“Or it could take years.”
“That’s what they say.” He waited out several minutes of silence, then said, “I don’t like it.”
“No. Neither do I.”
“So?”
“So where is she now?”
He swore. “I don’t know.”
There was a pause, and then, “I told you to check out her apartment last night.”
“I did. She wasn’t there.”
“And?”
“And I got pissed.”
In all her imaginings, Faith had not thought of murder, and a chill raised gooseflesh over her body. “What?” She groped desperately in the darkness of her mind, but there was absolutely nothing, no memory, no knowledge at all. Nothing but the terrifying possibility that she had done something horrible.
Bishop continued to speak as if reciting items on a list. “A little over two years ago, you were living in Seattle with your mother and younger sister. Your sister was still in high school, your mother worked in a library, and you worked as a receptionist at a construction company during the day and waited tables at night.” He paused. “I don’t have all the details, and I won’t until I go up to Quantico and get access to the records. But the facts are simple.”
“What facts?” she asked unsteadily.
There might have been a softening of Bishop’s steely gaze, but it was difficult to tell. “I’m sorry. Your mother and sister were murdered, and the house was burned to the ground.”
Faith felt shock, but it was distant, impersonal, little more than dismay. She could not conjure even a fleeting image of this mother or sister, and the grief that should still have been strong in her was totally absent.
It was Kane who asked quietly, “Who was responsible?”
“The case is still open, that’s all I can tell you.” Bishop looked at his friend. “And the file is restricted, maybe because it’s an ongoing Bureau investigation, something like that.”
“Could Faith be a protected witness?”
“Not likely. If that were the case, I would have been warned off the moment I tried to access her file.”
She cleared her throat. “Could I—was I a suspect?”
“According to the Seattle P.D., which I called after running into that restricted file, you had an alibi. You were waiting tables in a busy restaurant, in full view of dozens of people, when the murders were committed and the house burned. But the police refused to tell me anything else. It seems their file is off-limits as well.”
Kane looked at Faith. “So two years ago, the people closest to you were murdered. No arrests, no convictions. A few months later, you came to Atlanta and started over.”
Faith tried to think. “Which would explain the lack of some things in my apartment. Photographs, old clothing. If the house I lived in burned to the ground, I could have lost everything.”
Kane frowned at Bishop. “My imagination is probably working overtime trying to figure out how two unsolved murders in Seattle could connect to a traffic accident and a disappearance here in Atlanta two years later. But … here’s Faith. One very real connection.”
“Until we have the details,” Bishop said, “there’s no way to know if there’s any other connection.”
“And we get the details only if you go to Quantico.”
“We have a chance of getting them if I go to Quantico. My clearance might not be high enough, depending on why the file was restricted.”
“Weren’t you going to have to go back tomorrow anyway? Something about this new unit of yours?”
“I don’t have much choice, I’m afraid. And I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back.” He paused. “If I thought there was anything I could do here that you couldn’t do just as well or better—”
“You wouldn’t leave. I know that.”
Bishop went to pour himself some coffee, and Faith was glad their attention had shifted away from her. She needed time to try to cope with the shock of knowing her family had been murdered.
“I’m not too crazy about leaving here just now,” Bishop said. “With no solid evidence surfacing, the search for Dinah was going along pretty much according to standard operating procedure, with very little progress and no real surprises.” He looked at Faith. “And then you came out of a coma and walked out of that hospital.”
Kane frowned again. “Meaning?”
“Meaning the balance has been upset, the status quo disturbed. If anybody is paying attention, now would be the time I’d expect them to make a move.”
Faith was puzzled. “You mean … whoever has Dinah would have to change their plans because of me?”
“If you figure into this at all—yes. Think about it. If you are or were a threat to someone, that coma kept you safely out of the picture. The fact that you’re up and about again has to give them pause. Even if they find out that your memory is gone, chances are they won’t feel secure enough to just ignore you. Not for long, at any rate.”
“My apartment was probably searched,” Faith said slowly. “Maybe they found whatever it is they were looking for.” Then a sudden memory made her look at Kane. “Does Dinah have a laptop?”
“Yes. Her briefcase was missing when her Jeep was found abandoned near her office, though, and she always carries the laptop in it.”
Faith hesitated. “According to what she told the lawyer, she also had my laptop. Did you ever see it?”
Kane didn’t have to think long. “No. I mean, I never pay particular attention when she uses it, so I suppose it could have been yours. But I never saw two of them. And we didn’t find one in her apartment when we went through the place after she disappeared. No disks either.”
Bishop said to Faith, “I don’t suppose you have any idea of what was on yours?”
“No. All I know is that I hadn’t had it long before the accident.”
“Another dead end.” Kane sighed. “Last night I thought we had a lead, but now it looks even more murky than before.”
“I don’t believe in coincidence,” Bishop said. “Somewhere in all this there’s a single thread, one fact or occurrence that ties everything together and makes sense of all of it.”
“Even the murders of my mother and sister?” Faith asked.
“That might have been the beginning of it,” he answered. “Everything that’s happened since could date back to two people being murdered in Seattle two years ago. Or they might turn out to be—pardon the expression—incidental to everything else, important in this instance only because they were the catalyst that brought you to Atlanta.”
Faith was beginning to get a headache. She wondered how a mind so empty of anything useful could feel so crowded with questions and facts.
“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 building 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 no 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—It’s 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?”
“I think 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. “All 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 eyebrow 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 it won’t 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 Jeep’s 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.