After a few minutes, I took Deputy Hill’s offer of a restroom. When I slowly opened the door, I peered in both directions. Though I’d expected to see someone, instead there were only empty hallways. Entering the bathroom and turning on the light, I cringed at the woman in the mirror.
Damn, Thomas had done one hell of a job on my cheek. The bruising was much more visible under the incandescent lighting.
Not wanting to miss Deputy Stevens, I hurried and returned to the room.
Eating the turkey sandwich and stale chips Deputy Hill delivered, I debated my statement and decided I’d first tell the marshal that Thomas had taken me. Then, once I was granted my telephone call, I’d call Dylan and tell him I was alive and about The Light. If I told the marshals that story first and they didn’t believe me, I might not get the chance to call Dylan.
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.
Agent Jacoby McAlister wasn’t ready to be done. I’d learned too much and was too close.
As I got closer to Fairbanks, I continued my fervent prayers that she was there. Being certain of her safety became paramount. With that in mind, if she was there Jacob Adams decided he wanted Sara to say no. That wasn’t completely true. As her husband I wanted to make the choice for her. Ever since I’d taken her as my wife, I’d been worried about how to protect her when the raids finally went down—not if, but when: they were inevitable. I’d been terrified that someone would execute a possible contingency plan while I was away. That was why I’d taken her plea to travel with me to the Commission. She’d always been intelligent and inquisitive, and with her request, I’d hoped she’d provided a way for me to save her.
No matter what decision was made or whether she was found, her life as Stella Montgomery was over. If she found a way back to Detroit on her own, I knew what would happen. The Light would eliminate her as a threat. Under no circumstances could she return to her hometown. It was too dangerous.
Assuming she was found and she chose not to help, the federal agencies were ready to take her into the witness protection program and the raids would happen—tomorrow. If Sara and I didn’t return to the Northern Light, the FBI feared it would raise suspicions and put more lives at stake.
On the off chance that Father Gabriel would see Sara’s and my desertion as the beginning link in a chain that would bring him down, the sting operation had to be over, and the FBI had to move. The bureau wasn’t willing to jeopardize the intelligence I’d discovered. Though there were still unknowns, such as the location of the money, I’d unraveled enough to stop The Light and put Father Gabriel behind bars for a very long time.
Without question, with each mile while I prayed she was in Fairbanks, I was conflicted over whether to take her back to the Northern Light and continue my mission, or to hand her over to witness protection and assure her safety.
When Hill called my burner to tell me they had Sara and what Thomas had done, I was still in the air and unable to receive calls. It wasn’t until I landed that I heard the voice mail. Learning that she was safe almost took me to my knees with relief; however, as his message continued and
I heard that Thomas had struck Sara, blackening her eye, my death grip on the burner phone almost crushed it.
I reminded myself that the most important thing was that we’d found Sara.
I’d devised a story to help with the cover-up of her escape. I contacted Brother Daniel and told him that Whitefish hadn’t been ready for me. I hadn’t been able to get the supplies I needed, so I’d flown to Fairbanks.
For that story to be believable, I had to purchase supplies. Since I wasn’t leaving Sara alone once I had her, I needed to leave her at the marshals’ office where I knew she was safe. Per Special Agent Adler, she’d come into contact only with two marshals, and Deputy Hill was the only one who’d spoken with her.
It hadn’t taken Adler long to learn Thomas’s flight plans and discover that he had been headed to Fairbanks. Unfortunately, there wasn’t an FBI field office in Fairbanks. The only one in Alaska was in Anchorage. That gave the FBI the choice of the US Marshals or local police. Adler chose to contact Deputy Hill and involved the US Marshals in our operation. Without divulging too much, he explained the urgency of finding, securing, and isolating Sara, as well as taking care of Thomas.
After the message about Thomas’s hitting Sara, I would’ve liked to have been the one who took care of him; however, undoubtedly my method wouldn’t be approved and there wasn’t enough time.
With a motel room set, a call in to Brother Daniel about my change in plans, and supplies purchased, I finally arrived at the marshals’ office and sat behind a window watching the woman who’d been my wife for nearly a year. Though I’d wanted to go straight to her, Hill insisted that I see her first, see her injury. Even though I saw it only through the glass, my teeth and fists clenched.
“Tell me Thomas is no longer a threat,” I said, though my jaw wouldn’t move.
“Agent, he’ll be lost in the system for more years than you’ll need to complete your assignment,” Deputy Hill said, shrugging confidently, as only a man with years of experience could do. “With his cocky attitude and affinity for hurting women, he might find more than he bargained for behind bars. Who knows? He may not make it long enough in general population for his messed-up papers to ever be straightened out.”
I nodded, the muscles in my neck and shoulders screaming from the tension and strain. “What did she say in her statement?”
“I haven’t taken a statement.”
I turned toward the older man’s blank expression. “What do you mean? You’ve had her here for hours.”
“And if I’d taken a statement, I’d have had to record it. If I forgot to take a statement or record her detention, then maybe it didn’t happen.”
I inhaled. Puffing out my cheeks, I slowly released the air. “Did she say . . .”
“She hasn’t said anything. She’s tried, but I just kept telling her we’d be ready soon.” He nodded toward the window. “Mostly she keeps asking to make a call.”
“If she decides . . . they’ll let her call her family.” I couldn’t say if she decides to go into witness protection. As much as I’d convinced myself, as I flew to Fairbanks, that having her safe was the best option, having her in the next room, I couldn’t imagine letting her go.
Not that my intentions would convince her. I was probably the last person she wanted to see. Well, looking at her eye, maybe I trumped Thomas, but that wasn’t saying much. I had to think of something. Everything and everyone was riding on this.
First I needed to get her away from the marshals’ office. I ran my hands through my hair as Sara stood and walked.
“We’d better . . . ,” Hill said as he exited the room.
My steps stuttered as I watched Sara move toward the door. Immediately my temperature rose. Something was off with her stride. Hill had said that Thomas hadn’t done more than strike her—as if that were OK—but by the way she was walking . . . biting my cheek, I suddenly wondered whether he had done more.
So help me God, if he had touched her sexually . . . once this was over, I’d unravel the fucking paperwork and make him pay.
I made it to the door of the interrogation room, just as Deputy Hill opened it and said, “Ma’am . . . your husband is here to take you home.”
As I stepped around Hill, my gaze met Sara’s. Though her eyes remained fixed, her feet backed away. In that second I didn’t see the horrible purple bruise. All I saw were the most beautiful light-blue eyes staring back at me. In that gorgeous stare was a kaleidoscope of emotion: shock, fear, disbelief, and resentment. They all swirled together with hurt and disappointment. I searched for the love I swore I’d seen that morning. Fear was winning her emotional battle.
Needing to refocus her thoughts, I evened my voice. “Sara.”
Her neck straightened. Despite her eye, she had strength. She was fighting not only me but also the months of training, submission, and conditioning. Stella and Sara were battling before my eyes. If only she’d listen to my true intentions. I wasn’t Jacob, not completely.
Her protests started softly, and then her eyes widened, and Stella grew stronger. “No,” she whispered. Then, after clearing her throat, she repeated, “No. This isn’t happening.” I closed the gap. “No,” she said louder. Turning toward Deputy Hill, she spoke louder: “I’m not his wife. No!” Her face was suddenly tight with terror as she realized he wasn’t going to help. “Deputy Hill, please! You haven’t even taken my statement.”
“Sara,” I repeated calmly. “It’s time to go home. We need to talk.”
As I closed the gap, she slid against the wall, working her way toward the door, as if I’d allow her to escape. Instead of looking at me, her gaze searched for Hill, as she pleaded, “No! Don’t listen to him. My name is—”
“Stop!” I yelled, my voice echoing against the walls of the small room. We hadn’t told anyone from the marshals her true identity. It wasn’t safe. Special Agent Adler had confidence in Hill, but we suspected The Light’s power could be far-reaching. We couldn’t take that chance.
I didn’t mean to scare her, but when she looked back to me I swear I saw raw horror. Her expression was like none I’d ever seen on her before, even when I deserved it. This time I didn’t. This time I wasn’t going to correct her or punish her. I was trying my damnedest to save her.
She fell to the ground, pulling my heart out of my chest and throwing it to the floor below. Her cries and pleas replaced the reverberating sound of my one-word command. “Please . . . I’m not his wife . . . please believe me . . . I’m not Sara . . . I’m . . .”
I lowered myself before her, needing to stop her words, and keeping my tone even. I lifted her chin, forcing our eyes to meet. The purple bruise taunted me, telling me I’d already failed to keep her safe. Not wanting to hurt her, I brushed the puffiness softly with my thumb and said, “Sara, we need to go. Now,” I emphasized. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
My words came too easily. I’d lived the role for so long.
Sara’s head moved from side to side with her chin still in my grasp, her eyes closed in submission. Her despair ripped at my chest, shredding the remaining pieces of my heart.
I reached for her hand. “Sara, it’s all right. We’ll get this taken care of. I promise.”
With her lip between her teeth, she grudgingly stood. Defeat and apprehension rippled from her every pore. After a few steps, she stopped, and with her head still down, she looked at me with only her eyes and asked, “Will you . . . ?”
I placed my hand at the small of her back and directed her toward the door. “Shhh, not here, Sara. We’ll discuss it in private.”
I guided her to the truck I’d borrowed from the private hangar. Her continued battle raged: Sara versus Stella. She’d straighten her neck and purse her lips, and then just as quickly she’d bow her head. By the time we’d made it to the motel in silence, I’d had enough. No doubt the death grip on the steering wheel was evidence of my own discontent.
What the fuck did I think I was doing, trying to convince her to return? Hell,
there was an excellent possibility this plan would blow up in our faces. There were too many variables.
What if Benjamin and Raquel talked to Brother Raphael? After all, Brother Raphael was Benjamin’s overseer and one of the original Commissioners. He might be nice and kind, but he knew what really happened in The Light. He was the one who continued to formulate the pharmaceuticals.
I understood why Father Gabriel did what he did. I’d seen his mansion and heard the celebrations from the depth of the property.
But what was in it for Raphael, Uriel, and Michael?
They were intricate pieces of the puzzle. They worked diligently, yet to me they seemed sorely undercompensated.
During our drive Stella continually looked in my direction with a thousand questions, ready to bombard me, and just as quickly Sara would quell every one of them.
Sara knew the repercussion of questioning. She’d experienced it more times than I cared to remember.
Right now I wanted her questions. I needed them. I was a fucking chicken and needed her to begin this conversation, though I had no idea how it would go.
As I parked the truck outside the old motel, I took a deep breath and looked in her direction. When our eyes met, I wanted nothing more than to take her in my arms and make her forget the hours she’d spent with Thomas. I wanted to make her feel safe enough to tell me the truth about what he’d done. I wanted to see the love I thought I had seen nearly twenty hours earlier.
But I was a damn fool, because what I saw in those blue eyes was a whirlwind of contempt and suspicion. Despite what I’d been taught to believe, it wasn’t up to me to make anything happen. It was up to her.
I exhaled. “This is where we’re spending the night.”
“W-we’re not going back to the Northern Light tonight?”
My brow rose at her question. I was conditioned as well as her. Lesson after lesson had been recited, learned, and eventually regurgitated to other men followers. Beginning at the Eastern Light, I’d been made to believe that men were the stronger, smarter sex. We made decisions. Women didn’t question. They couldn’t.
Away From the Dark (The Light #2) Page 7