“What are you doing here?” Shane Hollis couldn’t believe Victor Pennington and Rick Adams were standing in his motel room, wearing their Armani suits and Ferragamo shoes and sporting their two-hundred-dollar haircuts. They were supposed to be in Chicago, waiting for his call. Their presence could mean only one thing: They were unhappy with his performance. He’d always been the weak link in their group, the scholarship student, the one who didn’t really belong, the one they wouldn’t tolerate at all if he didn’t do their dirty work for them. He felt a trail of sweat slip down his spine under their intense stares.
Victor was the self-proclaimed leader of their group and had been since college. The son of a Russian actress and the stepson of an American millionaire, he was a mix of raw evil and charming sophistication. Rick Adams was Victor’s right-hand man, another rich kid who boasted more brawn than brain and was built like a tight end. Both men had led charmed lives for a while, graduating from Harvard, running several businesses, making huge amounts of money, and moving more than just art through their gallery. Then all hell had broken loose when the woman Victor was sleeping with betrayed them all -- the woman Shane should have killed long before this.
Eight months ago Victor and Rick had been in prison. They would be there now if their rich parents hadn’t convinced the parole board to let them go on good behavior. Now they wanted revenge, especially Victor.
“She’s supposed to be dead,” Rick said. He had an annoying habit of stating the obvious.
Shane glanced at Victor and saw the rage burning in his dark brown eyes. There was something wrong with Victor. There always had been. He loved a good kill -- more than sex, more than money, more than anything. Not many people knew that about him, but Shane did, because he’d always been the one to carry out his orders.
“I’m working on it,” Shane said. “I need a little more time."
“Your time is up,” Victor said.
“Look, she has someone watching her all the time. It’s not going to be that easy to get to her right now. We might have to back off for a while."
“I’ve waited eight years to see her die; that’s enough,” Victor said.
“A few more days, a week -- she’ll let her guard down,” Shane said. “You’ve only been out of the pen a few months -- do you want to go back?"
“That won’t happen,” Victor said, nothing but confidence in his voice.
“The police are involved. If something happens to her it won’t be that difficult to trace her back to you -- not me,” Shane added.
Dark storm clouds gathered in Victor’s eyes. He hated when anyone questioned his actions. Shane should have kept his fucking mouth shut. But it was too late now.
“Do you think I’m stupid?” Victor asked.
“Of course not. The truth is, I don’t know where she is right now,” Shane said hastily, trying to defuse the situation. “They slipped away after the fire."
Victor stared back at him. “And you’re not smart enough to figure out how to get her out in the open?"
Before he could answer, Rick said, “The kid, dude, that’s the ticket."
“I don’t know where the kid is."
“You didn’t know there was a kid,” Victor said angrily. “You should have been more thorough."
Shane should have known about the kid. He’d traced her to the apartment, but he’d never thought she was living with anyone but herself. “She doesn’t know where the kid is. She has amnesia.” The last thing Shane wanted to do was take out a baby. He’d fallen a long way from the kind of man he thought he’d be, but that was just too damn far. His life was not supposed to go down this way.
“There are only two people who could have the child,” Victor said. “I now know where both of them live."
“Do you want to tell me?"
“Actually, I don’t,” Victor said. “You’re of no use to me anymore. You’ve become a liability. You can’t get the job done, and you know too much."
Before Shane could move, Rick pulled out his gun.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Shane asked, putting up his hands. “We’re friends. We’ve been together a long time; I’ve done everything you wanted."
“Until now,” Victor said.
“Let me try again,” Shane said, acutely aware of the barrel of the gun facing him. “We’re partners. We’re fucking partners. Just give me one more chance.” But even as he said the words, he knew it was too late.
* * *
While Jake was gone, Sarah got dressed again and straightened the bed. She suspected that any reminder of what had happened between them would not be a good idea. Once that was done, she went to the window and peeked through the curtain. It was dark, but she could see rain streaming down in the glare of the parking lot lights. Another storm. For some reason the rain set her nerves on edge. The last time it had rained she’d almost lost her life.
Letting the curtain drop back into place, she paced around the small room, restless, frustrated, confused, and worried. She shouldn’t have let Jake go. She should have found a way to make him stay. If only she hadn’t spoken so quickly. Maybe she could have prolonged the inevitable truth, but in the end it would have come out, and she couldn’t change the facts: She couldn’t remember their history together. That fact brought Jake pain each and every time. And the last thing she wanted to do was keep hurting him.
Wrapping her arms around her waist, she felt chilled. An hour ago she and Jake had been so close she hadn’t known where she ended and he began, but now they were as far apart as they’d ever been, not just physically but emotionally as well. Why couldn’t she remember him? If it had been as good between them as he’d said, why was her brain trying to protect her from those memories? Her mind had already released a bit of her childhood. Why couldn’t she get to the rest of it? What was she afraid of?
Weary of asking herself questions she couldn’t answer, she sat down on the bed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to relax until Jake returned safe and sound. She couldn’t bear to think of something happening to him. He’d already dodged death at her apartment building. He could have been shot through the heart when he’d stepped in front of her. But he hadn’t been thinking about himself. His first thought had been to protect her. According to him, keeping her alive was the key to finding Caitlyn, but she’d spent enough time with Jake in the past few days to know that his caring instincts also extended to her. Although she couldn’t see how she deserved his care or his protection.
Reaching over the side of the bed, she grabbed the duffel bag and pulled out Caitlyn’s baby blanket and bear. She ran the satin edges of the blanket through her fingers and closed her eyes. She imagined the crib and pictured Caitlyn’s sweet face. The image brought her warmth and made her smile.
But then something changed.
The room was different. There was pink wallpaper with big A-B-C letters. Lacy white curtains fluttered at the windows. Someone came into the room. She turned and saw Jake. He was wearing a suit and tie. On the floor in the doorway was his suitcase.
He walked over and kissed her, a sweet, tender kiss on the lips.
“I can’t believe I have to leave my girls for two weeks,” he said. “How will I live without you both?"
“It will be hard for all of us,” she said, her gaze lingering on his face. For some reason she wanted to memorize his features. She felt as if it were desperately important to do so. People always disappeared from her life. Things changed in an instant, and the good never lasted. She didn’t want to forget him. Not ever.
“You’ll marry me when I come back,” Jake said decisively. “It’s way past time for us to become an official family. No more excuses. Say yes."
He made it sound so easy, when saying “yes” was anything but easy. “When you come back we’ll make plans."
But as he walked out the room, she wondered if she could really go through with it. There was so much he didn’t know.
Sarah’s eyes flew open as she realized that she’d finally seen Jake in her mind in the time when they’d been together. It must have been the day Jake had left for his business trip, perhaps the last time she’d seen him before she ran away. He’d left town believing she would marry him when he got back.
Her heart thumped against her chest. How her departure must have hurt him. When he’d returned home with high hopes for their future together, he’d found an empty apartment stripped of all trace of Caitlyn and herself, and no explanation. Even after all this time she still couldn’t give him a reason.
She wanted to scream in frustration.
How could she have ruined such a terrific relationship?
She lifted the baby blanket to her face and inhaled deeply. Caitlyn’s sweet scent still clung to the fabric, a mix of baby powder and baby. She would make everything right. She would find Caitlyn. She would get her memory back, and she would tell Jake why she’d left him, why she’d betrayed him.
Then what? Would he forgive her? Would they all live happily ever after?
Somehow she didn’t think so. She’d never believed in fairy tales.
* * *
Dylan stretched his arms over his head as he waited for his latest search screen to pop up. He’d been on the Internet for hours, but he was still no closer to locating Andy Hart. He suspected that if Andy were a computer genius, as Catherine had stated earlier, then he’d probably found ways to protect his personal information from appearing on the Internet. As for Teresa Meyers, he’d found a half dozen women with the name, but none of his follow-up calls had produced a likely candidate in terms of the right age or background.
Catherine hadn’t offered much help, although she’d made him a delicious vegetarian pasta dish that he was sure had quadrupled his vegetable intake for the week, maybe the month. Since then she’d been puttering around the house, cleaning the kitchen, looking through the artwork done by her students, talking to her cats and her bird. Fortunately the bird didn’t seem inclined to talk back. He’d always thought talking birds were a little creepy. One woman he’d dated had a talking parrot who’d called him shithead every time he walked in the room. It hadn’t exactly set the mood.
A flash of lightning lit up the room, followed shortly thereafter by a crack of thunder that rocked the house. The storm was loud, rain pounding the back deck, gale-force winds shaking the windows, waves crashing on the beach. The wild night did nothing to ease the mounting tension in his body. It frustrated the hell out of him to be stuck here while Jake and Sarah were running for their lives, but if he could find Andy Hart, then they’d be one step closer to locating Caitlyn.
Glancing away from the window, he saw Catherine watching him from the kitchen. He was struck again by how pretty she was in a natural way. She didn’t have a speck of makeup on her face, but her features were beautifully set in her face, and long lashes framed her mysterious dark blue eyes. He wondered what her story was -- how she’d come to live in this remote location with only her pets for company. She had a story to tell. As a journalist he had a nose for stories, and he had a feeling hers would be very interesting, but this wasn’t the time to get into her life. Right now it was Sarah’s secrets he needed to reveal.
“You’re staring at me,” Catherine said.
“You’re staring at me,” he echoed with a smile.
“You’re very intense when you work, focused, determined, relentless. You usually get what you want, don’t you?"
“Usually. Unfortunately my intensity is not bringing me any luck tonight. I’ve struck out on both Andy Hart and Teresa Meyers. Any ideas? I’ve tried all the usual methods, but I’ve come up with nothing. Maybe there’s something you know about Andy that could help me find him. You said you lived together when you were kids?"
Catherine set down her dishtowel, picked up two steaming mugs of tea, and joined him at the table. She pushed one of the mugs in his direction. “You’ll like this. It’s good for concentration."
“I’m more of a coffee guy."
“This is better for you."
He rolled his eyes. “I hate it when people tell me what’s good for me."
She gave him a smile. “I’m sure you do, but you will like the tea if you give it a chance."
“Fine. I’ll drink the tea. Now you give me something in return."
Catherine thought for a moment. “Andy lived with us for about a year. Then he was moved because he got into trouble in high school. He hacked into the computer system to change one of his grades. He was too smart for school; he didn’t pay attention when he was bored."
“So he was into computers. What else?"
“Video games, movies, comic books, graphic novels, Dungeons and Dragons. He was very creative, very competitive, a big game player."
“That’s good. Maybe there’s a clue there. What about the fake IDs? When did he get into that?"
“High school. He made a lot of money providing underage kids with fake IDs."
“Did you have one?"
“Of course.” Catherine’s gaze was completely unapologetic. “We didn’t grow up in a pretty world, Dylan. It was every man for himself. We did what we had to do to survive, and Andy was no better or worse than the rest of us."
“You’re saying that you and Jessica also cut corners?"
Her eyes narrowed. “I know you’re looking for more dirt on Jessica, but I’m not going to give it to you."
“I’m just trying to get an idea of her background,” he said.
“Bullshit. You don’t care about Jessica. You just want to get her child back for your brother. But I intend to protect my friend, regardless of what you think of her. You have no idea what it’s like to grow up alone, to have to protect and defend yourself from all manner of danger when you’re just a child,” Catherine continued, passion filling her voice. “You learn early on that no one is going to stand up for you. No one is going to protect you if someone raises their hand to you or does something worse. People look the other way. They don’t want to see the ugly side of life. They want to pretend it isn’t there --"
“I show people the ugly side of life every day in my job,” he interrupted. “That’s what I do. I shine a light on things people would rather keep hidden. So don’t think I ever look the other way, because I don’t."
A flush of red spread across her cheeks, and he could see a spark of anger in her eyes. Her breasts were moving up and down with the pace of her breathing, and he found himself wanting to undo the buttons on her paint-spattered shirt and see if her nipples were the same glorious pink as her cheeks. Damn. He’d thought she was pretty before, but now, in a passion, she was something else. And he was letting himself get sidetracked.
“It’s different to report what’s wrong in the world than to live it,” she said, her words fortunately drawing his attention away from her breasts.
He cleared his throat, trying to remember what they were even talking about. Catherine was turning out to be a bigger distraction than he would have ever anticipated.
“I’ll give you that,” he conceded. “Tell me more about the way you and Jessica grew up. I promise not to judge."
“I doubt that’s possible,” she snapped. “How do you ever keep your objectivity when you’re reporting? You seem to have very strong opinions."
“My opinions are the strongest when they involve the people I care about -- like my brother."
“Well, Jessica is a sister to me, so keep that in mind."
“Okay, please go on."
Catherine drew in a couple of breaths and then continued. “In foster care it’s all about fitting in. Not making waves so you won’t get kicked out of the home you’re in, won’t have to change schools again, won’t have to make new friends, start over. Not that all of the homes are good. Some are horrific. Some you have to run away from. And sometimes the only people you can trust are the other kids who are fighting for their lives. That’s why, when you find a couple of friends you think you can trust, you hang on for dear life."
Catherine had painted a vivid and sad picture, and Dylan had to admit he felt some compassion for what Catherine and Jessica had gone through. His family life had not been good, but at least he’d always had Jake to try to run interference for him, to look out for him. Jake had been his savior on more than one occasion, and it would take him a lifetime to pay his brother back.
“Jessica was pretty soft in the beginning,” Catherine continued. “Because her parents died, she’d had a good childhood to start, so she knew what she was missing when things went bad. Some of the rest of us had never lived that other life, so in some ways it was easier to just accept what was. But Jessica kept thinking that her grandparents were going to come and rescue her. It took her a long time to give up on that hope. Finally she came to realize that you have to make a family where you can find one, and that family was Andy, Teresa, and myself. We tried to watch out for one another, but we were together for only a few years. I regret that Jessica and I lost touch after we split up. I was so happy when Teresa and Jessica said they were going to drive across country to meet me in New York.” Sadness filled her eyes. “If I had told them not to come, maybe none of this would have happened. But I didn’t, and it did, and that’s why you’re here."
“What about you? How did you end up in foster care? What happened to your parents?"
She shook her head. “I don’t want to talk about that."
He knew he should shut up and respect her privacy, but his curiosity got the better of him. “You had it rougher than Jessica, didn’t you?"
“It’s not my turn to tell my story,” Catherine said. “Nor is it yours."
“I don’t have a story."
“Yes, you do -- maybe a story you don’t even know you have."
He frowned at that cryptic statement, feeling a cold chill wash over him. There were some unanswered questions in his past, but he hadn’t asked them in a long time. Someday he might. But not tonight. “You’re good at distracting people. Back to Andy Hart. How are we going to find him?"
Catherine thought for a moment. “Andy loved to do animation, cartoons, comic-novel type stories on the computer. Maybe he got a job in one of those fields."
“That’s an idea. I can try that angle. You said you were in LA when you were in foster care. So I assume you were all from that area. I’ve found a few Andy Harts, but none the right age or ethnicity in the Southern California area. And I can’t help wondering if Andy Hart, the master of fake IDs, doesn’t go under another name himself."
Catherine started. “Oh, lord, I didn’t even think of that. Yes, you’re right. Of course he did. Put in Xander with an X. Xander... what was that last name he used? Xander Cross. That was the superhero he created in his comics."
Dylan typed in the words and hit search. A moment later he had a half dozen hits, including one Xander Cross, owner of a video game/comics bookstore in San Francisco.
His heart stopped when he read the address. Xander’s business was very close to where Jake and Sarah had lived. He should have thought of that earlier. They’d always suspected Sarah had help leaving Jake, because she hadn’t taken a car. Maybe Xander Cross, her old friend from foster care, had done the job. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed the number listed. An answering machine picked up on the third ring. The store was closed and would reopen at ten o’clock the next morning.
“No one is there tonight, but I think we found him,” he said.
Catherine smiled, and it almost took his breath away. He didn’t know if he was more excited about finding Andy Hart, a.k.a. Xander Cross, or the fact that Catherine was looking at him like he was some kind of a god. In truth, she was the one who’d found Xander, not him.
“Maybe Andy knows where Jessica’s baby is,” Catherine said.
“I sure as hell hope so. I wish we could get in touch with him tonight, but I guess we’ll have to wait."
“I’d like to talk to him again, see how he is,” Catherine said. “He always said he would run his own business. He wasn’t the type to work for anyone else. I guess he gave up his Andy Hart persona and became Xander Cross."
“Well, if I had a choice between being a foster kid or a superhero, I’d probably choose the superhero."
“I’m sure you would. So now what? Can you relax, take a breath?"
“Hardly. We still have to find Teresa and figure out who’s trying to kill Jessica."
“Finish your tea first. I want to read your tea leaves."
“I don’t think so. I don’t want to know the future,” he said.
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t have taken you for a man who liked to be surprised."
“I don’t know about that. I like change. It beats the same old thing every day."
“Maybe you’re just afraid."
He knew she was manipulating him, but still he rose to the bait. He drank his tea down to the leaves and pushed the cup over to her. “Fine, tell me what you see. And I hope it’s a gorgeous blonde with hot legs and big breasts.” He laughed at her expression.
“Is that really all you look for in a woman?” she asked.
“What’s wrong with hot legs and big breasts?"
“Nothing, if you’re a shallow playboy who doesn’t want a serious relationship."
He gave a little shrug. “What about you? What do you look for in a man?"
“Well, certainly more than a big penis,” she said frankly.
He laughed at her bluntness. Catherine Hilliard was an odd mix of bright-eyed innocence and cynical weariness. He couldn’t quite figure her out. “Like what?"
“Brains, personality, sense of humor, good heart,” she said.
“Kind to dogs, cats, and birds,” he finished.
“Absolutely."
“So I guess Prince Charming hasn’t shown up yet, huh?"
A shadow crossed her face. “He came. He left,” she said softly. “Now, let’s take a look at your fortune."
He was actually far more interested in her last statement than his own fortune, but Catherine was ignoring him now.
A few moments later she set the cup down and said, “Never mind."
“Hey, hold on. You can’t just start something and not finish it."
“You said you like surprises. I think you have a lot of fun in store for you.” She stood up. “I’ll make up the couch for you. It’s storming too hard for you to leave."
“Wait,” Dylan said, catching her by the arm. “Do the surprises have to do with Jake and Sarah?"
“No, they have to do with your past. You judge Sarah harshly for her secrets, but you have some of your own."
He frowned. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, Catherine, and I certainly don’t want to show any disrespect for your fortune-telling abilities, but I don’t believe a bunch of tea leaves can predict my future."
“There are two women,” she said. “One represents danger, the other salvation. But it will be difficult for you to know which is which unless you find a way to listen to your heart instead of your head. A task, I fear, that will not be easy for you. I’ll see you in the morning."
“Yeah, thanks for the bedtime story,” he said sarcastically.
His words did little more than make her smile. “The disbelievers always fall the hardest.”