“You say nothing to anyone,” Skylar said. “No matter what they threaten you with, no matter what they do to you, you keep your mouths shut! They will try to confuse you with their political fiction, their corporate propaganda, but you must be stronger! You must look them in the eye and say, ‘screw you! I know what you’re trying to do and I’m not having it!’ Can you be strong enough to do that? Are you the people I thought you were when we first met?”

There was a chorus of, “Hell yes!” and Skylar nodded, a slow smile forming on his mouth.

“Good. Good.”

Ara looked at him with wide, trusting eyes; her heart filled with awe and wonder as she listened to his instructions.

She wasn’t the only one smitten by his talks. Skylar had a way of keeping them all enthralled, willing to do whatever he did or said, no matter what the consequences.

That’s what makes a good cult leader, Ara thought, shaking her head ruefully as she lay staring at the ceiling of the jail cell. Charismatic, cunning, and conniving. He expected us to fall on our swords for him, but what do you want to bet he would sell any of you out for a bag of chips and an immunity deal? Guaranteed. I wonder if they have him already.

Who would he throw under the bus? Her? Jasper? Emma? Everyone?

It was hard to say how a psychopath’s mind worked. She’d have to be one, after all, and Ara was about the furthest thing from a narcissist in the world. Why had they believed that he was out for some greater good? How had he worded it so well?

It was strange that she could recall his tone of voice but not the actual phrases he had used.

And we weren’t children, she remembered. We were human people just stupid enough to fall for his slick snake oil salesman act. If he had brought out the orange Kool-Aid, we would have been all over it, too.

Still, she admitted that Skylar had given her very sound advice; keeping her mouth shut was fully her intention.

Ara wondered what would happen to her. She had heard horror stories about prisoners waiting weeks or even years before getting a bail hearing in South Africa, even though forty-eight hours was mandated. She didn’t have money for a lawyer. Was there a public defender system, or was she completely on her own?

Beads of sweat materialized under her arms, and the weight of what was happening suddenly struck her full force.

And then there was that guy outside the jailhouse. His handsome face unexpectedly popped into her mind, chills exploding over her skin.

He called me Bella, Ara recalled. No one has called me that since I was a little girl. Does he know me?

She found it impossible to deny that meeting his eyes had sent a bolt of electricity through her body, one she had never experienced before. He had seemed so familiar, and yet she was sure she had never met him before, even though he had seemed to know her.

Cynically, she wondered if he was there to testify against her. Maybe he was a friend of her drunk father’s or her pill-popping mother’s.

He can talk about what an ungrateful little shit I was, she thought. Isn’t that what Dad used to call me when I asked if we could buy toilet paper?

Ara shoved the unpleasant memories of her childhood aside. The last thing she needed was to lose her mind by wallowing in a depth of despair.

“Pinot?” the guard called, unlocking the cage. He reached out to place the handcuffs back on her wrists.

“Is that really necessary?” she sighed. “I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“Just because you haven’t doesn’t mean you won’t,” he retorted.

“Whatever happened to innocent until proven guilty?” she muttered angrily.

“You’re not in America, nunu,” he chortled, securing the metal bracelets.

Note to self, Ara thought bitterly. Thank Skylar for the travel experience if you ever see his arrogant face again. “Where are you taking me?”

“For questioning.”

She sighed. Of course they are. They’re not going to give me a minute to breathe… or get my story straight. She reminded herself that she had no story to tell. Just shut your mouth and stare straight ahead. I don’t think they do torture here… right?

Ara gulped back her uncertainty and allowed herself to be led into a windowless room with two chairs and a single, metal table.

“Have a seat,” the guard instructed. “The captain is looking forward to spending time with you.”

Ara wasn’t sure if she should take the words as a threat, but they certainly felt that way.

The guard left her alone, still handcuffed, and she flopped back into the chair, grateful for the comfort the tracksuit provided her.

It was nice of Betty to give this to me, even though they intended to ruin my life with one phone call, she thought wryly.

She wasn’t even sure if she was mad at the farmers for turning her in. After all, they had fed her and allowed her to have a shower and a couple hours of solid sleep in a real bed. When could she claim such comfort anywhere else? If anything, the few hours she had spent at the farm on the outskirts of Port Elizabeth had been the most satisfying she’d had in recent memory.

I’m angry they pretended to give a shit about me, she realized. But that was her whole life: people pretending to be something they weren’t.

Ara knew it was her own fault for continuing to trust in the wrong people, but no matter how many times it happened, no matter how many people screwed her over, she still kept falling for it. She was sure prison would cure her of that character flaw.

The thought of spending the next ten to fifteen years in a foreign prison caused her to lose her breath, but she forced herself not to think about it. They had nothing on her. If Skylar flipped on her, she could flip on him, and then it would be her word against his.

The problem was, she didn’t know anything about the way the legal system worked in South Africa. Was there reasonable doubt?

The questions flooding Ara’s mind were dizzying, and they threatened to exact gut-wrenching sobs from her gut. She somehow managed to keep herself together.

Abruptly, the door flew inward, and the captain sauntered in, her brown eyes glittering as if Ara was a canary and she was a starving cat.

“Miss Pinot!” the woman announced, the glee in her voice unmistakable. “You have no idea how happy I am to finally meet you face-to-face.” Ara didn’t reply, her own irises wet with unshed tears. “I’m Camille Jansen,” the woman continued, extending her hand as if they were forming a friendship.

Ara made no move to accept the outstretched palm.

“It seems a little farcical to shake hands like this,” she said, hoping that she would have the guard remove her handcuffs. But of course, she could not be so lucky.

Jansen’s eyes seemed to darken at the slight, but she maintained the fake smile on her lips.

“Fine,” she agreed. “Let’s just talk like two people, since you’re not looking to make friends. Although I should tell you, Arabella, that you should accept friendships where they come these days. You may find them to be fleeting in your future.”

Ara remained silent.

The captain sighed deeply, as if she was greatly pained by how things were going.

“Arabella, you are a relatively young woman with your entire life ahead of you. You don’t want to waste your prime in an overcrowded prison cell where you don’t even speak the language, do you? I can arrange for you to be back in San Francisco as soon as you testify if you would just cooperate.”

Oh, man, she is painting such a pretty picture right now, Ara thought. Just tell her what she wants to hear, and you can get the hell out of South Africa once and for all.

But it wasn’t so simple, and Ara knew that. Even if she wanted to turn on Skylar, which, in all fairness, she really did after what he had done to them, it wasn’t just Skylar who would go down for the crimes. Each member of the Association had played their own part in what they had believed to be an activist stand, which had ultimately resulted in the white-collar embezzlement of the century.

“All you need to do is tell me what happened,” Captain Jansen said, “and I can offer you an immunity deal that will get you home to your family in just a few weeks’ time.”

Ara tensed at the idea of seeing her family. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied shortly. “I have no idea why I’m being detained.” Shit, should I have said that? Is that going to be used against me? Did I get my rights read to me?

More consternation flooded her, and for a terrifying second, she wondered if she was going to pass out.

“You don’t know about the pilot you terrorized for over two hours while he flew you to St. Francis Airfield?”

The captain’s voice was a sharp as glass shards, and Ara was consumed by regret.

She was not the armed terrorist they were making her out to be in the news. She had been desperate and terrified, not bloodthirsty and greedy. She had only needed to get out of Cape Town in a hurry. It had been an impulse action, pulling the knife on the pilot, but there was no way she would have ever hurt him or anyone else.

However, she had a feeling that telling Captain Jansen that wouldn’t make an ounce of difference. She had already made up her mind about Ara.

“You don’t know about the farmers you held hostage?” Jansen continued. “You’re not showing the best side of you, Arabella.”

“What?”

“Their names are Rolf and Betty Van Buren, by the way. There was no need to terrorize them.”

“Held hostage?” Ara yelled. “Terrorize them? Is that what they said?”

The captain shrugged her linebacker shoulders. “Who am I going to believe? A fugitive, or a sweet old couple who thought they were helping out a girl down on her luck?”

Ara eyed her disdainfully. She doesn’t believe that I held Betty and Rolf hostage, but she’ll charge me with it just to get what she wants.

“I have witnesses to those crimes, Arabella,” the woman said.

God, Skylar, Ara cursed, why did you have to steal from the government? Of all the places…

“I want you to think long and hard about what I’m offering you,” the captain continued. “In five minutes, this deal will be off the table, and I will charge you with hijacking and kidnapping.” She rose from the table and walked toward the door, her boots squeaking across the tile. “I hope you make the right decision, Arabella, but rest assured—if you do not, I will fight tooth and nail for the maximum sentence in both those cases. You may never see the light of day again.”

Ara sat miserably, staring at the door long after Captain Jansen left. She did not doubt a single word the woman had said. You will fare very poorly locked up, she told herself. You just don’t have the disposition for it. She had read enough accounts about American prisons to know she wouldn’t survive there. There was not a hope in hell for her in South Africa.

Ara closed her eyes and silently begged her former family to forgive her for what she was about to do. None of them had known any better. Only Skyler had known exactly what was going on. Maybe she could try to get a deal for them, too. She knew it was a long shot and that she should be counting her blessings after what they had on her.

When she comes back in, just get it in writing, Ara decided. In a few weeks, I can be back in San Francisco, living under a bridge again. Yay for me.

The door opened again, and Ara opened her mouth to speak, but the words died on her lips as a handsome stranger entered. They gaped at one another for a long moment.

“Bella?” he murmured, stepping into the room, his full mouth parting in shock. “Is that you?”

She nodded, a familiar feeling of déjà vu sweeping through her as she stared at him. He looked incredibly similar to the man outside the station, the one who had also seemed to recognize her. How did they know her?

Captain Jansen stormed back into the room. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

“I am Anders Williams,” said the man, “Ms. Pinot’s lawyer. She is exercising her right to silence, and I am demanding a bail hearing within forty-eight hours, as is her right.”

Jansen’s face turned furious. “I see,” she spat. “Is this what you want, Arabella?”

Ara lowered her gaze and nodded.

“Very well,” the captain hissed. “Consider your deal revoked. You will be charged with hijacking and kidnapping. As a non-South African citizen, I wouldn’t expect bail.”

The words sent chills through Ara’s body, but she kept a stoic expression on her face, reassured by the coy smirk on Anders Williams’ mouth.

“You should keep your expectations lower yourself, captain,” the lawyer replied smoothly. “That way, you won’t be disappointed.”

Jansen snorted, the contempt in her face almost tangible. She whirled and left Anders alone with Ara.

“Who are you?” she whispered. “How do I know you?”

He smiled thinly. “That’s for another time. Right now, we need to get you the hell out of here. Keep your mouth shut and let me speak for you. Do you understand?” Ara nodded vehemently. “Don’t speak to anyone. Not a cellmate, not the guards, not even my brother.”

“Your brother?”

Anders gazed at her, the corners of his mouth pulling inward. “Titus. You’ll meet him soon enough.”

Titus. Titus. Titus. The name echoed through the chambers of Ara’s mind, tickling her memory incessantly.

He was the one outside the stationhouse, she realized. Titus called Anders here for me. I know these men. But from where? How?

It defied all reason, all logic, and everything else she knew about strangers, but Ara instinctively trusted the cocksure attorney in the seven-thousand-dollar suit.

It’s like I’ve known him in another life.

She hoped he could put his money where his mouth was.