Silent Fall

by Barbara Freethy

  His father had probably figured out by now that he'd used his membership to get into the club, and it was possible Mrs. Rogers wouldn't let him in the door. But he had to try. He had to confront his father. And he gave himself a mental kick in the ass for even hesitating. There was nothing Richard Sanders could do to hurt him now. They were both grown men. His father no longer had a physical advantage.

  "Beautiful houses often hide ugly secrets, don't they?" Catherine murmured.

  "Yes, they do. I want to do this, but . . ."

  "I know," she said, an understanding gleam in her eye. "It won't be easy. But you're good at the tough stuff, Dylan. You can do it."

  "I don't suppose you have any insight as to what will happen inside?"

  "Sorry. I guess we'll both find out at the same time."

  "Which is now," he said decisively. "Let's go before I change my mind."

  * * *

  "I've never been very good at meeting the parents," Catherine said as they got out of the car and paused on the sidewalk. "I never know what to say, how to impress them. And what I do say usually comes out wrong and stupid, and I embarrass myself."

  "This isn't that kind of meeting, Catherine."

  "Are you good at meeting the parents?"

  "I don't meet parents. In fact, I don't usually ask if the woman I'm with has parents."

  "Really? That's the first question I ask a guy. I guess I always thought one day I'd meet a man with a wonderful family, and they'd become my family, and everything would be good again." She cast him a curious look. "You never thought that way? Never wanted to replace your bad experience with a positive one?"

  "Too big a risk that the next experience would turn out just as bad." Dylan started down the path, moving more quickly with each step. She sensed he was gathering strength for the confrontation ahead.

  Dylan rang the bell, which pealed loudly through the house. A moment later an older woman opened the front door. She wore black slacks and a white button-down blouse, and her hair was sprinkled with gray. Her dark eyes filled with surprise when she saw Dylan. "Oh, my goodness. What are you doing here?"

  "Hello, Mrs. Rogers," Dylan said. "Is my father home?"

  "Yes, but he won't want to see you. You have to go." The woman cast a quick look over her shoulder. "He's still upset that you snuck in here a few weeks ago and used his membership card for the Metro Club. He almost fired me for letting you in. I need this job, Dylan. I'm too old to get another one. And your father, for all his faults, pays me well."

  "Don't worry. I'll tell him you tried to keep me out." Dylan pushed past the housekeeper. "Where is he? In the den?"

  Catherine followed Dylan into the entryway, offering the housekeeper an apologetic smile, but the woman's anxiety was palpable. She twisted her hands together in agitation. "Dylan, this isn't a good time. Your father has been very stressed lately. He's been working long hours, getting telephone calls even after he comes home, holding late-night meetings. It's a busy time for him."

  "Why? What's he working on?"

  "I don't know. His business."

  "Does Senator Ravino ever call here?'

  "What the hell is going on?" Dylan's father demanded as he stomped into the entryway, interrupting their conversation.

  Even though she'd seen him in the video, Catherine wasn't prepared for the size of the man. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a gray cashmere sweater over a pair of black trousers. There was a dark fire of rage in his eyes when his gaze settled on his youngest son. He didn't even glance in Catherine's direction. She felt almost invisible as the energy centered on the two men. Mrs. Rogers slid out of the room, obviously not wanting to be part of the conversation.

  Dylan straightened, but he was still a few inches shorter and many pounds lighter than his father. He raised his chin in the air, threw back his shoulders, and said, "I want to know what your connection is to Joseph Ravino."

  "That's none of your business," his father replied sharply. "Now get out."

  Dylan stood his ground. "Not until you answer my question. I saw a video that shows the two of you together at the Metro Club. You were in an intense conversation."

  "We're both members of the club; there's no crime in that. Or are you trying to frame me like you did Ravino?"

  Catherine watched Dylan's father, hoping to catch some sign in his expression that would tell her if he was speaking the truth, if he really thought Dylan had set up the senator. But Richard Sanders was impossible to read, his emotions hidden behind a very cold facade.

  "I didn't frame him. Ravino killed his wife. I just helped the police figure it out."

  "You think you're some big man now?" Richard challenged. "You're not. You're a worthless piece of shit, and you always have been. Now leave, or I'll call the police and have you thrown out."

  "I'll go when I'm ready. Do you know Erica Layton? And I'd suggest you think about your answer before you give it."

  Something flickered in the older man's eyes, Catherine thought. Mr. Sanders did know Erica. But how close was their relationship? Did that flash of guilt have to do with Erica's death or something else?

  "Erica Layton worked at the Metro Club," Dylan added. "She was a hostess in the back room."

  "I know that," Dylan's father replied. "So what?"

  "She had an affair with the senator. She revealed his motive for murdering his wife. And now she's . . . disappeared."

  "Why should I care? She's nothing to me."

  Before Dylan could reply, a very attractive woman came down the stairs. She was dressed in white cropped pants and a button-down pink blouse, her blond hair styled away from her face. His father's girlfriend, Catherine presumed. The woman appeared to be a good fifteen years younger than Richard. She had a cool, classic beauty, the perfect accessory for a rich and successful man. But perhaps Catherine wasn't giving them enough credit. Maybe they actually cared for each other, although it was hard to believe that the hard man standing in front of her was capable of caring for anyone.

  "What's going on?" the woman inquired. "You're Dylan, right? I recognize you from the news."

  "And you must be Rachel Montgomery," Dylan said.

  "How do you know her name?" Dylan's father interrupted.

  "I keep up."

  "You stay out of my business."

  "Richard, maybe we should offer Dylan and his friend something to drink," Rachel said.

  For the first time Dylan's father looked in her direction. Faced with the sharp point of his gaze, Catherine felt a sudden desire to flee, but she couldn't leave Dylan alone, not here, not with the bully of his childhood. Instead Catherine moved over to Dylan, slipping her hand into his. She didn't know if he welcomed her support or not, but his fingers tightened around hers and he didn't let go.

  "I'm Catherine Hilliard," she said when Dylan couldn't seem to find his way to an introduction.

  "Richard Sanders," the man said gruffly. He'd been too well trained not to be polite to a stranger.

  Now that he realized she'd witnessed his conversation, he seemed discomfited by her presence. He probably preferred to keep his hateful attitude toward his son a secret.

  "Would you like a drink, some coffee?" Rachel asked. "Where on earth is Mrs. Rogers? I'm surprised she didn't offer you anything."

  "We're fine," Dylan bit out.

  "They're just leaving," Richard added.

  "In a minute," Dylan countered. "You want me out of your business, then stay out of mine," he said to his father.

  "I don't give a damn about anything that concerns you. Why would I? You were a terrible son, a huge disappointment. Nothing has changed."

  Catherine felt her hands clenching into fists as she was assailed with the urge to punch Richard Sanders right in his stuck-up face. "Dylan is not a disappointment," she interjected. "He's an incredible man, and you're lucky to have him as a son. If you don't know that, you're a fool."

  Richard spluttered with shock, his face turning red. "How dare you—"

&nb
sp; "I dare because this is a good man, and you should see him for who he is."

  "So now you've brought a woman to fight your battles for you," Richard said with a sneer in Dylan's direction. "How very impressive."

  "At least I have a woman who's willing to stand by me. My mother walked out on you."

  "She didn't walk out. I threw her out."

  "That's not what you said before," Dylan countered.

  "It's what happened."

  "Why?" Dylan asked. "Why would you throw her out?"

  "That's my business," Richard retorted. "And it was over a long time ago. Now, we're done. Get out."

  "I will find out what happened to my mother. Hell, I may even find her and ask her myself," Dylan said. "But first I'm going to figure out how you're connected to Erica Layton and Senator Ravino. If you're involved in Erica's disappearance, you'd better get yourself a lawyer."

  "You're the one who will need a lawyer if you come back here, Dylan. As far as I'm concerned, I no longer have two sons. I only have one."

  Dylan uttered a harsh, bitter laugh. "Actually, you don't have any. Jake doesn't care about you. He didn't invite you to his wedding. Did you notice that?"

  "He invited me. I chose not to come," Richard said. "But you and I—we're through. You're an adult. Live your life and stay out of mine."

  Richard turned on his heel and walked down the hall. A moment later a door shut.

  "I'm sorry. He's been a little tense lately," Rachel said nervously, darting a quick look after Richard. "I'm sure he didn't mean what he said. He's always talking about how proud he is of his sons."

  "Son, maybe," Dylan said. "Why has he been so stressed? What's going on with him?"

  "Some problem at work, I guess. He didn't say, but he hasn't been sleeping well."

  Catherine wondered if Richard's insomnia had something to do with framing his son for murder.

  "Who's the woman you were asking Richard about?" Rachel inquired.

  "Erica Layton. Has Richard ever mentioned her?"

  Rachel shook her head. "I don't think so. You'd better go before he comes back out here."

  "I'll go," Dylan agreed. "You should consider leaving, too. He's not a good man. Sooner or later he'll show you his true colors."

  Dylan let his words sink in, then opened the front door and motioned for Catherine to precede him. She muttered a quick good-bye to Rachel and left the house. She could feel Dylan's tension as they walked to the car. She knew he was putting on a front, and he had to be hurting inside. He'd just never admit it.

  When they reached the car she gazed back at the house and saw a curtain flutter in a downstairs window. Someone had been watching them leave—Rachel or Dylan's father? Was Richard Sanders as innocent, as uninvolved as he claimed? Or was the recent stress he'd been suffering due to an elaborate plan to get his son out of his life once and for all?

  "Are you okay?" Catherine asked. "Maybe I should drive."

  "I'm fine. The last thing I want to do is sit in the passenger seat and twiddle my thumbs."

  "You could play with the radio," she said lightly.

  Dylan didn't crack a smile, just got behind the wheel and slammed the door shut. She took the passenger seat, flipping the locks down once they were inside. Despite Dylan's desire to drive, he made no move to start the car.

  "I think he could have done it," he said, his voice bleak. The encounter with his father had taken a lot out of him. It was the one relationship he couldn't fix, couldn't make work no matter how hard he tried. And she suspected that even though he hated his father, there was still a part of him that wanted his father's love, something Dylan would never admit.

  "He could have killed Erica—maybe not himself, since he wouldn't want to get his hands dirty, but he could have hired someone to do it," Dylan continued. "He has plenty of money."

  "What's his motive?"

  "She knew too much about him. Perhaps he's tied to Ravino. They could be working together."

  "Or not," Catherine suggested. "I watched your father. He did know Erica. I saw him twitch when you said her name. But he didn't look guilty. He appeared more nervous than anything."

  "Because he killed her."

  "I don't know, Dylan. I think it's hard for you to judge your father fairly because he's so horrible to you."

  "And what the hell were you doing sticking up for me?" Dylan asked, turning to look at her with irritation in his eyes. "I didn't need you to get into the middle of a fight that didn't concern you."

  "I couldn't just stand by and let him say those things about you."

  "I've heard them before, many times."

  "Well, I haven't, and he pissed me off. You're not some worthless piece of shit, Dylan."

  "I know that."

  "Do you?" she challenged. "Your father has worked awfully hard to convince you otherwise."

  "I do," he said, the anger dissipating from his gaze. "It took me a while, but I finally figured out he was the shithead, not me."

  "Good. And you should be thanking me, not yelling at me. I could have said a lot more to the man. I was just getting started."

  A slow smile spread across Dylan's face. "You're something else, Catherine."

  "'Something else' could be good or bad."

  "In this case it's good. And you're right—again. Thank you." He paused. "So, did you pick up any other vibes in the house?"

  "Your father lied when he told you that Jake invited him to the wedding. I think it bothers him that Jake didn't."

  "But he had to save face in front of his girlfriend. I almost feel sorry for her. He's an asshole, and sooner or later she'll figure that out." He started the car and pulled away from the curb. "Just the way my mother did."

  "Did you mean what you said about finding her?"

  "When this is all over," Dylan said. "I can't let it go any longer. But first I have to figure out what happened to Erica."

  "Let's go over what we know," Catherine said. "Assuming Erica didn't anticipate that she was about to be double-crossed, she went to Tahoe with the intention of drugging you and luring you into the woods, which she did. She took your tie and cuff link and cut your hand so she could place evidence in her cabin and also in the lake. But then something went wrong. Someone came to the cabin in the middle of the night and frightened her. She ran, probably hiding in the woods until morning. Then she fled back to San Francisco. Which means she must have had her car." Catherine paused. "Was her car at her condo?"

  "I didn't notice it. I wasn't really looking."

  "Or the car could be somewhere else in the city. Where else was she?"

  "In my apartment; then she went to the Palace of Fine Arts, then Golden Gate Park," Dylan finished. "Why are you worrying about her car?"

  "It just seems to me that if she had anything that might lead to whoever she was working with, then it would mostly likely be on her person or in her car, especially since we didn't find anything at her house or yours."

  Dylan sent her an approving look. "Good thinking. So we need to find her car. She had a white Jetta; I know that much. It could be in the park. That's the last place she was."

  "I think she was on foot in the park," Catherine said. "When I connected with her in my vision she was running and she was tired. I didn't have the sense that she drove there and started walking."

  "Then we'll back it up, starting at my apartment. I should have thought of this before."

  "You've had a lot on your mind. Don't beat yourself up about it."

  "I'm usually better than this."

  She knew Dylan set the bar high for himself, but he was only human—not that he'd admit it. They drove across town in silence. As they turned down Dylan's street Catherine studied the parked cars. They were almost at the end of the block when she spotted it. "There it is."

  "Finally, a little luck," Dylan said with satisfaction. He pulled into a spot in front of the Jetta.

  "Wait," she said as Dylan moved to get out of the car. "There's no one around, is there? No on
e watching from any of the other cars?" She checked the side-view mirror as Dylan turned in his seat to look behind them. She wasn't just worried about Erica's killer; she was also concerned that the police might be keeping an eye on Dylan's apartment in the hope that he would turn up there.

  "I don't see anyone," he said. "But when I get out switch places with me and keep the car running, in case we have to make a quick getaway."

  "I'm starting to feel like Bonnie and Clyde."

  "Let's hope we don't end up like them," Dylan said as he shut the door.

  She crawled over the gearshift and behind the wheel, then watched Dylan's progress through the rearview mirror. He walked right up to the car, paused, looked around, and then checked the doors. A shiver ran through her as she watched him touch the door handle.

  She closed her eyes as an image took shape in her mind.

  The air was cold. It cut through her dress as she got out of the car. Last night's terror was still fresh in her mind, and she couldn't help but take a look over her shoulder. No one was there. She was safe for the moment. As she reached for her purse her cell phone fell out of the side pocket and slid be tween the seats. Swearing, she tried to pull it out, but it was wedged in. She'd retrieve it later. She needed to get inside.

  Slamming the car door, she walked quickly across the side walk to Dylan's apartment building. She was glad now that she'd swiped his keys when she had the chance, although her original intention had been only to make it harder for him to leave Tahoe. She slid the outside door key in with a shaky hand and was relieved when the lock turned. She bounded up the stairs to his apartment, not taking another deep breath until she was inside. Pressing her palms against the back of the door, she stood for a moment to get her bearings.

  Now that she was here she wasn't sure what to do. Cross ing the room, she picked up the phone and dialed Dylan's cell phone. She had to tell him what was happening. He would be pissed that she'd set him up, but ultimately he'd have to help her. For his sake as well as hers, she had to stay alive.