Bull had warned her that a whole bunch of the volunteer transport crew were off-the-gridders—the kind to go ballistic if feds showed up at their doors. They deserved better than to be bothered.

Leaning her head back, she watched the agents. She had a feeling they were friends of Gabe’s. If they wanted more information, they’d have to get it from him.

“It would help if”—Langford frowned—“did you happen to keep that letter from your friend?

“Certainly. It’s in New York.” With an exasperated breath, she pulled out her phone and flipped to the photo gallery. Not being an idiot, she’d taken pictures of each document Kit had sent before locking everything up in her office safe. “Here—this is the letter—with her request that I care for Aric, my godson. The other documents are there, also. When I got the letter, I knew I had to do something.”

She shrugged. “My family is Italian and Catholic. We take that sort of commitment seriously.”

“Understood.” He gave her a respectful nod as Langford flipped screens on her phone.

A noise at the door had her standing before she even realized she’d moved. Still in scrubs, the surgeon walked through the doorway. The woman looked almost as exhausted as Frankie felt.

“How is Kit? Is she all right?” Frankie clasped her hands in front of her chest. Please.

“I think she’s going to make it, although, it was far too close. She has a concussion. Just about every rib on the left side of her body is cracked or broken. Bleeding was impacting her heart. Her spleen was lacerated. The broken arm—that was the least of her problems.”

“What happens now?”

“We’re not going to let her wake up for a while. After that, she’ll be here in the hospital for at least a few days. With this much damage, it’s going to take her a while to heal.” The surgeon rubbed her face. “No visitors until this afternoon, so go home and get some sleep, eh?”

Tears prickled Frankie’s eyes at the disappointment. But she found her manners somewhere. “Thank you, doctor.”

The surgeon nodded, smiled back, and disappeared into the surgical suite.

Feeling as if she was ready to sack out on the floor, Frankie turned to the special agents. “Can I go now?”

“Yes. For now.” After handing her phone back, Acosta gave her a conciliatory smile. “We might have more questions later, but you’re half asleep.”

Thank heaven. She forced her brain to work long enough to ask her own question. “What are you guys going to do about the Patriot Zealots?”

“We have agents and police talking with the women you brought out. And the children.” Acosta’s mouth flattened. “We’re still coming up with charges. Unlawful imprisonment is a given. Kidnapping has been added. Assault, battery.”