Sanders 01 - Silent Run (2 page)

She stared at the pair of blue jeans, which were ripped at the knees, the light blue camisole top, the navy sweater, and the gray jacket dotted with dark spots of blood or dirt, she wasn't sure which. Glancing across the room she saw a pair of Nike tennis shoes on the floor. They looked worn-out, as if she'd done a lot of running in them.

Another memory flashed in her brain. She could almost feel herself running, the wind in her hair, her heart pounding, the breath tight in her chest. But she wasn't out for a jog. She wasn't dressed right. She was wearing a heavy coat, a dress, and high stiletto heels. She tried to hang on to the image floating vaguely in her head, but it disappeared as quickly as it had come. She supposed she should feel grateful she'd remembered something, but the teasing bit only frustrated her more.

She dug her hands into the pockets of her jeans and jacket, searching for some clue as to who she was, but there was nothing there. She was about to put the jacket aside when she noticed an odd lump in the inner back lining. She ran her fingers across the material, surprised to find a flap covering a hidden zipper. She pulled on the zipper and felt inside, shocked when she pulled out a wad of twenty-dollar bills. There had to be at least fifteen hundred dollars. Why on earth had she stashed so much cash in her jacket? Obviously she'd taken great care to hide it, as someone would have had to examine the jacket carefully in order to find the money. Whoever had undressed her had not discovered the cash.

A knock came at her door, and she hurriedly stuffed the money back into her jacket and set it on the end of her bed just seconds before a uniformed police officer entered the room. Her pulse jumped at the sight of him, and it wasn't with relief but with fear. Her instincts were screaming at her to be cautious, that he could be trouble.

The officer was on the stocky side, with a military haircut, and appeared to be in his mid-forties. His forehead was lined, his skin a ruddy red and weatherbeaten, his gaze extremely serious.

“I'm Tom Manning,” he said briskly. “I'm a deputy with the county sheriff's department. I'm investigating your car accident."

“Okay,” she said warily. “I should tell you that I don't remember what happened. In fact, I don't remember anything about myself."

“Yeah, the doc says you have some kind of amnesia."

His words were filled with suspicion, and skepticism ran through his dark eyes. Why was he suspicious? What reason could she possibly have for pretending not to remember? Had something bad occurred during the accident? Had she done something wrong? Had someone else been hurt? Her stomach turned over at the thought.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she said, almost afraid to ask.

“Your car went off the side of the road in the Santa Ynez Mountains, not far from San Marcos Pass. You plunged down a steep embankment and landed in a ravine about two hundred yards from the road. Fortunately you ran into a tree."

“Fortunately?” she echoed.

“Otherwise you would have ended up in a boulder-filled, high-running creek,” he told her. “The front end of your Honda Civic was smashed, and the windshield was shattered."

Which explained the cuts and bruises on her face.

“You're a very lucky woman,” the deputy added.

“Who found me?” she asked.

“A witness saw your car go over the side and called nine-one-one. Does any of this sound familiar?"

The part about going off the side of the road sounded a lot like the dream she'd been having. “I'm not sure."

“Were you alone in the car?"

His question surprised her. “I think so.” She thought back to her dream. Had she been alone in the car? She didn't remember anyone else. “If I wasn't alone, wouldn't that other person be here at the hospital?” she asked.

“The back door of your car was open. There was a child's car seat strapped in the middle of the backseat, a bottle half-filled with milk, and this shoe.” Officer Manning held up a clear plastic bag through which she could see a shoe so small it would fit into the palm of her hand. Her heart began to race. She had the sudden urge to call for a time-out, to make him leave before he said something else, something terrifying, something to do with that shoe. “Oh, God. Stop. I can't do this."

“I'm sorry, but I need to know. Do you have a baby?” he asked. “Was your child with you in the car?"

His questions slammed into her, stealing the breath from her chest. An image flashed through her mind... pudgy legs, tiny little toes kicking her hand away as she tried to slip the shoe on her child's foot and fasten the bright pink Velcro straps.

Her daughter. Her baby!

A deep, intense, agonizing pain swept through her. She didn't know anything else, but she knew with complete and utter certainty that she had a little girl. She closed her eyes, desperate to see her daughter's face, to know her baby's name, but the blackness in her brain refused to lift. Her past remained just out of sight.

“Miss?"

She opened her eyes and saw Officer Manning staring back at her with a grim expression. “I have a little girl,” she said, hearing the wonder in her own voice.

His gaze narrowed. “Was your child in the car, then? Did you just remember something?"

“I-I know I have a daughter,” she stammered. “In my head I could see myself putting on that shoe. But I have no idea if she was with me."

“What's her name?"

She bit down on her bottom lip as the truth hit her hard. “I don't know.”
Good God! What kind of mother couldn't remember her own baby's name?
“I have to get up. I have to find her.” She sat up straight, intent on getting out of bed, but the officer barred her way.

“Easy, now. From what I understand you're in no condition to go anywhere,” he said. “And where would you go -- if you don't remember anything?"

His sharp, challenging gaze settled on hers. He was right. She didn't know where to go. But she couldn't just sit in this bed when her child could be in trouble.

“Why don't you tell me what you can remember?” Officer Manning suggested. “Even if it's just flashes of memory. Bits and pieces can make up a whole picture."

She closed her eyes again and took a deep breath. There was nothing but an empty void in her head, darkness so overwhelming she was afraid that it would swallow her up. Opening her eyes, she grabbed the railing of her bed, feeling the need to hang on to something solid. A wave of dizziness sent the room spinning around and around. She blinked several times, trying to focus on the badge on the deputy's chest.

She flashed on another image.

A man pulled a badge out of his inside suit pocket. She was shocked to learn he wasn't who he'd said he was. He'd lied to her. Now she was in trouble. And it wasn't just his badge that told her that; it was his smug expression, the look in his eyes that said he had her right where he wanted her, cornered and scared and very, very alone.

“Miss, are you all right? Should I call for the nurse?"

The deputy's voice brought her back to reality. She looked up at him, wondering if he was really there to help her, or if he had a hidden agenda. Was he the faceless man from her memory? Or just who he'd said he was -- the officer investigating her car accident? How could she know? She glanced at the closed door behind him, wondering if there was anyone on the other side who would come to her aid.

The deputy's eyes narrowed as the silence between them lengthened. He wouldn't have offered to call for the nurse if he were worried about being discovered in her room. And the doctor had obviously already met him. She was being paranoid. “I'm all right,” she said belatedly.

“What did you remember?"

“Nothing,” she said quickly, wondering why her first instinct was to lie. But she didn't have time to analyze that now. The deputy was waiting. “I can't remember anything about my daughter or myself. I wish to God I could."

“So do I,” the deputy said heavily.

She heard the deep note of concern in his voice. “What aren't you telling me?” she asked.

He stared back at her for a long moment, then said, “We found the child's shoe a few yards from the car. It's possible it flew out during the crash, since the back door was jammed open. Or..."

“Or what?” she asked as he paused a moment too long. A terrible fear swept through her. “Or what?” she repeated.

“Depending on your daughter's age, it's possible that she got out of the seat and wandered away. That's why I'd like to verify whether or not she was in the car with you at the time of the accident."

“Oh, my God!”

“Take it easy,” the deputy said quickly. “We have a search party in the canyon right now. Everything that can be done is being done. What I need from you is as much information as I can possibly get about your daughter."

She wanted to scream in frustration. Of course he needed answers, but she had none to offer. Knowing that her child was missing, maybe alone in the wilderness... she couldn't stand it -- the fear was overwhelming.

“Do you remember being in the car after you went off the road?” Manning asked.

“What?” she asked, her panic making it difficult to think.

“The car. Do you remember being in the car after you crashed? If you were conscious at all, you might have spoken to your child. You might have heard her cry."

She thought for a long moment. “I don't think so. But wait, wouldn't the person who saw my car go off the side of the road know if my baby was there?"

The deputy shook his head. “Your car was in a deep canyon. It was pitch-black last night and storming. Your vehicle couldn't be seen from the road. If the witness hadn't actually observed your car cross the center line and go through the guardrail, it could have been days before anyone found you. As it was, a good fifteen minutes passed before the paramedics arrived, and another ten to fifteen before they managed to get down that steep hill to your car. I don't know how old your daughter is, but I have a couple of kids, and I'd say that shoe looks like it would fit a one- to two-year-old. It's unlikely a child of that age could unlatch the car seat and exit the car."

“But not impossible,” she said.

“Not impossible,” he acknowledged. “Are you sure you can't remember anything about that night, nothing? It's very important."

“I know it's important. Dammit!” She drew in a sharp breath, battling a rush of hysteria. She had to think, to focus on what she did know. “Okay, right before I woke up here in this bed, I thought I was dreaming about crashing my car, but it must have been real. I must have been reliving what happened.” She took a moment, retracing what little she could remember. “There were headlights in my rearview mirror, and I felt as if I were afraid, as if someone were following me. I remember needing to go faster, to get away."

“I don't suppose you saw a license plate or noticed the make of the automobile?"

“It was dark. All I saw were lights. What about the witness? Did he see anything?"

“He said there was a car behind you, but it continued down the highway after your vehicle went over the side. He didn't see the license plate."

“The car behind me must have run me off the road. Otherwise he would have stopped."

“Not necessarily. It was a hell of a storm last night, and not everyone stops when there's an accident. Some people don't like to get involved. At any rate, we've broadcast a description of you and your vehicle throughout the county. You also made the evening news, on the local stations, anyway. We took a photograph of you, since you didn't have any identification. Hopefully someone will recognize you and tell us everything we need to know."

His words should have made her feel better, but they didn't. On some basic level she sensed that having her picture on the news was not a good thing. She'd been running from someone. What if that person saw her? What if that person came to the hospital?

“I'll be back later.” Officer Manning took out his card and set it on the table next to the bed. “If you remember anything in the meantime, call me."

As the deputy left the room, she forced herself to breathe in and out. Her first instinct was to get out of bed and go to the accident scene, but she felt dizzy, and her head was throbbing with pain. She knew the most logical thing to do was stay put and concentrate on figuring out who she was and what had happened just before her accident. Unfortunately she couldn't seem to will the details into her brain. She couldn't recall her child's face, but she could feel the love branded into her heart.

Putting a hand to her abdomen, she knew that she'd felt tiny kicks and flutters in her womb. She'd heard her baby's first squeal of life. She'd held her daughter in her arms, arms that now ached with a deep feeling of loss. A sense of helplessness engulfed her. Why couldn't she remember if her child was with her in the car?

Tears of fear and frustration spilled over, dripping down her cheeks. But crying didn't make her feel better; it made her feel weak. She grabbed a tissue from the box and wiped her face. Taking several deep breaths, she lay back against the pillows and closed her eyes. She offered up a desperate, pleading prayer for her daughter's safety. While she couldn't see her child's face, in her head she could hear the terrifying cries of a baby who wanted her mother.

* * *

His shadow was coming closer. She could hear him talking, his words edged with lightness and humor, as if there were nothing wrong. Don't trust him, the voice inside her head whispered. He looks harmless, with his good looks, his winning personality. Everyone else thinks he's a prince, but you know better. You've seen behind the smile and the mask that he wears. And you know he can kill. You've seen him do just that. Run! Faster!

She woke with a start, body sweating, pulse pounding, breath coming ragged and rough. It took her a minute to realize where she was -- the hospital. She was alone this time, no doctor, no nurse, no policeman, and, more important, no dark, menacing shadows. The curtains had been opened, and she could see the sun outside her window. The storm had passed. The nightmare was over. Or was it?