Sanders 01 - Silent Run (18 page)

“It seems strange that she would just leave you like that."

“Really? It seems stranger to me that you would think it was strange,” he said pointedly, his gaze burning into hers. “Obviously you had no problem walking away without a word."

Sarah felt the sting of his accusation. She didn't like how closely his mother's story seemed to parallel her own. Frowning, she asked, “Did I know this before about your mother?"

“Oh, yeah, you knew. It apparently didn't matter to you. Or maybe you realized that leaving me without a word was the perfect way to kill me without actually taking out a gun. I didn't think you had it in you to be so cruel."

His tone was vicious, but there was as much pain as anger in his words. Her eyes began to water, and she felt as if she were on the verge of crying again, but she couldn't cry, because Jake would think she was pretending, trying to get his sympathy, when in fact she felt like crying because of what she'd done to him.

He was right. It was unbelievably cruel to replay his mother's departure. She had hurt him so badly, this man she had supposedly loved enough to live with and have a child with. How could she have done such a thing? She didn't feel inside like the tough, cold bitch he described. Yet how could she deny the facts?

“I think I hate myself as much as you hate me,” she murmured.

“That's impossible.” Jake's face was grim, his mouth taut, the pulse in his neck beating hard and fast. He jumped to his feet so fast the chair toppled over backward. “We're done with this conversation. Whatever we had is gone. I want it to stay that way."

It was his last, belated statement that made her realize how conflicted he was about her. She was almost afraid to ask, but somehow the words came out. “Do you mean it's not completely gone?"

“Well, it is for you, isn't it?” he countered.

“Maybe it's not. Maybe when I remember who I am, I'll remember that I'm still in love with you."

He stared at her for a long moment. “I did love you, Sarah,” he said, his voice husky with emotion. “I thought you were the perfect woman, only you turned out to be a figment of my imagination."

“What we had together was real,” she argued.

“No, it wasn't. Everything you said was a lie."

“Not everything. I'm a real person, even if my name keeps changing. What I like to eat is the same."

“So Sarah Tucker and Samantha Blake and God knows who else like Mongolian beef and chicken fried rice. Who cares?” he snapped.

“I do, because maybe who I am down deep is the same, too.” She paused, searching for the right words. “I feel a lot softer than the person you describe. I feel as if I've been hurt, too, like the pain is really big, and if I let it out, it will be too much."

“Do you want me to feel sorry for you?"

“No, I want you to understand."

“Understand what? At the moment neither of us knows the truth about you. You can't explain your actions, and I can't understand. That's where we are, Sarah. You have to find a way to get through the block in your head. If it's fear and pain, you have to battle through it."

“I don't know how to do that."

“Yes, you do. I watched you climb three hundred and seventy-two stairs with shaky, exhausted legs and a determined spirit. You know how to make it to the top. You're not a quitter."

“I'm afraid,” she murmured. “I'm scared of finding out that I left you as cruelly as you said I did, that something terrible is happening to my daughter while I'm locked up in this lost world in my head. I'm terrified that whoever is trying to kill me will succeed if I don't remember him before he finds me again.” She began to tremble and shake, and she couldn't seem to stop. She was so cold. She felt so lost. And maybe she hadn't felt like quitting before, but she did now. The mountain facing her, filled with doubts and lies, seemed insurmountable.

After a moment Jake came over to her, hauled her to her feet and into his embrace, pressing her head against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. She inhaled the scent of him and her body began to warm. As the long, silent minutes passed, she leaned on him, absorbed his strength, and for the first time since she'd woken up in the hospital she felt safe.

At some point their embrace changed. She became acutely aware of Jake's heart beating against her chest, the points where their bodies touched, the way their hips fit together, their legs entwined. Jake stroked her back, creating a line of fire that ran down her spine.

His breathing changed, quickened. She wanted to move, but she couldn't possibly take a step away from him. Her body went from relaxed to tense -- but it was a different kind of tension, a different kind of need.

Jake put his hand under her chin, forcing her head up so she would have to meet his gaze. “Damn you, Sarah."

She sucked in a quick breath at the look of raw desire in his eyes. “We shouldn't,” she whispered.

“Hell, no,” he agreed as his thumb ran roughly around the edge of her mouth.

Her lips parted. She hadn't meant it as an invitation, but he took it as one, crushing her mouth with his own in a harsh kiss that was a mix of anger and passion. She didn't know where one emotion began and the other ended. She just knew she didn't want the kiss to end. But it had to end. It needed to end.

Jake pulled away first, his breathing ragged, his eyes glittering. He gripped her arms, his fingers tightening so hard she could feel their imprint on her skin. Then he moved her away from him and released her, taking a couple steps back, putting some distance between them. For long moments all they did was stare at each other. Then Jake turned on his heel, stomped into the bathroom, and slammed the door.

She let out a breath, sinking down on her chair as she heard the shower go on.

Had he always kissed her like that? No wonder she'd gone to bed with him so fast. Her entire body was on fire. But she'd almost made a huge mistake. She couldn't make love with Jake. She didn't know him. He was a stranger to her now.

But the problem was... she felt as if she did know him. Her body recognized him, even if her mind didn't, and her heart wanted to reach out to his. She felt an emotional connection as well as a physical one. And Jake felt something, too.

Despite everything she'd done to him, he still wanted her -- and he hated himself for it. She knew his shower would be long, cold, and punishing.

For several minutes she just sat, breathing in and out, trying to calm down, but she could still taste Jake on her lips, feel his hands on her arms. At last she had a memory of him, a very recent memory, and it was overwhelming.

Finally her heart settled into a reasonable beat, and she forced herself to concentrate on what she needed to do next. Without Jake's presence she tried to relax, visualize herself in the place she had called home for the past few months. There had to be a clue to her life somewhere in this apartment. She'd slept here every night. She'd eaten at the table, cooked in the kitchen, watched her baby sleep in the crib. Her gaze swept back and forth across the room.

Something bothered her. Something played at the back of her mind.

The details were off. Was it in the arrangement of the furniture? Was there a crooked photograph? Was there something about the way the curtain hung over the window? She walked slowly across the room, turned, and came back again. The floorboard creaked beneath her feet. She stopped and took another long look around the apartment.

What had Jake told her before?

That when she was taking pictures, her mind always went to the odd detail that made the photograph more interesting.

There were three small throw rugs on the floor that gave some color and life to the worn brown carpet. One was in front of the apartment door, the other in front of the kitchen door, and the third by the window.

Why wasn't it in front of the bathroom door? It would have made more sense to put it there.

She walked over to the window and knelt down, then in one fluid motion picked up the rug. She'd done this before, she thought. There was a heater vent hidden under the rug. Why would she put a rug over a heater?

She reached into the slats of the vent and pulled the metal piece up, once again feeling that odd sense of déjà vu.

Putting the metal grate aside, she peered into a small, dark hole. Reaching in, she took out a pile of cards and rocked back on her heels to see what she had. She laid the cards out on the floor, shocked to see that they were driver's licenses, each one with a different name, a different address, but all with the same face -- hers.

“What's all this?” Jake asked from behind her.

Startled, she had to resist the urge to scoop up the identification cards and hide them away, but it was too late anyway.

Jake knelt down next to her, wearing only his jeans. Water still glistened on his shoulders, and his hair was spiked and damp. He picked up one of the licenses.

She licked her lips. In the picture her hair was blond, her name was Kelly Grimes, and the address placed her in Las Vegas. The next one he studied appeared to be a younger version of her with red hair. Her name was Stephanie Hamilton, and her address was in Palm Springs. There were a half dozen more identities.

“How did you know these were here?” Jake demanded, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Were you just waiting for me to leave the room?"

“No, of course not."

Skepticism filled his eyes. “Sure. You just happened to find these while I was in the shower."

“Jake, if I had known they were here, I would have found a way to get rid of you for longer than a shower, and I wouldn't have been kneeling here like an idiot waiting for you to discover yet another bad secret about me."

“So what did happen?"

“I thought about what you told me, that I was always aware of odd details. As I looked around the apartment, I kept thinking there was something out of place, and it was this rug. Who puts a rug in front of a window?"

Jake peered back into the hole, reached in, and pulled out a pile of papers and a bunch of Social Security cards. “Dammit."

“What are those?” she asked, not getting a clear view, as his broad shoulders were in the way.

“Birth certificates for a half dozen little girls. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get you and Caitlyn identities that you could switch around and around.” He paused and shook his head in disbelief. “You had help disappearing, Sarah. A lot of help."

“Because I'm in a lot of trouble,” she whispered.

“I think so. And you've been doing this for a while,” Jake added, going back through the licenses. “You look at least five to six years younger in this picture."

“It started before you, then.” She'd suspected that, but here was confirmation.

“Yes.” Jake gazed into her eyes. “But for two years you stayed put; you had a baby, a life with me. Was it always a temporary thing or did something happen to make you run again?"

“I wish I could answer that."

“Maybe you would have run sooner if you hadn't gotten pregnant,” Jake mused. “Perhaps that's why you stayed as long as you did. You had to make it through the pregnancy, deliver Caitlyn, and get back on your feet. The pregnancy changed your plans for a few months, that's all -- which was probably why you were so agitated when you found out you were having a baby."

“But why would I need to keep moving?"

“That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?” He gazed back at the birth certificates. “You had these made in the past sixteen months, which means you had to see someone to get them -- either in San Francisco or here in LA. Since the names match up on several of the licenses done before Caitlyn was born, I'm betting it was the same person you'd gone to before, a long-term connection."

Sarah picked up the cards and certificates and slipped them back into the hole, then replaced the vent and the rug and stood up.

“Why did you do that?” Jake asked.

“Uh...” she faltered. “What do you mean?"

“You hid everything away again."

Sarah glanced down at the rug. “I don't know. Habit, I guess. I wasn't thinking."

“Maybe your habits are the key to your past. When you're not thinking, you rely on your instincts."

“I guess.” She rubbed her temple with her fingers. Her headache had been steadily growing the past hour and was now a throbbing ache behind her left eye. “What do you want to do now?"

“I think you should take a shower,” he said. “Change your clothes. Brush your hair. Clear your head. Take a few minutes for yourself."

She was surprised by the suggestion. “Do we have time?"

“We'll make time. You have a headache, don't you?"

“A little one,” she replied, dropping her fingers from her face. “It's not important."

“You used to get headaches, migraines, when you were with me. You hated to take medication, and you wouldn't go to the doctor. You always chose to tough it out. I guess you had to avoid any place where they might ask for insurance. When you had Caitlyn, I paid the hospital bill."

That was probably true. There would have been questions to answer, papers to fill out, and she obviously hadn't wanted to leave any kind of trail. It was hard to believe the facts she was learning about herself. She felt as if she'd stepped into someone else's life. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she had done. Had the names and addresses on the fake IDs hidden away in the vent belonged to real people? Her head pounded with pain.

“I will take a shower,” she said, heading toward the bathroom. She needed a few minutes to regroup and she needed to do that away from Jake.

As Sarah closed the door, Jake pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up. He mentally ran down the list of people in their social circle, wondering whom Sarah could have contacted in San Francisco to make her fake IDs. But there was no one she knew that he didn't. She'd been new to town, or so she'd said, when they met. After that, his friends had become her friends. Still, she had ventured out on her own during the day to do things all women did, get her hair cut, go to the supermarket, the post office, the bank. She could certainly have incorporated visits to someone else during those times. It wasn't as if they'd been together every second.