With Toni’s report, Jenna’s hope turned to desperation, and what had been worry over Karim turned to torture. He was about to vanish from her life, maybe forever. She cast about wildly for a solution, any solution. What if she changed her story, denied that she was Amira Badir? There had been impostors, more than one over the years, claiming to be the lost princess. If the Remalis thought that she was just another pretender, would they still take Karim in? Or maybe she should tell Malik to forget what she had said and send red-haired Ryan on another abduction, this time of Karim.

That was nonsense, of course. It was too late, too late for anything. And then one evening, it really was too late: the little television in the women’s section brought the news that Karim Rashad, son of the victim and the alleged killer in the Ali Rashad case, had returned to his native land as an honored member of its royal family.

It was almost as if he had died. Jenna knew that she could never go to al-Remal, never. The other women, sensing her torment, tried to console her, but the pain was too deep.

Even the promise of freedom barely lifted her spirits.

“I believe we’ll have bail fixed for you by Monday or Tuesday,” Boyle told her with gruff satisfaction. “Ms. Edmondson has agreed to file an amicus brief with our appeal of the bail hearing. She’s going to tell the court that her office intends to drop the charge of second-degree homicide. She’s willing to reduce the charge to involuntary manslaughter. If you agree to plead guilty, she’ll recommend a sentence of time served, probation, and a couple of hundred hours of community service—free counseling or something of that sort. I recommend that you consider the offer very seriously. On the other hand, I happen to believe that you’re innocent of any crime and that I can prove it in court. But it’s a brutal process, and an expensive one. The decision is yours to make.”

“I’ll plead guilty,” said Jenna. “I killed him. I didn’t have to.” “Think about it for a day or two.”

“No. I’m sure. Tell her today.”

Boyle nodded and closed his briefcase. “You’ll be out of here by this time Tuesday,” he said.

The next few days were longer than all the others that had gone before. Jenna couldn’t drive the past from her mind, couldn’t separate it from the present. The run from Tabriz. Philippe dead. Years of hiding, lying, fear. All of it to keep her son, to protect him. And now she had lost him anyway, lost him to the place from which she had risked her life to take him.