Blind Faith (33 page)

Oh God, was this all her fault? If she'd given him a chance, would he have told her? Would she have raced home, been able to prevent all this?

Sarah banged the ceramic mug onto the counter top. It exploded in her hand. "Damn it!"

Caitlyn rushed to her side, but Sarah waved her away.

"This isn't a good time to talk," Sarah said, trying to sound calm. Instead she sounded demented, a raving lunatic trying to hold the beast within her in check. More tears burned at the back of her throat, as if once started it would take a lifetime to drain them all.

"So I see," Caitlyn said, her tone now neutral and professional. "But it really would be best if we spoke now. Cleared everything up." She paused and Sarah focused on the broken bits in the sink, looking anywhere but into Caitlyn's all-knowing eyes. "Once and for all."

Caitlyn's cell phone trilled. Sarah was grateful for the reprieve. She cleaned out the sink, dumping the shards of glass into the garbage. Grabbed a sponge to take care of the puddle on the floor. Before she could start, she looked up to see Caitlyn hanging up. She'd only said three words during the entire conversation: "Are you sure?"

Now Caitlyn was staring at Sarah the same way she had glared at Logan earlier. "Mrs. Durandt, I'm afraid we definitely do need to question you further."

"Why? I haven't done anything wrong."

"That was Quantico. The gun you had in your possession belonged to US Marshal Leo Richland."

Sarah shrank back against the counter. "You think I killed him?"

Caitlyn took a step toward her. "What makes you think he's dead?"

She couldn't tell them how Sam had come by the gun, not without exposing him and Josh. Her vision began to darken with red spots as her head throbbed. What was she going to tell them?

She couldn't be arrested. Not now, not today. She had to keep Alan and Logan from going after Sam or telling Korsakov where to find Josh. She couldn't do that if she was in jail, deflecting questions she had no answers for.

Sam had been right. Her only choice was to run.

She dried her hands on the dishtowel and turned her back to Caitlyn as she hung it on the oven door. Then, faster than a whipsnake, she grabbed the cast iron skillet and swung it at Caitlyn.

Caitlyn saw the skillet coming at her an instant too late. She blocked the blow with her arm, but lost her balance, her feet slipping on the wet floor. She did a banana peel slide, landing on her back with a thud.

She thumped her head against the table edge going down, but didn't black out. As she reached for her weapon, Sarah threw the skillet down, a look of horror on her face, and raced out the back door. By the time Caitlyn regained her feet and chased after her, she was a distant blur at the forest's edge, vanishing into the trees.

Caitlyn ran a few steps then stopped in disgust. No way in hell she'd ever catch Sarah. The woman was like a deer or some kind of wild creature. She rubbed her forearm where the skillet hit her. No major damage except to her pride. She should have seen it coming, but Sarah Durandt was the one person she'd believed to be innocent in all this.

Now she wasn't sure of anything—especially Hal Waverly's motives and actions.

Caitlyn pursed her lips, squinted at the sun. High noon. Just like Gary Cooper she was on her own. In a town where nobody could be trusted and everybody lied.

She stared at the spot where Sarah had disappeared. Sarah had been telling the truth during most of their interview, Caitlyn was sure of it. Right up to the point where Caitlyn had practically accused Hal Waverly of being involved in her husband's disappearance. Had they been in it together?

Caitlyn had seen a lot of things in her law enforcement career, including mothers capable of harming their children, but Sarah Durandt didn't fit the profile. Maybe the kid had been an accident, had gotten in the way.

Then where did Leo Richland fit in? And this lawyer dude, Alan Easton. Was he the one who had blown Sam's witness protection identity? Maybe Richland was an innocent victim and it was Easton who had killed him. Easton obviously had something on Logan. What the hell did those two want?

Caitlyn bounced on her heels, pacing the wooden floorboards of Sarah's veranda. She listened to the way her footsteps echoed, liking the tap-tap-ratta-tap. She sped up, then slowed again. Her skin had stopped crawling and itching, now she felt energized, jazzed...

Actually, she had been pretty edgy, hyper since last night. But it wasn't the sex—or almost sex. What the hell had she been thinking, considering having unprotected sex with a total stranger? The way she'd practically attacked Waverly—that wasn't her. She kept her feelings under control, just like she kept her migraines under control...

Oh shit. She stopped before a planter bustling with snapdragons. Their vibrant colors blurred before her as the breeze swept through them. Were these strange feelings, her recent irrational behavior, more reactions from her migraines? Maybe she couldn't even trust herself.

She pursed her lips and turned back into the kitchen. Grabbing her bag, she strode through the house, ignoring the photos of Sarah, Sam, and Josh, the lovingly balanced comfortable décor, or the sweet scent of cinnamon. She needed the bullet Hal had taken from Richland's body. If it matched Richland's gun, she'd charge Sarah Durandt with the murder of a Federal Agent.

"The old man was right," Grigory said as they cruised along Lake Road, coming to a stop where it dead-ended at the dam. "Only one way out of town."

"Except for that old dirt road leading up the mountain," Max supplied helpfully. "But according to the map, it don't go nowhere either."

Counting the cook and the kid at the dinner, they'd seen only a dozen people on the streets. Only three vehicles, two commercial vans and all leaving Hopewell, going down the mountain. Some morning rush hour.

There was a small shed near the dam. A twelve-foot tall chain link fence topped by razor wire surrounded the reservoir. At the far edge of the clearing stood a rickety fire tower. Mountains crowded them on both sides, leaving the bottom of the gorge soaked in a cool, dark twilight. Far above the sky opened out again, revealing a cloudless blue canvas. Nothing stirred except the occasional ripple of water driven by a stray breeze.

Peaceful. Calm. A place where no one would hear you scream.

He rubbed his thumb and fore-finger together in anticipation. "Let's go visit Stan's lady friend."

Caitlyn spotted the lone man standing near Sarah's car as soon as she turned down the path leading from the house. Who could miss him? Even if it weren't for the black suit and flashy red tie, energy radiated from him, flashing a neon warning sign: Beware.

As she drew near, he stopped his quick-jerk pacing to lounge against Sarah's Ford Explorer. His stare as he watched her approach was palpable, intensely compelling. The hairs on the back of her neck cringed.

So this was the infamous Grigory Korsakov.

How could she have thought him ordinary when she'd seen his picture? A short man, no more than an inch taller than her own five-foot-six, he was anything but ordinary. Energy danced from him, swirling like storm clouds before a bolt of lightning. He smiled, drawing back rich, full lips to reveal a perfect set of brilliant white teeth.

Not bad for a guy who'd just spent seven years in the pen. She wondered how much it had cost to protect that perfect smile and face while he was inside. Using her peripheral vision, she scanned the area. No signs of another vehicle, no signs of other men. She kept her focus on Korsakov. Definitely not ordinary. He was as mesmerizing as a hooded cobra and just as deadly.

"Are you Sarah Durandt?" he asked in a richly mellowed voice sounding of fine wine and caviar.

"Sorry, no." She stopped an arm's length away from him, sliding her hand inside the outer compartment of her bag to rest on her gun.

He cocked his head, his smile growing wider as if she'd made a joke. "Are you sure? I was told that she lived here alone."

"She's not at home right now." A fleeting frown creased his features and Caitlyn saw the only flaw in his facade. His eyes were leaden, flat, with irises so dark it was impossible to tell where the pupils stopped and the color began. She'd faced off with gang-bangers, sociopaths, psychopaths, even a serial killer—but none of them had eyes as dead as Grigory Korsakov's.

Eyes that penetrated to your very soul and then with a flicker condemned you to the depths of hell.

Caitlyn suppressed a shudder, forcing her smile to remain plastered on her face. She edged to one side, heading for her car. Korsakov moved with her, blocking her path.

"You must understand. It's extremely important that I find Mrs. Durandt."

He hadn't touched her, his hands were still slouched in his jacket pockets, but Caitlyn felt her muscles tighten in anticipation of an attack. "I'm sorry I can't help you," she said, keeping her voice level and her gaze even with his. "I was just dropping a few things off for her. The door's open, I'm sure she wouldn't mind if you waited inside."

He nodded at that and almost turned away, then smiled even more charmingly and spun back to her. "I'm so sorry. I don't mean to be a pest. But you see, I've never met Mrs. Durandt. I don't suppose you could show me some proof that you're not her?"

Caitlyn was half-tempted to pull her weapon as evidence of who she was. Instead, she kept her hand firmly wrapped around the Glock's handle as she slid her wallet from the inside pocket of her bag. She held up her drivers' license, glad there was no mention of her being a federal agent on it.

"Caitlyn Tierney, Manassas, Virginia," he leaned close to her and read. Without moving back, their faces mere inches away from each other, he looked into her eyes, his smile now rigid. "That's a long way from home. You're quite certain Mrs. Durandt isn't at home?"

"Quite," Caitlyn said, snapping her wallet shut and dropping it back into her purse. "I'm running late, so you'll please excuse me."

He blinked slowly, like a reptile, and she knew he was considering restraining her until he could verify her identity. She tensed, half-hoping he would make a move. As she looked into his dead, dark eyes a flutter of fear spun through her and she realized she wasn't certain that, gun or no gun, she could take him down.

Finally he stepped back, granting his permission for her to leave with a flourish of his hand. "Good day, Miss Tierney," he called as she slammed her car door shut and started the engine.

Caitlyn barely looked at the road as she sped away, her attention riveted by Korsakov's reflection in the rearview mirror. She gripped the wheel tight, her breathing rapid, heart pounding as if she'd just had a close escape from death.

Sam pressed the binoculars into the flesh of his face as if they would provide some way for him to be miraculously transported from his hiding place down to the drive. He wished he had kept his gun. If he had, this would all be over now.

A blur of motion from the back of Sarah's house caught his eye. He moved his binoculars and saw her racing across the yard and up into the woods. No one followed her although another woman appeared on the back porch a few moments later.

What the hell was going on? He pivoted and aimed his focus back toward the drive. Korsakov hadn't moved, didn't act as if he had heard or seen anything.

Sam cursed silently. He grabbed his pack and sprinted through the trees to catch Sarah.

He intercepted her just as she hit the trail leading down to the dam. "Sarah! Stop!"

She spun around, her sides heaving with effort. She carried nothing with her, wore only regular sneakers, not her hiking boots.

"Where are you going? Why are you running?" He drew close and wrapped his arms around her. "What happened?"

She shoved him back. "They think I killed Leo Richland."

"Who does?"

"The FBI. They were going to arrest me. That would have messed up everything, so I hit her and ran." She began jogging down the trail.

"Wait, where are you going?"

"To find Logan. If we don't keep our end of the bargain, he'll kill Josh."