A spark of hope ignited in my chest. Could we really? Could Mulberry and I be together? If I could let go of my fear, and agree to accept help…
I swallowed the emotion choking me. "Okay."
Robert nodded but didn't smile—his face was that icy mask again. He wanted me to be with him, but that would never happen.
Robert went to stand, and I reached out, taking his hand and stopping him. "I'm sorry, Robert." His brows raised in a question. "I'm sorry that you want what you can't have."
A small smile played across his lips, and he looked down at our joined hands. "Never say never, Sydney."
A small laugh escaped me. "You don't give up."
He shook his head, still not looking at me. "We have that in common."
I glanced over at Rida. "What about her?" I asked. "Should we take her with us?"
"She doesn't want to come. I can move us out once the storm passes, but it won't be easy."
I stared at his face for a long moment. Golden sand still clung to his dark hair. His eyes, usually so cold, appeared warmed by the firelight.
Robert was right that we were alike; both willing to do whatever it took to get what we wanted. Both selfish.
The puppy stirred, and I looked down at it. He blinked, opening his eyes—one blue and one brown, just like his father. He yawned, exposing sharp little teeth, and then settled against me again, closing his eyes and falling back to sleep.
"We have a long journey, little fella," I told him. "But don't worry—I'll take care of you."
I'd get better, and I'd take care of all of us.
Chapter Twenty
The Call
Anita
Dan flipped through the last of the long yellow pages. When he finished reading the manifesto that I had written, with Tom's help, on the journey back to the island, his eyes came to meet mine. "And you want to say this, on a video? With your face uncovered?"
I nodded. We were up in his office. He sat on the black leather couch, and I paced in front of him.
Dan leaned back and put the yellow pad next to him on the cushion. He looked down at his hands for a moment, absorbed in thought. "I'm not sure. What do you think it does for our mission?" He looked up at me. "To have you so exposed?"
"Look, MI5 was coming to talk to me anyway." I started to pace again. "But that's not even the point, Dan. I don't want to hide anymore." I stopped and turned to him, putting my hands on my hips. "I need to be out there. I need my voice to be heard.”
"Can't your voice be heard in a more subtle way? I don't want to risk you." His eyes held mine. He cared about me. "Not only are we friends, Anita, but you're vital to the mission of this organization. What happens when you're exposed?"
“Joyful Justice needs a representative who speaks our message aloud. I know we make videos with people who we’ve trained and have completed missions, but I want to lend my voice to this movement. One of the problems with the Internet is the fact that we hide behind our keyboards." Dan flinched a little. Here was a man who knew about hiding behind keyboards.
"There is strength in concealment," Dan countered.
"I understand that, Dan. I really do. But the fact is that I don't want to be hidden. I want my voice to be heard."
"You know how much you're going to be attacked. Look at what's happening to April Madden."
"Shouldn't I be as brave as she is?” Dan frowned. "Besides, I'm not going be running around giving sermons. I'm going to make this one video. I'm going to be a voice for change in this world. A voice for women rising up, for obvious reasons. Not because God tells them to, or because now it's all right with the Lord. But because it's just plain right."
Dan pursed his lips and then nodded. "I'll get Jill to set up the recording equipment for you. But there's something else we need to talk about." He held my gaze again. "Tom." Dan smiled. "You just showed up with him. How do we know we can trust him?"
The question felt like a punch in the stomach after his supportive words. "You don't trust me to decide that?" My voice came out harsh.
"I trust you, Anita. I don't trust him."
"They're the same thing. You should trust me, and whom I choose to trust."
A smile tugged at Dan's lips. "You know that's not in my nature."
"What, you think he's a mole or something?"
Dan shrugged. "I don't have any evidence that he isn't."
"He's in love with me." The words spilled out. Was that a defense? One that Dan would understand?
His eyes narrowed. "I know you two were married."
"And he lied to MI5 for me. And left the country with me. And now is sitting in my room, waiting for me to come back after this meeting."
"So he gave up everything to be with you."
"Yes." The truth still astounded me. And a niggling of worry tickled the back of my mind.
"Anita," Dan sighed. "How can that possibly work? How can he possibly just sit around for months on end waiting for you? Is that what you would want?"
"Don't worry; he'll be an asset to us. He's a brilliant barrister. A specialist in international human rights law. He's been fighting on the side of good for a long time."
"Within the system," Dan pointed out.
"Yes, but he's ready. He helped me write that." I gestured with my chin toward the legal pad. Dan glanced over at it.
"Okay, but I want him kept out of this area. His movements will be restricted. And I'm going to run a serious background check on him." Dan looked up at me. His eyes were hard. He wasn't to be argued with.
I nodded. "I would expect nothing less." Warmth ran through me again. Dan worried about the organization, but I could also see in his eyes that he was worried about me, too.
Dan stood and came over to me. I tilted my head to maintain eye contact. "It's good to have you back, Anita." He opened his arms, and we embraced. I rested my head against his chest.
And I felt him smile against the top of my head.
"What you wrote is really beautiful. I'm proud of you." Tears stung my eyes. This was where I belonged. "I just want to say one more thing." I stepped back and Dan kept his hands on my shoulders, maintaining eye contact. "You're about to expose yourself. There's no taking this back. You'll be hiding forever."
I nodded. "Actually Dan, this is the first time in my life I won't be hiding."
April
After our Sunday of preaching in New York we traveled south, stopping at every revival meeting and church that would have me. The black SUV and its occupants—two men who wore suits and watched us through their mirrored sunglasses—followed us the entire time. They did not hide from us nor did they interact. We did not know their purpose and after many hours of discussion had given the matter over to God and no longer discussed them. Maybe they were my guardian angels, or two demons sent to stop me. It did not change my path.
If not for their eerie presence the time reminded me of the early days of Bill's ministry, except now I was the preacher and Cynthia my support. It was impossible to act alone.
We were eating breakfast in a diner in southern Georgia, headed toward Pensacola where I was to speak at a Christian women's conference, when Cynthia's phone rang.
Her mouth opened in surprise and then spread into a wide grin as she nodded. "Yes, yes…we can do that. Thank you."
She hung up the phone, staring at the screen for a moment.
"Who was that?" I asked.
"That was Nicholas Faber's booking agent. They want you to speak at his next revival meeting."
Nicholas Faber. One of the most successful televangelists on the planet. He had two private jets, a compound in Montana, a mansion in Santa Barbara, and a very popular TV show. Bill looked up to him as one of the most successful in the field. He spread the message far and wide.
"I met him once," I said. "With Bill. I can't believe he reached out." Tall, blond and in his early sixties, Nicholas Faber was handsome in a classic kind of way—strong jaw, sparkling blue eyes, the broad shoulders of an athlete, and the slightly rounded b
elly of a man who lived a good life. His smile came easy and often, his words as slippery and seductive as caramel.
"Well, you've been getting a lot of attention," Cynthia said, smiling. She picked up her coffee and sipped. "We've done a great job with your videos. They've been shared a lot."
She still wasn't letting me look at my phone. So, I had to believe her when she told me these things. I must have faith. The fact that Nicholas had called proved that Cynthia was right.
My face heated as I pictured the audience I'd be speaking to…in the few weeks that we'd been on the road, I'd developed my voice and found a connection with the flocks I'd spoken to, but this was huge. This was Madison-Square-Garden huge. "It's amazing. I'm so excited. When, where?"
"He's got a big revival happening two weeks from now in Fort Lauderdale. He also wants you on the show the following day." She was grinning again. “Can you believe it? My friends and I traveled from Fort Lauderdale to save souls in Turkey and found you. Now we are going back there!”
I looked down at my pancakes, and my stomach churned. I was too excited to eat. "Do you think I'm ready?" I asked, not looking at her. Could I handle the pressure? Stay away from the comfort of the bottle?
"Yes, I know you are." Cynthia's voice was firm.
I'd used what I'd learned in Syria, speaking to individual women, sharing my message person-to-person, and that had brought me back to here. Brought me back to a larger platform.
Please let me not fall again.
But that was ego—the wrong prayer.
Please let me spread the message.
I shouldn't care how the word traveled, as long as it reached people. I want it to be my voice. That was the devil! I pushed him away and looked up at Cynthia. She watched me closely, her blue eyes sharp.
"You can do this," she assured me. I nodded, but couldn't bring myself to answer her.
Anita
I blinked against the light. "Can you move it down a little bit?" I asked.
Jill touched the lamp and angled it so it wasn't directly in my eyes. "How's that?"
"Good." I ran my hands along my pants, drying the sweat. Tom stood next to the camera, smiling.
"You've got this," he said.
A nervous laugh escaped me.
"Remember, we can do as many takes as you want," Jill said.
"Yeah, I know."
Jill's assistant held the poster boards I'd written my notes out on.
Tom and I had gone to New York City on our honeymoon, and he'd surprised me with tickets to Saturday Night Live. The cards they used were just like these.
But I wasn't acting. I wasn't performing. The key here was to speak from my heart.
The red light on the camera glowed, and I smiled into the lens. "My name is Anita Brown. And I am a member of Joyful Justice. I'm a killer, and I'm a victim, and I am a woman…a daughter and a sister."
I took in a slow deep breath, a calm coming over me. "It wasn't that long ago that I fought for justice within the confines of society. I worked as an investigative reporter, and I exposed wrongdoers to the light. That's when I thought that light could solve everything. Shine light into darkness, and the truth is revealed."
I shook my head. "But the fact is that in that darkness lurks the power that controls this world. It's not the darkness of society but the darkness of our own minds. The cultures that we have formed as people. They're outdated; they're wrong."
"After I was attacked, while I was recovering, I asked myself if I was wrong to kill the man who had held me captive for days, raped me, burned me." I held out my arm, exposing the scars there. Goosebumps raised on my skin. To be revealing those scars was at once terrifying and liberating, like leaping from a plane knowing I had a parachute on my back.
Tom, and Dan, and the rest of the people in my life were that parachute. I could always pull the string, and they would help ease my fall.
I plummeted toward the ground, planning to land on my own two feet.
Chapter Twenty-One
Endings are Often Beginnings
Mulberry
The Florida sunlight poured in through the windows, caressing Sandy where she sat in a burgundy vinyl armchair, looking out at the view. We couldn't quite see the ocean but the glass towers of Miami were impressive in their own way.
"What do you think?" I asked.
She started and turned toward me, a smile chasing away the moment of fear. Her grin grew larger as she took me in. I was up on crutches, walking around—well, hobbling, but a hell of a lot better than I'd been.
"You look great," she said, crossing the room to me. The hospital was more like a hotel, everything arranged for by Lenox.
Nothing but the best for you, my friend, he'd assured me.
Sandy put her arms around my neck for a hug. I awkwardly placed a hand on her back, careful to keep my balance and the crutches in place. She pulled back, her face tilting up to me, her body still pressed to mine.
Our gazes met, and it was like no time had passed, as though the clock had stopped that morning before I left for work, before I was shot. She lifted onto her tiptoes, and I bent my head. Our lips met in a tentative kiss—both of us scared, if hopeful.
Her tongue caressed my lips, and I moaned, pulling her closer, one of my crutches tumbling to the ground with a clatter that pulled us apart.
She kept a steadying hand on me, her eyes down on the crutch.
My heart thudded in my chest. "I'm different," I said.
She smiled and didn't look up at me. "You don't even remember the past ten years. You could, at any moment, and who knows what you'll think then." Her eyes came up to mine—as bright and blue as the sky outside.
"Clearly I was a fool. I let you go back then. And now I’ve gotten my leg blown off." She gave me a small laugh. We could joke about my injury…we belonged together. "Be my family, again."
Sandy narrowed her eyes. "How about I be your girlfriend, first?"
"You mean it?" My voice sounded high. She nodded, her cheeks glowing pink. I pulled her close, covering her mouth with mine. She moaned, and I twisted to rest her back against the wall, using it to steady us both. Her hands explored my shoulders, ran up into my hair.
I felt a shiver on the back of my neck and broke the kiss, turning toward the door.
A window out into the hall was empty—no one was watching. But I could have sworn…
Sandy pulled me back to her, and I fell into the kiss, into her. Into my past and my future.
April
Robin’s-egg blue cloth draped the edge of the stage, and the choir wore matching robes—it all matched Nicholas's eyes. His suit shone under the bright lights as he paced behind the pulpit, bringing the crowd up to a frothy mix.
It was almost like watching water boil: those first few bubbles almost shyly rising to the surface, the early signs that a rolling boil would soon erupt. By the time he introduced me, the crowd was a sputtering, heated mass of excitement.
They were ready to hear the word. Ready to hear how I could take them to new heights. I stepped out onto the stage, and the lights hit me. I blinked against them, but did not look away.
This was so much bigger than the small churches and communities I'd been moving through. This was what I had been working for. As I stepped behind the pulpit, Nicholas put his arm around my waist and leaned over to kiss my cheek. He whispered into my ear. "They're all yours."
His hand dipped down from my waist and squeezed my ass. A little sound of surprise left me, and he winked before striding away. I turned to the crowd, the imprint of his hand burning on my butt.
"Good evening," I said. The crowd yelled back a greeting. I took a deep breath, clearing my mind. Nothing could stop me now.
"I'm here to tell you a story." The crowd began to settle. "A story you may have heard before. Perhaps you've seen some of my videos. Perhaps you've read about me online."
The audience murmured; they had heard of me. My message had already reached them. This was just the live show
.
I released the microphone from its stand and stepped out from behind the pulpit, clearing my mind of everything but what needed to happen.
"We all decide our own value."
My voice rang out over the crowd, and another sound rang out behind it. A popping sound. I felt a sharp pain in my side.
I doubled over, suddenly looking at the wooden boards of the stage.
Another pop and I twisted, falling onto my back, finding it difficult to breathe.
Screaming erupted as more popping sounds echoed.
Gunshots.
I raised my head, looking down at myself, and saw blood. There was blood pumping out of a wound in my stomach and more streaming down my arm.
And then the pain came, washing over me, constricting my chest—I struggled to breathe through it. A rasping gurgle filled my head.
And then there were faces above me. People yelling. A medic—the red cross on his uniform brighter than the blood staining my dress.
My eyes slipped closed, and all I could hear was the rushing of blood in my ears, the loud thumping of my heart.
I was still alive.
"Move her, move her!" I heard yelling. My body was lifted, pain slicing through me. I heard myself groan, and my eyes opened at the impact of my body being put onto a stretcher.
They were wheeling me when Cynthia appeared by my side, her hand lacing into mine. Her face hovered over me, tears streaming down her cheeks.
My eyes began to close again. "Please, please!" Cynthia cried. "Don't go. Stay with me."
The devil whispered, and God sighed, and I recognized that my faith in Him, my faith in Her, my faith in Cynthia, all led to this. But I didn't know where this was leading.
Robert
Sydney Rye stood on the deck of my home on an island in Miami’s Biscayne Bay, her back to me, Blue and two of his puppies standing next to her as she stared out at the ocean. The sunset cast a pink glow over the whole world, making it look sweet and peaceful, a mirage that I wanted to make true for her.
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