Chapter Thirteen

“What’s all this?” Jake asked from behind her.

Startled, she had to resist the urge to scoop up the identification cards and hide them away, but it was too late anyway.

Jake knelt down next to her, wearing only his jeans. Water still glistened on his shoulders, and his hair was spiked and damp. He picked up one of the licenses.

She licked her lips. In the picture her hair was blond, her name was Kelly Grimes, and the address placed her in Las Vegas. The next one he studied appeared to be a younger version of her with red hair. Her name was Stephanie Hamilton, and her address was in Palm Springs. There were a half dozen more identities.

“How did you know these were here?” Jake demanded, lifting his gaze to meet hers. “Were you just waiting for me to leave the room?"

“No, of course not."

Skepticism filled his eyes. “Sure. You just happened to find these while I was in the shower."

“Jake, if I had known they were here, I would have found a way to get rid of you for longer than a shower, and I wouldn’t have been kneeling here like an idiot waiting for you to discover yet another bad secret about me."

“So what did happen?"

“I thought about what you told me, that I was always aware of odd details. As I looked around the apartment, I kept thinking there was something out of place, and it was this rug. Who puts a rug in front of a window?"

Jake peered back into the hole, reached in, and pulled out a pile of papers and a bunch of Social Security cards. “Dammit."

“What are those?” she asked, not getting a clear view, as his broad shoulders were in the way.

“Birth certificates for a half dozen little girls. Someone went to a lot of trouble to get you and Caitlyn identities that you could switch around and around.” He paused and shook his head in disbelief. “You had help disappearing, Sarah. A lot of help."

“Because I’m in a lot of trouble,” she whispered.

“I think so. And you’ve been doing this for a while,” Jake added, going back through the licenses. “You look at least five to six years younger in this picture."

“It started before you, then.” She’d suspected that, but here was confirmation.

“Yes.” Jake gazed into her eyes. “But for two years you stayed put; you had a baby, a life with me. Was it always a temporary thing or did something happen to make you run again?"

“I wish I could answer that."

“Maybe you would have run sooner if you hadn’t gotten pregnant,” Jake mused. “Perhaps that’s why you stayed as long as you did. You had to make it through the pregnancy, deliver Caitlyn, and get back on your feet. The pregnancy changed your plans for a few months, that’s all -- which was probably why you were so agitated when you found out you were having a baby."

“But why would I need to keep moving?"

“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” He gazed back at the birth certificates. “You had these made in the past sixteen months, which means you had to see someone to get them -- either in San Francisco or here in LA. Since the names match up on several of the licenses done before Caitlyn was born, I’m betting it was the same person you’d gone to before, a long-term connection."

Sarah picked up the cards and certificates and slipped them back into the hole, then replaced the vent and the rug and stood up.

“Why did you do that?” Jake asked.

“Uh...” she faltered. “What do you mean?"

“You hid everything away again."

Sarah glanced down at the rug. “I don’t know. Habit, I guess. I wasn’t thinking."

“Maybe your habits are the key to your past. When you’re not thinking, you rely on your instincts."

“I guess.” She rubbed her temple with her fingers. Her headache had been steadily growing the past hour and was now a throbbing ache behind her left eye. “What do you want to do now?"

“I think you should take a shower,” he said. “Change your clothes. Brush your hair. Clear your head. Take a few minutes for yourself."

She was surprised by the suggestion. “Do we have time?"

“We’ll make time. You have a headache, don’t you?"

“A little one,” she replied, dropping her fingers from her face. “It’s not important."

“You used to get headaches, migraines, when you were with me. You hated to take medication, and you wouldn’t go to the doctor. You always chose to tough it out. I guess you had to avoid any place where they might ask for insurance. When you had Caitlyn, I paid the hospital bill."

That was probably true. There would have been questions to answer, papers to fill out, and she obviously hadn’t wanted to leave any kind of trail. It was hard to believe the facts she was learning about herself. She felt as if she’d stepped into someone else’s life. Then again, maybe that was exactly what she had done. Had the names and addresses on the fake IDs hidden away in the vent belonged to real people? Her head pounded with pain.

“I will take a shower,” she said, heading toward the bathroom. She needed a few minutes to regroup and she needed to do that away from Jake.

As Sarah closed the door, Jake pulled on his shirt and buttoned it up. He mentally ran down the list of people in their social circle, wondering whom Sarah could have contacted in San Francisco to make her fake IDs. But there was no one she knew that he didn’t. She’d been new to town, or so she’d said, when they met. After that, his friends had become her friends. Still, she had ventured out on her own during the day to do things all women did, get her hair cut, go to the supermarket, the post office, the bank. She could certainly have incorporated visits to someone else during those times. It wasn’t as if they’d been together every second.

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."

Sarah’s gaze met his. “She also didn’t let us into her apartment. She shut the door when she went to get the key."

Jake jumped up, cursing himself for missing the obvious.

Sarah beat him down the hall to Amanda’s door. She pounded hard on the wood, calling out Amanda’s name, but there was no answer. “What if Caitlyn is in there?” Sarah asked, desperation in her voice, in her expression.

“She’s not there now,” he said, his own nerves on edge. “Look, Sarah, even if Caitlyn was with Amanda earlier, Amanda would have taken her somewhere else as soon as she got rid of us. She would have wanted to put some space between us until she knew what to do."

“Why? Why wouldn’t she just give my daughter to me?"

“Because you don’t remember who you are. You didn’t know your name, and Amanda didn’t recognize me,” he said. “Damn, I was a fool not to think of this earlier."

“Break the door down,” Sarah ordered.

“What?"

“You heard me. I said break the door down.” She gave him a determined look. “Caitlyn may not be there now, but she might have been there before, and I want to know for sure. If you won’t do it, I’ll find a way to do it myself. There must be something I can use to --"

“I’ll do it; hang on.” He took a step back, then launched forward, slamming the door with his shoulder. It shuddered but didn’t break. He tried again, using every bit of strength that he had. The door cracked and then flew open. He stumbled into the apartment.

Sarah pushed past him, searching the small area for any sign of their daughter. The floor plan was basically the same as Sarah’s place, although Amanda had added more color with fake flowers and cozy, bright blankets on the couch and bed. Sarah zeroed in on a set of plastic keys lying on a table. “Caitlyn’s,” she whispered, her heart in her eyes.

Jake saw the pain of her loss, and knew that at least that emotion was real. Sarah still had a deep connection with their daughter, even if she couldn’t remember anything else.

“Take a breath,” he advised, directing the words at himself as much as at Sarah. His heart was beginning to pound, and all kinds of crazy theories were running through his head. “You visited over here with Caitlyn. Amanda said she’d babysat for you. It doesn’t mean anything that those keys are here."

“What about this?” she asked, picking up a child’s picture book. “You think I casually left these things behind?"

“Maybe not. I don’t know, but there’s no real proof Caitlyn was here a few hours ago, which is what you’d like to believe."

“Amanda said she had a lunchtime class, and she didn’t. She lied about that."

“Maybe she has a second job at another gym.” He didn’t know why he was trying to defend or explain Amanda to Sarah, but deep in his gut he just couldn’t believe that Caitlyn had been with Sarah’s next-door neighbor for the past few days. “Think about it, Sarah. If someone attacked you in this building, you would not have left Caitlyn here while you drove up the coast. You wouldn’t have believed she would be safe, not after that man tried to get into the elevator with you."

Sarah stared back at him, unblinking, as she processed his words. He could see the light dim in her eyes when the logic took hold and the hope faded. Finally she nodded. “I can’t argue with your reasoning, but I still think it’s strange that Amanda didn’t come back. She seemed so suspicious of you and worried for me. That doesn’t make sense."

“Well, one thing is clear to me -- when we go to your workplace next, you’re going in alone. You might get a better reception that way. It’s possible Amanda would have said more to you if I hadn’t been standing right next to you."

“Amanda could still know where Caitlyn is and just have been afraid to tell me,” Sarah suggested.

“It’s a possibility. We can try to find her. You have her cell phone. You can leave her a message. Maybe she’ll call back."

“What should we do about the door?” Sarah asked. “We can’t leave her apartment open."

“We’ll try the landlord before we leave. Maybe he can nail the door shut until she gets home, and we’ll leave a note, some money to fix it."

They walked down the hall and back into Sarah’s apartment. Jake noticed that Sarah was still clutching the toy and the book. She couldn’t seem to let the items go, and he couldn’t blame her. They were a tangible link to Caitlyn.

“Why don’t you pack up some clothes in case we don’t come back here for a while,” he said.

“Why? Where are we going?"

“To where you worked -- maybe back up the coast. Who knows? Caitlyn isn’t here, and I’m not sure it’s a wise idea for us to stay long. Obviously the person who is after you knows where you live."

“It seems so hopeless. I thought my memory would be back by now."

“Don’t quit on me, Sarah. I need you in this all the way or we’ll never find Caitlyn. You can’t give up."

She bristled at the idea, as he’d known she would. She immediately gathered herself together, throwing back her shoulders, lifting her chin, a new light back in her eyes. She might not be willing to fight for herself, but she would do battle for Caitlyn.

“I’m not quitting,” she said. “I would never do that, not while my daughter is in danger."

“Our daughter,” he corrected.

She ignored him and moved to the closet. She pulled out a duffel bag, grabbed some clothes from the dresser and closet, and then went into the bathroom for personal supplies. She had barely returned when an alarm went off in the building. A series of shrill bells rang through the apartment.

“That’s the fire alarm,” he said in surprise.

“Yes,” Sarah agreed, putting on her coat. “We need to get out of here."

He grabbed her by the arm. “Wait. I want to see if there’s any smoke.” He walked over to the window and saw gray smoke billowing up around the side of the building. When he turned, Sarah was right behind him.

“It’s real. It’s a fire,” she said.

“Yeah, a very convenient fire,” he muttered.

Her eyes met his. “You think someone set it deliberately?"

“It’s a good way to smoke us out of the building -- literally."

“It’s obviously a real fire. We can’t stay here. We’re on the third floor, Jake."

“Let’s go. Get your bag.” He jogged over to the front door and put his palm against the wood. It was still cool. He turned back to see Sarah stuffing Caitlyn’s blanket and bear into her bag. She grabbed his shirt, and then stared at it in bemusement. “What’s this?"

“It’s mine,” he said shortly, meeting her quick, questioning gaze. “And no, I didn’t put it there. You must have taken it with you when you left me. I used to wear it all the time.” Sarah hesitated, then put the shirt into her bag. “Pull your sweater over your mouth and nose,” he advised. He opened the door slowly, coughing as smoke blew through the hallway from an open window at the end of the corridor. He tried not to breathe as he took Sarah’s hand and headed toward the stairs, praying he was making the right choice.

The smoke was so thick he could barely see where they were going. Sarah’s hand tightened in his, a sign of complete and utter trust. They were in this together, for better or worse. He put his hand on the door to the stairwell. It was warm but not hot. He pushed it open. The air was dense and dark, but he didn’t see any flames.

He grabbed the railing with one hand as they made their way down the stairs quickly but carefully. They were almost to the second-floor landing when a figure came out of the smoke.

The man wore bulky clothing, baggy pants, and a hooded sweatshirt, and there was something in his hands. A gun. They’d run straight into an ambush.