Sanders 01 - Silent Run (3 page)

She tried to remember her name, her address, her birthday. Nothing. She closed her eyes again, attempting to conjure up a face in her mind, a father, a mother, a boyfriend, a sister, or a friend... She had to have someone in her life, didn't she? Someone who knew her? Someone who'd lived with her? Loved her?

The questions ran around in her brain, one after another. It was shocking to know nothing. Why wasn't her memory coming back? The doctor said she just needed rest. And she had slept. Her recent nightmare attested to that.

Was there an answer in her dreams? She always seemed to be running -- from a man. Who was he? And why was he after her?

Dammit! Why couldn't she unlock her own brain? She hit her hands against the mattress. The movement created a wave of pain that ran through her body, reminding her that her head was not her only injury.

Opening her eyes, she wiggled her toes and moved her legs, relieved that every joint and muscle seemed to be working, some a bit more painfully than others, but at least she wasn't paralyzed.

Glancing at the clock, she saw it was after two. She'd been asleep for hours. A lunch tray rested on the table by her bed, but she wasn't at all hungry. What she needed was information and reassurance. She reached for the deputy's business card, but before she could pick up the phone, Deputy Manning entered the room.

“I was just about to call you,” she said.

“I hope that means you have your memory back."

“Unfortunately not. Did you find my baby?"

“No. We've been out in the canyon all day with search dogs and experienced personnel, and there's no sign of a child. Our forensic experts believe the back door of the car opened on impact. Other than the shoe that was located outside the automobile, we found no other evidence, no footprints, no articles of clothing, nothing to indicate that a child or anyone else wandered away from the car. We'll get a tow truck out there to retrieve your vehicle, but there's not much left of it."

“I guess that's good... that you found nothing.” She wasn't really sure whether it was good or not. Her daughter was still missing. As she gazed into the deputy's eyes, she saw a gleam of skepticism.

“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like you think I'm hiding something?"

“I'm just putting facts together, ma'am, facts that don't add up. There's a lot about your accident that puzzles me. We found absolutely no identification in your car, no purse, no wallet, no registration, nothing.” He let that sink in and then continued. “Now, I've never known a woman to take a road trip without some sort of bag."

“It does seem odd,” she murmured.

“When we ran the plates on your Honda, we learned that the car is registered to a Margaret Bradley. Upon further investigation, it was discovered that Ms. Bradley died in a convalescent hospital two months ago at the age of eighty-two. She resided in Los Angeles County, Venice Beach, to be exact. She had no known relatives."

Margaret Bradley? She ran the name through her brain, but it meant nothing to her. “The name isn't familiar."

“And you don't know how you happened to be driving her car about a hundred miles north of L.A?"

“No.” She paused, not liking the tone in his voice or the frown on his face. “What are you implying? Do you think I stole the car?"

“I hope not."

“Well, I'm sure I didn't,” she said quickly.

“Hard to be sure of anything when you don't know who you are."

Was she the kind of person who could steal a car? It seemed unlikely, but how could she know?

“If you're in trouble, if you're mixed up in something, it's not too late to set things right,” the deputy said, his gaze hard and direct.

“I don't know if I'm in trouble. I don't know who I am. I wish to God someone could tell me."

“I can tell you who you are. I can tell you exactly who you are,” a man said from the doorway.

Her heart sped up as a tall man wearing faded blue jeans, a gray knit shirt, and a black leather jacket strode into the room with a purpose that couldn't be denied. Broad-shouldered, narrow-hipped, he moved like an athlete intent on reaching the goal line, no matter who got in his way. His dark brown hair, wavy and windswept, brushed the collar of his jacket, and as he drew closer she saw his eyes -- a fierce, fiery green filled with accusation and something that looked like hatred. She sat up straight, feeling the instinctive need to protect herself.

Who was this man? And why was every nerve in her body going on full alert?

“Who are you?” she asked warily.

“What do you mean, who am I? You know who I am, Sarah. It hasn't been that long since we've seen each other.” His gaze burned into hers. “Did you really think changing your hair color would stop me from recognizing you? If you wanted a disguise, you should have covered up those beautiful, lying blue eyes of yours."

She swallowed hard, trying to make sense of his words. “Is that my name? Sarah?"

His gaze sharpened, darkened. His lips drew into a tight line, and his hands clenched in fists at his sides. “Of course that's your name. What the hell is going on? Why are you acting like you don't know me? And where is Caitlyn?” He turned to Officer Manning. “Where's my daughter?"

“I don't know,” Manning replied. “The paramedics reported only one person in the car after the accident -- this woman you're calling Sarah."

“What do you mean, Caitlyn wasn't in the car?” He turned back to her. “What have you done with my daughter?"

He gripped the bed railing, his knuckles turning white. She had the feeling it took all of his self-control not to put his hands on her neck and squeeze the answers out of her.

“I have a head injury,” she said. “I don't remember anything. I don't know who you are, or who I am, and most important, I don't know where my baby is."

“What the hell are you talking about? What is she talking about?” he demanded of Manning.

“According to the doctor, she has amnesia."

“No fucking way,” he replied.

“It's true,” she said, but her words didn't begin to dim the utter disbelief in his eyes. At least she had a few facts to work with now -- her own name, Sarah. And this man had confirmed that she had a child. “Caitlyn,” she murmured. “Is that my baby's name?"

“Of course that's her name. And she's not
your
baby. She's
our
baby,” he said grimly. “You had no right to take her away from me, to keep her for so long without a word. Now you're pretending not to remember anything? This is absurd.” He turned back to Manning. “Where is my child?"

“That's what we're trying to figure out. Why don't you back up and tell me who you are and who she is?” Manning replied.

“I'm Jake Sanders. She's Sarah Tucker,” he said impatiently. “We have a daughter, Caitlyn.” His voice roughened with emotion, and he sent her another harsh glare. “You don't remember Caitlyn? What kind of a mother doesn't remember her own child?"

The accusation ripped her heart apart. She closed her eyes against the pain and the sense that he was right. She must be a bad mother, a very bad mother.

“Look at me,” he said forcefully. “Look at her."

His words demanded that she open her eyes.

He pulled out his wallet and held up a photo.

“This is Caitlyn. This is the child you took from me.” He shoved the photo into her hand.

Her heart stopped as she stared at the picture. The little girl had a halo of gold curls on her head and a pink bow attached with a bobby pin just above her ear. She had an upturned nose and eyes that were a light blue, almost gray, eyes that mirrored her own. This baby, this little angel, was her daughter. She pressed the photo against her heart, feeling a wave of agonizing fear. Something was wrong -- terribly wrong. She knew it deep down inside.

“Where is she?” Jake demanded. “Tell me where she is, Goddammit. You can't just keep her from me."

Officer Manning placed a warning hand on Jake's arm. “Take it easy."

Jake shrugged it off. “I have a right to know where my child is."

“Yes, you do, but tell me, do you have a legal relationship with Ms. Tucker? Are you married?"

“No, but we were talking about it, making plans,” Jake said with an impatient wave of his hand. “We lived together for almost two years in an apartment in San Francisco. But just because we weren't married doesn't mean I don't have rights as a father. I talked to my lawyer. I talked to the police in San Francisco. They all agreed that Sarah couldn't just steal my child from me. But they couldn't do anything until we found her."

“How did you find me?” she interrupted. “How did you know I was here in this hospital?"

“Dylan. He's been helping me look for you, and he has contacts in this area. Last night one of his police buddies sent him your picture and details on the accident. He recognized you immediately."

“Who's Dylan?” she asked.

“My brother. He's a journalist, you know that. Why are you acting like you don't?"

“I'm not acting. Isn't San Francisco a long way from here? How did you get here so fast?” she asked.

“It's a five-hour drive, but I made it in four. I was afraid you'd disappear before I arrived."

“When did you last see Sarah and your child?” Manning interjected.

“Seven months, two weeks, and three days ago,” Jake said flatly. “I was on a business trip when Sarah disappeared with Caitlyn."

“I left you? Why?” she asked.

His hard gaze met hers. “Your note said, ‘This isn't going to work. Don't try to find me. Sarah.' That was it. That's all I got. Haven't heard a word from you since. You disappeared off the face of the earth."

She thought about his statement. It didn't make sense. She'd supposedly been in love with this man. She had lived with him, been intimate with him, and had a baby with him -- why would she leave behind such a coldhearted note?

“Why would I do that?"

“Hell if I know.” He planted his hands on his hips. “You tell me, Sarah. You tell me how you decided to walk out the door one day and never come back. You tell me how you could throw away everything we had without any explanation."

“I... I can't."

“Or won't,” he challenged.

“I don't remember you."

He drew in a quick, sharp breath at her words. He claimed to hate her, but her words appeared to hurt him. Her gaze traveled down his lean, muscular body, searching for some intimate connection. He said they'd made love, created a child together. Wouldn't she remember laying her head against his solid chest, wrapping her arm around his waist, her fingers playing with the snaps on his jeans, his long legs pressing her down against the bed?

A sudden wave of heat spread through her body, warming her from the inside out. Was she remembering or was she imagining?

When she lifted her gaze to his, she saw a myriad of emotions flash through his green eyes, uncertainty, desire, anger... . His feelings for her were obviously complicated.

“You will remember me,” he promised. “Before we're done, you're going to explain exactly why you destroyed our lives. But right now I just want Caitlyn. You want to be free of me, fine, but you don't get to keep my daughter away from me. She's mine as much as she's yours, and you should have known, better than anyone, how I would feel about losing my baby."

She didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to feel. He was accusing her of stealing their child. Why would she have done such a thing? Was she a horrible person? Was she ruthless, conniving, and manipulating, the way he implied?

Or did she have a good reason for leaving him and taking her baby with her?

Her dream flashed back, the warning voice --
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.

Had this man hurt her? Hurt their child? Was that why she'd run from him?

She saw Officer Manning studying Jake Sanders with the same suspicious gaze with which he'd originally regarded her. Was he wondering the same thing? Did she have a good reason for wanting to take her daughter away from her father?

“Can you prove it?” she challenged. “Do you have pictures of us together -- you, me, and Caitlyn? Do you have a copy of Caitlyn's birth certificate, naming you as the father?"

His gaze narrowed. “I have a copy of the birth certificate with my name on it, but not with me. I can get it."

“What about pictures of us together?"

He pulled out his wallet again and handed her another small photograph. “We had this taken in one of those carnival photo booths -- before Caitlyn was born."

She stared down at the black-and-white photo of the two of them. Jake sat behind her, his arms wrapped around her waist. She leaned against him, a broad smile on her face, a laugh on her lips. She looked much younger, far more animated and relaxed than the woman whose face she'd seen in the mirror a few hours earlier. Jake also had a carefree sparkle in his eyes and a sexy grin on his lips. “We look... happy,” she said.

“We were happy, until you ruined everything."

His voice was rough with emotion, and as their gazes met she felt the stirring of something deep and painful, a powerful connection between them. Love? Hate? She didn't know, but she couldn't look away. Neither could he.

Manning faded into the background. It was just the two of them locked in a silent battle that she didn't begin to understand but could feel down to the tips of her toes.

“Why did you have to take away every single detail of Caitlyn's existence, Sarah?” Jake asked her, still holding her gaze. “You stripped her bedroom. And ours. You took everything -- the photographs, the toys, all the things we'd bought together. Caitlyn's crib, her blankets, and the rocking chair I'd made for you. It was as if you wanted me to believe neither one of you had ever been there. Why?” He shook his head in bewilderment. “Did it make it easier for you to leave once you'd destroyed the home we'd made together? Did you think I could forget you? Did you think I could ever forgive you?"