Silent Fall

by Barbara Freethy

  "Glass on the ground. The front window was shattered. It appeared as if someone had broken in."

  "Or it was made to look that way. And my cuff link was found inside to set me up for something."

  "Her disappearance," Catherine finished.

  "Exactly, which means I have to find her fast." He drank the rest of his coffee, adding to the adrenaline rush going through his body. He needed to take action, regain control.

  "How are you going to find her?" Catherine asked. "Do you think she went home? She lives in San Francisco, right?"

  "Right, but it's doubtful she'd go home, not if she's supposed to be missing."

  "What about her family? Where do they live?"

  He thought for a moment. "Bakersfield. I know she told me that she hadn't been home in years and was estranged from her parents, so I don't think she'd go there."

  "Have you been able to remember anything else that she said to you when you went into the woods last night?"

  He'd been racking his brain on that subject ever since he'd woken up. "Erica said she had no choice. She was caught, and it was her only way out. Someone else is involved in whatever is going on. I need to go back to the lodge. I've got files on my laptop from the Ravino case. Maybe a name will jump out at me. That is, if my laptop is still in my room. I don't seem to have my key." He paused, not liking the way Catherine looked at him. Her gaze was so intense. It made him more than a little uncomfortable. "What?" he demanded. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

  Instead of answering, she reached across the table and covered his hand with hers. He felt a jolt of electricity. Was it a psychic connection or something more basic, something more sexual? His body was certainly revving up in anticipation. He told himself to get a grip. He was in the middle of a mess that could be traced back to his last one-night stand. He certainly didn't need another.

  "Catherine."

  "Sh-sh." She closed her eyes.

  He thought he would feel relief away from her mesmerizing gaze, but her touch sent waves of heat through his body. His heartbeat quickened and his fingers unconsciously tightened around hers. He had the insane feeling that he could never let her go, that she was going to be very, very important to him. That feeling scared the shit out of him. He was a loner. He liked it that way. He enjoyed women, but he'd never wanted one of them to stay longer than a night or a weekend. And he wasn't going to change now, not for her, not ever.

  Still, when Catherine opened her eyes he caught his breath in anticipation of what she would say.

  "We're connected," she murmured.

  "That's because you're holding my hand." He tried to make a joke out of her statement, to lighten the tension.

  "It's more than that." She frowned as if she weren't happy about it either. "It's deeper, much deeper. I just don't know why."

  "That's cryptic. Sounds like fortune-teller mumbo jumbo."

  She met his gaze head-on. "I know you'd like it to be. Where's your tie, Dylan?"

  He started at the abrupt change in subject, then felt around his neck, realizing his tie was gone. "I must have lost it, or Erica took it off. Maybe it's in her cabin with my cuff link."

  Catherine shook her head, her eyes filling with shadows. "It's not in her cabin. It's in water, entwined with something else, something red."

  He swallowed hard. "A scarf?" "Yes. Like the one Erica wore around her neck." His heart stopped as he gazed into her eyes. "Please

  don't tell me you saw Erica in the lake."

  Chapter 4

  "No," Catherine said quickly, not because the question was far-fetched, but because she didn't want to consider the possibility that Erica was dead. Fortunately the brief image in her head had shown only the clothes in the water.

  A glitter of relief flashed through Dylan's eyes. "Of course Erica isn't in the lake. She's fine," he muttered. "She's the one who started this game. If her scarf is in the water with my tie, it's because she put them there. And Erica probably broke the window in her cabin to make it look like there was an intruder." He pulled his hand away and reached for his wallet to leave a tip.

  Catherine felt a chill as he broke the connection between them, and the sense of disappointment disturbed and surprised her. She was used to being completely on her own. And it was better that way. Emotions in her life only added to her inner turmoil. Any caring, any intimacy with another human being, made the nightmares worse. She'd lost a boyfriend once because of her unnerving dreams—dreams that had stopped shortly after he left. She didn't know if the timing was coincidental, but she suspected not. When she became involved with someone her love made her vulnerable, which was why she needed to keep some distance between herself and Dylan. Because there wasn't just an emotional connection between them; there was also a physical attraction. She might have been living like a nun the past couple of years, but she could still remember what desire felt like, and with Dylan she knew that desire could be dangerous, reckless.

  Dylan threw a few dollar bills down on the table. "Are you ready to go? What's wrong now?" His brows knit together in a frown as his gaze raked her face. "Your cheeks are bright red."

  "Nothing is wrong." She got to her feet, acutely aware of his gaze.

  "I don't get you, Catherine."

  "You're not the first one. But you don't have to get me."

  "I think I do. You seem to be mixed up in my life. And I like to know the people I'm dealing with. You're a mystery."

  "I'm not the mystery you need to figure out."

  "I'm not so sure. And right now I don't know who to trust."

  "You should hang on to that skepticism."

  "Why do you say that?"

  "Because I think that whoever is a danger to you is someone who matters to you," she replied. "It feels very personal."

  "If you're suggesting that one of my friends is behind this setup, then—"

  "I'm not suggesting anything. I'm just telling you what I feel."

  "I'm better with facts than feelings." Dylan turned toward the exit.

  "Most men are," she said.

  He gave her a look that said he didn't appreciate the generalization. "Let's go back to the lodge. I want to call a friend of mine who's a lawyer. I think I'm going to need one."

  Catherine followed Dylan out of the hospital and into the parking lot. It was after nine a.m., and the sun was rising higher in the sky, but there was still a cool morning breeze. She loved the mountains, the crisp, clean air, the tall, towering trees, and the majestic peaks that surrounded them. Even now, in late May, there was still snow on some of the highest points, a reminder that winter was not that long ago. Although for her the darkness of winter was almost a state of mind rather than a time of year. She longed for the carefree days of summer, but she could never seem to escape the dark places in her soul no matter how warm the weather got.

  "Do you mind if I drive?" Dylan asked as they headed toward her VW Bug. "I'm not a good passenger."

  "There's a big surprise," she said dryly as she tossed him the keys and walked around to the passenger side. Lucky for Dylan she didn't have control issues; in fact, she'd given up trying to control her life a long time ago. Now she just went along for the ride, no matter how wild it might be—and with Dylan she suspected it was going to get off-the-charts wild.

  She fastened her seat belt as Dylan pulled out of the parking lot. Like he did everything else, he drove with impatient, quick, confident movements. Yet, despite his bravado, she knew that his confidence had taken a hit with Erica's unexpected behavior. He was no doubt furious with himself for allowing her to set him up. Now he was trying to regain control of the situation by acting instead of reacting. It was a good tactic. The best defense was a good offense. But Dylan was going to need some ammunition, and what did he have except his word?

  "Once the blood tests come back I'll be able to prove I was unconscious while whatever was happening happened," Dylan said, his thoughts following a path parallel to her own.

  "That would be helpful,
" she agreed. "But it will also raise more questions as to why Erica would feel the need to drug you. The detectives are going to dig into your relationship with her. They'll want to know every last detail." She paused. "I must admit I'm curious, too. I know Erica was involved with the man you were researching, but what's her story?" They were just a few miles from the lodge, and Catherine wanted as much information as possible before they were faced with more questions from the police.

  "I don't know much about Erica's past. She's a part-time model and used to be a part-time hostess at a private men's club that Senator Ravino frequented. She's a party girl, hits the clubs at night, runs with a fast crowd of rich people. She likes money. She likes men with money. Except when she's had a dozen or so tequila shots; then she'll settle for just about anyone," he added with a self-deprecating shrug.

  "I don't think you're just anyone."

  "Was that a compliment?"

  "You have a mirror. You know what you look like."

  "True, but I was talking more about money, not appearances. I make a good living, but I don't have the kind of cash to impress a woman like Erica. She has very expensive tastes, and she knows how to get what she wants, which isn't difficult when it comes to men. She is hot."

  "I noticed," Catherine said.

  "That's basically what I know about her. When we spoke, it was generally about the case I was working on and her relationship with Joseph Ravino. That was all I was interested in."

  "Until you had a dozen tequila shots," she said dryly.

  "Right."

  "When Erica first sat down at the bar with you, I thought I heard her say that she'd been trying to track you down."

  "I did have a few messages from her," he admitted, "but I didn't call her back."

  "Why not?"

  "Because I was busy."

  "Do you ever call women back?"

  "On occasion, but this was just sex," Dylan said with a frown. "Look, Erica didn't drug me because she was pissed I didn't call her. There has to be more to it than that. It has to be tied to Ravino. That's all I can think."

  "But why would Erica drug you and leave you in the woods? Where does that get her?"

  "I suspect that's not all she did, since my cuff link ended up in her cabin. She must have made it look like I assaulted her or something."

  "Or something," Catherine echoed.

  "You think she's setting me up for murder?"

  "Don't you? I can't get rid of the image of your tie and her scarf in the water. If she wanted to set you up and make it look like she was dead, it seems logical that we would find something of hers in the water and something of yours in her cabin, tying you together."

  "I'm fairly sure there's blood in that cabin, too, my blood." He held out his hand. "I got this sometime in the night. And the fact that I willingly volunteered for a toxicology screen also allowed the police to request DNA testing, something I should have anticipated."

  She stared at the recent cut on his skin. "This is bad, Dylan."

  "Tell me about it."

  She sat back in her seat, suddenly overwhelmed by the evidence piling up against Dylan. How on earth could he get out of it?

  "I need your help, Catherine," he said, uttering the very words she didn't want to hear.

  "This situation does not involve me."

  "Yes, it does. You said we're connected, remember?"

  "We are connected, but I can't help you because you don't believe in my visions, and that's all I have to offer. I'm sure your lawyer friend can give you far more practical assistance than I can. So why should I stick around?"

  "Because you should," he said, giving her a quick look. "And if you do, you'll prove to me that you're not involved with Erica's disappearance, that you're not part of the plan."

  "I don't have to prove anything to you," she said, annoyed at his ridiculous statement. "I never met Erica before yesterday."

  "You predicted her arrival in my life. So either you're lying about knowing her or you used her to fulfill your prediction."

  "Or I had a psychic premonition about her, which is what happened," Catherine said firmly. "You can believe me or not, but that doesn't make it untrue."

  "If I agree that you had a vision, will you stay for a while and help me sort this out?"

  She knew he was giving her premonition lip service to get what he wanted, but she also knew that she wouldn't leave yet. If her nightmares were ever going to stop, maybe she had to take action, get involved, at least until she knew more. "I won't promise to stay forever, but for the time being I'm here," she said slowly.

  He gave her a dry smile. "That's usually my line."

  "I'll bet it is. You're not big on commitment, are you?"

  Dylan turned the car into the parking lot next to the lodge. "Right now I'm very committed to proving my innocence in whatever crime I'm about to be accused of."

  * * *

  The yellow tape had been removed from the front of cabin seven, and a large piece of plywood now covered the broken window. There were no cops in sight, and as they paused in front of the cabin a group of guests on their way out of the lodge were laughing and chatting, seemingly unaware that anything bad had occurred on the property.

  "Maybe we imagined it," Catherine muttered. "Everything looks so normal now."

  "I'd like to believe that was true," he replied, but the plywood reinforced the fact that something had happened where Erica had been staying. "It's a good sign that the police are gone. Perhaps Erica has resurfaced."

  "That would be great," Catherine said.

  "Yes, it would, but you don't believe it any more than I do. I was going for the power of positive thinking."

  "That sounds more like a feeling," she said with a pointed smile. "I thought you were all about 'the facts and nothing but the facts, ma'am.' "

  "I'm a little off my game."

  "That's not true. You got right back on your game the minute you woke up in the woods. You had the presence of mind to request drug testing while the drugs might still be present in your system. I doubt I would have done that."

  "Even so, I'm still playing catch-up. I'm at least one or two steps behind Erica." He walked up the front steps of the cabin and looked through the window that had not been broken, careful not to touch anything. The last thing he needed was to leave his fingerprints.

  There were no lights on inside, and he couldn't make out much, but he could see that the covers on the bed were a mess, a night table and chair were turned on their sides, and there was a lot of stuff strewn about the floor.

  Catherine came up next to him. "What do you see?"

  "It looks like the room was trashed." He took her hand and pulled her closer to him. "What do you think?"

  "I'm not sure. It's awfully dark."

  "I thought you could see through the darkness."

  She frowned at that. "I'm not Superman. I don't have X-ray vision."

  "Sorry, I'm not exactly clear on your powers."

  She shook her head in disgust. "I knew you were going to be like this—all skeptical and judgmental. I must have been crazy to consider helping you."

  "Wait, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He gripped her hand tighter as she tried to move away from him. "That was a bad joke. I would appreciate any thoughts you might have. Really. I would."

  She let out a sigh and then turned her attention to the cabin. He watched her profile for a long moment, noting the slow flush that spread across her cheeks. He heard the hitch in her breath as her pulse quickened.

  Then her fingers squeezed around his, the warmth of her hand sending a rush of heat through his body. He'd initiated the contact, but now he felt a sudden, desperate need to break the current flowing between them. This time Catherine was the one who wasn't letting go.

  "Erica was here. She was scared," Catherine said abruptly. "I can feel her . . . fear. She's surprised. As if she's been taken unawares." Catherine turned her gaze on him, shadows filling her eyes. "She's in trouble."

  Logically he
knew that Catherine hadn't told him one thing she couldn't have surmised by the facts that Erica was gone, the cabin had been ransacked, and the police were looking for her. So why did he feel as if she were seeing something he wasn't? She was just repeating what they already knew. And maybe her pulse had quickened and her cheeks had reddened because she was faking it.

  "You have more than Erica to worry about," Catherine added. "Someone else is involved."

  "Yeah, that makes sense. I doubt Erica could have come up with this plan on her own. She's not that clever." He paused as Catherine studied the room once more. Her body stiffened, and she gave a little shake of her head, as if she were trying to dislodge something from her mind. He could feel the tension emanating from her.

  "I . . . I need to get away from here," she said abruptly, letting go of his hand. She turned quickly and jogged down the steps. She was halfway to the lodge before he caught up with her.

  "Wait, Catherine." He grabbed her arm. "What the hell is going on? Is there something you didn't tell me?" He studied her face, seeing the glittering light of fear in her eyes. Was this part of her act? His logical brain did not want to buy into the fact that she had any sort of extrasensory perception, but he had to admit that she looked as though she were feeling something pretty powerful.

  She cast a brief look over her shoulder, back at the cabin. "I felt like someone was watching."

  "Watching us?" he echoed, searching the area for someone hiding behind a tree or around the side of the building. But they appeared to be completely alone.

  "No—Erica," she said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "It was last night. I could see the moonlight coming in through the open window. Someone was waiting, watching her through that window. I think. I don't know." She shrugged. "I don't want to do this."

  "Hey, you can't start and stop. Tell me the rest."

  "I don't know the rest. I feel too involved, as if my reality and my dreams are blurring. I'm outside of it, and yet I'm inside of it, too." She took a breath. Disappointment filled her eyes as she stared at him. "You don't believe me."

  "It's not a question of belief. I don't know what you're talking about. Inside, outside, what the hell does that mean?"