Silent Fall (8 page)

He rolled his head on his shoulders, hearing his joints crack from the tension. He was tired, but there was no time to rest. He had to find Erica. He had to get himself out of this mess before it got worse. But as he focused on his computer he knew that he was in quicksand and sinking fast. He just hoped Catherine hadn't gone far. He suspected he was going to need her help to get out.

* * *

Catherine had intended to settle herself in one of the chairs on the outside deck overlooking the lake, but once she got there she was too restless to sit. Bypassing the deck she headed toward the path, the one Dylan had taken with Erica the night before. Maybe she could pick up on something if she followed the same trail.

As she walked, she mentally retraced her conversation with Dylan. She certainly hadn't meant to tell him she wanted to have sex with him. She had a tendency to blurt out her thoughts without editing them first, and this had definitely been one of those times. And her words had been like throwing a red flag in front of a bull. If she hadn't left the room, she and Dylan would probably be rolling around in the sheets right now. That thought gave her libido a nice little jolt.

Despite the fact that she'd told Dylan she thought sex was easy, she knew that sex with Dylan would be anything but easy. He would ask too much of her. He

would demand more than she wanted to give.

So she would keep her distance—until she couldn't.

Continuing down the path, she focused her mind on Erica. She'd barely looked at her the night before, but the woman's image was ingrained in her brain. Why had Erica lured Dylan out to these woods? Had she wanted to get him away from the lodge so she could fake her disappearance? Her public appearance in the bar had certainly set the stage for everyone to see her leaving with Dylan.

When the concrete walkway ended, Catherine continued into the woods. Dylan said they'd walked a fair distance from the lodge, so she would keep going, see what else was out here. The lodge and adjacent cabins were the only buildings on the hillside for at least a mile or two in either direction. Part of the appeal lay in the rustic nature of the location. The isolation had certainly made it easier for Erica to get Dylan into an area where no one would see what was going on. Perhaps that was why she hadn't gone to him in San Francisco and instead had waited for the opportunity to get him away from his home turf.

As she hiked Catherine began to grow warm, and she pushed the sleeves of her sweater up to her elbows. The noonday sun was beaming down through the trees. It was a pretty day, the kind of day when summer seemed around the corner, a day when only good things should happen. But as she moved farther into the thick forest, she began to feel nervous. Was she picking up on what had occurred the day before, or were the sudden shadows sparking her active imagination?

The hairs on the back of her neck suddenly stood up. She swung around quickly, expecting to see someone behind her. Had Dylan followed her?

There was no one, and yet she felt as if someone were watching her.

Every sound became acutely loud: the snap of a twig, a rustle in the brush, the sudden squawk of a bird overhead. They were all sounds of nature—or were they?

She put a hand on the trunk of a nearby tree to steady herself. It didn't help. Images flashed through her mind.

The ground was flying by at an amazing pace, as i she were running. She could hear the blood pounding through her veins. Her chest hurt more with each breath o air in the high altitude. She stumbled and ell to the ground, then scrambled back to her eet, desperate to get away. He was coming closer. . . .

But it wasn't her. Those weren't her shoes. And her hands . . . There was a ring on the finger of her right hand, a sparkling opal that was changing colors with the heat of her skin. Who was she? And who was she running from?

The sound of a horn startled her.

The images faded away. She was back to herself again. The sun seemed brighter. The shadows had lightened as well. Her heart began to slow down. The horn came again. Catherine moved closer to the edge of the cliff to investigate the noise. A sharp outcropping of rock fell down to the lake a few hundred yards below.

Two boats were anchored not far offshore. One bore the logo of the coast guard. Someone was in the water, a diver. He held up something red to show to another man on board. Her heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly what it was—Erica's red scarf, the scarf she'd seen around the pretty brunette's neck not only last night, but also in her vision.

Was there a body in the water, too?

Had Erica run through these woods, taken a misstep, and tumbled to her death off the side of the sheer cliff into the cold waters of Lake Tahoe? Or had she been pushed?

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Chapter 6

Dylan was immersed in his computer files when his cell phone rang. "Mark, what did you find out?" he asked, hoping for some good news.

"You're in deep shit, buddy," Mark said.

That was not what he wanted to hear. "What do you mean?"

"I spoke to Detective Richardson at the sheriff's office. He said that Erica Layton is still missing and they're extremely concerned about her welfare. A guest in an adjacent cabin reported hearing a woman scream last night. A security guard investigated and discovered that the cabin where Erica was staying had been broken into, and apparently there was evidence of a struggle, including blood evidence, which they are now testing for DNA. Please tell me they're not going to find your DNA at the scene."

"I wish I could, but I have a cut on my hand, which I acquired sometime in the night while I was passed out," Dylan said. "I suspect Erica cut me to plant the

blood. It was part of the setup."

"Not the best explanation I've heard."

"It's the truth, and whatever other evidence they have Erica planted as well. The blood tests I took earlier this morning should prove that I was drugged and incapable of hurting anyone."

"Speaking of which, why the hell did you agree to have your blood tested without talking to me first? At the very least we could have stalled until we had a better idea what we were dealing with."

"Yeah, I know. I thought I was going to prove my innocence before the drugs left my system, but I suspect I made things worse. Damn, I hate to be wrong."

"You can't go off half-cocked anymore, Dylan. This is serious."

"Believe me, I'm very aware of just how serious it is. What else did the detective tell you?"

"Not much. They conducted a brief search of the woods but found nothing. They're trying to contact Er-ica's relatives and friends with the help of the San Francisco Police Department. They plan to launch another search tomorrow if Miss Layton hasn't turned up by then. You need to find her. If she's alive, most of your problems go away."

"Most?" Dylan echoed.

"They could still charge you with assault, breaking and entering, but at least you wouldn't be facing a murder charge."

The idea that he could be arrested for murder sent chills down Dylan's spine. Surely it wouldn't go that far. It couldn't. He was an innocent man. "I can't believe this is happening. I drove up here yesterday for my brother's wedding, and now I'm a suspect in a murder investigation? How is that possible?"

"You do lead an exciting life. I think I should come up there. I know you like to handle things yourself, but this is too big. If you didn't kill this woman, someone is working damn hard to make it look like you did."

"Yes. And for the moment I'm going to stick with the belief that Erica is not dead, that this is just part of the frame. I have to find her and make her talk."

"If someone is framing you for Erica's death," Mark said slowly, "they have extremely good motivation to actually kill her."

Mark had a point. But Erica knew how to look out for herself. At least, Dylan hoped she did.

"I need to take care of a few things here," Mark added, "but I can be in Tahoe by tonight. Don't do or say anything to anyone, Dylan. Just stay put. Keep your mouth shut. I'll be in touch."

It was good advice, but Dylan wasn't sure he could take it. He didn't want to play defense. He had to find a way to turn this game upside down. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he decided to shut down his computer. It didn't appear to him that anyone had accessed his files, but he couldn't be positive. It didn't make sense that someone would have gone to the trouble of taking out his computer without doing something to it or looking for something, but he couldn't find any obvious evidence.

He had just returned the computer to its case when Catherine burst into the room. Her breath was coming hard and fast, as if she'd run a few miles. Her hair was tangled, and her cheeks were bright red.

"What's going on?" he asked in alarm.

"They found the scarf," she said. "I took the path you were on last night, and I saw the coast guard and the police searching an area very close to shore."

His chest tightened. "But no body, right?"

"Not that I could see, but I didn't have a great view. This is bad, Dylan. How did they even know to look in the water for her clothing?"

"Someone saw something and called the cops. Or the plan is just continuing to tick away, right on schedule." He paused. "My lawyer thinks they're going to arrest me."

"I do, too." Her gaze clung to his, worry and fear in her eyes.

He made a sudden decision. "I'm not waiting around to find out."

"You shouldn't," Catherine agreed. "You won't be able to fight back if you're in jail."

"Exactly what I was thinking," he muttered, not really surprised they were on the same wavelength. He was starting to get used to the idea that Catherine could almost anticipate what he was going to say before he said it. "Come with me."

"What? Where?"

"Back to San Francisco, for starters."

She hesitated, doubt written across her face. "I don't know, Dylan."

"You said you'd help me," he reminded her.

"Help you find the truth, not evade the police."

He knew she was right. This wasn't her problem; it was his. And he'd always traveled better on his own. But for some reason the idea of cutting her loose disturbed him. "Well, I need to get out of here. You do what you think is best." He couldn't quite believe he was contemplating running out on the cops, but every instinct screamed that he needed to buy himself some time. Everything was moving too fast. The scarf in the lake seemed like another step in a preorchestrated plan to set him up for murder. His tie was probably there, too. If he ran he would definitely look guilty and he could land himself in even worse trouble. It was a risk, but one he had to take. He grabbed the suit he'd worn the night before and stuffed it into his suitcase.

"You should call Jake," Catherine said. "He's your brother. He would want to help."

"I'm not ruining his honeymoon. Nor do I want him involved. He's finally got his life together with Sarah and the baby. He has way too much to lose. I don't."

"Neither do I," she said slowly.

He met her gaze. "Forget it. I shouldn't have asked you to come."

"But you did. And I think I will."

"Why?"

"Do I have to have a reason? You asked me and I accept."

"And I've reconsidered. This isn't your problem, and it could be dangerous."

"I'm coming, Dylan."

"Why would you risk your life to help me?" he questioned.

"Well, I'm hoping I won't be risking my life, but the truth is, I have to see how this plays out. When I was in the woods I connected with Erica again."

"You saw her?"

"In my head," she clarified. "I had another vision. I think it was from last night. Erica was out there in the woods running from someone, then hiding in the trees. She was scared."

"I thought she was in her cabin when someone came after her."

"Maybe she ran into the woods." Catherine pulled her clothes out of the drawers and dragged her suitcase from the closet. "I've been running from my dreams my whole life. I think it's time I chased one down."

"Catherine, if you come with me, you'll be an accessory." He knew he had to state the obvious. She was so caught up in the events going through her head, she wasn't looking at the big picture. "You could be charged, put in jail."

"I've made my decision. I'd like my visions to be worth something good, just once." She paused, taking one last look around the room. "I think I have everything. Should I check out?"

"When did you say you were going to leave?"

"I was planning to stay until Tuesday."

"Then don't check out. I'll pay if you wind up having room charges, but I'd rather not have anyone looking for you yet." He drew in a quick breath. "We'll have to take your car, since I don't have my keys. It's probably better that way anyway. If I leave mine in the lot, it should buy us a little time. Although it won't take much for someone to figure out we're together. The detective already knows we're friends. Still, I'd rather delay the inevitable."

"So you go down the back stairs with the bags and I'll leave through the front," Catherine said. "On the way out, I'll stop at the front desk and tell them I'm interested in taking a boat tour of the lake. I'll make it clear that I'm planning to spend my day on the water, and no one will see me leave with you."

Her words surprised him once again and also reminded him that whatever had happened in her past had taught her how to think ahead, especially when it came to the police. He must have stared at her too long, because her eyebrows pulled together.

"What's wrong? You have an odd look on your face," she said.

"That's admiration. You think very fast on your feet."

"Which is good for you. Speaking of thinking ahead, why do you want to go to San Francisco?" she asked as they turned toward the door. "Won't that be the first place the police look for you?"

"Yes, but if I can get a head start, perhaps I can learn something about Erica that will at least point me in the right direction. I need to find her alive before the cops can prove that I killed her. And I have a feeling it's going to be close."

* * *

They were forty-five minutes out of Tahoe but still in the mountains when Dylan pulled out his cell phone and called Mark. He didn't want his friend to make a wasted trip to Tahoe, but he also hadn't wanted to give Mark a chance to talk him out of leaving. Mark's voice mail picked up, and Dylan was relieved. It would be easier to leave a message and not get into explanations.

"Mark, I'm going to find Erica on my own," he said. "I can't sit in Tahoe and wait for the hammer to drop on my head. I'll be in touch. Just hang tight and wait for my call." He hung up and set the phone on the console between the seats. Mark would have a fit when he found out that Dylan had run, and to be honest he was already having second thoughts himself, but it was too late. He wasn't turning back.

"How long will it take to reach San Francisco?" Catherine asked.

"About three more hours." He checked the rearview mirror. It was ridiculous to think the police might already be on his tail. They wouldn't even have the blood tests back from the hospital yet. Nor had Erica been missing for twenty-four hours. He had a little time. He just had to use it wisely.

Unfortunately, he didn't have more than a vague idea of what he would do when he got to the city. He could check out the few places he knew Erica frequented, but she probably wouldn't be there. If she was hiding, she'd go where he couldn't find her. She could be anywhere in the world. If Ravino was behind the plan, he certainly had plenty of money to make sure Erica disappeared. And if it wasn't Ravino, then who else would use Erica to set him up?

He'd done a lot of stories over the past few years, investigated plenty of crimes, reported on murderers, rapists, burglars, bank robbers. Any one of them could be behind this plan to take him down. But because Erica was involved, it seemed that Ravino was the most likely choice. He was the one person they had in common. However, Dylan didn't want to make the mistake of focusing on one target, only to realize someone had deliberately pointed him in the wrong direction.

"I wish I knew who my enemy was," he muttered, "so I knew who to fight."

"Who else in your life, besides Senator Ravino, would want to torture you like this?" Catherine asked.

"That's what I was just wondering. I have no idea."

"Because it seems to me that a frame for murder is designed to make a person suffer over a long period of time, unlike a bullet to the head, which would kill instantly."

"That's a nice, cheery image."

"Sorry, but it's clear to me that someone hates you, Dylan."

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious to me, too." Her words had brought one person's face to mind, but Dylan dismissed the idea immediately.

Catherine shifted in her seat, and he could feel the heat of her gaze. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He didn't want her in his head, reading his thoughts. There was a part of himself that he didn't allow anyone to see, a part that had been wounded a long

time ago.

"Stop staring at me," he told her.

"I'm making you nervous. But it's not my staring that's really upsetting you. Who hates you, Dylan? It has to be someone close to you," she added. "You should tell me. I might figure it out anyway."

She probably would figure it out. He might not be willing to buy into her psychic power, but he knew she was very perceptive. Finally he said, "There's only one person who I know hates me, and that's my father. But it's ludicrous to think that he would spend any time whatsoever trying to set me up for murder."

"Your
ather
? Now I know why you didn't want to tell me."

"Because he's not involved."

"Why do you think he hates you?"

"I don't think it. I know it," he said firmly. "Richard Sanders never pretended to love me. In fact, he beat the crap out of me until I was sixteen years old and could fight back. Then he threw me out of the house, ending what little relationship we had."

"That's horrible."

"It wasn't good," he said through tight lips. He really did not want to talk about his father. "Fortunately I had Jake; otherwise I don't think I would have survived my childhood."

"Jake protected you?"

"As much as he could. He even tried to take the blame a few times, but my father saw through it. He always went after me."

"Was your father physical with Jake, too?"

"I never saw him hit Jake, but he wasn't above manipulating him or finding ways to make him feel bad. But I'd have to say that I was my father's main target. After he kicked me out of the house, I went and lived with Jake. He was going to UC Berkeley at the time and had an apartment with a couple of guys. I slept on the couch and enrolled at the nearest high school and somehow managed to get a diploma. Jake made sure I went to college, too, and he paid for all of it. He worked two jobs, took out loans, all while he was trying to get his own education. I don't know how he did it. He's only three years older than me, but he was more of a surrogate parent than a brother."