Free The Pact (A Sarah Roberts Thriller Book 17) by Jonas Saul Page A

died.
     
    But at least Aaron would still be alive.
     
    Selfish? Sure it was.
     
    How often do I think of myself? How often do I put myself first?
     
    She lowered her head into her hands and wept. She tried to keep it quiet, personal, to herself, but she was sure Glenn could tell.
     
    An emptiness opened inside her core. A loss, so enormously large and intense, encompassed her. It covered her in a heavy emotional tar, weighing down her limbs. Everything seemed difficult, even breathing. How could she move forward? How could she get up and off the plane when it landed?
     
    Time heals all wounds, but this wasn’t just a wound. This was a limb hacked off. This was a decapitation, a paralysis. Nothing healed this grief. Nothing.
     
    Her shoulders quaked with repressed sobs as she held her head in her hands. There had always been the chance that someone close to her would die. She almost lost her parents a while back to a sick woman. She had almost lost Parkman several times. Dolan Ryan and Esmerelda were gone. Good people, killed by lunatics. When it came to her life, Sarah had Vivian and only Vivian.
     
    Aaron.
     
    All she could do was find out who was responsible and destroy them. If it was the Taliban, then she would go underground and kill each and every Taliban she could. A flight to Kabul. Access to weapons. Then hunt the terrorists. Maybe pretend to join them. Claim a belief in Islam. Anything to get inside their private group. Then murder as many as possible to avenge Aaron’s death as well as all the innocents those kinds of groups killed yearly.
     
    In the end, it would be a good thing. Maybe that’s what Aaron’s death represented. Maybe that was why Vivian let it happen.
     
    Or perhaps Sarah didn’t need Vivian anymore. If she was incommunicado and Aaron was dead, then what was there left to deal with?
     
    The captain announced that he was starting his descent. The plane dropped slowly. Her stomach hardened, weighted down in grief. She wiped at her runny nose, then brushed her hand on her jeans. No matter how many times she swallowed, there was a lump in her throat.
     
    Aaron.
     
    Fifteen minutes later, the plane touched down on Toronto soil and taxied to the terminal. She stared out the window while her fellow passengers prepared to deplane.
     
    “I’m sorry,” Glenn whispered as he rose from his seat.
     
    Sarah nodded for his benefit. She’d lost Aaron. The people responsible would die. In the meantime, she wouldn’t be rude on purpose. She would try to be nice to people. At times it would be hard, but she could try.
     
    The thick line of travelers began to disembark. Sarah waited until the aisle was relatively empty, then got her carry-on from the overhead bin.
     
    Near the door, the flight attendant who accompanied her to her seat after the half hour in the lavatory, offered an awkward smile. Sarah smiled back, averted her eyes, and entered the ramp toward customs.
     
    After a twenty-minute line, she cleared customs, walked by the luggage claim carousel, and headed for the exit that led into the main terminal.
     
    A glimpse of her face in a side mirror revealed red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes, sunken cheeks, and the signs of depression. She hated depression. Fought to get out of it in her teenage years and succeeded. Never again. Grieving was natural. It would take its course, then be done.
     
    She walked past the roped-off area and the throng of excited people waiting for loved ones to come out, knowing that the grief of losing Aaron would never subside. Even time couldn’t heal such a deep wound.
     
    People converged everywhere. She sidestepped a woman holding a baby, waited while a group of five wheeled their luggage by, skirted around them and was stopped by two large men in suits holding placards with names like Smith and Whistler on them.
     
    If the crowd didn’t thin fast, she would go insane. People checked her out. The swollen, puffy red eyes. The running nose. She wanted to