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Amara let Kari lead her over to the sofa where they sat, side by side.
Amara could hardly take it in:
LENINGRAD—Reports from local authorities indicated early this morning that the missing philanthropist Quint Forbes has been found alive in rural Tajikistan. His private jet left Dasoguz Airport in Turkmenistan three months ago and never reached its intended destination. He was found in a small southwestern village medical facility in the Khatlon province, near Khovaling.
The wreckage from the plane still hasn’t been found. Weeks ago, a shepherd spotted Mr. Forbes unconscious on the mountainside near his fields. The shepherd told a regional reporter that though Mr. Forbes was badly injured, he must have traveled a long distance over rough terrain before he collapsed of thirst and exhaustion. Without positive identification, Forbes remained convalescent in a nearby village hospital where he was treated for multiple injuries and cranial trauma.
Due to the village’s distance from any major population center, news about the crash did not spread that far. Though conscious for the last few weeks, Forbes was said to have been disoriented and confused. Three days ago, he communicated his identity to an English-speaking nurse who recognized his name and reported his condition to Tajik officials in Dushanbe. He is expected to return to America for further treatment when he is cleared to travel.
Chapter Twelve
KARI CAUGHT THE PHONE FROM Amara as she dropped it. Amara leaned down, trying to catch her breath. It was hard to breathe and her chest hurt. Her mind raced with innumerable thoughts, overwhelming and confusing her.
On one hand, she was elated to know Quint was alive. She was thankful for the chance to see him again. He was alive. Thank God. It seemed too good to be true.
But on the other hand, she had Hampton to think of. What would Quint expect now? The thought that he’d demand she honor their contract and give Hampton up was too horrific to contemplate.
She sat up straight and clutched at her shirt over her heart. Her head felt like it was on fire. Was this what a panic attack felt like?
She looked at her friend, who appeared equally as horrified. “Hampton,” was all Amara said.
Kari nodded slowly. “Hampton.”
Quint was alive … and he’d be demanding his son.
Amara fell, sobbing, into her best friend’s comforting arms.
FOR THE NEXT WEEK, AMARA searched the news feeds for updates about Quint’s condition. He’d flown back to the states, at least that was known, but no one was certain where
. Everyone seemed to agree that he’d recover, but it was extremely difficult to get confirmation about his condition.
A company spokeswoman announced that Quint was expected to make a full recovery, and that he must be allowed some time to heal before addressing the press. Speculation ran wild in not only the usual trashy tabloid magazines, but also on otherwise legitimate and even-handed television news networks.
She was feeding Hampton when the news broke on television of Quint’s release from the hospital. He wore a heavy wool peacoat and slacks. His hair had grown long in the intervening months, and by keeping his head down, he managed to hide his face from the journalists jostling to get a shot of him leaving the hospital in his limo. Amara knew Quint well enough to know that his stride was off, and his swagger seemed all but gone.
But that was nothing compared to the real shocker of the moment: he had been in a hospital in the city, Amara’s city. Holy hell. At that moment, he was only minutes away.
A half an hour later, she received the call.
The image of Quint that she’d set for his phone number only made the comparison with what she’d seen on TV more drastic. In the phone’s picture, Quint was perfectly coiffed and clothed, flashing his billion-dollar smile.
She realized then that she’d never deleted his number from her phone. She wondered what it meant, if anything.
She answered the call but found herself struggling to speak. All she managed to do was squeak out a small greeting.
Quint’s voice was thinner compared to his usual deep, sweet tone. “Amara. I’m sure you’ve seen that I survived the crash. I’m … recovering.”
“Yes. That’s good.” She stumbled over her words, unsure of the right thing to say.
“I’m staying downtown at Forsythia Heights Hotel for the time being. I want you to meet me for dinner downstairs at eight. We need to talk.”
Amara nodded slightly then remembered that he couldn’t see her affirmative. She was rooted in place where she stood in the kitchen. The possibility of him wanting to take Hampton away became all the more real as he spoke. Fear had frozen her.
It was all but assured. Even as soft as his voice was, he was grim and determined in a way she’d never heard. Whatever it was he planned to discuss, he’d stop at nothing to get what he wanted. He never did.
From somewhere, she found the strength to answer him. She agreed to meet at the hotel and hung up. She quickly dialed Kari, her breathing short and shallow.
“Quint is back, and he wants to meet for dinner.” Hard as she tried, she couldn’t stop the warbling tremble in her voice.
