Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Ginger
Snipping the end of the suture thread, Ginger examined the stitches she’d made on Khalib’s collarbone. Prescott Federline had been only centimeters away from slicing into Khalib’s carotid artery. If he’d succeeded, all the medical training on earth would have been useless—Khalib would have died.
But he didn’t. He’s alive.
Releasing a shaky breath, Ginger let her gaze travel to Khalib’s face. “You’re all stitched up,” Ginger said, squeezing the forearm above his good hand.
He grimaced with pain but smiled. “Thank you.”
Ginger swallowed hard. Sarah … Kit … whatever her name was—she’d helped Ginger lead Khalib over to the bed in the room. After Federline had struck, he’d left, latching all three of them in the room with a snarled warning that any further screams would lead to Alex’s immediate death.
That had been enough to silence Ginger. She hadn’t meant to scream in the first place—but due to the location of Federline’s strike, she’d feared the worst.
Now that she knew Khalib would survive the cut, bigger, more immediate concerns pressed in on her.
She’d been silent while stitching but she looked up to see Kit standing by a barred window, watching her with an unnerving intensity.
“You always were good at these things,” Kit offered, her tone a mixture of reservation and hesitancy.
Ginger sighed and removed the prosthetic nose, then pushed back the nurse’s cap and wig. She sat beside Khalib, feeling the urge to remain within reach of him—not only for her own protection but for his. “I’m a doctor now,” she said, meeting Kit’s gaze.
Kit. Not Sarah.
The reality was hard to accept.
Almost as hard as the fact that Sarah had been such a liar.
“I know,” Kit said quietly. “I kept up over the years.”
“But you didn’t.” Ginger’s voice grew colder and she straightened, disappointment, anger, and hurt all welling inside her.
“You didn’t keep up. You allowed us all to think that you were dead.
” Tears gathered in her eyes and she blinked them away, her throat feeling thicker now.
“Do you have any idea what I went through that day in Malta? What Jack went through?”
A dull clang echoed somewhere in the house. Khalib’s gaze flicked to the door. The sound faded, replaced by the faint shuffle of boots.
Kit hugged her arms to her chest. “I did what I had to do to help us all. I had no intention of staying away permanently. But then—”
Ginger raised a brow. “But what?”
“Well, Jack moved on, didn’t he? You moved on. The next time I saw you both, it was in London, after the war. And there you were—the three of you. You, Jack, and your son, walking down the sidewalk. Happy. A family. And when I saw the way Jack looked at you … I knew I could never come back.”
There wasn’t any accusation in Kit’s words. Just fact—as complicated and messy as it had been. Devoid of context, it sounded horrible.
Still, it must have hurt Kit, if she’d really come back looking. Jack had described her to Ginger as the great love of his life the one and only time he’d ever spoken of her.
And then a new, fresh hurt sprouted through Ginger. Jack had never told her that Kit and Sarah had been one and the same. Why hadn’t he just admitted it? He’d only said he’d lost her, and Ginger had assumed that meant she’d chosen another man.
Then again, Sarah had been recently widowed to a man named Paul Hanover when Ginger had met her.
Yet another puzzle. Another thing that didn’t make sense.
Nothing about this woman made sense.
And right now, Ginger was almost too spent to care.
Khalib had been injured, Prescott Federline had locked them in this room, God knew what had happened to Alastair by now, and Alex …
“Where’s my son?” Ginger demanded, rising to her feet.
If Kit was Prescott Federline’s daughter, surely she must know something about what happened in his house.
“His name is Alexander, by the way, and he’s not Jack’s son.
He’s Noah’s. Jack only married me because Noah and I had never gone to the consulate after our church wedding—our marriage was never validated.
And then Noah went missing, and we thought he was dead.
Jack, being the loyal friend that he is”—she didn’t care that her words made Kit flinch—“married me to save me from being ruined. To give Alex a last name. Now where is he? Your father kidnapped and brought him here.”
Kit paled, then shook her head. “I-I don’t know.”
Ginger crossed the room toward her, taking slow, deliberate steps. “You expect me to believe anything you say? Everything you ever told me was a lie. Where is my son, Kit? What has your father done with him?”
“I don’t know!” Kit’s voice came out with more strength—and more desperation too.
She sank against the wall, settling with her legs drawn up in front of her, then set her forearms on her knees and cradled her face.
“I don’t know anything. My father and I aren’t on speaking terms, Ginger.
He’s keeping me here against my will too.
I loathe him.” When she looked up at Ginger, her eyes were filled with sadness.
“I’ve always loathed him. I’ve spent my whole life trying to get away from him. ”
She looked so broken. So unlike the fiery woman Ginger had met in front of the pyramids at Giza, running her own archeological dig, demanding the respect of anyone who came near.
Ginger wanted to feel sorry for her—and also didn’t.
She didn’t know what to trust. What to believe.
At the very least, she’d learned some bedside manners over the years—even when dealing with difficult and obstinate patients. She could use that here. “Then why are you here?” Ginger asked more gently at last.
Kit lifted her head wearily. “I’m here because Alice Darby—who works for my father—was working in Iraq, posing as an archeologist with the Woolley expedition at Ur, but in reality doing what my father’s operatives really do—digging up information and secrets to sell to the highest bidder. Have you ever heard of Blackwell?”
Ginger shook her head.
“Good. Then Jack’s smarter than I believed.
” Kit rested against the wall, stretching her legs out.
“Blackwell is my father’s company. He and his workers—elite operatives, handpicked by him—steal government and personal secrets about high-level individuals globally.
They’re mercenaries. They turn around and sell those secrets to anyone who is willing to pay for them.
And then those secrets are used as blackmail, or burned, or lost permanently …
whatever the buyer wants done with them.
My father makes quiet millions a year, all unreported. ”
Outside, something heavy scraped across the floorboards—close, maybe in the corridor beyond the door. Ginger froze, her gaze darting to the handle. The sound stopped. Silence swelled between heartbeats, so loud she could hear Khalib’s breathing from the bed.
Kit didn’t pause. Her voice dropped lower, as if she was used to people listening from the shadows.
“And I’m his chosen heiress—except I don’t want it.
I never wanted it. I’ve told my father in every way possible that I don’t want anything to do with his blood money.
But he won’t accept it. He thinks someday I’ll change my mind, and so he won’t do anything to ever hurt me.
” She gave a bitter smile. “Physically, anyway.”
Chills went up Ginger’s spine as she stared at Kit.
If she was being honest, Prescott Federline was more of a villain than Ginger had ever imagined him to be.
And Alex was in terrible danger.
“What does this have to do with Alice Darby?”
Kit sighed. “I was quietly minding my own business working as a journalist in Baghdad when I went up to Ur for an article. And who should I run into but Alice—whom I’ve known since she was a girl.
My father recruited her to get back at Jack—he wanted Jack.
Jack is brilliant. But Jack wouldn’t work for him, and my father knew I’d kill myself if he ever hurt Jack, so he hired Alice to keep Jack in line.
Jack and Alice fought over it and lost contact. ”
As Kit spoke, the muted odor of cigarette smoke drifted under the door, curling into the room like a warning. Ginger exchanged a glance with Khalib. If one of Federline’s men was standing guard, their time was shrinking fast.
If Kit noticed it too, she didn’t say.
Clearing her throat, Kit went on. “When Alice and I ran into each other, I thought little of it. My father has always known how to find me and where I am. But then Alice came to me, a month later, in the middle of the night. Begged me to help her. She’d discovered something, and what she found scared her.
Scared her enough that she didn’t want the evidence to be sold as my father planned to do. ”
Ginger came closer. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Khalib sit up on the bed, his gaze wary and curious. No doubt he wanted to keep her safe—but he was also intrigued by Kit’s words.
“What did Alice find?” Ginger asked, tilting her head.
Kit laughed bitterly. “I’m not dumb enough to tell you—not because I don’t trust you, Ginger; I do. You’re one of the only people on this earth I’ve ever trusted. But because when information like this is currency, it’s also life-threatening. People kill for this information.”
Ginger cringed, then exchanged a glance with Khalib. He nodded, ever so slightly, as though to say, She’s right. Don’t press for more.
Kit let out a slow exhale, her shoulders falling with defeat.
“So I agreed to help Alice hide the information from my father. And hide her. But my father came looking faster than I expected. I had to go on the run. I started hiding clues about what was happening to me in codes for the column I wrote—hoping Jack would see them and help me. My fiancé posted the articles on my behalf, but my father caught him.” Her voice broke.
“K-killed him. And then I surrendered to my father, hoping I could convince him to stop hunting for Alice. I haven’t been out of this room since that day. It’s been months.”
Months.
What kind of a monster would hold his own daughter captive for months?
The sort of father who would murder his daughter’s fiancé. “You were engaged?” Ginger asked softly.
Kit’s eyes were red-rimmed as she lifted them to Ginger’s.
“His name was Rudolf. He was a good man. A kind one. He fled Germany a few years ago after threats from the Brownshirts, and he wanted to see a peaceful world once again.” She swallowed hard, her throat moving with the effort. “And I loved him.”
For whatever reason, Ginger believed her. Wanted to trust her.
Her story made sense.
Either that or she’s the best liar I’ve ever met.
Ginger signaled back to Khalib that she’d be all right, then moved closer to Kit.
She sat across from her, inches away. “If that’s all true, your father got Jack involved somehow.
Jack came looking for Noah, then your father kidnapped …
” Jack’s daughter. She couldn’t say that, though.
Couldn’t tell Kit without Victoria’s permission and Jack knowing first.
Ginger leveled her chin. “My son. And now he’s here. I need to find him. That’s why I came today.”
Kit nodded vaguely, but a tired expression crossed her face.
She glanced at the door. “There’s no way out of this room, Ginger.
Believe me, I’ve tried. I spent a whole week pounding on the door.
The servants won’t help us. They’re all afraid of my father.
I went hoarse from screaming with the effort.
And when my father comes back, he won’t have any mercy on you or your friend.
” Her gaze flicked to Khalib. “Like I said—he won’t kill me or torture me.
He won’t kill Jack because of me. But, other than that, no one is safe from him. The man has no soul.”
“Alastair Taylor is here with me. He and some of his men are still out there. They’ll help us,” Ginger said, standing. “We just have to scream loud enough.”
“My father said he’d kill Alex if you screamed again,” Kit said with mournful eyes. “I don’t think he’s lying about that.”
Ginger tugged at the hair by the top of her forehead, trying to think.
Ivy had said Federline was using Alex to decode articles.
And Alex—oh, Alex—had discovered a message that said Help me.
She drew in a gasp. He must have discovered the code Kit had left in her columns.
Brilliant boy.
Dammit. Of course. Alex was so good at those things. He’d seen the code, and that was why Federline had stolen him from the consulate.
Ginger’s gaze snapped to Kit’s. “He won’t kill Alex. He needs him right now. Somehow your father got hold of those articles, and he’s using Alex to decode them.”
That was enough to force Kit to her feet. She gasped. “Oh no.” The color drained from her face. “That will lead him right to Alice.”
Despite Ginger’s reassurance to Khalib, he moved to Ginger now, his body tense.
“Where is she?” Ginger demanded. “Where is Alice?”
Kit shook her head. “I don’t trust these walls enough to say it here. If we get out of here, I’ll take you to her, I promise.”
“Then let’s get out of here.” Ginger started toward the door.
Kit followed, just steps behind. “Are you sure? I’m telling you, my father doesn’t make empty threats, Ginger.”
Ginger turned and held Kit’s gaze. “If he’s going to kill Khalib and me anyway when he returns, and if he needs Alex, this is the best and only shot we have at getting out of here alive.
Alastair is here somewhere. He has more men on standby to radio in if things go badly.
We have to take the chance and get Alex back while we still have help. ”
Kit’s eyes were wide. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
Ginger held her breath.
Please, God, don’t let Federline kill Alex.
Please.
“I hope I do too.” Then Ginger pounded on the door.