Jordan merely pulls me close to sit in his lap, his powerful arms around me.
“I love you, Misty Snow, and I’d do it all over again if I had to. But right now, we need to focus on the positive and not the negative. We need to talk about the good things in life, starting with this baby,” he says, caressing my small bump. “How are you feeling? Are you ready to be a mother?”
I smile at him with tears in my eyes.
“Yes, and when we had the medical check-up at the Army base, the doctors told me the gender. We’re having a girl!”
Jordan looks shocked for a moment, but then he kisses me with wonder.
“A daughter,” he breathes. “Who would have thought?”
I merely wind my arms around him, my heart pounding with love for this man.
“You didn’t just save me,” I breathe into his ear. “You saved both of us. So I guess I’ll say thank you for both of us.”
And with that, I kiss the man that I love so much. The soldier kisses me back, and as his hands roam up and down my curves, I give myself to him again. After all, Jordan Slate risked life and limb to rescue me from a horrific situation, and now, I have everything so long as I’m with him.
Epilogue
Jordan
I moved to Stillwater, Vermont, with my wife about two years ago. Our daughter Eileen, or Eila as she prefers, is the apple of my eye. She looks just like her mother, with her curly brown hair and warm chocolate eyes, and never ceases to entertain with her bubbly personality.
Plus, Stillwater suits us. Misty and I both longed for a simple life, for something slow, easy-going, and real, and I think we’ve found that here. The city is a small lake town smack dab in the middle of Stillwater State Park. The population is gradually climbing towards 1,000 with most of those residents living on houseboats in the lake. Plus, the city center is quaint. We’ve got a general store, two restaurants, an art gallery, and a gym. There’s also Casey’s Diner and a 99-cent discounter on the outskirts, but other than that, there isn’t much and that’s how we like it.
After all, we’re no longer Jordan Slate and Misty Snow. We’re Mr. and Mrs. Marcus and Corinne Waters, and our daughter is Eila Waters. It’s weird having these new identities, but I don’t care. As long as I have my wife and daughter, it’s fine. They mean the world to me, and without Misty and Eila, I’d be dead.
I reach the end of the driveway and stop to look both ways. It’s my usual morning routine because old habits die hard: check the perimeter, grab the newspaper, sip my coffee, and finally join the girls out back. I bend down and grab the newspaper off the end of the drive.
Marcus Waters
2278 Longhorn Drive
Stillwater, Vermont 05046
I read my name on the label back to myself and repeat it for good measure. I’ve got it down, but still, you can never be too sure. Then, I stroll back up the drive, and into the kitchen. It’s snug and cute, and Misty has made this place into a home. Yellow curtains flutter at the kitchen window, and there’s a vase of wildflowers on the wooden table. I can hear my girls giggling outside, and know they’ll come in in a moment or two.
But in the meantime, I pour out a steamy cup of coffee into my favorite mug. I sit down at the table and open the newspaper, but I don’t read it. I hardly ever do. Instead, I let my mind drift off because this seems to be the safest time to remember.
I remember the things that only Misty and I know. I remember the things Eila will never find out. My daughter will never realize just how brave her mother is. Eila will never know that her mother was kidnapped while she was pregnant. She will never know that her grandparents are actually criminals, and that they sold out their only child. She will never meet her grandparents, in fact, because Mark and Susan Snow disappeared one day, courtesy of the CIA. And Eila will never know about her parents’ previous lives, nor even our real names for that matter. My daughter only knows this life in Vermont, and for that I’m grateful.
After all, security is my paramount concern, and I want my girls tucked in safe at night every night. I don’t want Eila to grow up always looking over her shoulder. I also don’t want to jump at every creak, every rumble of wheels, or every flash of color, fearful that my family has been taken again. It would kill me.
Suddenly, I’m startled by a gentle sound of joy. There’s laughter in the backyard, and I decide to follow it. I step out the back door and am greeted by the morning breeze as it rustles through my hair. The dewy ground is blanketed in red and orange leaves as Eila toddles around.