Chapter 4

He tried to remember every word Amy had ever said to him, while he drove to her apartment. He thought about her smile, her incredible eyes. He tried very hard not to think about little red dots, because that made him think of what he's almost just done with Amita in his office, and he couldn't think about Amita right now…but all he could do was think of Amita right now, because he had let his mind say her name. Stop, he told his mind. Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…

He missed the address once, had to turn around and go back "Palmaire Apartments". He parked on the street outside, looked for an office. Finally he just started wandering around the complex. He found Unit 17 so easily because the door was open, and he could hear something loud. He looked in.

Completely empty.

A woman he didn't know operated a carpet shampooer. As she turned a corner she saw him in the doorway and started, turned the machine off. "You hear to see the place? I ain't even advertised it, yet. Cleaning crew never showed up, decided to do it myself…how did you find out I had a vacancy?"

Charlie looked at her. He blinked. "No. No…I'm sorry…I thought Amy…"

She sniffed. "That one's gone. She's the reason we have to charge huge deposits, first and last month's rent…. No notice, packed up and out faster than I could finish my breakfast Monday morning." She looked him up and down. "Sure you don't need a place?"

He backed away, shaking his head.

He didn't remember walking to his car, getting in. He just found himself behind the wheel, listening to the blood rush through his head, feeling his heart pound like it had yesterday, watching his hands shake. He didn't know how long he sat there, but it had to be a while, because by the time he figured out he was just a few miles from Don's apartment it was dark. He drew in a breath, started the engine.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

He had enjoyed the matinee, spending time with his father. Unexpected respite. He had taken Alan home and joined him for an early dinner, relishing the roast. Now he walked into the bathroom, grabbed the towels off the rod and threw them into the basket. He couldn't believe he was spending Saturday night doing his laundry. Don definitely had to get a life.

He looked up at the sound of the doorbell. Perhaps life was finding him tonight.

When he opened the door and saw Charlie's face, his heart dropped. "What is it?"

His brother pushed into the apartment. "You've got to help me. I can't find Amy. Her phone is disconnected, she quit her job, her apartment is empty…"

Shit. So he had to deal with this, now. What was he going to say? He stalled. "Come in, sit down. What happened?"

Charlie only got as far as pacing in the kitchen. "I just told you. Phone, job, apartment. I don't know where she is."

Don spoke gently. "Charlie, maybe you didn't know her as well as you thought."

He stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. "I can see that, now, thank you, Don." He took a breath. "I still have to see her. I need to talk to her. I need to figure it out, because now…now…" Charlie clamped his mouth shut. How could he be thinking of Amita at a time like this?

"What?"

He could feel his breathing speed up, his lunch swirling. He looked desperately at Don. "Can you help me find her? Is there something you can do?"

Don hated this. He hated this. Why couldn't Charlie catch a break? Shot, terrorized, in love and left, all in the last two months. "Maybe…" he started, not even knowing how he was going to finish, but Charlie stopped him.

"I'm going to be sick," he said, and he rushed out of the kitchen, down the hall to the bathroom. He didn't quite make it, ended up with some on his shirt. He sat on the edge of the bathtub and waited until he felt less wobbly. Why did everything make him sick?

He stood and took off his shirt, tried to clean up. When he opened the door he couldn't see Don. He must have moved into the living room. Charlie stepped down to the bedroom and flipped on a light, found a t-shirt in the dresser.

He heard his brother call. "Charlie?"

"Coming," he answered, and reached for the switch to kill the light as he was leaving the room. On the wall above the switch, at eye level, hung a photograph Charlie had seen before — Don's graduating class at Quantico, and he looked at it absently as he passed.

Halfway down the hall he turned and walked back to look at it again.

He was still standing there when he felt Don beside him. He raised a shaky finger to the photo, pointed to the second row. "Is that Lisa? Amy's friend?"

Don squeezed his eyes shut, opened them again. "Yes."

Charlie looked at him. "She's an agent?"

Don nodded.

A light started in the darkness of Charlie's head. "You recognized her on the ship. That's why you wanted to talk to her alone, that's why you sent Amy and I away after breakfast."

"Come into the living room. Let's talk."

"What office does she work with? I've never seen her at your office."

Don didn't want to tell him this standing here, but Charlie wasn't moving. Finally, he said it. "Witness Protection. She's with Witness Protection."

The light in the darkness was growing brighter. "And suddenly, Amy doesn't exist, anymore."

Don grimaced. "It's a voluntary program, Charlie. It's not like she was kidnapped. I can tell you what Lisa…"

Charlie suddenly put his hand on Don. He clutched his jaw, forcing him to stop talking.

"Not. One. Word."

He was advancing on Don without realizing it, and Don's instincts took over. He stepped back out of Charlie's grasp while using his own hands to shove Charlie up against the wall. The photograph tilted. The world tilted, and Don came to his senses, quickly let go. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that." He tried to make a joke. "Too much on-the-job training."

Charlie pushed himself away from the wall, jerked back when Don tried to take his arm. "Come on. Come out into the living room. We can talk." His heart nearly squeezed in half when Charlie raised his head and he saw the look on his face.

"Not. One. Word."

Charlie pushed past him, and he heard the front door open, and then slam.