“You won’t mind her living with us?” She found herself holding her breath.
“I expect her to live with us. She needs an anchor. She needs you and Grace. She’ll need a safe haven while she’s learning to navigate the outside world. We need to be close to her to help her. And you’ll want to reinforce that you’re family, that she has us to lean on.”
Relief swept through her. She hadn’t realized she was so worried about Bridget accepting. “I know this sounds crazy, but I’ve felt guilty for years for allowing us to be separated. I’ve been so afraid she blamed me, especially when I found out how terrible a man Whitney is. It was awful to think she was left in his hands and I was responsible.”
“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. Iwas 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 sleepingtoddler 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 toget 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.
He raised an eyebrow as he turned on the baby monitor. “What?”
“It’s you. You’re magical.” She leaned over the crib and kissed her daughter before pulling the railing up. She had to do something to distract herself before she began to cry. She hadn’t thought a person could cry so many tears of joy.
Diego swept an arm around her shoulders. “I hear my brother and Jonquille on the porch, sweetheart. They’re bringing food.”
“I think we’re being spoiled.”
“Everyone wants you to know you’re welcome here. They’re glad you’re here.” He urged her to walk out of the room, pausing to close the door on their way out.
“They don’t know me,” she pointed out.
“They know me. If I tell my friends and family you’re the one, the only one for me, they trust that I would never bring someone here that won’t fit. You fit.”
That was a good feeling. He seemed to create quite a few in her. She wanted to bring up the mission to recover her sister, but Rubin and Jonquille were already knocking and pushing open the front door.
Jonquille was petite and delicate looking with short, platinum-blond hair, very striking in her appearance, especially beside Rubin. Rubin, like Diego, was a handsome man, with his bronzed skin and dark hair. The aroma of roast and gravy rose from the tote Rubin carried.
