Silent Fall (3 page)

"You can say that again." He let out a sigh. "I wish I knew what happened to Erica, why the police were called."

"They arrived a little over an hour ago," Catherine said.

"That long? What were you doing up so early?"

"I couldn't sleep."

He could tell by her short answer that she had bitten off the rest of what she wanted to say, which probably had something to do with her bad feeling.

"I tried calling your room," she added, "but you didn't answer."

"Because I was unconscious in the woods, which won't be easy to prove without a witness. That's why I need a blood test to confirm that I was drugged." He shifted his weight, feeling restless and pissed off. He didn't like being taken unawares, and someone was definitely setting him up for something. "What happened with Jake and Sarah? Did they get off okay? Did they wonder where I was?"

"Sarah asked if I'd seen you, and I mentioned that you'd been having drinks at the bar with a woman. Jake laughed and said you always got lucky at weddings. I guess he thought you were having a good time somewhere."

"Lucky . . . yeah, I feel real lucky right now. But I'm glad they left. I don't want Jake involved in my problems." The last thing Dylan would do was ruin Jake and Sarah's honeymoon. He was glad they were safely away from this mess. He straightened as the detective and a uniformed police officer walked back to them.

"Deputy Barnes will accompany you to the hospital," the detective said. "And we'll talk later, when we have the results of your tests. I hope you don't have any plans to leave the area."

"I was going to return to San Francisco today," Dylan replied.

"I'd appreciate it if you'd stay in town until we have a chance to speak again. We're going to search the woods, but we may need your help pinpointing your last location with Ms. Layton."

The detective's voice was friendly, but there was steel in his words. If Dylan didn't agree to remain in the area, he suspected the detective would find a way to keep him here.

"All right. I'll stick around until we can clear this up." "Good. Now tell me again where you went last night after you left the bar."

"We took the path in front of the lodge, and when it ended we went into the woods. We wound in and out of the trees, and when I woke up this morning I was about ten feet away from the edge of a rocky cliff."

"Could you find it again?"

"I don't know," Dylan admitted, knowing his answer wasn't going to help his cause. "I could try, but when I woke up I was still dazed, and I made a couple of wrong turns on my way back here, so it wasn't like I took a straight shot back."

"All right. We'll see what we can find. And we'll talk when you return from the hospital." Detective Richardson turned his attention to Catherine. "May I ask your name, ma'am?"

Catherine gave him a startled look, appearing not at all pleased to be brought into the conversation. "Uh, it's Catherine Hilliard," she said, stumbling a bit.

"How are you acquainted with Mr. Sanders?" "My friend married his brother yesterday." "So you were at the wedding?" "Yes." "Did you speak to a Ms. Erica Layton?" "I don't know the name," Catherine replied. "Ms. Layton left the bar with Mr. Sanders," the detec

tive said. "We're concerned about her welfare, and we need to find her as soon as possible."

"I saw Dylan speaking with a woman at the bar, but I didn't see them leave, and I wasn't introduced to her," Catherine said.

There was an edge to her voice, but Dylan admired her short, succinct answers. Most people rambled on when questioned by the police. But Catherine wasn't giving away any more than she was asked. Nor did she appear eager to help the authorities. In fact, she looked like she was ready to bolt.

Why was she so nervous? Did she have something to hide?

"Thanks for your help." The detective gave Dylan another speculative look. "I'll speak to you later, Mr. Sanders. Deputy Barnes is waiting out front. He'll give you a ride."

As the detective left, Dylan turned to Catherine and said on impulse, "Come with me to the hospital."

"What? Why?" she asked in surprise. "You don't need me for that."

"I could use a friend."

"We're not exactly friends," she reminded him. "In fact, a minute ago you were accusing me of being involved in the trouble you're in."

"I didn't mean it," he said quickly. He didn't know why he wanted to keep Catherine near, but he did. "You're the closest thing I have to an ally, and maybe you can help me figure out what's going on."

Her lips turned down in a frown, and her eyes were more than a little reluctant when she uttered the words, "I guess I could."

"Good, let's go," Dylan said, grabbing her hand before she could have a second thought.

But as they left the lodge, heading toward the squad car, Catherine's steps began to falter. She stopped walking completely and pulled her hand out of his.

He glanced back at her, alarmed to see how pale her face had become. "What's wrong?"

"I can't get in that car," she said, putting up a hand as if to ward him off.

"The deputy is just giving us a ride. It's not a big deal."

"No, I can't. I'll meet you there." She shook her head as she backed away from him. "I can't get into that car, Dylan. Don't try to make me."

"Are you having another vision?" he demanded. "Is the car going to crash? What? What do you see?"

"I see blood, lots and lots of blood, and a little girl standing in the middle of it."

He drew in a sharp breath. "Catherine, what are you talking about?"

His question went unanswered as she turned and ran back toward the lodge. She'd been spooked by something, but a little girl in blood? What the hell . . . ?

"What happened to your friend?" the deputy asked as he opened the back door of the car for Dylan.

"She'll meet us there."

"Looks like you're on your own then."

"Yeah," Dylan muttered as he slid into the backseat.

It wasn't the first time he'd been on his own, nor was it the first time he'd been in a police car. That momentous occasion had occurred when he was seventeen years old. Back then he'd had Jake to bail him out. Back then he'd been a stupid, reckless kid. Back then he'd always known exactly what crime he'd committed. This time he was in the dark.

He had no idea what Erica had wanted with him, and the only person besides her who might be able to shed any light on the matter had just run away.

Chapter 3

As Catherine jogged around the front corner of the lodge, she paused to catch her breath. She shouldn't have left Dylan, but she couldn't face getting into a police car again. She could still taste the panic bubbling up in her throat and feel the beads of sweat dotting her forehead. The past she'd thought was years behind her was rushing back like a freight train intent on running her down. Why? Why now?

She didn't want to go back in time. She couldn't. She'd barely survived the first ten years of her life, and the second decade hadn't been much better. But she was thirty years old now, and she was happy. She had a job, a house, animals, friends, neighbors, and, most important, roots. She didn't need to mess it up by getting involved with a man who was little more than a stranger to her. There was nothing to tie them together except their mutual relationship with Jake and Sarah.

But even as the thought went through her head, she knew she was lying to herself. She was tied to Dylan in a much deeper, far more personal way. He might not believe in her visions, but she knew they were real and that they always came true. She was a part of whatever was happening to him. But she didn't have to participate, she reminded herself.

She could get into her car and drive home. In eight hours she'd be far, far away from whatever mess Dylan was in. She could choose to leave. And she would. She'd just go down to the hospital and say good-bye. Dylan surely had other family and friends who had come to the lake for the wedding who could assist him. This was not her problem.

As she walked down the path toward the line of cabins adjacent to the lodge, she saw yellow tape strapped across the front door of one cabin. The detective stood in the doorway. Another officer worked inside, probably collecting evidence from what appeared to be a crime scene. But what exactly had happened in there?

The detective had said they were checking on the welfare of Erica, so that meant she was missing. The window near the front door was broken, shattered glass on the ground. Had someone broken in during the night?

Catherine's pulse began to speed up. She could hear glass breaking in her head along with the sound of a scream. But was it a scream from a few hours ago, or one of the screams that haunted her from the past? It was difficult to tell the difference.

The detective turned and caught her staring. She started moving quickly, not wanting to get trapped into answering more questions, but it was too late. He was already coming toward her.

"I thought you were going to the hospital with Mr. Sanders," he said.

"I'm taking my own car," she replied in a steady, unconcerned voice, although inside she was shaking. She didn't like cops; she never had. And even though this man wasn't wearing a uniform, she knew he could make trouble for her. But she also knew that the surest way to arouse attention was to be uncooperative. She had to at least make it look as if she wanted to help. "Is this where the woman was staying?" she asked. "The one who disappeared?"

The detective ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Tell me something, Ms. Hilliard—does your friend have a temper?"

"Dylan?"

"Yes."

"I don't know him that well."

"But well enough to go down to the hospital and stand by his side?"

"He's my friend's brother-in-law. I know she would want me to help him if I could, especially since she's not here." Catherine paused. "What exactly do you think Dylan did?"

"I'm not sure. That's why I'm asking questions."

"Dylan is a good guy. He wouldn't hurt anyone."

"I thought you didn't know him that well."

Catherine realized how easily the detective had tripped her up. "I don't know him well, but my friend speaks highly of him. I trust her judgment. I should go."

"One second," Detective Richardson said. He held up a plastic baggie. Inside was a gold cuff link. "Do you recognize this?"

Catherine had seen such a cuff link before, when she'd helped one of the groomsmen put it on. Jake had given cuff links to all of his ushers, including his brother. Had Dylan been in the cabin with Erica? Had he hurt her? He was the only one who had a connection to Erica. And what did she really know about the man?

Maybe her vision had pointed the danger to the wrong person. Maybe she wasn't supposed to help Dylan; perhaps she was supposed to help Erica.

But that thought didn't ring true. She needed to stop thinking and go with her instincts.

"Ma'am?" the detective prodded.

"I don't recognize it," she said, realizing that with the lie she'd just taken a step she wouldn't be able to reverse.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"One last question—did you happen to hear anything during the night? You're staying in the main lodge, right?"

"What would I have heard?"

"That's what I'm asking."

She thought about the screams that had rung through her head, but she'd heard screams before, and they hadn't occurred in real time. "I didn't hear anything. I'm sorry."

"Well, thanks anyway."

"No problem." She walked quickly to the parking lot, feeling the detective's gaze follow her every step. He was suspicious of her—because of her connection to Dylan, possibly, or because he sensed that she'd lied. She would have to be more careful in the future.

As she got into her yellow VW Bug, she couldn't help wondering again what on earth had happened in that cabin. The detective obviously didn't want to say, but it must have been bad, and possibly loud enough for someone to hear.

She hoped she wasn't putting her faith in the wrong person. Dylan had to be innocent. She needed to find him, look into his eyes, hold his hand, see the truth in his soul—if he'd let her.

Although she hadn't spent that much time with him, one thing she knew for sure: Dylan was very private and guarded. He was a man who was used to asking questions, not answering them. She understood that. She had her own emotional walls, walls she had the terrible feeling Dylan could breach—if she let him, but she wasn't about to do that. No one had gotten into her heart in a very long time, and that was the way it was going to stay.

* * *

"When will I get the results?" Dylan asked as the lab technician finished taking his blood. He'd already deposited a urine sample, covering all the bases.

"Tomorrow for some of them, a few days or even longer for the rest. DNA can take weeks, depending on the lab's workload."

"DNA," he echoed, his heart skipping a beat.

"That's right," the tech said as she pulled out a cotton-tipped stick. "One last swab."

"Can't you do the test from the blood?"

"Yes, but this works just as well, and we don't have to take more blood."

Damn.
Why hadn't he realized that the tests would include DNA? He could have just helped set himself up. He glanced down at his hand. The cut he'd acquired sometime during the night was about an inch long. Had Erica cut him and planted the blood in her cabin? It seemed too devious a plan for someone like her to concoct. She wasn't a rocket scientist. She barely had a high school education. Someone else had to be calling the shots.

After the tech took the swab, she said, "You're good to go."

Dylan stood up and grabbed his coat off a nearby chair before heading out the door. He was relieved to have that over with, but he had no idea what to do next, how to go about defending his innocence when it was becoming clear that someone was going to a lot of trouble to make him look guilty of something.

Catherine was waiting in the hallway. She jumped to her feet, giving him a wary smile. "How's it going?"

"I'm done. It will take some time to get the results. They should prove I was incapacitated last night, too out of it to do whatever they think I did."

She nodded. "I hope that's the way it works out."

He frowned at the doubt in her voice. "You don't sound too confident."

"I'm sorry. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night, and I'm confused by everything that's happened."

"Me, too. Speaking of confused, what the hell happened to you back at the squad car? What were you talking about? Little girl, lots of blood," he reminded her. He'd thought about her comment all the way to the hospital and wondered if it had anything to do with him or with Erica.

"That wasn't about you," she said quickly. "I'm sorry if you thought it was."

"So who was the little girl?"

"It doesn't matter."

"It was you, right?"

"Yes. It was a long time ago, but some memories don't go away."

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it," she said with a dismissive shake of her head.

"But—"

"No buts," she interrupted. "You like to do that— turn the attention away from your own life—but you can't this time."

"Hey, according to you our lives are now intertwined. Which brings me back to the vision you had a few weeks ago. What else did you see?"

"I've already told you what I saw."

"Have you?" he challenged. "I remember that night you read my tea leaves. You were gung ho to tell me my fortune and then you suddenly wanted to stop. Why?"

"It was the colors that surrounded us—dark red like blood, black like death."

Her dramatic words put his nerves back on edge. "So, you saw blood and death in my future, and you didn't think it might be a good idea to stick around when Erica approached me last night?" he asked.

A flash of anger lit Catherine's eyes. "What do you want from me, Dylan? Do you want me to say I made the premonition up? I can do that. I can tell a lie. You're not the first person in my life to make fun of my visions. I gave up trying to convince people a long time ago. I don't really give a damn what you think. And actually I just came down here to say good-bye. I've decided to go home and get on with my life."

She bristled with indignation, her entire body tense, her eyes fiery, her cheeks flushed with red. She was beautiful, and she was pissed. He knew she was two seconds away from walking out the door, and he couldn't let her go.

"I'm sorry," he said, then destroyed his own apology by adding, "But you're not going anywhere. You started this, and you're not walking out in the middle."

"I didn't start anything. Whether I saw you and Erica in a vision has nothing to do with the fact that she approached you last night and allegedly drugged you. She did that on her own."

"There's no 'allegedly' about it," he said sharply. "It happened, and you need to help me figure out why."

"I don't need to do anything."

"Okay, that wasn't the right word."

"Or the right tone," she told him.

He let out a sigh and tipped his head. "I apologize again. I know you don't have to help me, but I really wish you would."

Indecision danced through her eyes. "I'll consider it. Is Erica your girlfriend?"

"Hell, no, she's not my girlfriend."

"But you had a relationship."

"We'll talk about this later," he said, cutting her off as Deputy Barnes returned. "Are we done?" he asked the officer.

"Looks like it. I can give you a ride to the lodge now," the deputy said.

"Thanks anyway, but my friend will drive me back," Dylan said.

The deputy hesitated and then gave a brisk nod. "All right. Detective Richardson will get in touch with you later today."

"I'm sure he will." Dylan blew out a breath as the deputy left. He needed a little time to think, and he finally had it.

"I'll take you to the lodge; then you're on your own," Catherine said.

"Not so fast," he said as she started down the hall.

She paused, tapping her foot impatiently. "What now?"

"I'm hungry."

"You're hungry?" she echoed, as if she hadn't been expecting such a prosaic response.

"Yes, and I think better after I've eaten. Let's check out the cafeteria."

She hesitated, a frown crossing her lips. "There's a restaurant at the lodge."

"And it will be crawling with cops. I need to catch my breath, get my wits about me. Come on; I'll treat you."

"Fine, but after that I'm done."

"Right." Dylan shrugged back into his coat. As he did so he realized Catherine was staring at his arm. "What's wrong now?"

"You're missing a cuff link," she said, her voice tense.

He glanced down at his sleeve. "It must have come off."

"It did," she agreed, meeting his gaze. "In Erica's cabin."

"How do you know that?" His gut twisted at the certainty in her eyes.

"I walked by her cabin on the way to my car. I assume it was her cabin, because there was yellow tape on the door and the police were going through it. Detective Richardson saw me and asked me if I recognized the cuff link." She paused. "I said I didn't."

"You lied?" he asked, surprised by the admission. "Why?"

"I don't know," she said with a confused shake of her head. "I shouldn't have. Don't you have some friends or family you can call? Surely there were people at the wedding yesterday who would like to help you out."

"The people at the reception were mostly Jake's friends, his coworkers. The few family members who were there left last night."

"Maybe you should call Jake, then."

"On his honeymoon? I don't think so. I've screwed up a lot of moments in my big brother's life. This isn't going to be another one."

"What about your father?" she asked as they headed down the corridor toward the elevator. "I know you told me your mom left years ago, but couldn't you ask your father for help?"

"My father wouldn't throw water on me if I were on fire," he said. "So it looks like it's just you and me."

She frowned. "For breakfast. Then you're on your own."

* * *

Catherine ordered a sizable meal, all healthy items, of course. Her veggie omelet was made of egg whites, accompanied by a bowl of fruit and a cup of green tea, while his pancakes were covered with syrup, and his side of scrambled eggs and bacon was guaranteed to clog his arteries. He topped off his meal with a mug of strong, caffeinated coffee.

As Dylan ate, the food began to take away the queasy feeling in his stomach that was probably the result of whatever drug Erica had given him. He still couldn't quite believe she'd done it. He'd always considered himself a fairly good judge of character, and while he wouldn't have said Erica was a Girl Scout, he hadn't anticipated such a mean streak. Maybe he should have. She'd always looked out for herself. That was the one thing he knew for sure about her.