Silent Run - Barbara Freethy [49]
Sarah swept her daughter into her arms and held her tight.
“Kiss, Mama,” Caitlyn said, puckering her lips.
Sarah kissed her daughter’s sweet lips and inhaled the scent of baby powder and lavender. Everything would be all right. She had to make it so.
Sarah didn’t realize she was crying until the tears streamed down her cheeks and fell in big drops onto the sheet. She wiped her eyes and turned to see Jake staring at her.
“I remembered Caitlyn,” she whispered. “I saw her in my head for the first time. I didn’t just feel her; I saw her face, her beautiful face. And she talked to me. She said, ‘Kiss, Mama.’ ” She sniffed as the tears flowed even harder.
“She was talking to you?” Jake asked in amazement. Then he shook his head in frustration. “Of course she was talking. She’s sixteen months old.” He drew in a long breath, his face tight as he battled for control of his emotions. “What else?” he asked, his eyes and voice impatient. “Where is she? Where did you take her? What did you remember?”
She knew her next words would disappoint him, but she couldn’t lie. “I just saw that moment in time. I was picking her up from this crib. That’s all. I’m sorry, Jake. I’m really sorry.” And she was, because she’d seen the pain in his eyes when he realized his daughter had spoken her first words, and he hadn’t been there to hear them.
“I don’t care if you’re sorry. Sorry isn’t good enough. I need to find my daughter.”
“I know. I’m trying.”
Jake slammed his fist against the nearby wall, the force of his action knocking one of the photographs onto the floor. Sarah flinched but didn’t move. She knew he had to release his anger. And strangely enough she wasn’t afraid that he would turn his rage on her. He wasn’t the kind of man to hit a woman. She knew that.
But other men would. She knew that, too.
How did she know?
It came from a dark place in her heart, a place where she didn’t want to go.
Moving across the room, she picked up the photograph from the floor. “This is the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco.”
“How can you remember that and not remember . . .” Jake shook his head, not even bothering to
finish the question.
“Did I take this when I was with you?”
“Yes,” he said shortly. “You shot all these pictures when you were with me. We went out every weekend. I grew up in San Francisco, but with you I discovered places I never knew existed. You dragged me down every back alley in Chinatown, every park, every narrow downtown street.” He waved his hand toward the wall. “I’m surprised you brought these pictures with you. I certainly don’t recognize anything else in the room. In this place you were Samantha Blake. And Caitlyn was Katie. I wonder how many people you’ve been in your life, how many places you’ve lived, how many times you’ve run.”
His gaze burned into hers. In the past day he’d begun to look at her like he knew her. Now his suspicions had returned. And she had no way to fight them.
Turning her attention back to the photographs, she prayed for some clue to jump out at her, something that would trigger a memory. She moved down the wall, pausing in front of a two-story house. “Is this the house you were building?”
“No, that one belongs to a friend of mine. I designed the remodel. You shot the photos just before he moved in.”
Sarah studied the picture, feeling a sense of warmth in the lines of the house, the lovely garden in the front yard. It was a home just waiting for a family, she thought. “Was your friend married?”
“A newlywed, and his wife was pregnant when they moved in.”
“Do they love the house?”
“Why are you asking me these questions?”
She tilted her head to one side as images floated through her head. She was walking down the street. It was twilight. The lights in the houses were on. Families were sitting down to dinner. In one window she could see a mother helping her child with homework. In another a man and a woman were holding hands