22
Peter
I think about contacting Sara as we land at a small private airport in the foothills of the Great Smoky Mountains, some ninety kilometers from Asheville and only a few states away from her. It’s beyond tempting to pick up the phone and call her, so I can hear her voice. But if I did that, the Feds—who are still watching her and listening to her calls—would be all over her, once again doubting her story and putting her through the wringer.
It’s not the first time I’ve considered reaching out to her. I think about it all the time. As careful as the Feds are, I could still get one of the men I hired to watch her to surreptitiously pass her a letter. It would be risky, but I could do it.
What stops me are not the logistics, but that I’m not sure what I would say—and what Sara’s re
