Page 11 of Rescuing Ally: Part 1

The others climb in, doors slamming shut. I pause, grateful for the brief moment to steady my pulse, to let the chaos settle in my chest.

Hank opens the back door and gestures me in. His hand hovers near my back, never touching, but the intent is clear.

“Up you go, luv.”

I climb into the back seat, my movements sluggish. Gabe settles in on my right while Hank slides in on my left. I’m trapped between them, but it feels more cozy than uncomfortable.

The SUV pulls away, and the gravel crunching under the tires fades as we leave the base behind.

Hank breaks the silence first. “How are you holding up?”

An honest answer doesn’t exist. I don’t know. Maybe I’m not holding up at all. I shrug, too exhausted to manage anything more.

It’s Gabe who fills the silence. “You did better than most,” he says, his tone softer than Hank’s. “Holding together through all of that? That’s no small thing.”

My throat closes, and I glance toward the window. Barren plains blur past, endless and gray beyond the glass.

Hank’s deep voice follows up, unexpectedly personal. “We’ve met before, although I doubt you remember us.”

I turn back to face him, brow furrowed. “Met before?”

“We were the team who rescued you at Cornell,” Hank says quietly.

My head snaps up in shock.

“Your father specifically requested us for this extraction when he learned you’d been taken again. Said he wouldn’t trust anyone else.” Hank exchanges a look with Gabe. “We’ve been tracking Malfor’s organization since before your first kidnapping. This isn’t a coincidence—it’s all connected. Your quantum entanglement research makes you valuable to multiple parties.”

Recognition flickers, and fragments of that past ordeal suddenly flood my mind. I’m back at Cornell, the mesmerizing voice of the professor fading as I left the lecture hall. Strong hands seized me from behind.

The sharp bite of zip ties cut into my wrists as I was dragged out. They silenced my screams with a rough, foul-smelling hand clamped over my mouth.

I was shoved into the back of a car, the world outside blurring as we sped south. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out everything else. Hours stretched, endless, until we stopped at a dingy motel. The room reeked of stale cigarettes and mildew. Masked faces hovered, voices distorted and menacing.

Fear gripped me as they tied me up and left me on the grimy floor, wrists and ankles bound so tightly that everymovement sent a jolt of pain shooting through me. The hours blurred together as I lay there helpless, watching them rest, their masked faces indifferent to my suffering.

Then, sudden chaos—the door bursting open, blinding flashes of light, the deafening roar of gunfire. More masked men swarmed in, but these hands were different—firm yet reassuring—as they pulled me to safety. It was over almost before I understood what was happening.

I learned afterward that my father hired the Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists, but I never knew the faces behind the masks.

As the memories crash over me, my chest tightens, and the interior of the SUV suddenly feels too confined. My breath turns rapid and shallow, and I clasp my hands together to stop their trembling. I force myself back into the present. I look up at Hank, his gaze steady on mine, and the pieces click into place.

“Yes, sweetheart, we were there.” Gabe lifts his hand and rests it gently on my right knee, giving a small reassuring squeeze. “You still have flashbacks?”

“Yes.” I hate to admit it. I don’t like feeling weak, but the strange thing about these men is that I feel like I can be weak around them. They won’t judge me like others would.

“We admired your strength then, and we admire it now.” Hank also places a hand on my knee, his touch comforting. “You’ve been through hell twice, and you’re still standing.”

“I don’t remember much. The rescue was a blur.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to, luv.” Hank squeezes my knee. “Just thought you should know.”

It’s surprisingly comforting to know that these two men have seen me at my most vulnerable and have been part of both my rescues. Somehow, they have been silent witnesses to the worst chapters of my life.

“And this time?” I ask, my voice muted but curious. “Did my father hire you again?”

“He did.” Gabe squeezes my knee gently. “Your father came to us as soon as he realized you were missing, right after you weresupposed to defend your doctoral thesis with Dr. Whittman.” He pauses, giving Hank the space to continue.

“But we were already invested in the mission,” Hank adds, his tone somber.

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