Silent Run - Barbara Freethy [69]
“Your door was open,” he said.
“And a lock would have stopped you?” she countered, a challenge in her eyes.
“Maybe not, but it might have slowed me down. Do you always leave your door open when you go out?”
She hung up her coat on a hook by the door. “I just ran next door to see if my neighbor could watch my pets while we’re gone. But we’re going to have to wait until morning.”
“Why?” he asked sharply. “You said you’d go tonight. Why have you changed your mind? Don’t you realize how important this is?”
“I do, but it’s starting to rain, and the storm will be severe. If we leave tonight, we won’t make it.”
“Of course we’ll make it. It’s just a little rain. I can handle it.”
“I saw an accident,” Catherine said slowly, quietly.
“What do you mean, you saw an accident?”
She stared back at him, the answer in her eyes—an answer he didn’t want to believe.
“You mean, like, in a vision?” he asked.
“Yes.”
It sounded like an awfully convenient vision to him. “Look, we’ll drive carefully, slowly.”
“I’m surprised those two words are in your vocabulary, because you’re neither slow nor careful. But I am. And I can’t go tonight. Tomorrow—in the morning. That’s when we’ll go.”
He didn’t want to wait until morning. There had to be something he could say to change her mind, but he had barely finished the thought when a flash of lightning was followed by a rumble of thunder that ran through the house like a freight train. She was right. The storm was upon them. It was a good three-hour trip down the coast to LA, and despite what he’d said, it would be a brutal drive in the pouring rain. Sarah had almost lost her life making such a trip during the last storm. Perhaps they should wait. Still, he itched to get on with it, to make the final connection.
“You’re impatient,” Catherine said.
“Well, you don’t have to be psychic to see that,” he said dryly, realizing he was tapping his foot. “I don’t like to wait. I’ve spent way too much time waiting for people to . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence, not sure why he’d even started it. He never spoke about his past.
Catherine gave him a speculative look, as if she were reading his mind. He didn’t like it. “Fine, we’ll go tomorrow,” he said quickly. “First thing in the morning. In the meantime you can tell me everything you know about Jessica.”
“I’d be happy to.” Catherine sat on the couch, pulling down the afghan and wrapping it around her shoulders. “But first I have some questions for you.”
“Like what?” He took a seat on the chair across from her.
“Tell me about your friend Sarah’s baby. What does she look like?”
“Like the most beautiful baby you’ve ever seen, blond curls, blue eyes, little pug nose. Caitlyn smiled all the time. I told Jake she was going to be a man-killer when she grew up. He’d have to watch her every minute once she hit high school. He was crazy about that kid. When Sarah took her away, he just about went over the edge. I’m sure he feels even worse now, knowing that Caitlyn is in danger from whoever is after Sarah.”
“I can’t imagine my friend putting her child in danger on purpose,” Catherine said. “Jessica loved babies. She couldn’t wait to grow up and be a mom. She wanted so badly to re-create the family that she’d lost. I used to encourage her to think more about a career, a job. She said she didn’t have enough money to pay for college, which I know was true, but I think she could have found a way if she really wanted it. She just didn’t see her future in academics, and she didn’t want to waste her time there. I couldn’t blame her. I went to art school. I made painting a priority over finding a job that would pay me a lot of money.”
“Going to school