His Wife or Her Grave

The Mother's Secret

Dawn light filtered through the bedroom window, pale and gray.

Ziva woke disoriented for a moment, then it all came rushing back.

The estate. James. The revelation that had shattered everything she thought she knew about herself.

James Keene was her father.

No. Not her father. Her mother's captor.

She looked around properly for the first time.

There were photos of a woman who looked exactly like Ziva.

Elise.

Her mother.

Ziva stood on shaky legs, moved closer to the dresser where several photos sat in ornate frames.

Elise at twenty-five, smiling at the camera. The smile didn't reach her eyes.

Elise pregnant, hand resting on her swollen belly. Looking somewhere off-camera with an expression Ziva couldn't quite name.

Elise holding a baby. The photo was slightly blurred, like it had been taken quickly, without permission.

Ziva's hands shook as she picked up that last one.

Her mother looked exhausted. Haunted. But the way she held the baby, protective, fierce, was real.

A sound in the corner made Ziva turn.

A crib. White wood. Delicate. Above it hung a mobile with little stars and moons.

Ziva moved toward it like a sleepwalker. Reached out. Touched one of the dangling stars.

It started to turn, playing a melody.

A lullaby.

Ziva's breath caught.

She knew this song.

Her mother. The woman she'd thought was her mother used to hum it. When Ziva was small, couldn't sleep, frightened by nightmares.

Mom used to hum this to me.

The door opened behind her.

Ziva spun, heart racing.

James Keene stood in the doorway, carrying a tray. Breakfast. He was dressed casually, like she was a guest.

"Good morning, darling." He set the tray on a small table by the window. "I thought you might be hungry."

Ziva didn't move. "Let me out."

"After breakfast. We have so much to discuss." James gestured to the chair. "Please. Sit."

Ziva stayed frozen.

James sighed. "Ziva. I won't ask again."

Ziva sat.

James smiled. "Much better, you see? This doesn't have to be difficult."

He uncovered the food. Eggs. Toast. Fresh fruit. Coffee that smelled expensive.

Ziva's stomach growled despite everything.

"Your mother lived in this room for three beautiful years," James said conversationally. "You were born in that bed. Right there. I was the first person to hold you."

Bile rose in Ziva's throat. "You kept her prisoner."

"I kept her safe. Protected. Loved." James poured coffee into a delicate china cup. "The world is dangerous, Ziva. I gave Elise everything she could ever want."

"Except freedom."

James' smile thinned. "Freedom is overrated. It's what gets people hurt. Killed."

Ziva forced herself to take a bite of toast. It tasted like cardboard. "How did you meet her?"

James' expression softened, like he was remembering something precious. "She was a waitress. Twenty-five. Beautiful. Dating some pathetic delivery driver who didn't appreciate her."

Ziva's hands clenched in her lap. "My father."

"He wasn't worthy of the title." James’s voice hardened. "David Chen. Small-minded. No ambition. He would have kept her working minimum wage jobs for the rest of her life."

"So you killed him."

James didn't deny it. "I freed her from him, brought her here and gave her everything. A home. Security. Love."

"She was already pregnant."

"Three months along when I found her." James nodded. "I considered..." He paused. "But in the end, I let her carry you to term. I was there when you were born. Held you before she did." His eyes found Ziva's. "You were mine from your first breath."

Ziva felt like she was going to be sick.

"You're not my daughter by blood," James continued. "But you're mine in every way that matters. I raised you, even if you didn't know it. Watched over you. Protected you."

"Stalked me."

"Loved you." James leaned forward. "You look exactly like her, Ziva. But you're better. Younger. Not yet defiant."

"I'm not her."

"Not yet." James’s smile was gentle. "But you will be. I'll finish what I started with Elise. Teach you. Shape you. This time, I'll do it right."

Ziva's chest tightened. "And if I refuse?"

James' expression didn't change. "Then I'll have Tyrell Smart killed, and I'll make you watch every second."

The room felt suddenly airless.

James stood. "I'll leave you to rest. There are clothes in the wardrobe. All your size. Chosen specifically for you."

He walked to the door. Stopped. Looked back.

"Welcome home, Ziva. This time, you won't escape."

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Ziva sat frozen for a long moment, then she moved.

Frantically, she searched the room for an escape route.

Nothing.

She was about to give up when she noticed it. Near the crib. A slight unevenness in the floorboard.

Ziva knelt, pressed on it. It shifted.

Loose.

She pried it up with shaking fingers.

Underneath it was a leather-bound journal. Worn. Water-stained in places.

Ziva pulled it out with trembling hands. Opened it.

The first page, in neat handwriting:

My name is Elise Wilson. If you're reading this, I'm either dead or you're my daughter, Ziva.

Ziva's vision blurred. She kept reading.

Your father's name was David Chen. He was kind. Gentle. He loved me. James Keene murdered him and made it look like a robbery.

I was three months pregnant when James took me. I have endured three years in this room because of you. Because I wouldn't leave you.

You’re only six months old but I must run away. My friends will be able to provide the kind of life I can’t give you.

I’m ready to spend the rest of my days running.

Ziva closed the journal, tears streaming down her face.

David Chen. Her father's name was David Chen.

She was born in a cage. Her mother had escaped with a six-month-old baby, wounded and terrified.

If Elise could do it, so could she.

Ziva hid the journal back under the floorboard, replaced it carefully.

The door opened.

A young woman entered carrying towels. Early twenties. Thin. Eyes downcast.

"I'm Sarah," she said quietly. "I'm here to help you settle in."

Ziva stood. "How long have you worked here?"

Sarah's hands tightened on the towels. "Two years."

"Have you seen other women? Like me?"

Sarah went pale. Her eyes darted to the door. "I... I shouldn't"

"Please."

Sarah's voice dropped to barely a whisper. "You're the fifth one this year."

Ziva's blood ran cold. "What happened to the others?"

"The ones who fought, he sent them to the companion network. The ones who tried to escape..." She didn't finish. Didn't need to.

Footsteps in the hallway.

Sarah's eyes went wide with terror. She set down the towels, rushed to the door. Paused. Looked back.

"Don't trust anyone here. Not even me."

Then she was gone.

Ziva stood in the center of the room, heart pounding.

Fifth one this year.

How many women had James tried to replace Elise with? How many had died trying to escape?

Something slid under the door.

A piece of paper.

Ziva picked it up with shaking hands.

Tyrell Smart is alive. Tracking your location. Extraction planned. Stay alive. Don't provoke James. Help is coming. M

Below the note was something small. Pill-sized. Electronic. A tracker.

Swallow this. We'll find you.

Ziva stared at it.

Was this real? Or was this James testing her? Seeing if she'd try to contact the outside world?

Footsteps approached in the hallway.

Closer.

The doorknob turned.

Ziva had seconds to decide.

Swallow the tracker and trust it was really from Marcus and Tyrell.

Or assume it was a trap and destroy it.

The door started to open.

Ziva made her choice.

She swallowed the tracker.

The door opened fully.

James stood there, smiling.

"I hope you're feeling more settled, darling. Because we have guests arriving tonight." His smile widened. "Timothy thought it would be nice for you to have familiar company while you adjust to your new life."

Ziva's stomach dropped.

"What guests?"

"A few friends. Business associates. They're very eager to meet you." James stepped aside. Behind him stood two men in suits. "But first, we need to make you presentable. Can't have you meeting them looking like you've been roughhousing in the woods."

The men entered the room.

One carried a garment bag. The other, a makeup case.

"You'll wear what I've chosen," James said pleasantly. "You'll smile. You'll be gracious. And you'll remember that Tyrell Smart's life depends on your cooperation."

He left.

The door stayed open this time. The two men remained.

Guards disguised as stylists.

Ziva had no choice.

She let them dress her. Style her hair. Apply makeup until she looked like someone else entirely.

Until she looked like Elise.

When they finally left, Ziva stared at herself in the mirror.

Her mother stared back.