Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Babe, you were ten. Grown men came and took her.”
“My parents always told me to look out for her from the first moment she was born. I adored her. We were so close. And then they came right after we lost Mom and Dad. She was hysterical. I was hysterical and combative. I raged for weeks, but I had no idea where they took her, and they wouldn’t tell me.”
The guilt, fear and anger had been overwhelming. She had been grieving for her parents and suddenly was grieving for the loss of her sister as well. There had been no one to talk to her. There wasn’t anyone who would give her answers. She was scared for herself, not understanding why doctors were poking and prodding and constantly taking blood. Weeks went by. Months. There was no word of her sister.
“Months turned into years. I had no idea if my sister even lived. I paid attention when I was in the laboratory. The men wore white coats and gloves on their hands and would compare notes in quiet voices, mostly ignoring me once they took blood and tissue samples. I realized if they forgot I was there, they would talk among themselves. I was seventeen when I learned Bridget was alive and in the hands of Dr. Peter Whitney. That was seven long years of guilt and suppressed anger, anxiety and fear, before I even knew my sister lived.”
“I can’t imagine what you went through not knowing if Bridget was alive or dead,” Diego said. “If I’d lost Rubin that way, it would have driven me insane.”
Some people might just give her platitudes, but she knew he meant it. He was aware of the enormity of what she’d suffered and could relate.
“I’m a survivor. I learned to stop fighting the men who would come to take me to the laboratory. I kept as quiet as possible, saying very little, and observed, listened and eventually realized I couldn’t escape. That’s when I began to cooperate with my captors so I could learn everything I could. My end goal always was to find Bridget.”
Diego’s gaze was wholly focused on her as he shifted the sleeping toddler in his arms to hold her closer to him, ensuring Grace was secure.
“Fortunately, you found her. She knows you’re going to come for her. We’re already planning. We have tonight to settle you and little Gracie in. We’re making a night jump to get to Bridget.”
“I should be going with you,” Leila said. “She’s my sister. I’m the one responsible for getting her away from that horrible man.”
“I understand that way of thinking because I would be exactly the same.” He took one hand from the baby and cupped her cheek. His touch was gentle beyond measure. His gaze drifted over her face. “But we both know when we go into a combat situation, which this will be, we have to go with those familiar with one another.”
Diego turned away from her, and she followed him through the house to one of the bedrooms. She was becoming agitated thinking about the men going into combat, risking their lives in order to rescue her sister while she stayed home safe. That didn’t sit well with her at all.
Leila barely took in the beauty of the house as she trailed after him through the archways and wide hall to the room his sister-in-law, with the help of some of the other women, had set up as a nursery for the toddler.
The room was spacious and held a white crib and matching dresser. There was a changing table and cupboard high enough on the wall that a child couldn’t access it. Someone had painted a mural on one wall. She stopped in the middle of the room to stare at it in wonder.
“Who’s the artist?”
“That would be Ezekiel,” Diego said as he gently deposited the sleeping toddler in the crib. “You should see the one he painted for Bellisia when she was recuperating from a stab wound. Bellisia needs to be in or near the water to feel okay, and she was unable to get in the river. He brought the ocean to her. He painted the mural on wood, covering the wall at Nonny’s, so he could take it with them when they moved into their home. They have it in their sitting room.”
“I can’t wait to see it. This is absolutely gorgeous.” The theme was Beatrix Potter. Many of the stuffed animals were Beatrix Potter. The entire collection of the Potter books stood between two themed bookends on a shelf. There were two full shelves of children’s stories. “I can’t believe they did this for her.”
Once again, she felt the burn of tears. How was it possible that she’d gone from her stark, lonely existence to this? It seemed unreal. A fairy tale. Her gaze fell on Diego.