money than I can spend, yet I can’t fix this for her.

She stands behind one of my chairs. Her fingers graze the curved walnut back. That’s when I notice her black nail polish. Ava wears dark nail polish. Is she styling herself like Ava? That will not do.

“I’d like to go to the gun range with you.” Sophia’s statement snaps me back into the moment.

“You want…” Those blue eyes are tentative.

And it hits me like a tsunami. She doesn’t feel safe.

“Sophia, I promise you, you are safe in this house.” I push up out of my office chair and come around to her.

“I know, before… I was ridiculous to not have a better security system in place. And I will never forgive myself.” Sitting on the edge of my desk, I lean toward her, reaching for her slight hand.

“But we are like Fort Knox secure. No one is coming here uninvited.”

“Dad,” she takes my hand in both of hers, “the person who…” She falters, and I still, holding my breath.

She has yet to say out loud what happened.

Her gaze falls, but her grasp on my hand tightens.

“We knew him. He was one of your closest friends.” My eyes close because I can’t look at her while hearing her.

The pain batters me because she’s only speaking the truth.

“I don’t blame you, Dad. It’s not your fault. ”

My eyes sting, and I grit my teeth. She lets my hand go and approaches the bookcase. Her back is to me, and I gather myself. My fingers find the knot on my tie, and I straighten it and tighten the noose.

“I want to learn how to shoot.” She turns and presses her back against the bookcase.

She lifts her chin, defiant, and once again I am blown away by how similar she is to her mother.

“I want the ability to defend myself. But more than that, I come from a gun manufacturing family. Shouldn’t I know how to use a gun? ”

She should. Cassandra hated guns. That was something she and I argued over, but it was one of about five hundred things we argued over, and I didn’t fight hard for my daughter’s gun skill development. Given what happened, I probably should have.

“You want to learn how to shoot?”

“I want to compete.”

“Competitions, huh?”

She nods.

Uncle Mark must have filled her head with family legend, telling her how the Sullivans used to win all the shooting competitions. I certainly never told her.

She’s fifteen. She’s a little old to be jumping into competition, but she can do anything she sets her mind to.

“Then come with me.” I check my watch. “I leave in fifty minutes.” Her body twists, heading out the door. “But you can’t wear that.” I point at her bare legs.

If her mother were alive, there’s no way she’d let her leave the house like that. Her butt practically hangs out of those short shorts. Her nose crinkles in the way she does when she thinks I’m making zero sense.

“Jeans. Or pants. Boots would be good. Make sure your toes are covered.”

I’d like to tell her to change her nail polish, but I recognize that’s overreaching. After she leaves my office, I send a text to my house manager asking her to send a selection of light pink nail polishes to the house.

And then I think about the woman behind the black polish.

Ava wears dark, poorly made clothes. She has money now and can afford to buy whatever clothes she wants, but maybe she could use some prodding.

I type out a text asking the house manager to buy Ava clothes, but I flounder with the request, as I’m unsure what direction to give.

I search for women’s clothing. An ad for Nordstrom pops up, and in under ten minutes I have a selection of clothes ordered. If Sophia is going to model herself after Ava, then Ava should wear the right kinds of clothes.

Then I call Ryan.

“Jack. Was about to call you. Your boat will be in transit to San Diego by the end of the day.”

“Excellent.”

“There’s a lot of interest in the boat crew that’s hired for this initial trip.”

“No doubt.”

The work I’ve done with the CIA has centered on international partners.

They’ve had tremendous interest in countries buying weapons and in gaining insight on the individuals showing up to meetings to negotiate volume purchases.

For the most part, my CIA career has centered around truly benign information sharing.

But now, we’re dealing with smuggling. Crimes on US soil.

“I meant to ask you. Who did you say you had lunch with yesterday?” On the flight home from Houston, I gave Ryan top line updates.

“Senator Talbot, Chuck Strand, and my uncle.”

He says nothing. I wait patiently. In theory, we’re on a secure line. In theory, they sweep my office for listening devices daily. But technical capabilities have increased to the point I’m not sure anyone is safe from surveillance.

“Are you close to the senator?”

“He’s a seventy-five-year-old politician.” I spin my office chair so I can take in the Pacific. “I think he and my dad were friends back in the day. He’s friendly with my uncle. He’s big shit in Texas.”

“He’s an investor in several private prisons.”

He’s a wealthy man. If he’s like me, that’s not surprising. “You realize he probably doesn’t know everything he’s invested in, right?”

“I’m not talking about stock. These aren’t publicly traded.”

“Which ones?” I ask, but I suspect I know the answer.

“Two big companies own one hundred and seventy private correctional facilities. He’s a significant investor in both companies. They own five prisons in Texas.”

“Interesting.” But being a financial investor doesn’t necessarily mean one can pull strings. “But somewhat meaningless. You remember what I told you about Morales, right?”

Morales basically offered to eliminate the man.

My guess is Morales has some of his men currently serving time and technically still on his payroll in multiple prisons.

It’s my understanding that’s how things get done in prisons.

Criminal organizations have men serving time and readily available to do as-needed work.

“I remember. See you shortly.”

“Sophia is going to the range with me today.”

A silent beat crosses the line.

“Good for her,” he says.

I roll my eyes. Part of me agrees with Ryan. Part of me is proud of her effort. But there’s another part of me that absolutely hates that she feels the need to hold a gun. I am doing everything I can to make her feel safe. “Should we plan to meet somewhere else?”

“No. I’ll hire someone for private lessons.”

“You won’t teach her?”

“Sophia doesn’t listen to me as well as she listens to others. I’ll step aside during her lesson.”

“Sounds good.”

“Thanks, Wolf.” I don’t use his old nickname often, but it feels more personable, and it rolls off my tongue.

“Jack?”

“Yeah.”

“You know it’s a good idea that she learns to shoot, right? It’s just smart. She’ll be a target for the rest of her life.”

He’s referencing the one hundred million reward I offered for information leading me to her alive. Desperation beat common sense. The FBI agents on the case had been furious with me. And in calmer moments, after that press conference, I recognized the lunacy. But dammit, I did what I had to do.

“Gotta run.”

* * *

There’s a quiet that envelops the house when Sophia falls asleep. When I close the draft of the meeting documents for our upcoming board meeting, I check the time, and awareness of the late-night quiet peaks. Outside my window, a dark shadow crosses the lawn. The third shift at work.

Sophia didn’t do too bad with the handguns. The rifles hurt her shoulder, but she had a steely determination. I picked an older, grandfatherly man for her instructor. He will be patient with her as she learns the ropes and refines her skills.

It’ll be nice to spend time with her at the range. There’s not much I can bond with her on, but guns, if she’s into those, at the very least, are a way to spend time with my daughter.

Ryan and I also shot several rounds. And he let me know the undercover operation has been approved and the FBI will lead.

Since the operation is somewhat underway, the FBI will be working with Arrow as a contractor on the project.

The CIA will be looped in. As well as various groups who monitor things like firearms and drugs.

It’s a logistical fucking nightmare, and I’m glad I’m not involved in all the politics that will no doubt circle the covert operation.

Sophia and I ate dinner together alone. I didn’t ask where Ava was. Sophia said she had another session with her, but she didn’t share more.

The door creaks as I push it open. Sophia lies on the bed, eyes closed, sleeping like a peaceful princess. Her little dog doesn’t even lift his head.

When that dog dies, Sophia’s next dog will be a German shepherd or some sort of protection dog. I blame myself for what happened to Sophia, but that little dog is complicit too. She probably licked the men who took Sophia.

I carefully pull her door shut and silently cross the house, heading down the stairs to find Ava.