Sanders 01 - Silent Run (15 page)

The apartment was a small studio. There was a double bed in one corner, a crib next to it, a small gray couch in the main part of the room, a TV the size of a toaster, a couple of beat-up end tables, and a kitchen that was little more than a small counter with a stove, a refrigerator, and a microwave. The room would have been completely sad if it weren't for the photographic prints tacked and taped across the cracked, dull walls. They were all landscapes, the beach, the city, the sunset. At least she'd tried to liven up the place.

This was her home, she told herself. There had to be a clue to her past somewhere. Turning her attention away from the walls, she moved toward the bed. It was unmade. For some reason that bothered her. She felt as if she were the kind of person who always made the bed. She walked over to the crib and stared down at the pink blanket, the floral sheet, and a tiny white bear with a red satin ribbon around its neck.

As she picked up the bear, an image shot through her head.

Caitlyn had golden curls, long, dark lashes that framed her blue eyes, a soft mouth, and a dimple in her chin. She lifted her hands toward Sarah. “Mama,” she said. “Up. Up."

Sarah swept her daughter into her arms and held her tight.

“Kiss, Mama,” Caitlyn said, puckering her lips.

Sarah kissed her daughter's sweet lips and inhaled the scent of baby powder and lavender. Everything would be all right. She had to make it so.

Sarah didn't realize she was crying until the tears streamed down her cheeks and fell in big drops onto the sheet. She wiped her eyes and turned to see Jake staring at her.

“I remembered Caitlyn,” she whispered. “I saw her in my head for the first time. I didn't just feel her; I saw her face, her beautiful face. And she talked to me. She said, ‘Kiss, Mama.' ” She sniffed as the tears flowed even harder.

“She was talking to you?” Jake asked in amazement. Then he shook his head in frustration. “Of course she was talking. She's sixteen months old.” He drew in a long breath, his face tight as he battled for control of his emotions. “What else?” he asked, his eyes and voice impatient. “Where is she? Where did you take her? What did you remember?"

She knew her next words would disappoint him, but she couldn't lie. “I just saw that moment in time. I was picking her up from this crib. That's all. I'm sorry, Jake. I'm really sorry.” And she was, because she'd seen the pain in his eyes when he realized his daughter had spoken her first words, and he hadn't been there to hear them.

“I don't care if you're sorry. Sorry isn't good enough. I need to find my daughter."

“I know. I'm trying."

Jake slammed his fist against the nearby wall, the force of his action knocking one of the photographs onto the floor. Sarah flinched but didn't move. She knew he had to release his anger. And strangely enough she wasn't afraid that he would turn his rage on her. He wasn't the kind of man to hit a woman. She knew that.

But other men would. She knew that, too.

How did she know?

It came from a dark place in her heart, a place where she didn't want to go.

Moving across the room, she picked up the photograph from the floor. “This is the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco."

“How can you remember that and not remember...” Jake shook his head, not even bothering to finish the question.

“Did I take this when I was with you?"

“Yes,” he said shortly. “You shot all these pictures when you were with me. We went out every weekend. I grew up in San Francisco, but with you I discovered places I never knew existed. You dragged me down every back alley in Chinatown, every park, every narrow downtown street.” He waved his hand toward the wall. “I'm surprised you brought these pictures with you. I certainly don't recognize anything else in the room. In this place you were Samantha Blake. And Caitlyn was Katie. I wonder how many people you've been in your life, how many places you've lived, how many times you've run."

His gaze burned into hers. In the past day he'd begun to look at her like he knew her. Now his suspicions had returned. And she had no way to fight them.

Turning her attention back to the photographs, she prayed for some clue to jump out at her, something that would trigger a memory. She moved down the wall, pausing in front of a two-story house. “Is this the house you were building?"

“No, that one belongs to a friend of mine. I designed the remodel. You shot the photos just before he moved in."

Sarah studied the picture, feeling a sense of warmth in the lines of the house, the lovely garden in the front yard. It was a home just waiting for a family, she thought. “Was your friend married?"

“A newlywed, and his wife was pregnant when they moved in."

“Do they love the house?"

“Why are you asking me these questions?"

She tilted her head to one side as images floated through her head.
She was walking down the street. It was twilight. The lights in the houses were on. Families were sitting down to dinner. In one window she could see a mother helping her child with homework. In another a man and a woman were holding hands over a candlelit supper. Inside, she felt a deep sense of longing.

“Sarah?"

Jake's questioning voice brought her back to the present.

“I saw houses,” she said. “At dinnertime. I don't know who the people were."

“No, you don't,” Jake said, surprising her with the response.

“What do you mean?"

“We used to take walks at night when I got home from work. You loved looking in the windows. I teased you about it. You said it was a habit from childhood. You liked to see the way other people lived."

She thought about his words, wondering why they sounded right and yet a little wrong, too. She gazed back at the house he'd designed. “This is beautiful."

“You captured it well. You were a good photographer, Sarah. You loved to pick out the one detail that made the landscape different, like the empty beer can in this shot.” He pointed to another picture on the wall -- a bird nibbling at a fast-food wrapper. “You liked the contrast of nature with civilization. You would get into crazy positions just to catch the right angle, the perfect beam of light. You were passionate about it. Like Amanda, I suggested a couple of times that you turn it into a business, but you always blew me off, saying it was the digital age of camera phones, and everyone was a photographer."

“That is true, isn't it?"

“I think you had another reason. You didn't want to draw attention to yourself. You didn't want photos with your name attached. That would have been too public for someone intent on staying out of the light."

She looked into his face and asked the question she needed to ask. “Do you think I used you to hide?"

A pulse throbbed in his throat. “I think you used me, but I don't know why."

“How did I get pregnant? Did we plan it? Was it an accident?"

“An accident. The condom broke.” His gaze darkened. “When you got pregnant you were shocked, agitated. I thought for a while you'd run out and get an abortion. You kept saying you couldn't have a baby. I tried to calm you down. It wasn't in my plan either, but it had happened, and we had to deal with it. And the last thing I wanted you to do was get rid of our child."

“You offered to marry me, didn't you?"

“Many times. You kept putting me off, telling me you wanted to wait until after Caitlyn was born. I figured eventually we'd get to it."

An image of a white gown flashed through her brain
.

She was standing in front of a mirror wearing an off-the-shoulder wedding dress. A woman was taking measurements. Two glasses of champagne sat on the table. She could hear a man's voice in the background. He always knew exactly what he wanted for her, and today was no different. She glanced down at the diamond ring on her finger. It was three carats, huge. It felt heavy on her hand. Her pulse began to race. Sweat broke out along her forehead. Was she making a terrible mistake? She loved him. He loved her. Didn't he?

Sarah's breath was still coming hard and fast when she looked at Jake. “I just saw myself wearing a dress. You were there at the bridal salon. We were drinking champagne. You lied to me. We got married, didn't we?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Jake couldn't believe she was accusing him of lying.

“I saw us."

“You didn't see me.” Jake's stomach began to churn.

“I heard a man's voice,” she said. “Maybe it wasn't yours."

“I know it wasn't. If you married someone, it wasn't me. In fact, you told me you'd never been married, never even come close. Was that another lie, Sarah, another secret? Was it?” He jammed his hands into his pockets. “God! When is it going to end? When are we going to hit rock bottom with the truth?"

She stared at him with big, wide, confused blue eyes. He'd once thought she'd had the eyes of an angel. Even now he could see a shimmer of tears. Was her pained innocence an act? He'd been a fool before. He couldn't be a fool again. He couldn't let her get to him. He couldn't believe in her.

“Maybe I didn't go through with it. Maybe I ran away."

“You probably did run. That's what you do. I wonder how many other men you've left in your wake."

Sarah turned away from him, staring back at the photographs on the wall. Her shoulders were hunched in defeat, and he had to fight back an urge to put an arm around her and tell her everything would be all right. How could he want to protect her after everything she'd done to him?

He backed away from her, needing more space between them. Had she been married to someone else? Was that person the one who was trying to kill her, or just another victim of Sarah's drive-by lifestyle?

As he gazed around the shabby apartment, he couldn't understand why Sarah would have willingly traded in her life with him to live alone, raising a child while working as a night janitor. He'd been building her a dream house. She could have had everything she wanted. He would have given her the moon. He'd thought he'd made that clear to her.

But it hadn't been enough. She'd left him and come here. It didn't make sense. He'd told himself a million times that no reason could explain away what she'd done to him. But still he found himself wanting to know what had driven her to turn her back on something so good for something like this.

“I guess we should look through everything in the apartment, see if we can find a clue,” Sarah murmured, turning to face him.

Her expression was guarded now, as if she were afraid she'd revealed too much and didn't intend to let that happen again.

“Don't, Sarah."

“Don't what?"

“Think about holding out on me."

“Whatever I say makes you angry."

“So I'll be angry, but we'll have the truth between us. And it's about damn time that happened."

As he gazed into her worried blue eyes, he felt something inside him weaken. He'd loved this woman, loved her beyond the point of reason. He'd never felt so much passion for anyone. But he'd thought he'd known her, and it was clear now that he hadn't. He had to remember that. There was no going back.

Sarah looked away, but not before he saw a spark of desire, and it shook him to know that despite her memory loss she felt something for him. She was attracted to him. On some basic, elemental level her body wanted his. The chemistry between them hadn't gone away. For some reason that fact both exhilarated and infuriated him. He dug his hands into his pockets before he did something stupid -- before he walked across the room and kissed her.

“I'm going to check the drawers of the dresser,” Sarah said abruptly, moving quickly.

He could have followed her. He wanted to follow her. He wanted to put his hands on her and make her remember him. But he didn't move. He didn't trust himself not to go too far, not to get lost -- in her. Damn. His own body was betraying his heart and his mind. He didn't like it. He wouldn't lose control. He wouldn't be a fool again.

Turning his attention away from Sarah, he focused on the apartment. The furniture appeared to be cheap, used pieces she'd picked up at a flea market or a garage sale. She certainly didn't need much to live on. She'd never asked him for anything either. Even after they moved in together she'd refused to change one thing in his apartment.

Looking back at their life together, he now saw all the little signs he'd missed. Sarah was never planning to stay. She hadn't intended to put down roots. Maybe she'd stuck it out as long as she had only because of the baby, the unplanned pregnancy. That must have thrown her off her game. And the house he was building had probably tempted her to some extent, but obviously not enough.

Shaking his head, he walked across the small room, trying to ignore the anger once again building inside him. He paused by the scratched-up wooden kitchen table. On top of a newspaper dated last Monday was a pencil sketch of a man in a beanie, a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. It must have been the guy from the elevator. His pulse sped up.

“Did you draw this?” He held up the paper.

Sarah moved over to join him. She let out a little gasp of surprise. “Oh, my God. That's the man who was in my hospital room."

“Really? Because I was just thinking he was the man in the elevator with you earlier this week. The beanie, the sweatshirt -- remember Amanda's description?"

“It was the same guy then, because this man was the one who tried to smother me yesterday."

“Are you sure?” he asked, his pulse quickening at the link they'd discovered. “I thought you didn't get much of a look at him."

“The eyes are the same. It has to be him."

“You must have drawn this. Amanda said you were unwilling to call the police, so I doubt this was done by anyone else."