Nothing.
Except—
A shadow disappeared around the side of the house, an unmistakably human-shaped shadow.
Catherine sprinted around to the back of the house, trying to catch whoever it was, but she was too late. There was no one there, and no sound of rustling branches or anyone running away. Nothing at all.
She stood with her hands on her hips, trying to still her racing heart. Had she imagined it? The feeling had been so real, she could still feel the gooseflesh broken out on her back. No use standing out here fretting about it. Catherine headed back inside. But she wasn’t going to see anyone out farther than the front door for the rest of the night.
* * *
“I can’t get over how grown up Aimee’s acting all of a sudden,” David called from the master bathroom over the sound of running water. “That toast was about the last thing that I expected.”
Catherine had changed from her party clothes into her favorite pair of old sweatpants and an ancient Air Force T-shirt and was sitting up in the bed, feeling a content sort of tired after a long but good day. “I know. She’s just one surprise after another.”
David appeared in the doorway, shirtless and drying his face off with a towel. “I think it’s time for us to face it. We managed to create a whole person with all of her own ideas and plans that don’t have anything to do with us.”
“Isn’t it great?”
“Well, yeah.” David hung up the towel and came to bed, crawling in next to her. “But admit it: Don’t you miss the days when she was more dependent on us? I think I kinda miss being the center of her universe.”
“Well, you’re just going to have to settle for being the center of mine,” Catherine said, leaning over to kiss him.
“I love you, but it’s not the same,” David said with a grin. “I mean, we’re both still young; there’s no reason we couldn’t—”
“Stop right there, mister.” Catherine raised her fingers to his lips and pressed them closed. “If you’re about to say ‘there’s no reason we couldn’t have another baby,’ I’ve got about forty-three of them.”
“Forty-three isn’t that old,” David cajoled, slipping his arms around Catherine’s waist. “Just think about it, all those cuddles and silly songs and giggles . . .”
“And all those diapers and two a.m. feedings and teething . . . uh-uh. No way.” Catherine gestured at her midsection. “This baby factory is closed for business. Besides, what if I came back with some sort of genetic issue they haven’t figured out yet. Do you really want to take that chance?”
“No . . . I know. You’re probably right,” David said, sighing.
Catherine pressed a kiss to his forehead. “If you want something little in the house again, we can talk about getting a dog or a cat or something, but you gotta let go of having a little girl, Dad. She grew up on you.”
“That she did.” David sounded so proud Catherine couldn’t help but smile, the smile interrupted by a yawn.
“Okay, proud papa, this mama needs to get some sleep.” She settled down on her side, reaching up to turn out the light. David curled loosely behind her, his hand on her hip. Today had been everything she’d fought to get home for. Catherine closed her eyes, feeling as if her real life had finally begun.
10
CAL DUCKED DOWN in the front seat of his car, trying to catch his breath after his mad dash out of the Wellses’ yard. Sweat trickled down his forehead from his hairline as he waited to see if Catherine had spotted him, fully expecting to hear her pounding on his window demanding to know what he was doing in her yard.
What the hell was he doing here?
At first, spending the afternoon and evening watching Catherine’s house seemed like a good idea. All of his instincts were screaming that something was wrong. He’d spent hours poring over her personnel files, the transcripts and recordings of her debriefs, and nothing. Nothing! Nate had tried to pick the brains of the medical team to find out more information about Catherine, but they had nothing useful to offer yet. Cal did manage to get a copy of her medical records and the telemetry from Sagittarius, and after going over both, he felt that the answer was right there in front of him. He could almost see it. Something wasn’t adding up, but he couldn’t figure out what.
He kept coming back to the rote way she described her last memory of the mission. And the guilty look on her face when he’d found her down in the archives. The whole thing felt wrong. And yet, all of Dr. Darzi’s reports to the administration cleared Catherine of any form of instability and any problems that would keep her from working. If her therapist didn’t see anything wrong with her, how could Cal be so sure?
On the face of it, Cal knew he was being ridiculous, but he also had made a career out of following his instinct, sometimes to places others would never have considered, and so far it hadn’t let him down. Much, anyway. Besides, he’d tried to leave it alone, but the overwhelming feeling of “wrong” wouldn’t leave him alone. So he wound up here, spending a Saturday afternoon and evening parked outside Catherine Wells’s house, looking for some aberration or sign of what was wrong with her.
When he saw there was a party going on, he almost turned around and went home. Whatever was wrong, he likely wouldn’t see it while she was occupied with her guests. But curiosity drove him to stay, watching the guests arrive—some of them well-known to him, which meant ducking down in his car—watching for glimpses of her through the windows of her home as the sky darkened. Laughter came from the house, and every time he saw Catherine, she was smiling and at ease—a far cry from the tightly wound Catherine he knew. Cal felt an uncharacteristic stab of regret. He liked the Catherine he saw in the window. Maybe in another life they might have been friends, arguing about trajectories over beers and swapping stories.
As the evening wore on, it sank in just how far across the line he’d stepped. Spying on Catherine at home? Aaron was pissed enough at him for prying into the records. If he found out about this, he’d rip Cal a new one—and rightfully so.
Still, as the guests started to leave, Cal stayed. The compulsion wouldn’t fade, no matter how uncomfortable this intrusion made him feel. The thought of driving away now and the risk that he might miss something, however small, some clue to Catherine’s secrets, was worse than the shame of turning spy.
When the flow of guests slowed to a drip, Cal took the massive risk of leaving his car and creeping into the Wellses’ yard. He could see more clearly now, and hear snatches of laughter and conversation through the windows, opened as the night started to cool off. There was nothing out of the ordinary. The party had been a graduation party for Catherine’s daughter. Cute kid. Going to MIT, from what he had overheard, so she must be smart, too.
When Catherine came out with Leah Morrison, the two of them laughing and talking, he ducked behind some shrubbery and watched her. A mad urge to jump out of the literal bushes to talk to her seized him, but he managed to resist. Morrison drove off, and as Cal watched, Catherine paused and looked around. His heart thudded sickly against his chest, as she seemed to look right where he was hiding. He imagined that her eyes met his and that the game was up.
He panicked. The moment she looked away he darted into the backyard.
It was a mistake, because then she saw him for sure and gave chase. He used his head start to loop back to the street and dive into his car, and now here he was, practically ready to piss himself and shocked at his own obsessive behavior.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. Catherine didn’t bang on his window. No police showed up. He was safe.
Let it go. You have to let it go.
The voice in his head was Aaron’s, but Cal was starting to agree with it. Maybe Nate and Aaron were right. Maybe he was jumping at shadows.
But still, he couldn’t make himself start the car and drive away.
Finally, the Wells house quieted, and the lights went out, one by one. It looked as if the family had gone to bed. There’d be nothing else to see tonight.
>
Except.
Just as Cal was about to leave, Catherine came out a side door wearing dark sweatpants and a T-shirt. She climbed into one of the cars in the driveway and backed out, flipping on her lights and driving down the narrow street.
Before he thought about it, Cal had pulled out a short distance behind her, feeling as if he were in a movie. How close could he follow without her realizing she was being followed? Surveillance techniques were not part of the standard NASA training. Wrong government agency.
This is gonna be embarrassing if I end up following her on a midnight run to the store for ice cream.
But the same instinct that was pushing him along this path to begin with said this was no innocuous search for a midnight snack. But if he was wrong, he vowed to turn right around and go home. If he was wrong, he’d give this whole stupid mess up and fall back into line. He’d risked his career enough for one night. For one lifetime.
He followed Catherine through the Saturday night traffic. When she took the highway exit for Johnson Space Center, he felt a surge of triumph.
Oh shit.
He couldn’t follow her directly through security, as he’d be spotted for sure. But if he held back too long, he ran the risk of losing Catherine in the complex. Damn, damn, damn.
He waited for what felt like an hour—although the clock said it was barely two minutes—then followed her through the security gates, showing his ID to the night guard.
“Busy night tonight, Mr. Morganson?” the guard asked. “Don’t usually see any traffic at all at this time on a Saturday, and there’s two of you Sagittarius folk one right after another.”
“Huh. Who else is here?” Cal asked nonchalantly, fighting the impatient awareness that Catherine was getting farther and farther ahead of him.
“Catherine Wells came in a couple of minutes ago,” the guard said. “Didn’t say what she needed, just handed me her ID and looked straight through me. Was kinda creepy, to tell you the truth.”
Cal’s neck prickled. He forced a smile up at the guard. “This time of night, who knows. Maybe she was sleepwalking,” he joked.
“It’s funny you should say that. I got a kid who sleepwalks, and she looked a lot like that—she might’ve been in her pajamas, come to think of it.”
The prickles turned into the hair on the back of his neck standing up. Cal took back his ID and gave the man a wave. The guard punched the button to let him through.
“Have a good night, Mr. Morganson.”
He passed Catherine’s parked car as he reached the building where the Sagittarius program was based, and his heart thudded sickly in his temples. Rather than waste time parking, he stopped his car in front of the building and ran inside, waving his ID at the night guard as he passed.
Cal didn’t wait for the elevator but took the stairs two at a time to the third floor, where their offices were. Catherine’s door was closed and locked, and the hallway was dark. All the other offices were dark as well. The wing was deserted. Where could she—
The archives.
That’s where she’d been that day last week, the first time she was somewhere she shouldn’t have been.
Cal flew down several flights of stairs, skidding to a stop at the bottom in near-total darkness. That wasn’t right. There should have been exit lights at least. He held his breath, straining to hear anything: footsteps, rustling, anything.
He took a few cautious steps forward. If his memory was correct, the archives were about fifteen feet ahead on the left. The hallway was so narrow he could almost touch both walls if he stretched out his arms. In the darkness he could swear he felt the already-low ceiling pressing down toward him. His imagination was no help: it provided an image of a blank-eyed Catherine waiting for him by the archive door, ready to pounce.
He kept walking, although his skin was crawling, certain that at any moment a cold and clammy hand would reach for his.
Finally, once he was surely next to the archives, he couldn’t stand it anymore and turned on his phone’s flashlight. He shined it around him, but the hallway was empty. No Catherine, blank-eyed or otherwise. Plus, he was still a good ten feet from the archive door. He checked it, but knew what he would find. It was locked. If Catherine had been down here, she was gone before he arrived.
11
THE LIGHT THAT filtered into the bedroom told Catherine it was midmorning, possibly later. Catherine winced after opening her eyes, grimacing at a sudden spike of pain between her eyes. Hungover? No. She wasn’t sick to her stomach, and besides, she hadn’t had that much to drink last night. She glanced over at the clock on the night table. Nearly eleven. When was the last time she’d slept so late? She sat up and stretched, wincing again. Everything ached, as though she were about to get the flu. The ache in her muscles was deep, and her back muscles were twinging, just on the edge of a spasm.
The other side of the bed was empty—not a surprise. Catherine swung her feet onto the floor and stared. What the hell? She’d taken a shower before bed last night, but now her feet were nearly black with dirt, grime beneath her nails and between her toes. She went cold as she studied her feet.
What did I do?
Nothing. It had to be nothing. Sleepwalking, maybe. Yesterday had been stressful. Maybe she had had one too many glasses of wine. That’s all it was. Or sleepwalking.
You don’t really believe that. She wanted to. God, how she wanted to.
Catherine went to the bathroom and got in the shower again, washing off her feet. The dirt rinsed away and vanished down the drain, disappearing forever. If only her fears would disappear so easily.
David wasn’t home, but Aimee was in the backyard, sprawled in the sun reading a book.
“I hope you’re wearing sunscreen,” Catherine said, stepping onto the patio and closing the door behind her. She sounded so normal. Okay, she could do this.
“Yes, Mother. I’m wearing so much I bet the sun isn’t even touching my skin.” Aimee looked up with a grin and put down her book. “I was wondering if you were ever going to get up. Go get changed; we have plans this afternoon.”
Catherine raised her eyebrows. “We have plans? What plans?”
“Well, someone has been working her ass off to give someone else an amazing graduation party, so someone deserves to get spoiled for an afternoon.” Aimee pushed herself up from her blanket and picked it and the book up.
“You don’t have to do anything for me,” Catherine protested.
Aimee laughed and walked up onto the patio, taking her mother by the arm. “I told you. Made plans to spoil you. Come on. I worked it out with Dad and everything. We’re going to lunch, then to the spa for a few hours, and then we’re meeting Dad for dinner at Tony’s.”
“Oh Aims, no. I’m not a spa kind of person . . .”
“Yes you are. Today, anyway. Come on, I’m not taking no for an answer.” Aimee pulled her into the house. “Go on, go change!” She put her hands on her hips and watched until Catherine smiled and went upstairs to obey.
The thought of keeping her normal face on all day made her insides twist. But how could she say no to spending time with her daughter? She changed into a sundress that wasn’t too outdated and put on a little bit of makeup before going back downstairs.
“Okay, let’s go!”
It was still a novelty to see Aimee driving, but Catherine agreed to let her, settling into the passenger seat. They wound up at a trendy vegetarian café for lunch that had an entire wall lined with succulents. They looked like a normal mother-daughter pair, ready to spend a Sunday together.
The food was delicious, and Catherine tried to focus on it rather than on the unending echo in the back of her head, asking what she’d done last night.
“Thank you for this,” Catherine said, trying to match the picture of normalcy.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Aimee said, grinning. “Wait until you see what’s next!”
Aimee wasn’t kidding, either. There was a type of Texas womanhood that Catherine coul
d never manage to emulate, the Junior League types, with their impeccable grooming and tasteful clothes . . . and now she was surrounded by them. The spa itself was a feminine wonderland: white and neutral tones everywhere, billowing filmy fabrics, and quiet, elegant women in pale-gray coats leading women in robes around. A small dark-haired woman greeted them, and Catherine felt enormous and gawky, towering over her.
“It is you!” the woman said. “I knew it! I tried to tell the other girls that it really was the Catherine Wells that had an appointment booked. We’re so proud to have you here!”
Catherine fought the urge to wince and deny everything. She glanced over at Aimee, and to her surprise, Aimee was beaming with pride.
“That’s her. That’s my mom,” Aimee said.
“I . . . well, yes, that’s me.” Catherine smiled uncertainly. “My daughter, Aimee, and I are here together.”
“Of course, I can see the resemblance. I’m Teena. We’ve got y’all lined up for our Teaser package, so if you ladies will come this way, we’ll get started!”
Thankfully, it seemed that most of their time would be spent in a quiet room. In spite of the questions that plagued her, the masseuse managed to hammer away some of the physical tension in Catherine’s body, making it easier to keep smiling.
As their hostess led them to the next room, Catherine said, “I haven’t had a facial in years.” She laughed self-consciously. “I guess that goes without saying, huh?”
She and Aimee settled into side-by-side chairs and were given strict orders to close their eyes and keep them closed, before they were each given eye masks. Aimee chatted idly with their aesthetician while Catherine fought to keep from gripping the arms of the chair as the aesthetician spread some sort of cool gel on her face before putting the mask in place.
Relax. Just relax. She couldn’t. She kept thinking about her dirt-caked feet. Her aching muscles. How much time had she lost? What had she done?
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