“I have friends in high places. On both sides of the war.” His brows lifted again. “Apparently closer than I knew on the Allied side. I expect a full explanation from you before I go home. I have long known you were not taking more classes, but I would like to know what you have been up to.”

Eneko appeared behind Abuelo. “I told you he ought to have his wings clipped.”

Drake didn’t spare the time it would take to roll his eyes. He bounded up the stairs, Margot at his side and Red a step behind them.

“Heinrich Regnitz. The one that telegram was about.” Margot had no trouble keeping pace. “And the man we’re looking for must be Dieter Regnitz. His brother.”

“His brother.” Drake’s chest went tight. “I killed his brother. I had to fire off a few shots as cover, to give myself a chance to get away. I must have hit him. Just before he hit me. I didn’t mean to kill him.” He knew well that emotion tightened his voice. Emotion he’d never dare let slip out in the presence of another soldier. But somehow, he thought Margot would understand. “I didn’t even mean to hit him. Just force him down.”

Red’s step faltered. “Wait, you were . . . ? Elton, I believe I require the same explanation you owe your grandfather.”

“Later, Red.” They charged up the final stretch of stairs. First he had to make sure Dieter didn’t take his revenge on the most likely candidate.

Drake’s sister. Drake’s sister for Dieter’s brother.

But the corridor yawned frighteningly empty when they gained it. No guard, as Red had said, even though Hall had stationed one there in Camden’s place last night. Even though Drake had given the chap strict instructions not to let anyone but Red in, not to let her out alone, and not to leave her there alone.

“Dot?” he called through the door even as he inserted his key into the lock and turned. “Dot!”

She didn’t answer, and he knew as he opened the door and stepped inside that she wasn’t there.

The flat wasn’t empty though. Muffled noises came from Drake’s bedroom—a thumping and a muted vocalization. “Dot?” He surged forward, praying with every ounce of hope he had that his certainty had been wrong, that she was there. Bound, gagged perhaps, but there.

Red somehow beat him to the doorway, his face in agony. “Dotty, we’re coming!” He pushed open the door. It swung free about eight inches, then it stuck, and another muffled yell sounded.

Margot stood frozen a few paces from the door. Seeing it, but not just it. Seeing her mother’s door, too, that terrible morning. When she’d pushed it open, only to find it wouldn’t go. That it had stuck against her prone figure on the floor.