Remember Jamie Baker (Jamie Baker #3)(96)

On the bright side, I was expected, and they knew I’d be freaking freezing. I was greeted with a blanket, a cup of hot tea—not Magic Tea, but I wasn’t going to be picky—and a chair by a roaring fire.

It wasn’t until I’d stopped shivering that I took notice of my surroundings. There had been a group of cement buildings that looked like exactly what you’d expect of an arctic research station in the middle of freaking nowhere. I’d expected the inside to remind me a lot of the boring white walls of NORAD. But, minus an obvious lack of windows, the building we were in felt more like a fancy ski lodge.

I was sitting in a high wingback chair perched on a plush polar bear skin rug—hopefully faux, but I couldn’t tell—in front of a roaring fire that had a large moose head hanging above it. There was a small end table to my right, where my tea and a small tray of snacks had been set, and then another chair to match the one I sat in. I still felt the chill from my run through the far North, but the teacup in my hand and the heat of the fire were thawing me nicely. The lighting was dim, and the room was fairly quiet save a few people shuffling about and the wind howling outside.

When Donovan approached, I knew it was him by the soft off-kilter click that preceded each step he took. I didn’t remember the man, but I knew he walked with a cane. He took a seat in the chair opposite me and waited. I felt the weight of his stare, knew he was waiting for me to acknowledge him, but I couldn’t pull my gaze away from the fire to greet him.

This place, with the fire and the rug and the snow, reminded me of a memory. One that wasn’t mine. One that should have been mine, but was gone. The description Ryan had given me of our first time together. From the moment I sat down, my heart had begun to ache. It made me desperate to remember. Donovan couldn’t have known, but if he wanted me to play along with his games, this was the perfect first strike.

“Why so sad, Angel?”

The ACEs called me Angel. In a way, it was my name. But the way Donovan said it just then sounded more like a term of endearment. He’d spoken softly, but had lacked empathy. He hadn’t asked out of concern; he’d asked out of curiosity. He didn’t deserve an answer, but I gave him one anyway.

“Memories are more than people realize,” I said, looking into the dancing flames of the fire. “They’re knowledge. They’re power. They’re motivation. Identity. They’re the very essence of who we are.”

Donovan took his time responding. “I believe you’re speaking more of experiences, Miss Baker. Not the mere memories of them.”

I finally slid my gaze to him. He was every bit the man I expected a narcissistic billionaire to be. He was in his sixties and very nice-looking for someone of his age. He was slender, with silver-gray hair and a charming smile.

He had an air of confidence and self-importance, yet he gave me every single ounce of his attention. He was sitting in his chair, but turned toward me and leaned forward as if waiting with bated breath for my next response, as if he planned to hang on my every word. His eyes were alight with intelligence and fascination.

“Maybe,” I said. “But what are experiences without the memory of them?”

Donovan’s brows raised slightly and his smile fell from the phony polite one he’d been wearing into something softer, more genuine. “That’s very insightful, Miss Baker. I’m impressed.”

I couldn’t care less about his opinion of me. “It’s not rocket science. If I can’t remember my past, it does me no good to have lived it. The knowledge and power I gained from my experiences are gone. Without my memory, my experiences aren’t even mine anymore. They’re just stories people tell me about someone else. About a girl they knew once. A girl that’s no longer me. I have no memory. Therefore, those experiences are not mine. I’ve lost them.”

“That must be difficult.”

“You have no idea,” I muttered, bitterness creeping into my voice. My gaze returned to the fire. “Everyone thinks they understand. They try to be supportive, try to be encouraging, but they don’t really know. They can’t know what it’s like to truly have nothing. To be nothing. No one.” I gulped, swallowing back the overwhelming urge to cry. “I’ve lost everything, Mr. Donovan. I’ve lost myself.”

Donovan sat back in his chair and was silent for a minute. “I see,” he whispered, winning my attention again.

“See what?”

“Why you’ve come.”

He was just now figuring that out? Was the man an idiot?

The question must have read on my face, because he smiled and gave his head a small shake. “When my men confirmed that you were truly alone and had no tracking device, I was suspicious. It was out of character—for you and for Wilks. I thought for sure you would try to come up with some sort of plan. Use the opportunity Chen gave you to try to find me. To stop me.”

We did have a plan, but it was better for him to think we didn’t, and easy enough for me to fake it when I could give him plenty of truth mixed in with my act. “Believe me, we tried. I wanted to. I disagree with what you’re doing here, and if I could stop you, I would.” He frowned, but didn’t look surprised. “The simple fact of the matter is you have me in a corner. I’ve tried everything else humanly possible to try and get my memory back, but you’re the only man on Earth who can do it.”