Alice Sharpe - The Baby's Bodyguard

“The road reminds me of some of those in Tierra Montañosa,” he said.

“Curvy and steep,” she said, agreeing.

They stopped at Jack’s motel first and she waited in the car while he collected his things and settled the bill. When he walked back across the parking lot, he carried just a leather backpack slung over one broad shoulder and a leather jacket looped through his arm. The wind was blowing again—it just about always blew in the late spring—whipping his long, dark hair around his face. He’d changed into a clean dark shirt and black jeans and as his gaze swept the parking lot for who knew what, she thought he looked dangerous.

He was dangerous.

As he got back into the car, she whispered, “How did you escape the GTM?”

“It’s not a pretty story,” he said, glancing at her and away. “Nothing you want to hear.”

“Yes, I do,” she said. “Of course I do.”

He kind of grunted a response.

“Jack, please. I want to know.”

He took a deep breath and stared out the windshield. Just when she’d about given up expecting a response, he started talking, his voice intense. “I realized one night they’d made camp relatively close to civilization.” A knot appeared and disappeared in his jaw. “I’d buddied up to one of the guards. He’d grown kind of careless around me, so that night when he came to take away the food bowl, I took advantage of that situation and turned his weapon on him.” Again he fell into silence.

Hannah took a deep breath. It was obvious that using the guard’s trust to overthrow him had been hard for Jack, that it had struck him as a dishonorable thing to do and that surprised her.

Before she could respond, he slid her a piercing look, daring her to comment. She held her tongue. What did she know of these kinds of decisions?

He finally said, “I killed anyone who tried to stop me. I don’t know how many men died, it all happened in a blur.” Again he glanced at her as he added, “It was either me or them.” His eyes didn’t look as though he believed his own words.

“Jack, you don’t have to continue—”

“I spent days hiding so close to them they almost tripped over me. Eventually they gave up and moved on. I was lucky enough to find an old man who had lost a son to the GTM. Through him, I managed to contact a friend who helped me get out of Tierra Montañosa into Ecuador without alerting the government. I didn’t want anyone to know I was coming. I wanted everyone to think I was dead.

“Anyway, it’s over now, I can’t change the way things happened, I just have to live with it.”

She heard pain in his voice. Regrets. Her fingers flexed in her lap. She wanted to touch him but she didn’t.

“So, that’s the story. It’s over and done with. We’d better get going.”

She stared at him a second. It was clear nothing he’d experienced in the last year was really over and done with, but if he wanted to change the subject, she understood.

“What are you going to do while I go into work?” she asked him.

“I’m pretty self-sufficient, Hannah. Is it located here in town?”

“No, it’s about five miles inland. Turn at the second light you come to and go straight. I’ll tell you when to turn again.”

Traffic was minimal. Jack turned at the light and then followed the twists and turns of the shortcut Hannah used each day to get through town the fastest way.

“Tell me about the foundation,” he said as they rumbled over the train tracks.

She brushed her hair away from her eyes. “Santi Correa was born in Peru but spent his youth in several South American countries, including Tierra Montañosa. After college in the States, he taught at a university for a while, got tired of being poor and took a job in the private sector where he was amazingly successful. When he got tired of making money, he started a nonprofit organization to develop schools all through South America.”

“You’re giving me the stuff in the foundation brochure,” Jack said as he pulled the car over on a wide spot. From that vantage point, the vista of the small valley included the complex that comprised the foundation’s headquarters.

“Santi didn’t believe in investing money in appearances when it could be put to good use building schools elsewhere,” she added. “Under his direction, things got a little run-down, but since Hugo took over, maintenance has improved.” It was true—the buildings now sparkled with a new coat of white paint.

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