I suddenly thought about the time difference between Fairbanks and Detroit. I didn’t know what it was. I knew Pacific time was three hours behind Detroit. I believed that made Alaska four hours. My heart sank. Dylan wouldn’t be at the station this late.
Undeterred, I decided I could persuade them to give me his number. I would do whatever I could to avoid staying in this hell, even if it were nighttime in Detroit.
Drinking from the water bottle, I continued to wait for Deputy Stevens. Maybe it was the nourishment or perhaps the rush of freedom, but with each passing minute, I started to become more anxious. Silently I watched the door.
As I waited, for the first time since the night my memories came back, I mentally returned to the accident—the supposed truck wreck that had not only taken my memory and resulted in banishment but also marked the end of my life as Stella Montgomery and the beginning of my life as Sara Adams. Even now I couldn’t recall what had preceded the accident. My last memory from before that was of a parking lot in Detroit. I remembered waking in the mangled truck without sight, crawling from the wreckage, and scrambling in the darkness. My teeth clenched as I recalled the intense pain in my leg and ribs. My hand fluttered to my now-swollen cheek, the same cheek that had been swollen then.
Pacing the small room, I recounted the hard, vicious blows that had assaulted me as I lay trapped upon the cold, hard ground. Tears formed as I came to the same conclusion I’d come to the night my memories returned. I’d been kicked and purposely abused as, throughout the entire assault, the wind whipped around me, whistled in my ears, and filled my mind with white noise until . . . the voice.
In my mind I heard the deep, demanding voice ordering me to stop, even though I didn’t know what I’d done. And then I was lifted into someone’s arms.
My turkey sandwich rolled in my stomach as the scent of musk and leather came back. I opened my eyes and peered around the small room. The memory was so intense that it was as if I could actually smell it, but no. It wasn’t real.
It was familiar—Jacob’s signature scent. I knew in the depth of my soul that Jacob was the one who had lifted me. He had been at my accident. Was he the one who’d yelled, the one who’d hurt me?
I tried to devise another plausible scenario, something other than naming him as my assailant. Nothing came to my mind, no other possibilities.
Eventually Deputy Hill returned, apologized for Deputy Stevens’s delay, and promised she’d be there soon.
“If I could please make a call? I just need to use your computer—”
“Ma’am, soon. I promise,” Deputy Hill said, as he disappeared again behind the door.
The relief I’d experienced at the airport was beginning to fade. This didn’t seem right. Someone should have taken my statement.
With each ticking minute, I remembered who I was. I was no longer compliant Sara. I was Stella, and I was alive. I had parents, a sister, and a boyfriend who deserved to know that I was no longer missing. I had friends who needed to be informed. There were people I needed to help and an organization I needed to expose.
With a huff I stood, scooting the metal chair across the hard tile, and headed for the door. Just as I did, the door opened. Deputy Hill met me and I gasped.
Deputy Hill wasn’t alone.
His next sentence took everything away. My newfound freedom disappeared as he spoke. “Ma’am . . . your husband is here to take you home.”
CHAPTER 9
Jacob
A few hours earlier
It was a gamble, but it was also our only chance. If Raquel was right and Sara had not only remembered her past but also found a way to leave the Northern Light, Thomas would have been her only option. On the off chance she was with him, his plane had to be intercepted. If Raquel was wrong, then we were without options and time. As I flew toward Fairbanks, all I could think about was getting to her, Sara or Stella, I didn’t know. When I left Montana, her whereabouts had still been unconfirmed.
My Citation X flew considerably faster than Thomas’s Cessna 206. He might have left the Northern Light with Sara before I left Whitefish, but despite the impending weather, I was able to gain on them.
The entire flight, unsure whether I’d find Sara in Fairbanks, I contemplated Special Agent Adler’s plan. It was brilliant and totally contingent upon Sara. If I found her, I would then need to convince her to help. If I accomplished both goals, then we’d be going back to the Northern Light. Going back would give the FBI more time to sync the raids at all campuses. It was the only way to reduce loss of life if, indeed, there was an extermination plan that one raid at one campus would set into motion. If I couldn’t find Sara or convince her, then the operation was over.
Everything.
Three years of deep-cover operative work, embedding myself in The Light, learning the ways, proving my loyalty . . . it was all done. I had until tomorrow morning to pass Sara’s answer on to Special Agent Adler.