Sanders 01 - Silent Run (20 page)

Sarah's gaze met his. “She also didn't let us into her apartment. She shut the door when she went to get the key."

Jake jumped up, cursing himself for missing the obvious.

Sarah beat him down the hall to Amanda's door. She pounded hard on the wood, calling out Amanda's name, but there was no answer. “What if Caitlyn is in there?” Sarah asked, desperation in her voice, in her expression.

“She's not there now,” he said, his own nerves on edge. “Look, Sarah, even if Caitlyn was with Amanda earlier, Amanda would have taken her somewhere else as soon as she got rid of us. She would have wanted to put some space between us until she knew what to do."

“Why? Why wouldn't she just give my daughter to me?"

“Because you don't remember who you are. You didn't know your name, and Amanda didn't recognize me,” he said. “Damn, I was a fool not to think of this earlier."

“Break the door down,” Sarah ordered.

“What?"

“You heard me. I said break the door down.” She gave him a determined look. “Caitlyn may not be there now, but she might have been there before, and I want to know for sure. If you won't do it, I'll find a way to do it myself. There must be something I can use to --"

“I'll do it; hang on.” He took a step back, then launched forward, slamming the door with his shoulder. It shuddered but didn't break. He tried again, using every bit of strength that he had. The door cracked and then flew open. He stumbled into the apartment.

Sarah pushed past him, searching the small area for any sign of their daughter. The floor plan was basically the same as Sarah's place, although Amanda had added more color with fake flowers and cozy, bright blankets on the couch and bed. Sarah zeroed in on a set of plastic keys lying on a table. “Caitlyn's,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes.

Jake saw the pain of her loss, and knew that at least that emotion was real. Sarah still had a deep connection with their daughter, even if she couldn't remember anything else.

“Take a breath,” he advised, directing the words at himself as much as at Sarah. His heart was beginning to pound, and all kinds of crazy theories were running through his head. “You visited over here with Caitlyn. Amanda said she'd babysat for you. It doesn't mean anything that those keys are here."

“What about this?” she asked, picking up a child's picture book. “You think I casually left these things behind?"

“Maybe not. I don't know, but there's no real proof Caitlyn was here a few hours ago, which is what you'd like to believe."

“Amanda said she had a lunchtime class, and she didn't. She lied about that."

“Maybe she has a second job at another gym.” He didn't know why he was trying to defend or explain Amanda to Sarah, but deep in his gut he just couldn't believe that Caitlyn had been with Sarah's next-door neighbor for the past few days. “Think about it, Sarah. If someone attacked you in this building, you would not have left Caitlyn here while you drove up the coast. You wouldn't have believed she would be safe, not after that man tried to get into the elevator with you."

Sarah stared back at him, unblinking, as she processed his words. He could see the light dim in her eyes when the logic took hold and the hope faded. Finally she nodded. “I can't argue with your reasoning, but I still think it's strange that Amanda didn't come back. She seemed so suspicious of you and worried for me. That doesn't make sense."

“Well, one thing is clear to me -- when we go to your workplace next, you're going in alone. You might get a better reception that way. It's possible Amanda would have said more to you if I hadn't been standing right next to you."

“Amanda could still know where Caitlyn is and just have been afraid to tell me,” Sarah suggested.

“It's a possibility. We can try to find her. You have her cell phone. You can leave her a message. Maybe she'll call back."

“What should we do about the door?” Sarah asked. “We can't leave her apartment open."

“We'll try the landlord before we leave. Maybe he can nail the door shut until she gets home, and we'll leave a note, some money to fix it."

They walked down the hall and back into Sarah's apartment. Jake noticed that Sarah was still clutching the toy and the book. She couldn't seem to let the items go, and he couldn't blame her. They were a tangible link to Caitlyn.

“Why don't you pack up some clothes in case we don't come back here for a while,” he said.

“Why? Where are we going?"

“To where you worked -- maybe back up the coast. Who knows? Caitlyn isn't here, and I'm not sure it's a wise idea for us to stay long. Obviously the person who is after you knows where you live."

“It seems so hopeless. I thought my memory would be back by now."

“Don't quit on me, Sarah. I need you in this all the way or we'll never find Caitlyn. You can't give up."

She bristled at the idea, as he'd known she would. She immediately gathered herself together, throwing back her shoulders, lifting her chin, a new light back in her eyes. She might not be willing to fight for herself, but she would do battle for Caitlyn.

“I'm not quitting,” she said. “I would never do that, not while my daughter is in danger."

“Our daughter,” he corrected.

She ignored him and moved to the closet. She pulled out a duffel bag, grabbed some clothes from the dresser and closet, and then went into the bathroom for personal supplies. She had barely returned when an alarm went off in the building. A series of shrill bells rang through the apartment.

“That's the fire alarm,” he said in surprise.

“Yes,” Sarah agreed, putting on her coat. “We need to get out of here."

He grabbed her by the arm. “Wait. I want to see if there's any smoke.” He walked over to the window and saw gray smoke billowing up around the side of the building. When he turned, Sarah was right behind him.

“It's real. It's a fire,” she said.

“Yeah, a very convenient fire,” he muttered.

Her eyes met his. “You think someone set it deliberately?"

“It's a good way to smoke us out of the building -- literally."

“It's obviously a real fire. We can't stay here. We're on the third floor, Jake."

“Let's go. Get your bag.” He jogged over to the front door and put his palm against the wood. It was still cool. He turned back to see Sarah stuffing Caitlyn's blanket and bear into her bag. She grabbed his shirt, and then stared at it in bemusement. “What's this?"

“It's mine,” he said shortly, meeting her quick, questioning gaze. “And no, I didn't put it there. You must have taken it with you when you left me. I used to wear it all the time.” Sarah hesitated, then put the shirt into her bag. “Pull your sweater over your mouth and nose,” he advised. He opened the door slowly, coughing as smoke blew through the hallway from an open window at the end of the corridor. He tried not to breathe as he took Sarah's hand and headed toward the stairs, praying he was making the right choice.

The smoke was so thick he could barely see where they were going. Sarah's hand tightened in his, a sign of complete and utter trust. They were in this together, for better or worse. He put his hand on the door to the stairwell. It was warm but not hot. He pushed it open. The air was dense and dark, but he didn't see any flames.

He grabbed the railing with one hand as they made their way down the stairs quickly but carefully. They were almost to the second-floor landing when a figure came out of the smoke.

The man wore bulky clothing, baggy pants, and a hooded sweatshirt, and there was something in his hands. A gun. They'd run straight into an ambush.

Jake stopped abruptly, shielding Sarah with his body as he quickly assessed the situation. They were trapped between the fire behind them and the gun in front of them. Sarah's hand tightened in his, and he could feel her body shaking, her breath on his neck. She was depending on him to get them out of this alive. He needed a plan, but there was no time to make one. The man was raising the gun, his finger on the trigger.

Jake let out a yell as he launched himself at their attacker, praying the gun wouldn't go off and hit Sarah.

The man stumbled backward in surprise, but he recovered quickly, coming at Jake with a fury that he didn't expect, slamming Jake's head against the wall. He saw stars and felt blackness begin to descend, but he forced it back.

“Run, Sarah,” he urged.

His words turned his attacker's attention on Sarah. The man fired a shot at her just as she ducked past him, running down the stairs.

Taking advantage of the man's momentary distraction, Jake hit him from behind, this time knocking the gun out of his hand. They wrestled on the landing, both trying to get control of the gun, which had slid against the opposite wall.

The man was strong and knew how to fight. Jake battled back. He had to give Sarah time to get away.

Their bodies rolled over and over as they each struggled for dominance. They were close to the stairs now. If he could just shove the guy down the stairs, he might still get out of this alive.

The smoke was getting thicker. Jake could feel the heat of the fire emanating from the walls. His lungs were burning.

Suddenly a blast of cool air hit him in the face. There were men coming up the stairs. Firemen. Thank God!

His attacker jerked away. He gave Jake one last push as he ran down the stairs, nearly knocking over one of the firemen on his way down.

“Are you all right?” a fireman asked him, grabbing him by the arm.

Jake stumbled to his feet. He couldn't speak. His lungs were filled with smoke. The fireman helped him out of the building. He prayed that Sarah had gotten away, that she wasn't still waiting outside, and that their attacker hadn't caught up to her.

Finally they reached the street. He gulped in deep breaths of the cool, fresh air. Dozens of people were milling around in front of a fire truck that blazed with red and blue strobe lights.

“I'm okay,” he said as a paramedic came up to him. But his gasp only led the paramedic to slap an oxygen mask over his nose.

“Breathe,” the paramedic instructed. “Sit down."

He sat down on the grass, taking in much-needed air. All the while his gaze raked the area. He couldn't see Sarah anywhere. He needed to find her. He pulled the mask off his nose. “I'm all right,” he repeated.

“You're bleeding,” the paramedic said. “And the oxygen will do you good."

Jake put his hand to his head, and his fingers came away wet with blood. He must have cut himself on something in the stairwell.

“Let me take a look at that cut."

Jake pushed the paramedic's hand away from his face. “I'm fine. I have to find someone. My... my wife,” he said, the words coming out before he could stop them. He didn't bother to correct himself. “She came out of the building right before me. Did you see her? Long, curly brown hair, blue eyes?"

“Sorry, buddy, I just got here, but I think everyone is out. Come on, sit down. You need treatment."

“No, I have to find her.” He jogged down the sidewalk, looking for Sarah or the guy who had attacked them. When he got to the spot where the car was parked, his heart sank.

The car was empty. He glanced around him. Where the hell was Sarah?

* * *

A storm was coming, Dylan realized as he got out of his car. Dark black clouds were blowing in off the ocean. The temperature had dropped twenty degrees, and he shivered as he made his way up to Catherine Hilliard's front door. It was half past five. He hoped she was home and ready to go. He was impatient to get down to LA.

After she'd left for her class, he'd settled in at a coffee shop down the road. In addition to swilling down three cups of strong coffee, he'd gotten on the Internet and begun researching Jessica's disappearance. He'd also done a little digging into tattoos, specifically of the tiger variety. It hadn't surprised him to learn that tattoos could be linked to various gang organizations as a symbol of their fidelity. In fact, the tiger tattoo, which many believed to stand for fierceness, power, and loyalty, could also be traced back to specific groups linked to the Russian Mafia. Dylan sincerely hoped that Sarah's would-be killer was not part of that organization, but at the moment he couldn't discount any possibility.

Knocking again, he wondered what was taking Catherine so long to answer. Her yellow VW Bug was parked in front of her garage. She had to be home. And her house was small. He could go from one end to the other in about thirty steps. Trying the knob, he turned it in his hand. He'd never been one to ignore an open door, so he walked into the cottage, calling out for Catherine. There was no answer.

Crossing the room to the desk, he rifled through the drawers of her desk, feeling only a slight twinge of guilt at invading her privacy. Any woman who left her door unlocked was fair game, he rationalized.

The phone on the desk suddenly rang, and he jumped. He stared at it for a long moment and then picked up the receiver. “Hello,” he said.

He heard someone take a breath; then the phone slammed down and there was nothing but silence. Obviously the caller had not expected a man to answer. That was odd.

He was just hanging up when the front door opened and Catherine walked in. Her golden-red hair was windblown, her cheeks stained with pink, her eyes a deep, mesmerizing shade of blue. He drew in a quick breath, shocked by his physical reaction to her. She wasn't his type at all, he reminded himself. Nor was he here to get involved with her. She was just the means to an end -- the end being Caitlyn and his brother back together.

“Your door was open,” he said.

“And a lock would have stopped you?” she countered, a challenge in her eyes.

“Maybe not, but it might have slowed me down. Do you always leave your door open when you go out?"