by Кей Хупер
"First things first," Kane said, watching her. "We need to get you to your apartment so you can pack a bag."
Bishop opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it, and said instead, "It's Sunday, so there won't be much traffic."
Faith occupied herself with trying to figure out what was on Bishop's mind, an exercise which at least kept her thoughts focused on something specific during the trip to her apartment. The answer didn't occur to her until they got out of Kane's car at her budding and she saw the agent and Kane look around them with an attention that was far from casual.
Somebody could be watching this place. That's what he thinks. Maybe my cab last night was impossible to follow in Saturday-evening traffic, so they might not know where I went. There might have been o connection between me and Kane until today.
Have I put him in danger by going to him, by being with him? Was I the one who put Dinah in danger?
They went into the building and up to Faith's apartment, meeting no one along the way. The door was closed, but Faith was suddenly even more uneasy than she had been. It was an actual physical sensation, as if something cold had brushed against her skin.
"What?" Kane asked, reading her body language.
"I... Its nothing. Nothing I can explain." She dug into her shoulder bag and produced the door key.
Kane took it from her. "Then it's probably best if we're careful. You wait out here."
Faith stepped to the side of the door, and watched as the two men unlocked and opened it very cautiously and slipped inside the apartment.
She was conscious of her heart pounding, of a sick queasiness she recognized as fear, and silently called herself a coward. It did no good to remind herself that she had every right to be frightened, adrift in a life she didn't remember, a life that held the potential of danger.
It seemed hours before Kane reappeared in the doorway. "It's clear," he said. "But someone's been here."
With that warning, Faith braced herself for the chaos waiting inside her apartment.
This time, the search had been far more vicious and destructive. Sofa cushions were cut open, the stuffing bulging half out of them. Prints were torn off the walls and from their frames, the glass broken. Shelves were pulled away from the walls, tables overturned. In the kitchen, the cabinet doors were open, the counters and sink littered with boxes and cans, and both the refrigerator and the freezer had been searched. In the bedroom, her clothing lay heaped on the floor, along With the bedding. The mattress had been slashed open.
Faith stood looking at the mess, her skin crawling with the sensation of having been violated.
"I should call the police," she said.
Kane and Bishop exchanged glances, then Kane said, "I have a friend in the department. Let me call him. I think we'll be better off if we can avoid a media circus."
When Faith looked at him, he added, "So far, there's no public connection between you and me, or even you and Dinah. I say we keep it that way as long as possible."
Faith agreed, even as she asked herself if she was deferring to Kane because he was right, or because it was easier to let him make the decisions. I don't even know that about myself. Not even that.
Kane's police detective friend was Guy Richardson, a tall, beefy man with thinning brown hair and deceptively mild brown eyes. He arrived with a disinterested police photographer who took pictures of the apartment, spoke briefly and quietly to Kane — filling him — in on the lack of progress in the search for Dinah, perhaps? — and then looked around the place thoroughly before asking Faith if she knew for sure if anything had been taken.
Faith had already thought about that and was able to offer an answer.
"As far as I can tell, nothing that was here when I left yesterday evening is missing."
They were sitting at the small kitchen table, and her hands were tightly clasped before her.
"Kane explained about the amnesia. So you have no idea why your apartment was searched twice in the last few weeks?"
"No."
"I looked at the report of the previous break-in. Your neighbors were questioned, but no one saw a stranger hanging around or heard anything suspicious. There was no sign of forced entry, but an open window was found."
He paused.
"This time, there was no open window and the lock was picked. Which tells me a pro got in here, and he did it without leaving much evidence. I can dust for prints, but I'd bet my pension he wore gloves."
There didn't seem to be anything to say, so Faith remained silent, her gaze flickering from her clasped hands to the men around the table.
Kane said, "Assuming he didn't find what he was looking for, do you think he'll be back?"
"The man is very serious about his work," Richardson said." "Whatever he wants is important, either because he was hired to find it or because he wants it badly himself. My guess is that he won't stop looking."
"Then Faith isn't safe here."
Richardson agreed. "I'd advise her to stay somewhere else until we get this figured out."
Faith couldn't help wondering if Kane had asked his friend to make that statement — then chided herself for being so suspicious. Still, she had to protest.
"But after searching twice, he must know that whatever he's looking for isn't here."
Richardson didn't hesitate. "I'm sure he does. But what he doesn't know is whether you have what he's looking for in your possession or have hidden it somewhere outside this apartment."
Bishop spoke then, his voice cool. "There is another possibility. This second break-in might have been less a search and more a tactic used to intimidate. His aim could be to frighten Faith enough that she either leads him to what he's looking for, or is too afraid to make use of it herself.
"But what is it he's looking for?" Faith asked feeling more desperate than she wanted to admit. "I don't know. I don't remember. Was it something I took from him? Something I found? Something given to me for safekeeping?"
Slowly, Kane said, "Whatever it is, we don't even have a clue as to its size. The way this apartment was turned upside down, it could be anything from papers or a computer disk all the way up to something as big as a bread box."
"Computer disk." Faith looked at Kane. "If Dinah got my laptop just after the accident, then it wasn't here the first time the apartment was searched. Could that be it?"
"Sure it could. But unless you hid backups of your data somewhere safe — and unless you remember where they are — we have no way of knowing for sure."
"And," Richardson pointed out, "if he was looking for a computer he didn't find here, he'll figure you have it with you or stashed someplace."
"So you're a target," Kane finished.
Faith was aware of that queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach once again. Fear.
"Until I get my memory back? What if I never do? The doctors say I may never remember the days or even weeks right before the accident."
Apparently regretting his blunt statement, Kane said more positively, "This may be a jigsaw puzzle, and the largest missing piece may be your memory, but there are other pieces, Faith. We'll find them. We'll put the pieces together and figure out what's going on."
"Whatever I can do to help," Richardson said, "just ask."
Kane didn't hesitate to take him up on the offer.
"AU right. The car accident that put Faith in the hospital — we need to see the actual police report."
"No problem. I'll have a copy sent over to you by the end of the day."
"We could also use any information you can find on Faith since she moved to Atlanta about a year and a half ago. Did she ever report anything unusual to the police? Was she involved in any kind of accident prior to the one that put her in the hospital? Are there any reports at all concerning her?" Kane paused. "Faith, tomorrow we'll check your bank, find out if you rented a safe deposit box. And we need to find out as much as we can about your friendship with Dinah."
Richardson lifted an eyebro
w at Bishop, who said, "He should've been a cop."
The photographer approached Richardson to report that he was finished with his work, and the detective got to his feet. His gaze traveled between Faith and Kane.
"Be careful. I don't yet know what's going on, but all the signs here point to somebody who's very determined, and very, very dangerous. For God's sake, watch your step. And watch your backs."
"We will," Kane told him.
When the detective and the photographer had gone, Kane said, "We can get a cleaning service in here tomorrow and have the damaged furniture replaced or repaired. In the meantime, Faith, why don't you pack enough to last a week or so, just in case, and we'll get out of here."
She went off without a word to do as he suggested, and when they were alone, Bishop said, "She could have trashed this place yesterday before she came looking for you. It's possible."
"She could have. I don't believe she did. Do you?" Bishop's reply was somewhere between a shrug and a shake of his head, not open distrust of Faith but certainly ambivalence.
"You do realize that won't it take a public connection between you and Faith to draw the wrong sort of attention if somebody happens to be watching this place."
"I realize that. I also realize somebody could have followed her to my place last night, so the connection between us might already be made" Kane shrugged.
"My building's a hell of a lot more secure than this one even with a part-time doorman. And I'll be there. Any way you look at it, she'll be safer with me."
"I wasn't thinking only of her. Kane, have you considered the possibility that Faith might be responsible directly or indirectly — for Dinah's disappearance? That she might have brought trouble with her from Seattle, trouble that Dinah got caught up in?"
"After hearing about the murder of her family, of course I've considered it." Kane leaned back in his chair with a sigh. "So what should I do differently? She can't remember, Noah. Her past is a blank. Did you see her face when you told her about the murders? Shock, yes, but you might as well have been telling her about two people she'd never met before. She's the most lost soul I've ever known, completely helpless to protect herself from whatever trouble might have followed her here. Whether she remembers anything to help me or not, I can't turn my back on her."
"I didn't say you should. But Richardson was right to warn you to be careful."
"And I intend to be."
"Sure you do. If that lost soul in the next room leads you right into the lion's den, you'll be careful as hell." Kane was silent for a moment, then said, "She can help me find Dinah. I know she can. I can't see further than that, Noah."
"I know," Bishop said.
It was dark when she turned off the jeeps headlights, dark as pitch, and cold for early October. Dinah shivered a bit even though she was wearing a sweater, and hesitated as she got out, her gaze going to the nylon windbreaker in the backseat. But in the end, she decided the sweater was enough. If she needed to move fast, the fewer layers that got in her way, the better. She stood beside the jeep until her eyes began to adjust to the darkness, then moved forward cautiously.
Dumb. This was so dumb.
The building loomed ahead, virtually impossible to identify, and she felt a moment's qualm as she asked herself if this was even the right place. The directions had been maddeningly vague, and she might easily have been mistaken in the conclusions she'd drawn from what little information she could trust. She was probably not even in the right section of the city...
What was that? A sound ... from over there. A whimper?
Dinah crept forward, her heart thudding in excitement, trying very hard to keep her breathing soft and even, not to betray her presence.
Straining to listen.
No other sound now, if there had been one.
Her overwrought imagination, probably.
God knew she had reason to imagine monsters.
Dinah stopped moving, standing still to better see and hear whatever lay around her She had good senses usually, and there was also that little bit of something extra Bishop called a "spider sense". it was a sharpened awareness of her surroundings, as though her five senses were somehow magnified by danger or the possibility of it.
Her eyes having adjusted quickly to the darkness, she was now able to make out more details of the building. Windows were high and dark, offering no clue as to what lay behind them. There didn't seem to be a door of any kind. Somewhere was a loose shutter or piece of tin on the roof; she heard it rolling faintly in the breeze. And she smelled wood, lumber.
Something else as well.
Dinah stood very still, her chin raised, sniffing the night air that was teasing her with an odor she knew she should recognize but which lurked beyond reach.
Primal Animal.
The hair on the nape of her neck was stirring.
She needed to leave.
She needed to leave right now.
When it came at her there was no warming. No sound. Just a dark shape hurtling from its darker surroundings, and then the blow that knocked her off her feet.
And then the hot, tearing pain ...
CHAPTER 4
Faith jerked awake to find herself sitting up in bed, her arms raised as if to protect her throat and face.
Her heart was pounding, her breathing ragged, and her skin clammy, as though she had just raced in from the damp, chilly night.
It took several minutes for her to reassure herself that she was not out in the dark, lying on the cold ground with an animal tearing brutally at her flesh.
That she was inside, and safe.
That she was not Dinah.
She was in Kane's bedroom, which was still filled with afternoon light, as it had been when she had retreated there after lunch, when the sudden need to sleep had overwhelmed her. The clock on the nightstand told her a little more than an hour had passed, but when she slid from the bed, she felt slow and clumsy and stiff, as though she had slept heavily for hours. She was also unnerved.
She could still feel those teeth tearing at her.
Shaking off the nightmare memory as best she could, Faith decided she didn't want to be alone a minute longer. When she reached the living room, she paused in the doorway, unnoticed by the two men.
Kane was on the couch, Bishop in the chair on the other side of the coffee table, and both were leaning forward as they studied the papers spread out before them.
"No sign another car was involved," Bishop said.
"In fact, there were several witnesses, and all confirmed she was driving erratically before losing control and plowing into that embankment."
They were reading the police reports of her accident, Faith realized.
"No mention of a prescription bottle," Kane said, frowning. "And no mention that anyone checked afterward to confirm that a doctor prescribed muscle relaxants. just the notation that EMS reported alcohol on her breath, then the emergency room doctor's report and the test results." He paused. "Christ, her blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit."
"How could that be?" Faith came into the room and sat on the couch, staring at the report. "I had just left work. There hadn't been time to... to drink so much."
"We don't think it happened that way," Kane told her, and picked up a legal pad covered with notes. "I talked to your supervisor. Listen to this. At five thirty-five that day, she reports that you handed in some paperwork you'd stayed a bit over to complete. The two of you talked for, she says, about five minutes, then you got your purse and left. That building has underground parking for employees, with a gate that requires a keycard. The gate receipt for your car was time stamped at five-fifty." He paused again. "At six-thirty, you plowed your car into an embankment — six miles from your office building."
Faith thought about that for a moment, frowning.
"Maybe it's not so unusual to take forty minutes to drive six miles in rush-hour traffic, but..."
"But it would take a good chunk of that time to drink enough to
screw up your reflexes and boost your blood alcohol level to three times the legal limit. And you would have had to be throwing back hundred-proof scotch straight out of the bottle while you were driving."
"Then, if it wasn't possible..."
Bishop said, "Possible, maybe. Likely? No. First of all, there was no bar along the route you must have taken, and we can assume you didn't drink in your car because there wasn't a bottle found in it."
"I could have thrown it out along the way," Faith offered, playing devil's advocate.
"You could have, but since you were on your way to meet Dinah for drinks, why on earth would you have drunk so much before?" Kane said, "And then there's the famous prescription for muscle relaxants, which from all evidence doesn't seem to exist. There was no bottle in your apartment or your desk at work, and none was found in your purse or anywhere in the car. We used the entries in the checkbook you brought from your apartment and called the pharmacy you normally go to. The only prescription they filled for you during the six weeks preceding the accident was the regular one for birth control pills."
Birth control pills. Was there a man in my life after all? Or was I merely prepared for the possibility?
"Faith?"
She looked at Kane and forced her mind to focus on more important matters. "I can check with my regular doctor at that clinic tomorrow just to make sure, but it does sound like those muscle relaxants weren't mine. So how could I have gotten them into my system?"
The obvious answer," Kane said, "is that someone slipped them to you without your awareness."
"While they were getting me drunk in about half an hour?" Faith shook her head. "That's the part I just don't get. To drink so much at all doesn't feel right to me. To drink that much in so short a time ... "
"Unless someone's lying and you had nothing at all to drink," Kane suggested. "Maybe it was a setup from the get-go. I'm willing to bet there are drugs that mimic a combination of alcohol and some kind of prescription med, resulting in death — or coma. Maybe someone drugged you, gave it a few minutes to take effect, then splashed a little alcohol in your mouth and on your clothes and put you behind the wheel, knowing damned well you couldn't drive a block without wrecking the car. In downtown Atlanta traffic, chances were good you'd be killed or seriously injured. And when you survived the crash, how hard could it have been in a busy emergency room for someone to get at the paperwork and make sure it tells the right story?"
