Chapter 7 - THE WOMAN WHO PULLED ME FROM THE FIRE
Clara Hayes was alive.
That should have been wonderful news.
Instead, I felt sick when the investigator told me where she had been living.
A private rehabilitation center in Connecticut.
Under another name.
For nearly three years.
The center's records listed her as a patient suffering from traumatic injuries and memory impairment.
But the photograph suggested someone knew exactly who she was.
Natalie arranged lawful contact through Clara's legal representative.
Two days later, I flew to Connecticut with my mother.
Vincent offered his plane.
I refused.
I couldn't bear to board another private jet.
He didn't argue.
I took a commercial flight.
When I entered Clara's room, she was sitting beside a window reading a magazine.
Her hair was dark brown now.
A faint scar crossed her forehead.
She looked up.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the magazine fell from her hands.
"Anna?"
Tears filled my eyes.
"Clara."
She covered her mouth.
"Oh my God."
I crossed the room.
We embraced.
For three years, I'd believed she was dead or unreachable.
Now she was here.
Alive.
Warm.
Real.
"You survived," she whispered.
"So did you."
She began crying.
"I thought they'd killed you."
I pulled back.
"Who?"
Her expression changed.
She glanced toward the door.
Then lowered her voice.
"The men who took us from the airfield."
My heart hammered.
Clara explained what she remembered.
After helping me escape through the rear service opening, she'd been injured by debris from the explosion.
We were both transported in an unmarked emergency vehicle.
But the men inside weren't ordinary medical responders.
They spoke about keeping us separated.
One mentioned Salvatore Moretti.
Another warned that Vincent must believe everyone aboard the rear section had died.
Clara tried to contact her husband.
Her phone disappeared.
A doctor told her she'd suffered serious head injuries and needed extended rehabilitation.
She was transferred between facilities.
Her name was changed in medical files.
And every attempt to contact her family was obstructed.
"I thought I was losing my mind," she whispered.
"Why didn't you tell anyone?"
"I tried."
She looked at me helplessly.
"People kept saying I was confused."
My stomach twisted.
"Did Sophia cause the accident?"
Clara shook her head.
"I don't know."
"But you saw her near the emergency cabinet."
She nodded.
"Yes."
"What was she doing?"
"She was crying."
I frowned.
"Crying?"
"Before the emergency. Before the smoke. She was standing near the service compartment, holding her phone."
"What did she say?"
Clara closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she remained silent.
Then she whispered.
"She said, 'I did what you asked. Now leave Vincent out of it.'"
I felt the room tilt.
"Who was she talking to?"
"I don't know."
"Did you hear anything else?"
Clara nodded slowly.
"She said she didn't know Anna was going to be aboard."
A terrible silence filled the room.
I stared at her.
"So someone expected the plane to fly without me?"
"That's what it sounded like."
I sat down.
My mind raced.
Vincent had originally planned to fly to New York for a business meeting.
I had insisted on accompanying him because I wanted a final trip before the baby arrived.
Sophia joined us at the last minute.
She claimed she needed a ride to visit a sick relative.
I'd been uncomfortable but agreed.
Now the memory took on a different meaning.
Maybe the target hadn't been me.
Maybe someone intended to kill Vincent.
And Sophia had discovered I would be on the plane too.
Clara reached for my hand.
"Anna, there's something else."
"What?"
"The plane wasn't supposed to land where it did."
I stared.
"What do you mean?"
"The pilots were diverted."
"Because of the emergency?"
"Before the emergency."
Clara swallowed.
"I heard the captain arguing with someone over the radio. He said the route change wasn't authorized."
My heartbeat accelerated.
"And then?"
"Then the alarms started."
I stared at the floor.
For three years, I had blamed Vincent for choosing Sophia.
That betrayal remained real.
But now I understood something far worse.
The crash might have been part of an assassination plot.
And the person who financed my survival might also have helped arrange the disaster.
Before leaving, I asked Clara one final question.
"Why do you think someone kept us alive?"
She looked toward the window.
"Because dead people can't be questioned."
I frowned.
"That doesn't explain it."
She squeezed my hand.
"Maybe they needed us alive until they knew what we remembered."
On the flight home, I looked at the clouds outside my window.
May you like
Somewhere beneath them, Vincent was waiting for news.
And for the first time in three years, I wondered whether he had been betrayed by the same people who betrayed me.
