Sanders 01 - Silent Run (19 page)

Checking his watch, he pulled out his cell phone, hoping Dylan had come up with some new information.

“Hello,” Dylan said a moment later. “I was just about to call you, Jake."

The optimistic note in his brother's voice gave him a lift. “I hope that means you have some news."

“Well, I have a strong suspicion that Catherine Hilliard's missing friend, Jessica, is Sarah."

Jake felt a surge of energy run through his body. Maybe they were finally going to catch a break. “What have you discovered?"

“Catherine doesn't have photographs of Jessica, but she does have a portrait that she painted from memory, and the girl looks a lot like Sarah."

“I don't know, Dylan, a painting?” he asked doubtfully.

“Just listen. Catherine's friend Jessica disappeared eight years ago. She was living in Chicago at the time, but she was originally from California. About a week before she vanished, Jessica left a message for Catherine saying she was in some trouble. Like Sarah, Jessica disappeared without leaving any clues behind. She was twenty years old at the time of her disappearance. Which would make her twenty-eight now."

“The same age as Sarah,” Jake said.

“Yeah. I just got on the Internet, and I looked up the newspaper articles on Jessica's disappearance. One had a grainy head shot that doesn't definitively look like Sarah, but it's close. Her hair is much shorter, straightened and blond, but the features are similar. In the articles, the police say they have no idea what happened to Jessica. The woman had no known enemies. She worked as a receptionist in a law firm, a temp job, so no one knew her very well. Her neighbor said she thought Jessica was dating someone, but she never met him. She just heard them out in the hall a few times. However, no boyfriend came forward to look for Jessica. It's all very sketchy."

“So the only thing we really have is that this woman looks a little like Sarah."

“There are a couple of other facts that support my theory, like that Jessica's parents died in a car crash, same as Sarah's."

“Anything else?"

“Catherine says that Jessica grew up in foster care with her."

“Foster care? Sarah certainly didn't mention that. I don't know, Dylan. It sounds very circumstantial or coincidental."

“Maybe she didn't tell you because it was part of the past she wanted to hide from you. Jessica also had a doll named Caitlyn and a grandmother in Boston named Sarah. I don't know about you, but I think that's a few too many coincidences."

Jake's mind raced with the implications. “Okay, so what's next?"

“I want to bring Catherine down to meet Sarah. I think if they're face-to-face we'll know for sure."

“That sounds like a good idea. When can you get here?"

“Unfortunately, not until late tonight. Catherine is teaching an art class, and she can't miss it. I doubt we'll get on the road before six o'clock. And it's probably a three-hour drive from here. What's happening on your end?"

“We're at Sarah's apartment. We found a pile of fake IDs and birth certificates for Sarah and Caitlyn,” he replied. “Sarah has been a dozen different people over the years, and it appears that she's been on the run for a while."

“That would jive with Catherine's story."

“Yes, it would. And if Sarah is Jessica, and she really grew up in foster care, then that could explain her lack of relatives. It would also give us a concrete place to start looking for her past. If she was in the foster care system, there have to be records."

“Agreed. I also want to dig further into the Chicago connection. Jessica had neighbors, coworkers, friends there. Someone has to know more than we do."

“You'd think so. By the way, Sarah's neighbor here in LA called her Samantha."

“Another alias."

“Yes. Her neighbor also told us that someone may have tried to attack Sarah earlier this week, which could have triggered her run up the coast. There's a sketch of the attacker here in the apartment, and Sarah seems to think it's the same guy who was in her hospital room."

“I wonder if Sarah was running here to see her old friend Catherine,” Dylan suggested. “Although, aside from a cryptic unsigned note, Catherine said she's had no contact from Jessica in the past eight years. It's possible I'm completely off base here. I hate to get your hopes up, Jake."

“Well, until we know for sure, keep working the contact."

“I will. I'll let you know when we get on the road."

Jake felt a rush of optimism as he ended the call. If they could trace Sarah to this Jessica, they would be a lot closer to finding out the story of her life, why she'd disappeared eight years ago, and what kind of trouble she'd been in. Maybe Chicago was where it had all started.

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he looked around the apartment once more. Was he missing something? Sarah had zoned in on the hidden vent beneath the carpet. Were there other hiding places? Would she have been paranoid enough to use more than one location to secret away the clues to her past? The answer to that question was a definite yes.

He walked through the apartment, running his hands along the walls to see if he could find anything out of the ordinary. Nothing jumped out at him. He walked back to the bed, to the crib. He'd been trying very hard not to look at that crib, because it was the one piece of furniture in the room that really bothered him. Now he knew he had to face it head-on.

He moved over to the crib, putting his hands on the rail. Gazing down at the mattress, he could picture his daughter lying there with her blanket and her bear and her thumb in her mouth, and the image brought a knot of emotion to his throat. He couldn't believe how much time had passed since he'd seen Caitlyn. She would be so much bigger now, talking, walking, a little person.

Would she remember him? When she saw him again, would she know he was her father? Or would he be a stranger to her?

It killed him that she probably wouldn't recognize him now. She'd been away from him almost as long as she'd been with him, half of her short life.

Sarah had stolen so much from him -- time he would never get back, moments he would never experience. He hated her for that. But the separation between him and his daughter was coming to an end. He would get Caitlyn back, and when he did he would never let her out of his sight again.

As for Sarah... he didn't know what he would do about her. It had been easier to hate her when she was gone, when he wasn't with her, when the good memories had been overwhelmed by the bad ones.

His gaze caught on a piece of fabric underneath the blanket. He moved the blanket aside and was shocked to see what appeared to be a rolled-up T-shirt -- a man's shirt, he realized as he picked it up. He unrolled the material, stunned to see the Cal Berkeley logo on the front. This was his shirt -- one of his favorites, in fact. Sarah had once teased him about how often he wore it. She'd even snapped a photo of him wearing it as Caitlyn slept on his chest after her feeding. And here was the shirt in his baby's crib.

Why? Why had Sarah tucked his shirt into Caitlyn's bed?

Had she wanted to give their daughter some memory of her father, some tactile sense of his presence in her life? Or was he grasping at straws, wanting to believe that Sarah had cared a little about the fact that she was separating father and daughter?

What did it matter? Even if she had taken his shirt for some sentimental reason, it didn't change anything. Still, he found himself raising the shirt to his face, inhaling deeply, and wondering if he could really smell Caitlyn's scent or if it was just his desperate need to feel some sort of connection with her.

He set the shirt back down in the crib and gripped the railing as a rush of emotion swept through him. He'd stuffed the pain down deep, refusing to let it come to the surface. It was the only way he'd gotten through the days, the weeks, the months. And he couldn't let the pain overwhelm him now. He couldn't get lost in the memories. He had to find Caitlyn. He was so close to getting his daughter back. So damn close.

“I'm coming, baby,” he murmured. “I'm coming to get you."

Turning away, he walked back to the kitchen table and sat down. He picked up the sketch of the man Sarah had drawn and focused on the facial details. Aside from his dark eyes, his other features weren't particularly exceptional or memorable. Jake would put the man's age to be in his thirties, maybe forties. He dressed like a thug, but did that describe who he was, or simply provide a good disguise? The multiple attempts on Sarah's life led Jake to believe that whoever was after her was powerful and determined. Was it this guy? Or was this man just the hired gun?

Whoever was after Sarah certainly hadn't given up over the number of years that she'd been gone, especially if the trouble had begun in Chicago eight years ago. What would make someone want to hunt her down and kill her after all this time?

For some reason the dangerous reality hadn't sunk in for him until this moment. Now it hit him hard. Someone wanted to kill Sarah, and he had to keep her alive, not just for her own sake, but also for Caitlyn's.

The only fact that made him feel marginally better was the belief that if the person who was after Sarah already had Caitlyn, they would have said so by now. They would have used Caitlyn to get to Sarah, which meant Caitlyn was still safe -- for the moment. Who knew how long that would last? The bad guys knew more about Sarah's life and past than Jake or Sarah did.

So, what next? Sarah's place of employment, he figured. She might have made a friend there, someone she'd confided in, although he found it doubtful. She'd lived with him for two years and never told him any of her secrets. Why would she tell some other night janitor any truths about herself? Still, it was the only lead they had in this part of town. And he had to hope that Caitlyn was somewhere close by. It was certainly possible that Sarah could have found herself a babysitter without giving away her secrets, and that babysitter could have come from her workplace.

He looked up as Sarah emerged from the bathroom in a pink floral robe that had been hanging on the back of the bathroom door. She grabbed some clothes out of her dresser and closet and disappeared again.

It was a good thing, too. Seeing her bare legs peeking out of that robe and the shadow of cleavage between her breasts had made him hard in an instant. He had to get over this insane physical attraction to her. She'd practically killed him with her actions. He should not want her in any way whatsoever.

Only he did. And that was the damnable truth. For the past seven months he'd done nothing but concoct beautiful plans of revenge and torture for her. But now he was confused. Nothing was adding up as he'd expected. In some ways Sarah was as lost as Caitlyn was. And when Sarah looked at him with a plea in her beautiful blue eyes to somehow find a way out of this mess, he wanted to swoop in and rescue her. But who would he be rescuing? Who was the real Sarah? He sure as hell shouldn't sleep with her until he knew the answer to that question.

The bathroom door opened again. Sarah had put on clean jeans and a cream-colored sweater over a camisole top. Her hair was still damp and curling wildly, despite her efforts to brush and straighten it. Her eyes were clearer now, and her bruises didn't seem so intense. She'd removed the bandage from her forehead, revealing a long deep cut just below her hairline.

“I feel better,” she said. “That was a good idea. What have you been doing?"

“I spoke to Dylan. Does the name Catherine Hilliard ring a bell?"

Sarah thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Why? Who is she?"

“The woman who called in to the news broadcast last night. She says you look like a girl she lived with in foster care -- a girl named Jessica.” He watched her closely to see if she flinched or responded in any way, but she simply gave him her usual blank expression.

“Are you saying I grew up in foster care?"

“If you're this girl Jessica, you did."

“Then I don't have a family?” Shadows of disappointment filled her eyes.

“You told me your parents died when you were young. Maybe that's why you were in foster care, although you also said you lived with your grandparents in Boston, which wasn't true."

“Why would I lie about that?"

He shrugged. “Catherine told Dylan that her friend Jessica disappeared from Chicago eight years ago, in much the same manner you disappeared from me."

“Chicago?” Sarah rubbed her temple again. “My headache is coming back."

“I'll bet. Maybe your head hurts because you can't keep track of all the lies. At any rate, Dylan is going to bring Catherine here to meet you. Hopefully if you're face-to-face, your memory will return."

“Hopefully,” she echoed. Sarah glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's almost four. I wonder why Amanda never came back."

It was a good question. Amanda had acted concerned for Sarah, even wanted to call the police, but she hadn't rushed back after her lunchtime class to check on her friend. Why was that? “Where did Amanda say she worked?” he asked.

“Something about a gym."

Jake got up and walked over to the kitchen wall. There were several numbers listed, including Amanda's cell and work. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the first number, then handed the phone to Sarah. “She'll be more likely to talk to you."

A moment later Sarah shook her head. “No answer."

“Try the other number,” he suggested, reading it off the paper to her.

“Yes, hello,” Sarah said. “I'm looking for Amanda. Is she there?” She paused. “Okay, thank you.” She hung up the phone. “I'll call back later. The gym said she isn't working today, but I thought she told us she had a lunchtime aerobics class. That's odd."

“She's the only close friend of yours that we've identified,” Jake mused. “And she used to watch Caitlyn."