Chapter 255

ELLA

Harrison's call came on a Tuesday afternoon.

I was in the kitchen helping Maria prepare dinner when my phone rang. The number was unfamiliar but had a Chicago area code.

"Mrs. Sterling?" Harrison's voice was tight. "I need your help."

"What's wrong?"

"My grandfather. He's dying and no one knows why."

I set down the knife I'd been using to chop vegetables. "What are his symptoms?"

"He can't walk. Can't swallow properly. He's lost twenty pounds in a week." Harrison's words came fast and tripped over each other. "The doctors at Northwestern ran every test they have. Nothing. They can't figure out what's wrong."

"Have you contacted Ghost Doctor?"

"He's not answering his phone. I tried reaching him through every contact I have." Harrison paused. "I know I have no right to ask this. Not after everything with Amelia. But if there's any chance you could help, I would be grateful. I can arrange transportation, whatever you need."

I looked at the half-prepared dinner. At Maria who was watching me with concern.

"I need to talk to my husband first."

"Of course. I understand completely. Thank you for even considering it."

I found Jack in his study. He was reviewing contracts with his reading glasses perched on his nose.

"Harrison just called," I said. "His grandfather is dying."

Jack set down his pen. "And?"

"He wants me to go to Chicago. To see if I can help."

"No."

"Jack—"

"I don't trust the Moore family. This could be a trap."

"Harrison isn't involved in whatever games his family plays. Neither is Amanda."

Jack removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "You barely know these people."

"I know Amanda well enough. She does charity work every year and goes to rural areas to teach kids who can't afford school." I sat on the edge of his desk. "And I'm a doctor. If someone is dying and I can help, I have to try."

"You're not a doctor. You're my wife who happens to have medical training."

"Ghost Doctor would be disappointed if he knew I turned away someone who needed help."

Jack was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood and pulled me close. His hand rested on my belly where our daughter was growing.

"I'm coming with you," he said finally.

"You don't have to—"

"I'm coming with you." His tone left no room for argument. "And we leave tonight. We check on the old man, you do what you can, and we're back in Boston by tomorrow morning."

"Thank you."

We ate a quick dinner and headed to the airport. I called Harrison from the car.

"We'll use our own plane," I told him. "We'll be there by eight."

"Thank you, Mrs. Sterling. I can't tell you how much this means."

Jack's private jet was smaller than the one we'd taken to Chicago for the auction, but it was comfortable. He'd been avoiding long flights recently. Something about his migraines getting worse with altitude changes.

I watched him across the cabin. His jaw was tight. He stared out the window at the darkening sky.

"You don't have to do this," I said softly.

"Yes, I do." He turned to look at me. "Because you're going whether I come or not. And I'm not letting you walk into a house full of people who might want to hurt you."

"Harrison wouldn't—"

"Harrison hit his own sister. In front of witnesses. Because of you." Jack's hand found mine. "I'm not taking chances."

The plane touched down at eight fifteen. Harrison was waiting on the tarmac with his car idling nearby.

"Mrs. Sterling,thank you both for coming." he started.

In the car, I asked about Xavier's condition in detail. Harrison sat in the front passenger seat and turned halfway around to face us.

"He collapsed two days before his birthday party. We rushed him to the hospital but they couldn't find anything wrong. He woke up the next day but he was so weak he couldn't stand. Couldn't eat solid food."

"And the doctors found nothing?"

"Nothing. They ran blood tests, CT scans, MRIs. Everything came back normal." Harrison's hands twisted together. "I did some research. Found out about your medical background. Your connection to Ghost Doctor."

My chest tightened. "How did you—"

"I have resources. And when my grandfather is dying, I use them." He met my eyes. "I need you to keep this quiet. Please. If people knew what you could do, you'd never have peace."

"I wasn't planning on advertising."

The Moore estate sat on fifty acres outside the city. Old trees lined the driveway. The house itself was massive with all stone and windows.

Amanda rushed out before we'd even fully stopped. She pulled me into a hug the moment I stepped out of the car.

"Thank you for coming," she said. Her eyes were red. "I know it's a lot to ask."

"Where is he?"

"Upstairs. Main bedroom."

Harrison led us inside. Jack's hand stayed on my lower back the entire way. Possessive. Protective.

Xavier Moore lay in a four-poster bed that looked older than the house itself. His face was gray. His breathing was shallow and labored.

I sat on the edge of the bed and took his wrist. His pulse was weak and irregular.

"I need my medical kit," I told Marcus, who'd followed us upstairs.

He handed me the bag I'd packed before leaving Boston. Inside were vials and needles and strips of treated paper that Ghost Doctor had taught me to make.

I pricked Xavier's finger and collected blood on one of the strips. The paper turned dark purple within seconds.

"Poison," I said quietly.

Harrison's face went white. "What?"

"He's been poisoned. A complex mixture of compounds that modern labs wouldn't catch unless they knew exactly what to look for." I tasted a drop of the blood on my fingertip. Bitter. Metallic. With an underlying sweetness that made my tongue tingle. "Probably administered orally. In food or drink."

"That's impossible. Our chef has worked here for fifteen years."

"Someone poisoned him." I looked at Harrison. "And recently. Within the last week."

"Can you help him?"

"Yes. But I need time. And I need to stay here to monitor his recovery."

Harrison nodded quickly. "I'll have rooms prepared. Fourth floor. Best guest suite."

"Make it fast," Jack said. His tone suggested he wanted to be anywhere but here.

Footsteps pounded up the stairs. Amelia burst into the room with her face flushed with anger.

"What is she doing here?" She pointed at me. "Harrison, you promised—"

"Get out," Jack said. His voice was quiet. Dangerous.

Amelia's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

"If I see you near my wife again," Jack continued, "if I hear you speak to her, if you so much as look in her direction, I will personally ensure your family loses everything. Do you understand?"

"Harrison—" Amelia turned to her brother.

"Take her to her room," Harrison told two guards who'd appeared in the doorway. "She's not to leave until I say otherwise."

"You can't—" Amelia struggled as the guards took her arms. "You said you'd never lock me up again! You promised!"

"That was before you made an enemy of the Sterling family." Harrison's voice was flat. "Now go."

They dragged her out. Her protests echoed down the hallway until a door slammed shut.

Harrison turned to us. "I apologize. Again. My sister has no sense of self-preservation."

"Just show us to our room," I said.

The fourth-floor suite was beautiful. Too beautiful. All antiques and silk curtains and a bed that could sleep six people.

I checked the locks on the door. Tested the windows. Made sure there were no hidden cameras or devices.

Jack watched me. "Paranoid?"

"Careful." I turned to face him. "This house has someone who knows how to make poison that hospitals can't detect. I'm not taking chances."

He pulled me close. "How long will this take?"

"A few days. Maybe a week. The poison is complex and I need to neutralize it slowly or it could kill him."

"A week." Jack's jaw tightened. "We're not staying here for a week."

"I can come back and forth—"

"No." His arms tightened around me. "If you're here, I'm here. End of discussion."

I leaned my head against his chest. His heart beat steady and strong beneath my ear.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

"Don't be sorry. Just work fast."

I fell asleep in his arms sometime after midnight. His hand rested on my belly where our daughter moved beneath his palm.

A sound woke me. Soft. Careful. The kind of sound someone makes when they're trying to be quiet.