Chapter 7 - Whispering Ghosts
Jackson woke up forty-eight hours later.
The smell of fresh coffee and roasted garlic filled the air—an incongruous, comforting aroma inside the cold, steel fortress of his safehouse.
He moved his arm slowly, expecting the blinding, tear-inducing agony that had racked his body for two days. Instead, he felt a clean, dull ache. He looked down at his torso. His wound was neatly bandaged with professional surgical dressing, a clean IV line feeding saline into his left forearm.
He looked across the room.
Alara was sitting in an armchair by a small kitchenette, wearing an oversized grey hoodie she had found in his supply closet. She was reading a book, gently rocking a wooden bassinet with her foot. Beside her, on a play mat on the floor, Leo was happily babbling at a colorful plush toy.
Jackson sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.
"I wouldn't stand up just yet if I were you," Alara said without looking up from her book. "I placed eight surgical staples in your fascia. You rip those, and I'm using duct tape next time."
Jackson looked at her, his icy eyes softening with a rare, profound emotion. "You saved my life. Again."
"You're a terrible patient," she replied, setting her book down and walking over with a glass of water and two white pills. "Take these. Pain management."
Jackson took the pills and swallowed them without argument. "Where did you learn to perform trauma surgery?"
"St. Jude’s Medical Center," Alara said softly, leaning against the IV pole. "I was three months away from completing my residency when my mother got diagnosed with stage four pancreatic cancer. The hospital bills piled up. The insurance company denied coverage. I dropped out, took three different jobs, and spent two years watching her die while trying to pay off loan sharks."
Jackson listened silently, his dark eyes locked onto hers.
"When she passed six months ago," Alara continued, her voice trembling slightly, "I was left with seventy thousand dollars in debt and a job at a twenty-four-hour diner. I thought my life was over."
Jackson reached into his bedside table, pulled out his satellite tablet, and tapped the screen three times.
"Check your phone," he said quietly.
Alara pulled her personal cell phone from her pocket. A notification popped up on the screen from her banking app.
Transaction Complete: $250,000.00 transferred from Vance Global Trust.
Alara stared at the screen, her mouth dropping open. "Jackson... what is this? I told you forty-eight hours! I didn't do this for money!"
"That’s not payment, Alara," Jackson said, standing up slowly and stepping toward her until he was looking down into her eyes. "That’s your life back. Your mother’s debt is cleared. Your medical school tuition is paid in full for whenever you choose to return."
"I can't accept this," she whispered, tears welling in her eyes.
"You can, and you will," Jackson insisted softly, his large, warm hand gently cupping the side of her face. "Because you gave my niece and nephew a future. You gave me a reason to keep breathing."
The quiet tenderness of the moment was shattered by a sharp, rhythmic pinging sound coming from the central security console across the warehouse.
Jackson’s demeanor flipped instantly from gentle guardian to lethal commander. He walked quickly to the monitors, ignoring the dull ache in his side.
The live camera feeds covering the exterior perimeter showed three black SUVs pulling up to the warehouse gates.
A tall man in a tailored charcoal coat stepped out of the lead vehicle. He had cold, reptilian eyes, a silver streak in his dark hair, and a scar running from his ear down to his collar.
"Nikolai Rostov," Jackson spat, his jaw clenching.
Alara rushed to his side, looking at the screens. "How did he find this place?"
"He didn't find the safehouse," Jackson realized, pointing to a small tracking signal blinking on the satellite map. "He tracked your personal cell phone when it connected to the regional tower."
Alara gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Oh God... Jackson, I'm so sorry! I turned it on to check my bank notification!"
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Jackson turned to her, placing both hands on her shoulders, his voice steady and absolute.
"Don't apologize," Jackson said, a cold, dangerous smile spreading across his face. "I wanted him here anyway."
