Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
Jack
The door to Jack’s bedroom creaked open before dawn.
Always a light sleeper, Jack roused, then rolled over in the bed to glance at the doorway.
Alexander had already crept in and was busy closing the door silently when Jack sat up. “Alex?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.
The boy glanced over his shoulder, then stood straighter. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“I’m going to go out on a limb and say that’s probably not true, considering the fact that you’re here.” Jack ran his fingers through his hair, then swung his legs off the side of the bed and stood. “Something wrong?”
Alex’s lips pursed. Oddly enough, even though everyone always compared Alex to Noah, Jack had known Noah long enough to be able to spot the differences.
Whereas Noah had been aloof and reserved as a child, Alex was shy and anxious.
Noah held his cards close to his chest, the master of a blank poker face.
Alex, on the other hand, wore his worries in his expressive eyes.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Alex mumbled at last, then crossed the room toward the curtains. He peeked outside, then shut them just as quickly.
Jack raised a brow. “All right, now I have to know. What’s going on?”
“I thought I saw someone out there earlier. Watching from the tree line.” Alex turned and settled against the wall, hands behind his back. “It’s something to do with those men who came with you, isn’t it?”
Dammit.
Could be someone left by Knight to keep watch.
But more likely it was someone working for Prescott. Blackwell had operatives everywhere—and Prescott had been fairly quiet since Jack had left Egypt with Roche a week earlier. Fact was, Jack was surprised that Prescott hadn’t interfered with him more.
But he would. That much Jack knew. The fact that he’d kept someone watching over him in Cairo had made it clear enough: Prescott wasn’t done with him yet. He was smart and patient—like a mountain lion hunting its prey. He’d wait until the right moment, then pounce in and make his kill.
He wanted Alice and Kit. Wanted Jack to be looking for them.
But why? What does he think he’ll gain by having me be the one to search for them?
He just hoped Prescott would stay far away from Noah’s family.
Jack reached for his shirt and shrugged it on. He joined Alex by the window, then peeked out himself. How Alex had been able to see anything was beyond him—darkness stared back at him. “How’d you see out there?”
Alex stiffened. “I found an old war glass in my father’s trunk in the attic. On a moonlit night, it seems to amplify the light.” Then he turned his chin sharply. “You won’t tell him, will you?”
The idea that Alex had been digging around Noah’s old supplies wasn’t surprising—but hopefully Noah had the good sense to get rid of or better conceal anything truly dangerous. Jack would be shocked if he hadn’t.
Jack grimaced. “I’m not usually in favor of keeping secrets from your dad.” He leaned over and set a comforting hand on Alex’s shoulder. “But this one can probably stay between us. And there’s nothing to worry about, I’m sure. You just probably saw an animal moving around.”
“Nocturnal animals have eyeshine.” Alex frowned, then released an exaggerated sigh. “Anyway, it’s not likely he’s my papa after all, is it?”
Jack’s gut dropped. What the hell?
He lowered his hand from Alex’s shoulder slowly. “What are you talking about?”
“The man here today—he said Mama was married to you first. So I went through her cabinet, the one she keeps locked in her office.”
A low hum of panic buzzed in Jack’s ears as the confession seemed to bubble out of Alex.
“I found the divorce certificate first. You were married to her from 1918 until 1921. Her medical degrees have Virginia Darby written on them. And then …” Alex’s eyes flared, the quiet devastation of his gaze the only betrayal of his true inner turmoil.
“I saw my birth certificate. Mama and Papa always told me my birthday was in September 1918, but that’s not true, is it?
I was born in November. Nine months after you and Mama married. ”
Oh goddammit.
Jack’s mouth went stale and dry as he felt the weight of Alex’s perceptive gaze, caught between the strongest rock and hardest place he’d ever been.
That was all true. And missing from the paperwork would be the certificate of Ginger and Noah’s original marriage in November of 1917, which had gone down in a shipwreck, or the truth about Alex’s birthdate, which was that Ginger’s friend who had delivered Alex had altered the date on his birth certificate.
This was not a conversation Alex needed to have with him. His parents should be the ones to do it.
And Noah may murder me if I say the wrong thing.
To be fair to Noah and Ginger, Alex was only fifteen—they probably believed he was too young to share the messy past with. Maybe they’d even hoped he’d never find out. That was what Jack would have hoped for if he was in their shoes.
But the fact that Alex had come to him also gave insight into how betrayed by them he probably felt right now.
No wonder the boy hadn’t been able to sleep.
What a way to start the morning.
Jack sighed, then moved away. He lifted his belt from the chair beside the bed, then slipped it into the waistband of his pants. “The facts aren’t as straightforward as you think, Alex. Your mom was already pregnant with you before I married her.”
Alex made an expression of disbelief. “I know science. How things work. I look enough like you for it to be true.” The brittle matter-of-factness in his tone suggested that Jack risked pushing him away if he wasn’t careful enough.
And yet, underneath that stoic veneer, Jack recognized an innocent boy on the brink of manhood, one who was also less ready for the cruelty of the world than he thought he was.
Jack turned toward him and sat on the bed, giving him a thoughtful glance. The light was dim enough to mostly obscure his features. If there were tears in those eyes, Jack couldn’t see them. But he didn’t think there were either.
Alex was the son of Noah Benson and Ginger Whitman. He wasn’t built to fall apart easily.
Instead, he’d take on too much, ruminate on it until it ate away at him, shrug his shoulders in that too-big-for-his-britches personality, and suffer silently until he found the right person to share it with.
But Jack couldn’t be that person. He’d risked too much of his friendship with Noah in the past. In some ways, one of the biggest surprises of Jack’s life was how effortlessly and fully Noah had thrown himself into fatherhood.
Jack would never interfere with that.
“I’m not your father, if that’s what you’re thinking.
Noah is. And your birthday is in September.
I was there for it, actually. I swear that’s all true.
” He sighed. “But it’s not my place to give you any of the other details.
Your father and I have always had a resemblance—people used to think we were brothers—and while I’m happy to believe someone might mistake me for your uncle, there’s no question that you’re your father’s spitting image.
Suffice it to say, you need to talk to your parents. ”
Instantly, Alex’s posture closed off to him, the disappointment in his demeanor visceral.
“I see,” he said. “Sorry to disturb you, Uncle Jack.” He started for the door.
“Alex—”
The boy didn’t slow or stop. Instead, he slipped out the door as quietly as he’d come, closing it behind him.
Jack stared at the closed door, the guilt settling like sand in his throat.
Fantastic.
Jack scrubbed his face with his hands, groaning softly. This wasn’t a mess he was equipped to untangle. But he’d brought it to their door. He stood.
Better to find Noah and deal with it quickly than give his friends more chaos to sort.
He donned his shoes, then left the room and walked down the hallway toward the room Noah and Ginger shared. He tapped at it.
No one answered.
He gave another light tap.
“They’re both already up,” a soft, girlish voice said.
Jack suppressed a startle, looking up to see Victoria’s daughter, Ivy, standing in the hallway, several feet away. She’d snuck up on him almost soundlessly and, like Alex, she was already fully dressed.
Does everyone get up before dawn around here?
Ivy crept out of the shadows, coming closer.
She was a beautiful girl, even at fifteen, with rich-chocolate-brown tresses and grey eyes that reminded Jack of someone he couldn’t quite name.
For a long time, many people had gossiped that Ivy was Noah’s secret daughter—and anyone from society who’d known Victoria, Noah, and Ginger in Egypt had been only further scandalized when Victoria had sought shelter with them after the death of her husband, Stephen Fisher.
Ivy was also Stephen’s only legal child and heir, and that was precisely why Victoria had come to Penmore—to get Ivy out of the Fisher family’s grasp.
When Stephen had died, there had been whispers that circulated, saying that Stephen’s parents intended to take Ivy from Victoria permanently.
Stephen, in one final act of villainy, had been trying to commit Victoria to an asylum, when he’d been killed.
Fortunately, the simultaneous death of Victoria’s wealthy father, Lord Reginald Helton, had given Victoria the financial means to escape the Lord and Lady Fisher.
Why Victoria had come here didn’t quite make sense to Jack, but he was glad to see Victoria and Ivy doing well—and finally free.
He snapped back to the present and straightened, then tilted his head toward Noah and Ginger’s door. “Did you see them leave?”
She nodded. “I don’t know where Uncle Noah went. But Aunt Ginger is in her office at the hospital. She starts her mornings at four.”
Jack thanked her, then left the hallway, heading toward the hospital. If Ginger was the easier one to talk to right now, so be it. But who knew what sort of mood she’d be in when she saw Jack? Noah had been worried enough last night.
He found the door to Ginger’s office open, yellow electric light spilling from it into the hallway. She was at her desk, writing, her head bent in concentration, a teacup on a saucer beside her.
Jack paused a few feet away.
Not just because he dreaded having to bring up another unpleasant topic but the sight of her always reminded him of what he’d lost. Took his breath away a bit.
He wasn’t in love with her still—though he would always love her, deeply—but when their marriage had ended, so had any hope of ever finding someone else to love. He’d only loved twice, and deeply, and he couldn’t go through it again.
The loss of love wasn’t worth the pleasure of it. Love always ended in heartbreak inevitably. Death made sure of that.
He cleared his throat, then moved toward the door. “Morning.”
Ginger raised her head, then met his gaze. She stared at him for a moment, then looked back down at her writing. “I’m not sure if I should return the greeting or find something to beat you with, Jack Darby.”
He cringed.
“I’m sorry, Red.”
She finished whatever she was writing, then set down her pen and stood.
“Don’t feign some half-hearted apology.” She sighed.
“I’m not angry, per se. Just … worried. Less about the legality of whatever it is you and Noah are up to and more about the enthusiasm I haven’t seen in Noah’s eyes for a long time. ”
She lifted a book and then moved out from behind her desk, going over toward a bookshelf.
“He’s been reading the newspapers from start to finish before breakfast lately.
As many as he can get his hands on. Exchanging more letters with Fahad and Alastair too.
It’s as though he’s already on patrol, scouring for potential threats. Restless.”
He didn’t answer, leaning against the door frame as she stepped closer. He understood Noah better than most. And for someone like him, the only thing worse than watching the world burn was feeling helpless to stop it.
Ginger turned away from the shelf and toward him with an arched brow. “Well? You didn’t just come here to stare at me, did you?”
He cracked a smile. “I was letting you finish.”
This time the smile she gave him actually met her eyes. “I’m finished.”
He crossed his arms. “Unfortunately, I have a different problem to bring you this morning. It seems that Alex was eavesdropping yesterday. Heard something about our marriage, then went scouring your files for evidence. He was in my room first thing, looking for answers. Thinks I’m his father.”
Ginger’s face fell. “Dammit.” She rubbed her temple. “I knew he’d heard something. I told Noah last night.” She came closer. “What did you tell him?”
“That I’m not his father—Noah is. And that he needed to talk to you.”
“Thank you for that,” she murmured, looking away. She shook her head. “I always knew we’d have to tell him something … but he’s so young still. Waiting felt logical.” She met his eyes again. “He must be hurt. It pains me so much to know he’s found out this way.”
She pressed a hand to her chest as though trying to ease the ache there.
“He is. But I doubt he’ll admit it. And since I didn’t provide the information he wanted, he’s probably angrier now too. If it were me, I’d give him some time to cool down and think a bit. He’s a smart kid. He’ll come around if you’re honest and explain why you didn’t say anything sooner.”
“I’m not so sure.” Ginger frowned. “But thank you for telling me.”
Jack turned to go, then paused, an unsettled feeling passing through him. He glanced at Ginger. “Also—does Noah know Alex has been poking through his old trunks? He mentioned something about a spyglass he’d taken from him.”
Ginger’s lips pursed, irritation flaring in her eyes. “Alex has a penchant for borrowing anything he thinks might serve as a good tool for his experiments. That’s not surprising, but I’ll have Noah go through his trunks and ensure nothing concerning is in there.”
Jack grimaced, then added, “You also might want to know that he thought he saw someone watching the estate from the tree line.”
A tired expression crossed her face. “You really are the bearer of bad news this morning, aren’t you?” She took another step toward him. “Tell me the truth: Is my family in danger now? The men you brought here are dangerous.”
Jack held her gaze. He should tell her about Kit—about the truth of her. The whole truth.
About Prescott Federline.
But he’d already brought enough turmoil for one day. “You could be,” he said instead. It was true. And far simpler of an answer. “Just keep your eyes open, and don’t trust anyone who comes poking around. You know the drill.”
Ginger bit her lip. “I was afraid of that.”
“I really am sorry, Red.”
And this time he truly meant it.