His Wet Nurse

The night visitors (19)

The smell of chlorine wafted through her lungs, she didn't quite like the smell of it, not when she was thinking of submerging herself into the warmness of the bathtub.

With a sprinkle of milk, Jema undressed and stepped into the steamy tub. It was cold outside, freezing and quiet. The private home was in the middle of a forest! Nobody warned her about how dead and scary it was, if not for the assurances of two armed men manning the environment Jema would've never agreed to stay even a night.

With her sling and dress on the floor, Jema carefully rested her back making certain that little pressure was on her wound. A groan of relief escaped her throat as the water did its wonders, caressing her skin as she stretched out her cramped legs, the effect was rapid.

It had been a tedious day for her and the baby, which she was grateful enough for but tired after the day was done. Every moment of getting to know baby Sam was worth it, she had played peekaboo with him, watching his ardent surprise whenever she peeked from either side of the barrier. His little squeals blossomed in her heart. Unlike her fears, baby Sam welcomed her with ease, like he'd been waiting for her return.

He didn't cry when she picked him up for the first time nor did he refuse her breastfeeding him a few hours ago before he slept off. Jema let out a slow breath and squeezed her knees until they were touching her jawline.

She thought of how to navigate life from henceforth, as much as she loved Jacob and had the desire to find his killers, baby Sam had become her topmost priority, the answer to her hollowed soul, it would be impossible for her to abandon him ever again for the sake of a dead lover.

It hit hard, a difficult pill to swallow but she had to let go of Jacob and their past. She had to move on and stop sulking in the dark for the future was brighter than the past. The tears rolled off, hot and intense, an epiphany of the past she was letting go.

"Jacob," she whispered his name in the silence. It gnawed at her, mockingly. She made a mental note to let her grandparents know she was ready to bury him. She would take a few days off and return to Hartwood probably paying a little visit to sister Mary-Anthony to let her know of the burial if she was interested.

Just as she was about to dip herself back into the water the lights in the house went off. Pitch black stared back at her.

Jema groaned, wondering what could've caused the blackout and where the hell those guards were. She waited a minute but heard nothing so she climbed out of the tub, stretching her hands in search of her white robe, or at least something decent to wear.

Her left leg felt something on the floor, she muttered a curse when she picked it up. Her damn sling.
She continued her search till her hands felt a soft cotton material and she knew immediately it was her robe.

With barefoot, Jema trudged out of the bathroom heading for the spacious parlor with a kitchen extension. The house was a bungalow of at least five rooms excluding the parlor area so not necessarily difficult to navigate in the dark. If it were back in the Brick mansion, Jema would've stayed back and saved herself the hassle of bumping into a wall or flying down the giant stairs with a broken neck.

Tyrone pressed the ACCES earpiece firmly in his ear before palming the Glock G17 with both hands. The darkness wasn't helpful with their quest but he knew better of how it served Max in his long-range shot.

"Max, do you copy?" Tyrone spoke over the earpiece.

"Copy, one man down, still have no eyes on the second target. Must've shit his pants after my aim." He laughed.

"Shut up man, you've gotta find him or he finds me!" Tyrone warned strictly.

"This was easier than the last attempt, boss, who would've thought there were only two of them? I mean is this man as clever as they say he is, maybe his years away from the military have dulled his senses." Max said.