Sanders 01 - Silent Run (30 page)

Sarah stared at the photo of the three men, especially the man in the middle. Her chest tightened and she felt light-headed, dizzy. She put a hand on Jake's arm to steady herself.

His eyes narrowed in concern. “Sarah, what's wrong?"

His voice seemed very far away. Her vision began to blur. “I... I can't breathe,” she said, her fingers gripping his arm like a lifeline.

“Yes, you can. Just take one breath, then another, slowly,” Jake advised.

She shook her head, biting down on her lips as a flood of anxiety and adrenaline surged through her bloodstream. “I... I can't do this."

“Why not? What did you see? What did you remember?"

The images of the men flashed through her head. She knew those faces. How did she know them? She'd never gone to Harvard. She was a foster kid. She didn't move in the circles of the young and privileged. But she had lived in Chicago. And eight years ago they'd gone to prison.

The faces flashed in front of her again, one of them with a mocking smile. It was someone she knew, someone she'd touched, someone she'd kissed, someone she'd loved.

“Oh, God,” she said, her brain spinning out of control. The blackness came at her like a freight train, and she welcomed it with blessed relief. She didn't want to remember. She couldn't go back there. She just couldn't.

* * *

“Shit!” Jake swore as Sarah collapsed on the floor in a crumpled heap. He gathered her in his arms and carried her over to the bed, laying her down on her back. Her face was completely white, drained of any hint of color. The bruises still lingering from her accident stood out in vivid relief, giving her a fragile appearance. Had the information been too much for her? Had he driven her further inside of herself by telling her too much too fast?

Fear raced through him. What if she didn't wake up this time? What if he'd pushed her into some deep comatose state where she could continue to hide from her painful memories? What if he never found Caitlyn?

He shook her shoulders. “Sarah, wake up,” he demanded.

When she didn't move, he sat back, wondering what to do next. Would he hurt her more if he tried to wake her up? Did she need to do that in her own time? But how long could he wait?

Walking into the bathroom, he soaked a washcloth with cool water and took it back to the bed. He placed it on Sarah's forehead, gently stroking her cheek with his fingers. She didn't stir at all. He put a hand on her heart, reassured to feel the steady beat beneath his fingers. She was still breathing. She just needed a few minutes, he told himself, and then she'd wake up. She'd tell him what she'd remembered and they'd be able to find Caitlyn.

But as seconds turned to minutes, he wondered if that was going to happen at all, or if this time he'd lost Sarah forever.

* * *

She'd never been to such an elite party. Everyone who was anyone in Chicago was there. And so was she. She felt like pinching herself. Was this her life now? Fabulous parties, rich friends, families with blood ties dating back to the Mayflower? It hardly seemed possible. She'd spent so many years on her own, on the edge of -- if not in -- a state of homelessness. But one chance meeting with a sexy, sophisticated man and her entire life had changed.

Victor Pennington was her Prince Charming, her dark-haired, dark-eyed, half-Russian prince, and she was Cinderella at the ball, only her dress wasn't going to turn to rags, nor would the stretch limo change into a pumpkin. This was real. Victor loved her. He said she was his lucky charm, and she'd never been anyone's charm, lucky or otherwise.

He probably wouldn't think she was lucky if he knew who she really was. She shouldn't have lied to him, but whenever she had the chance to be someone else, she usually took it. She and Teresa had pretended to be lots of different people during their trip across the country. It was fun, a lark. She'd been a struggling country-western singer in Nashville. Teresa had been a supermodel on the rise in Denver. They'd both been flight attendants on layover in Dallas. Only those games hadn't lasted long, just a day or two. She'd never anticipated when she'd met Victor and his Harvard friends that they would still be seeing each other a few weeks later.

Now it was too late to change her story. A wave of fear rushed through her. She told herself it would be all right. Victor didn't have to know the truth. She could be whoever he wanted her to be. She'd spent her life learning how to fit in. Fake it until you make it, Teresa always said.

The party scene faded in front of her eyes, replaced with the shadows of the back room, the clatter of the heavy ornate frames being opened, the sound of soft yet harsh whispers in the night, the late-night calls, the hours alone waiting, wondering, and then she saw the faces of the men who'd tracked her down, who'd blackmailed her, who'd forced her to see what was really happening, who'd taken her fairy-tale life and turned it into a never-ending nightmare from which she couldn't escape.

“Sarah."

The sound of Jake's voice warmed her heart. She loved Jake. He was the real prince, but she couldn't tell him her dark secrets. She couldn't bring him into the madness of her life. Victor would kill anyone who tried to protect her or to help her. He'd already done it several times -- the guards in the safe house, Andy -- even Mrs. Murphy had almost lost her life because of Sarah.

“Sarah, come back to me. We need to find Caitlyn. I can't do it without you."

Jake's pleading, desperate words warred with her desire to remain in a safe, quiet place, to just let the worst happen, because she was so tired. But her daughter needed her. Jake needed her. She'd put them in danger, and she had to get them out. She had to fight. She couldn't quit now.

Slowly she opened her eyes, blinking at the sight of Jake's anxious expression. His face was white, and the worry lines across his forehead and around his mouth were deep and tight.

“Thank God,” he breathed. His hand stroked her cheek. “Are you all right?"

Her brain felt thick and slow. It had been empty for so long. Now it was crowded with memories from her childhood, from Victor, from Jake -- so many conflicting thoughts hit her, she didn't know what to say, what to do. She glanced around the room, trying to focus on the present, on simple facts. They were in a motel room in Santa Monica. They were on the run. They were looking for Caitlyn.

Suddenly everything clicked into place.

“Jake,” she whispered, his name rocketing through her body in a series of sharp, tingling sparks of memory. It was all coming back. Finally.

She closed her eyes again, feeling a deep sense of relief that she had to savor -- if only for a moment. She knew who she was. Her past was in line with her present. Her head and her heart had made the last connection.

“Sarah, I know you've remembered something. Can you talk to me now? I don't want to rush you, but we don't have a lot of time."

She opened her eyes and looked at him, really looked at him, noting all the wonderful details of his face, his beautiful green eyes, his strong jaw, his passionate mouth. There had been a time in her life when she'd thought she would never see him again. The memories flooded back through her head like images from a video collage: the first meeting at the café, their first kiss in the moonlight under the Golden Gate Bridge, the first time they'd made love in his apartment, the day Caitlyn had been born, Jake cutting the umbilical cord, laying their baby across her breast, the nights the three of them had spent in bed together like a real family.

Her heart broke at what they'd had, what they'd lost. Just because she remembered what had happened didn't mean she could change it. She'd made mistakes, decisions that she couldn't take back, and now she would have to explain them. Some of them were indefensible.

A tear dripped down her cheek. Jake wiped it away. “Not now, Sarah,” he said, his voice husky and raw.

He was right. It was time to face the music. It was time to talk to Jake with total and complete knowledge of who she was to him, and who she'd been to other people in her life.

“I remember everything,” she said slowly. “Every last detail of my life, where I was born, who my parents are, where I lived, Chicago, Victor, Shane Hollis, everything."

Excitement flared in his eyes. “I want to hear it, but let's start with the most important piece of information. Where is Caitlyn? Do you know?"

Her daughter's name pierced another hole through her heart, and she bit down on her lip as she nodded.

“Yes, I know where she is."

“Thank God! Where?"

“With Teresa -- in Santa Barbara."

Jake shook his head in confusion. “Santa Barbara? That doesn't make sense. If Teresa's in Santa Barbara, she would have seen the news broadcast, your picture in the local paper. Why didn't she come forward? Why didn't she come to the hospital?"

“I told her not to tell anyone she had Caitlyn, no matter what happened to me. I made her promise that she would keep Caitlyn safe. She grew up like I did, Jake, with no one to trust. She didn't ask me questions I didn't want to answer. She just said she would guard Caitlyn with her life until I came back."

Jake stared at her “If you stopped there right before your accident and someone was following you, then they already know where Caitlyn is."

“I didn't take Caitlyn there myself,” she said quickly, seeing his mind racing to a horrible conclusion. “I sent her with Amanda. We were closer friends than Amanda said when we saw her yesterday. She'd grown up like me. She was a street kid. We had a lot in common. She knew how to survive, too. When she heard I was in trouble when that guy tried to grab me in the elevator, she offered to help."

“Amanda,” he echoed in bemusement. “I suppose she made you the same promise of silence, and that's why she kept the secret when we saw her yesterday."

“Yes. It's my fault, Jake. I didn't tell them who I was running from. I thought too much information would put them in more danger. I guess when Amanda saw you with me she just couldn't trust that you were the good guy. And since I couldn't remember, she --"

He cut off her explanation with a wave of his hand. “Whatever. We know where Caitlyn is; let's go.” He jumped to his feet. “I don't want to lose another minute. You can tell me the rest on the way there. It's almost a two-hour drive."

She grabbed her bag and packed up her clothes while Jake closed up the computer and grabbed his own things. Within ten minutes they were in the car and on their way to get Caitlyn. She felt better now that she knew who she was, but she wouldn't feel completely right until she had her daughter in her arms.

Halfway down the street Jake pulled out his phone again and pushed in a number. “Dylan,” he said a moment later. “Sarah has her memory back. Caitlyn is with someone named Teresa in Santa Barbara. What's the address?” he said, turning to Sarah.

“Eleven-oh-one Mirada Drive,” she replied.

Jake repeated the address to his brother. When he'd finished the call, he turned to Sarah. “Dylan and Catherine will meet us in Santa Barbara. I told him to give us a head start. I don't want him to spook Teresa if she sees a stranger at the door."

She nodded, knowing that there was a lot to be said, but where to start? That was the big question. First she needed to call Teresa. “Let me use your phone. I'll give Teresa the heads-up that we're coming."

“I don't want her to run with our child. If she thinks someone has a gun to your head, she might do just that.” He shot her a dark look. “Believe me, I'd like nothing more than to have you get her on the phone and confirm that Caitlyn is safe, but at this point I'd rather not do anything that's going to send Teresa into hiding."

She thought about what he was saying and then put down the phone. “I'll wait until we get closer then.” It was hard not to make the call when she desperately wanted to hear Caitlyn's voice, but she had to think about what was best. “We have to make sure we're not being followed. We can't lead anyone to Caitlyn."

“I'm well aware of that,” Jake snapped. “Give me a little credit, Sarah. I'm not a complete fool."

“I never thought you were."

“Obviously you did, or you would have brought Caitlyn to me."

“Do you want to get into all that now?” she asked warily.

“No.” He shot her an indefinable look. “Because I can't have that discussion and drive. We're going to leave it alone until we get Caitlyn back."

Jake's voice was tight. She knew he wanted to have it out with her, to get the answers to all the questions he had about why and how she'd left him, but he was right: They couldn't have this discussion while racing through LA traffic.

“One thing I do want to know,” he said. “Who exactly is trying to kill you? I assume it's one of the Harvard guys."

“Victor Pennington. Do you want me to tell you what happened in Chicago?” She figured that part of the story would be less personally upsetting to him, and he needed to know the danger they were up against.

“Go on,” he said, his gaze on the road.

It was easier when he wasn't looking at her. “You already know some of it. My real name is Jessica Holt. When I was twenty years old, Teresa and I decided to drive across country one summer. We were headed to New York to meet up with Catherine, but our car broke down in Chicago. We didn't have any money to fix it, but we were young and had no roots, no families to worry about us, so we got jobs and lived in a shelter for a couple of weeks until we had enough money to get an apartment. It was a dump, but it was something. I got a temp job working in a law office. Victor Pennington was one of their clients. He came into the office one day and he invited everyone, all the secretaries and clerks and attorneys, to a party at his art gallery. I thought I was Cinderella, and I'd just gotten an invitation to the best ball in town."