She let that sink in, and when her father snapped his head back as though he’d been hit, she continued, “When I saw him on television, I didn’t fear him. Shouldn’t I have felt something like that? Fear, hate, anger? The truth is I didn’t feel anything like that. I had a sense of security. Why did I feel like that if he’s the one? I have questions and I’ve finally woken up and want answers.”
Saige leaned back in her chair and stared at her father. Anger flared in her chest and she couldn’t help but feel irritated with her father and his laid back attitude. While she’d been talking, all he’d done was shake his head as though he didn’t want to hear what she’d said.
“You can’t remember what happened, Saige. Perhaps you saw his photograph and felt sorry for him. If you can’t remember what happened, why would you have felt fear?”
“I don’t remember anything, but deep inside me the memories are there and my subconscious obviously feels safe with him. I need to know why.”
Their usual meal was placed before them, and Saige picked up her fork and started stabbing at the rice. “Did I know the man before I disappeared?”
It was barely noticeable, but her father paused before he carried on eating. She knew he wasn’t hungry and only ate to distract her. It wasn’t going to work on this occasion.
She’d let her family control her knowledge but not for any longer.
“Define know.”
In her confusion, she’d given up on the pretense of eating and glared at her father, wondering where the evasive man beside her had come from. He’d seemed defensive since the moment she’d started asking questions.
“Why are you doing this? I asked a simple question. Did I know Quinten Peterson before I disappeared? It’s a question that requires either a yes or a no. It’s not difficult,” she snapped, realizing she raised her voice in anger. She shook her head. “I don’t understand why you’re reluctant to talk to me about it.”
“Dammit, Saige. Why can’t you leave it alone?”
She sighed. “Because there is a man who has twenty-seven days left on this earth, who has not once admitted his guilt, who I should get a sense of dread from when I see his face. All my questions begin with why and I need them answered. This man is going to die because of me, and I want to make damn sure they have the right person.”
Sitting back, her father sighed warily. “Princess, he went through a trial. His DNA was all over you and the scene of the crime. He was found with one of the other victim’s shirts wrapped around his arm. He was tried, and convicted. Sixteen out of twenty-five jurors agreed that he was guilty. He’s guilty.”
Saige paled hearing about the evidence, but she pushed forward, “What happened to the other nine jurors? Don’t they all have to agree, at least in a death penalty case?”
He shook his head. “No, not in Florida. If there’d been less than ten jurors who voted the accused guilty, then he would have been sentenced to life in prison instead. But it was a supermajority vote, over half of the jurors, so he received the death penalty.”
“There must be reasons why the other jurors didn’t believe he was guilty.” Saige wanted to know what they were.
“Please, Saige,” her father begged. “Don’t start delving into his case. Can’t you leave the past alone?”
She was afraid of her memories coming back from when she’d been taken and of what he’d done to her, but she didn’t think she could give up on finding out everything she needed to know about the trial. She also had an idea on who would gladly help her with documents and transcripts, and if she guessed right, he’d probably answer all her questions if she could convince him that she thought Quinten might be innocent.
“Maybe I should.”
Her father visibly relaxed before her eyes. “Thank God, Princess. I sure as hell don’t want you remembering what he put you through. Just leave it in the past.”
She hated lying to her father, but she couldn’t see any other way. Saige folded up her napkin and placed it on the table. “I’ll be right back. The restroom is calling.” She turned to head inside the restaurant, and proceeded to trip over a laptop bag. Catching herself on the table, she glanced at the guy sitting there. “I’m sorry.”
“No”—the stranger with dark penetrating eyes quickly lifted the bag to the chair beside him—“I shouldn’t have left it in the way. My apologies.”
Day 3
6:00pm
* * *
Confusion had wrapped around Alex the moment he’d heard Saige ask her father, “Did I know Quinten Peterson before I disappeared?” He’d left the restaurant last night with the question rolling over and over in his mind. They needed to talk, that much was certain.
It had been quick thinking on his part when he’d placed his laptop bag in her way and she tripped over it. Why hadn’t she recognized him? He’d kept his back to her father, but Saige had looked him straight in the face, and there had been nothing. No spark…no smile…nothing that had hinted at recognition on her part.