Silent Run

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.
    â€œI’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