over.
“Jesus Christ, Jack—”
“Carey,” Jack managed to push himself back upright, though he didn’t think he had the juice to pick himself up off the floor when the worst of it was over. He could see the flurry inside Samantha’s room as the nurses and the doctor worked to revive her over Carey’s shoulder. “I need you to make sure she’s okay.”
“I will—you know I will,” Carey promised grimly.
“My coat pocket—” Jack said through another hacking cough as he tried to reach inside his coat.
Carey helped him, pulling out the manila envelope as he looked at Jack with worried eyes. “What is this?”
“You have to read it. My father put it together to try to protect me. And I shouldn’t have looked at it—I know I shouldn’t have read it, Carey—”
“Is this what you were talking about earlier?” Carey asked. “About Uncle Rob and Ry—?”
“It wasn’t an accident—their deaths,” Jack managed to get out, his axis tilting. “It wasn’t what you were told to believe—and Samantha needs to know.”
A nurse and several orderlies rushed down the hall following Talon. As they surrounded Jack, Carey stumbled back, shock on his face as he held the envelope with both hands.
“She has to know, Carey—” Jack told him hoarsely. “You have to tell her—”
The orderlies managed to get Jack into a wheelchair just as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He was about to pass out. He could feel his head lolling back as consciousness eluded him.
“She has to know…” he whispered as they wheeled him down the corridor.
The last thing he saw was Carey’s ashen expression, standing there outside of Samantha’s room as she fought for her life, holding onto the jagged fragments of her broken past.
Chapter 2
December—Late Night
Port of Tilbury, Essex
R O X A N N E
—A re you here?
Rox held Michael Lightner’s phone as she stood in the darkened shipyard of London’s major port, her back against a metal container, the duffle bag at her feet. Her answer to this text was going to be essential. She was one woman looking for one man in a nine-hundred-acre haystack. There were thirty-four operational berths, sixteen shipping terminals covering seven kilometers of quay edged with over five-hundred-thousand meters of warehouse space. Even wounded and slow-moving, Lucien Lightner could be anywhere.
— Nearly , she typed back.
— How long?
— Fifteen minutes , she answered, glancing at her watch. That was believable. The Port was a good hour outside of London, and she’d made it in half the time thanks to a wad of cash. That should buy her enough time to figure something out. She’d been trying to trace the blocked number he was texting from, but Lightner was either too good or the block was too complicated for her to nail down a location.
— Bag? Came a fresh text.
— In the boot , she typed, hoping that sounded appropriately British. Where am I going? she added, watching breathlessly as Lightner replied.
— Terminal 4
She looked up and around from her hiding place in the shadows, wondering how far she’d have to walk to reach it. She thanked her lucky stars she’d worn all black. It made dodging the intermittent shipyard security marginally easier. Rox shouldered the heavy bag, moving swiftly between the containers, pausing when she heard vehicles passing or the voices of the night shift workers as they loaded and unloaded cargo from all over the world.
It took longer than she would have liked, but she eventually made it to the massive terminal, heavy-lift steel cranes reaching up to the skies like magnificent metal aviaries. There were two massive container ships being loaded at the berth. End to end, they were the length of skyscrapers laid on their sides, almost impossible to perceive in their entirety. Rox stood at the terminal, tucked between two containers, hiding in the shadows like a predator, waiting.
The phone vibrated suddenly and Rox held
“Jesus Christ, Jack—”
“Carey,” Jack managed to push himself back upright, though he didn’t think he had the juice to pick himself up off the floor when the worst of it was over. He could see the flurry inside Samantha’s room as the nurses and the doctor worked to revive her over Carey’s shoulder. “I need you to make sure she’s okay.”
“I will—you know I will,” Carey promised grimly.
“My coat pocket—” Jack said through another hacking cough as he tried to reach inside his coat.
Carey helped him, pulling out the manila envelope as he looked at Jack with worried eyes. “What is this?”
“You have to read it. My father put it together to try to protect me. And I shouldn’t have looked at it—I know I shouldn’t have read it, Carey—”
“Is this what you were talking about earlier?” Carey asked. “About Uncle Rob and Ry—?”
“It wasn’t an accident—their deaths,” Jack managed to get out, his axis tilting. “It wasn’t what you were told to believe—and Samantha needs to know.”
A nurse and several orderlies rushed down the hall following Talon. As they surrounded Jack, Carey stumbled back, shock on his face as he held the envelope with both hands.
“She has to know, Carey—” Jack told him hoarsely. “You have to tell her—”
The orderlies managed to get Jack into a wheelchair just as another wave of dizziness washed over him. He was about to pass out. He could feel his head lolling back as consciousness eluded him.
“She has to know…” he whispered as they wheeled him down the corridor.
The last thing he saw was Carey’s ashen expression, standing there outside of Samantha’s room as she fought for her life, holding onto the jagged fragments of her broken past.
Chapter 2
December—Late Night
Port of Tilbury, Essex
R O X A N N E
—A re you here?
Rox held Michael Lightner’s phone as she stood in the darkened shipyard of London’s major port, her back against a metal container, the duffle bag at her feet. Her answer to this text was going to be essential. She was one woman looking for one man in a nine-hundred-acre haystack. There were thirty-four operational berths, sixteen shipping terminals covering seven kilometers of quay edged with over five-hundred-thousand meters of warehouse space. Even wounded and slow-moving, Lucien Lightner could be anywhere.
— Nearly , she typed back.
— How long?
— Fifteen minutes , she answered, glancing at her watch. That was believable. The Port was a good hour outside of London, and she’d made it in half the time thanks to a wad of cash. That should buy her enough time to figure something out. She’d been trying to trace the blocked number he was texting from, but Lightner was either too good or the block was too complicated for her to nail down a location.
— Bag? Came a fresh text.
— In the boot , she typed, hoping that sounded appropriately British. Where am I going? she added, watching breathlessly as Lightner replied.
— Terminal 4
She looked up and around from her hiding place in the shadows, wondering how far she’d have to walk to reach it. She thanked her lucky stars she’d worn all black. It made dodging the intermittent shipyard security marginally easier. Rox shouldered the heavy bag, moving swiftly between the containers, pausing when she heard vehicles passing or the voices of the night shift workers as they loaded and unloaded cargo from all over the world.
It took longer than she would have liked, but she eventually made it to the massive terminal, heavy-lift steel cranes reaching up to the skies like magnificent metal aviaries. There were two massive container ships being loaded at the berth. End to end, they were the length of skyscrapers laid on their sides, almost impossible to perceive in their entirety. Rox stood at the terminal, tucked between two containers, hiding in the shadows like a predator, waiting.
The phone vibrated suddenly and Rox held
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