Sanders 01 - Silent Run (22 page)

“Positive. I'm just glad you found a way to tell me where you were."

“I sent that kid with the note to look for you, but I wasn't sure he would be able to find you in the crowd. I didn't even know if you had made it out of the building. I shouldn't have left you there. I should have stayed."

“No, you did the right thing,” he told her, leading her back to the table. “I wanted you to go."

Sarah shook her head in self-loathing. “I took the easy way out. You could have been killed."

“If you hadn't gone, we might both be dead, and then where would Caitlyn be?"

She didn't look convinced. “When I left the building, I saw the fire truck coming. I hoped they would be able to save you, since I couldn't. Then I thought I should get away, but I didn't want to go too far."

“You did everything right. You picked a crowded place with lots of people, and a seat at the back where you could see whoever came in the door.” He wasn't surprised she'd known what to do. Her self-protective instincts were finely tuned. “This is what you do, Sarah -- you hide; you protect yourself."

“What happened to that man? Did you... did you kill him?"

“I wish,” he muttered. “We were wrestling for the gun when the firemen came in. The guy bolted. The firemen forced me out of the building. I never saw him again after that."

“So he's still free, still out there somewhere?"

“Yes.” He met her gaze. “And I don't think he's finished with you yet."

“I don't think so either. Did you get a better look at him?"

“It was difficult to see anything, but I suspect it's the same guy. My instincts tell me that he's just the front man. He didn't talk to you like he knew you. He didn't use your name. He didn't give you any idea why he wanted you dead."

“That's true."

“You pissed someone off, Sarah. Someone has been tracking you for years. And I suspect that guy was sent to take care of you.” He cleared his throat and then winced at the pain.

“I'll get you some water.” Sarah retrieved an empty cup from the guy behind the counter and then walked over to the drinking fountain.

When she returned, he took the drink out of her hand and drained it in one long, soothing swallow. Sarah watched him with concern in her eyes. He'd seen that look on her face a few times when they'd been together, but always when she'd been worried about Caitlyn -- the first time Caitlyn got the croup, then when she got the flu and ran a high fever.

They'd stayed up all night together, taking turns rocking Caitlyn, putting cool towels on her forehead, giving her sponge baths. Sarah had been distraught with fear that something bad would happen to her daughter. And he had tried to reassure her, but the truth was that he'd been just as scared. Finally the fever had broken, and Caitlyn had bounced back in record time. He thought it had probably taken Sarah longer to get over that illness.

Now she was looking at him with the same fear, as if she were afraid for him. He'd thought she'd completely stopped caring what the hell happened to him when she'd walked out on him. Could he trust the expression on her face now?

Sarah pulled a napkin out of the dispenser and leaned forward. “Do you mind if I get some of that blood off you?"

Before he could reply, she gently touched his forehead and cheek with the napkin. Her moves were unbelievably gentle and tender. He closed his eyes for a moment. She was so close to him he could feel her breath on his face, the brush of her breasts against his arm, the scent of lavender lotion on her skin. He was taken back in time to another place, when he'd watched her rub that sweet-smelling cream onto her skin before she came to bed. It had taken months to get that scent out of his head. Her scent. Her taste. Her touch. It was painful as hell.

He grabbed her arm and opened his eyes. “It's okay,” he said.

She looked at him for a long, long moment, a myriad of emotions flitting through her eyes, and then she finally sat back in her chair.

He let out a breath of relief.

“That cut doesn't look too deep, but you might need a stitch,” she said quietly.

“It's fine."

“You don't always have to be the tough guy."

“Yeah, I do."

She gave him a half smile. “Then you'll be happy to know you're developing a black eye."

“I guess we'll be twins,” he said.

Her smile broadened, the tension of the last few hours finding a release in his small joke. “I guess we will.” She paused, her expression growing serious again. “How bad was the fire when you left?"

“Bad. I don't know what they'll be able to salvage."

“I feel terrible for everyone who lived there. It's my fault. That fire was set deliberately to get to me."

He couldn't deny the obvious. “He got tired of waiting for us to come out, and he wanted the advantage. I guess we don't have to worry about Amanda's door anymore."

“She could lose everything in that fire."

“But not her life,” Jake said. “At least we know she wasn't inside her apartment."

“Thank God for that.” She fell silent for a moment. “I want to say thank you, Jake."

“There's no need."

“Yes, there is. You stood in front of me and faced that gun, and then you jumped that guy without any regard for your own life. You could have been killed.” Her gaze sought his. “Why? Why did you do that? You hate me. Why would you try to protect me?"

“You're the mother of my child. I need you to find Caitlyn,” he said, but he knew that wasn't the whole truth. The need to protect Sarah ran deep within him. He hadn't been thinking at all when he'd stepped in front of her. It had been pure instinct.

“Well, I'm still grateful."

“Why didn't you keep running? You've got money. You could have left me."

“I couldn't just leave you like that."

“You did before,” he said pointedly.

“Well, I couldn't now. You see --”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand. “Don't -- don't say anything else.” He suddenly felt as if this conversation were more dangerous than the gun he'd faced earlier.

Sarah tilted her head to one side. “I never did -- did I? Say anything else."

“What does that mean?"

“You said before that we didn't argue; we didn't fight; we didn't disagree on anything. That seems odd to me. Who's like that? Don't most people disagree on something? Don't most couples argue, even if it's only over who's going to take out the trash or do the dishes?"

He frowned, not liking the fact that she was picking up on something he'd failed to see for almost two years. “Obviously you didn't want to rock the boat."

“Nor did you,” she pointed out “Did we each do everything the other wanted?"

“You more than me,” he admitted. “At the time I thought you were perfect."

“I guess I'm not perfect anymore."

No, she wasn't close to perfect now, not at all the ideal woman he'd come to believe he was involved with. Now she was a mess of complicated emotions and behaviors. But for some bizarre reason, he was actually starting to like this version of Sarah. Despite the fact that someone had tried to kill her again, she was already back on her feet, ready to get down to business, not nearly as shaken by the events of the past hour as he would have expected her to be. Maybe he'd never given her enough credit for her quiet strength. She'd so often let him take the lead in their life together. He hadn't realized until she'd left how little he knew of her own opinions. He'd seen their relationship purely from his own point of view, never stopping to consider that he was doing more talking than listening.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Sarah asked.

“I'm trying to figure you out."

“Are you having any luck?"

“Not much,” he admitted. “Knowing how you've lived these past seven months makes me realize how strong and independent you are. You hid yourself away from danger, found a place to live, a job where you could take Caitlyn, a way to make enough money to survive. I don't think I saw your strength before."

Sarah clasped her hands together on the top of the table. She gazed into his eyes “I do feel like I'm a survivor, as if I've been doing just that for a very long time. Maybe I didn't seem strong when I was with you because I didn't need to be. You took care of me, didn't you? Just the way you did on the stairs earlier. You have protective instincts."

“I tried to take care of you, but obviously you didn't trust me enough to tell me what kind of trouble you were in. You should have trusted me, Sarah. You should have given me a chance to fix things."

“I don't know why I didn't. I know it makes no difference to you, but I trust you now. That's why I didn't keep running this time, Jake, because we're in this together now. While I can't change the past, I can at least do the right thing from here on out."

He saw nothing but sincerity in her eyes. He wanted to trust her again, but what she couldn't remember he could, and those painful, unending days still burned bright in his memory. “Are you ready to go? I think it's better if we keep moving."

She gave a nod. “While I was waiting for you I looked in the phone book for the address of the place where I worked -- Gold Star Cleaners. They're on Fifth and Harrison. I asked the guy behind the counter, and he gave me directions. We can go there now if you want."

“Might as well. We certainly can't return to your apartment."

She swung the duffel bag strap over her shoulder and followed him out to the car. They stuck close together as they entered the parking lot. The weather was changing, the sun vanishing behind thick, dark clouds. There was an ominous feeling to the early evening air that only heightened his tension. Once inside the car, Jake flipped the locks. He had just started the engine when his phone rang. He saw his brother's number on the screen. “It's Dylan,” he said to Sarah as he answered the phone. “What's up?"

“There's a huge storm hitting the coast up here, so Catherine and I aren't going to make it down there tonight. I'm sorry, dude. I can't get her on the road. She thinks it's too dangerous to make the drive until morning."

Jake wasn't happy to hear that. He'd been hoping that the woman Dylan was talking to might jog Sarah's memory. “Have you found out anything else?"

“A couple of things. Catherine gave me a lead on a kid they knew in foster care who worked the backside of the law manufacturing fake IDs when he was in high school. His name is Andy Hart, and I'm on the Internet now trying to find him. I also dug a little deeper and found an address for Sarah's former social worker, Eleanor Murphy. According to Catherine, Eleanor was a kind woman who tried to keep in touch with the kids she followed. There's a slim chance Sarah might have contacted her if she was in trouble."

Jake felt a rush of excitement at the news. “Great. Where does she live?"

“Manhattan Beach, not too far from where you are now, I believe, which could be a coincidence or the reason why Sarah moved to Santa Monica."

Jake grabbed a pen from the console between the seats and wrote down the address Dylan rattled off.

“There was also another friend of Sarah's -- or Jessica's -- who was with her in Chicago about a month before she disappeared -- Teresa Meyers. So far I haven't found her, but I'm still looking. What's up with you?"

“There was another attempt on Sarah's life. A fire was set at her apartment building. A guy was waiting for us in the stairwell. We got into a fight. I got the gun away, but he escaped when the firemen came into the building. So he's still out there."

“Shit!” Dylan swore. “Where are you now? Are you both all right?"

“We're in the car, and yes, we're fine."

“I should get down there."

The last thing Jake wanted to do was drag his brother any further into this mess. “No, you're more helpful staying with Catherine, researching on the Net. That's what I need from you right now."

“I can do that down there."

“The morning is fine. We'll meet then. Is there anything else?"

“The tiger tattoo. I found some gangs, including the Russian Mafia, who use tiger tattoos as their symbol of affiliation. There could be more than one person after Sarah. And they could be very dangerous."

Dylan's words only confirmed Jake's suspicions that there were some powerful people who wanted Sarah dead. And he was the only one standing between her and them -- whoever they were. “Thanks. I'll talk to you soon."

Sarah felt a growing sense of unease as Jake finished his conversation with his brother. She could hear bits and pieces about someone named Jessica.

Jessica. The name sounded familiar, and with the familiarity came a deep sense of loss.

“Sarah?"

Jake's voice intruded on her thoughts. She blinked and looked up at him. He was watching her again with those penetrating green eyes of his that made her feel like he could see right through her. Only he couldn't. No one could. Not even she knew what was in her own head.

“What did Dylan find out?” she asked.

“He gave me some names of possible people from your past: Andy Hart and Teresa Meyers, two kids you may have lived with in foster care. And Eleanor Murphy, who was apparently your social worker."

She took in what he was telling her like a dry sponge absorbing every bit of water. It seemed that Dylan was piecing together a past for her, foster care, friends. Jake seemed to think his brother was on the right track -- so why didn't the names mean anything to her?

“Nothing, huh?” he asked.

“I'm not sure."

“Sarah, I know you're scared to remember, but you have to try."

“I think I must be a terrible coward,” she murmured.

“That word doesn't describe you at all. Maybe you've just reached your limit on fear. The blow you took to the head sent your memories into hibernation, and that's where they want to stay. But we have to drag them out, Sarah. Because of Caitlyn."