Away From the Dark (The Light #2)(27)

“Though Brother Daniel was always supportive, Brother Timothy was equally as negative. I suspect he was involved in forcing a wife on me. He wanted me to fail.”

I hated that man, even the sound of his name. “Why? What is his problem with us?”

Jacob shrugged. “I suspect he doesn’t like you because you’re my wife. I really don’t know why he doesn’t like me. To be honest, I never let it bother me, until . . .”

I reached for my hair, which now fell past my shoulders. “Me?”

His cheeks rose and his brown eyes shone. “God, I hated them for what they did to you, but Sara, I loved you so much more. You were so strong. That was the night I fully believed in you. In us. If what they did to you didn’t break you, I knew you’d survive, and I knew I’d stop at nothing to not only complete my assignment but get you out too.”

I remembered that night. “That really was our first time?”

His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’d promised you—it was when you were still unconscious. I promised I’d give you time. I needed to make you believe you were Sara Adams to keep you alive, but what we did in private was different. I swore I’d never force myself on you.” His smile disappeared. “That’s not the way it is with all the men in The Light. I’m on the Assembly. I hear stories.”

My skin crawled as I thought of Brother Abraham’s wife. “Deborah?”

Jacob’s jaw clenched. “Abraham is an ass.” His eyes pleaded. “I never forced you, nor did I ever lie about my feelings.” He ran his hand over his face. “You can hate me forever, and tomorrow we can part ways and never see each other again, but if that happens, I pray you’ll give me the gift of letting me know that you understand why I did everything. And that you know I never meant you harm.”

It was so much, too much. He’d taken too much. I wasn’t ready to give him what he asked, not yet. “What do you mean that tomorrow we could part ways? What’s happening tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow is up to you.”

When has anything been up to me?





CHAPTER 11


Dylan


I ran my fingers through my hair and sighed as my phone continued to ring. Each week the same call. Each week the same conversation. As I stared at my screen and read Beverly Montgomery’s name I contemplated hitting ignore.

Ring four.

Ring five.

She’ll just keep calling.

“Hello, Mrs. Montgomery,” I said, trying for my calmest tone. If I’d let it ring one more time it would’ve gone to voice mail. Either she’d have called back or left a message. If she’d left a message, I’d be forced to call her back. It was easier to just talk—like ripping off a Band-Aid.

“Bev,” she corrected. “How many times do I need to ask you to please call me Bev? I’m not interrupting you, am I?”

“No, Bev. I’m clocked out and on my way home.”

“It’s been another week since Stella . . .” Her voice momentarily trailed away. “I just can’t believe it. My baby’s been gone for nearly nine months. Please tell me you’ve learned something new, something that can help.”

I shook my head as I eased my unmarked Charger into early-evening Detroit traffic. “I wish I could. As you know, I’m not on the case.”

“We know that, but you’re on the force. You’re her boyfriend—were.”

I considered correcting her, telling her I wished I were still her boyfriend, but it would only take this conversation the way of many others, down an emotional path I wasn’t up to navigating this evening.

She went on. “Surely they’d let you know . . .” Beverly Montgomery’s words began to crack.

So much for avoiding emotion.

“The truth is that they wouldn’t,” I explained. “I’m not on the missing-persons task force. They can’t tell me every time they learn anything new. Besides, because of Stella’s and my relationship, they’re less likely to tell me anything until they know for sure. They wouldn’t want to get my hopes up.”

“But . . . if they found something, that wouldn’t get your hopes up. If they found her”—this time she couldn’t disguise the audible cry before she whispered—“body.”

“Nothing like that has happened. I promise you, if anything like that is found, you’ll be contacted.”

“It’s strange how grown children live their own lives and as parents we’re OK with that. Days and weeks can go by without speaking, and it’s all right, because it means your children are doing what you raised them to do, to be independent, to be adults, and then in an instant it can all change . . .”

I clenched my teeth as I listened. Stella’s mother had told me once that her therapist said talking to me would be helpful, therapeutic even for her loss. Sometimes the conversations were more upbeat, about Stella’s sister, the one who’d been divorced. She’d recently remarried. Apparently losing a sister—well, having a sister go missing—had made her reevaluate her choices. The man she’d married had been her friend and now they had a child on the way. Beverly was elated at the prospect of being a grandparent. And then she’d think again about Stella and how much she’d enjoy being an aunt. Some conversations were too difficult to continue.