“Still coming up empty?”
“I just feel like I search for days and all I do is go in circles.” I shook my head and stood. Oh, my back didn’t appreciate sitting at a computer all day, but after my scare in Highland Heights, I wasn’t in the mood for surveillance either. “Hey, I meant to tell you. I spoke to Dylan. Whatever you found isn’t connected to him. His parents are deceased, and he doesn’t have a rich uncle.”
He nodded. “I haven’t had a chance to follow up. I know you don’t want me to, but I probably will anyway, just to keep Bernard happy.”
I shrugged. “Fine, have at it. You’re wasting your time. I’d rather have you help me figure out how Uriel Harris is connected to Wilkens Industries.”
“Uriel Harris, the developer?”
“Yeah. He owned some property I’m looking into.”
“He owned a lot of property, paid way too much for it, and lost his shirt.”
“That’s what I saw. His loss was definitely Entermann’s gain.”
“Are you looking into Entermann’s holdings or their tax write-offs? They purchase shit property all over the city so they can take the loss. It’s not uncommon, but they’re one of the best.”
I nodded. “That makes sense. I was wondering why they owned so many dilapidated buildings. I hope to get the full list of their holdings soon.”
Foster smiled. “I’ll be glad to take a look when you do. Sometimes two sets of eyes are better than one.”
“Thanks,” I said, grabbing my purse and phone. “I need to run.”
“It was good to see the smile.”
I grinned as I made my way to the elevator.
This time as I walked into Jumbo’s, Tracy was waiting for me. She had a short glass of a dark drink. It looked like Coke, but judging by the way her face scrunched as she sipped, I suspected it contained something stronger. “Hi,” I said, sitting down. “Bad day at the morgue?”
She huffed, blowing her bangs in the air. “Is there ever a good day at the morgue?”
CHAPTER 27
Sara
Despite everyone’s best efforts to the contrary, my past continued to begin the day I awoke in the clinic, nearly four months ago. My cast was gone and my body healed. It was my mind that couldn’t remember. Over time my closest friends, Raquel and Elizabeth, shared secrets from our past, and Jacob continued to remind me of forgotten memories. Each story or statement helped me reconstruct a time I couldn’t recall and gave me glimpses into my former self.
Since the end of our banishment and our return to The Light, the community, and our lives, when I was with Jacob, whether in public or in private, my movements no longer required conscious effort—they belonged to him. While my mind continued its struggle, my body willingly submitted. With a touch, a glance, or one word, his expectations were made clear. Though some small part of me resisted, the sensible part of me wanted to be the best wife an Assemblyman could have. After all the support from the unified Assembly wives, as well as the way Father Gabriel had welcomed us back to the congregation, I understood that Jacob and I truly were part of the chosen. The idea that I’d somehow almost jeopardized it made my heart hurt.
After we first returned to the community, I had problems. Often I’d awake in the middle of the night chilled to the bone, my heart racing, engulfed in darkness. The terrors of my nightmares included dragons with foul breath and razor-sharp teeth as well as a faceless man screaming stop in the darkness. Once awake I’d fall victim to an overwhelming sense of remorse—guilt over what I’d almost taken away from not only Jacob, but myself. When I felt that way, I was careful not to wake my husband. I’d usually move from his embrace, cling to the far edge of the bed, and muffle my tears with my pillow.
I knew Father Gabriel’s teachings; I studied hard. According to him, once a correction was complete, the transgressor was freed from the responsibility of the sin. It was done, as if it’d never happened. Yet I didn’t feel free.
One night as I clung to the far side of the bed and my body shuddered with muffled cries, Jacob’s warmth came behind me. I froze, completely unable to move and fearful that he’d be upset. Instead, his arms once again surrounded me and he asked, “What is it?”
I’d been crying too long; my words didn’t form. All I could do was shake my head.
Gently he rolled me toward him, and in the darkness he asked me two things: “Who are you?” and “Who am I?”
I tilted my head to the side, pondering his unusual questions. With stuttering breaths I replied, “I’m Sara Adams and you’re my husband, Jacob Adams.”