He held out his hand, revealing the cross. "Maybe this would help."

She didn't make any move to take the cross from his palm. In fact, she looked as if it were the last thing she wanted to do. "I can't."

"It's a direct link to Erica."

"That's what I'm scared of."

"Then put your hand over mine." He closed his fingers around the cross and waited. "Trust me, Catherine."

She looked him straight in the eye. "Do you trust me?"

"I'm trying," he said. "You have to try, too."

Catherine hesitated another second, then tentatively put her hand over his. He felt a jolt of electricity zing through him. Their gazes met, clashed, clung. He couldn't look away. She couldn't either. This moment was about more than just the cross, more than Erica. It was about whether or not they could count on each other. And it shocked him to know he wanted to be able to count on her. He hadn't felt that way about anyone in a very long time. He was tempted to yank his hand away, but he'd started this, and he had to finish it.

Catherine closed her eyes. "I can feel her heart beating," she whispered. "Fast, short, terrified. She's never been this scared."

Dylan was feeling spooked himself. The cross was growing hot in his hand, burning him with an intense heat. Was he feeling Erica's heartbeat, too, through his connection to Catherine? Or was that his own heart threatening to jump out of his chest?

Catherine opened her eyes and dropped her hand back to her side. Just like that the connection between them broke.

"She's alive-for now." Catherine let out a sigh of relief. "She's not here anymore."

"Did you see where she was?" The cross in his hand was cool now. Had he imagined its heat? Shit! What the hell was wrong with him?

"No, but she's hiding. That's all I could feel. I'm sorry. I know that's not very helpful."

"Not really."

"Dylan, I told you that I don't see a road map in my head. I'm not a GPS tracking device. I'm a person who gets feelings that aren't always specific. But I got us here, didn't I?"

"I don't know how you did that."

"You said you were trying to trust me. Were you just bullshitting me so I'd touch the cross?"

"No. I am trying. I'm just pissed off that nothing is working," he said, letting out a sigh. "Sorry if I took it out on you."

"Don't do it again. I'm your partner, and right now you don't have anyone else."

"I know."

Catherine shivered as a wind blew through the rotunda. "It's getting cold."

"Let's go back to the car."

"Then what?"

"My apartment," he said, making a quick decision.

"That's a little risky, isn't it?"

"Erica was there. I need to see if she left me a note or something. It's just a few blocks from here."

They were halfway to the car when Dylan's cell phone rang again. It was his attorney.

"Where the hell are you?" Mark demanded. "I told you to stay put."

"I couldn't do that. I need to find Erica before the police decide to lock me up."

"Then you'd better find her fast, because I just got a call from Detective Richardson, and he's looking for you. He said your car is in the lot, but you checked out of the lodge several hours ago and no one has seen you since. Your best bet is to go back to Tahoe and work this out. I can meet you there. You don't have to do it alone."

"My best bet is to find Erica. I know she's alive. She called me on my cell phone."

"No way. You heard from her?"

"Yes, she said she was sorry."

"That's good news. I'm happy to hear she's alive, but we need more than your word that she called you. What else did she say?"

"That she was in trouble and someone was after her. Then she hung up the phone."

"What does that mean? Who's after her besides you?"

"I suspect whoever is setting me up for her murder wants to make sure she's really dead. And I'm guessing Erica didn't realize that her death was going to be real, not fake."

"This sounds like a damn movie," Mark grumbled.

"Well, I wish I had the script so I could see what was coming next. At any rate, I can't turn myself in until I find Erica."

"Where are you?"

"It's better if you don't know. I don't want to make you an accessory, Mark."

"Dylan, I have to advise you that should the police gather enough evidence to get an arrest warrant, the fact that you ran will make your defense much more difficult."

Dylan knew that everything Mark was saying was true, but he'd made his choice, and he'd have to live with it. "I'll call you when I find Erica."

"Wait. Don't use your cell phone again. It will be too easy to trace."

Mark was right, dammit. Dylan should have thought of that already. The police had probably already figured out he was in San Francisco. "Thanks for the reminder. I'll find a way to get in touch with you."

"The police are looking for you, aren't they?" Catherine asked as he closed his phone.

"They're wondering where I am."

"Mark wants you to go back to Tahoe, doesn't he?"

"Yes, but Erica isn't there. She's in this city, and I'm not leaving until I find her. But maybe you should go, Catherine. This situation is getting worse by the minute.

It's not too late for you to disappear. You can make up a story about me stealing your car, forcing you to come with me. You don't have to do this."

"Oh, please, we are way beyond that, Dylan. I'm in. I'm all the way in." She looked directly into his eyes. "I know Erica is alive, and you didn't kill her. I won't stand by and let an innocent man go to jail."

"I hope you don't regret that decision," Dylan said.

"Me, too."

Chapter 8.

Dylan's apartment was on the second floor of a three-story building in the Marina, just a few blocks from the Palace of Fine Arts. When they arrived they found his door wide-open. It appeared that the lock had been broken.

"You'd better wait here," Dylan said, his voice grim. "There could be someone inside."

"There's no one there," Catherine told him, certain as she said the words. "They're gone."

Dylan shot her a quick look. "Well, just to be sure, I'll go first."

She didn't bother to argue. Dylan had to trust his own instincts as well as hers. Despite his suggestion that she wait, she followed him inside. She was curious to see where he lived, if his home fit him. Her first impression was of a masculine yet warm space. In the living room were two soft brown leather couches, a matching reclining chair, and a big-screen plasma TV that took up most of the wall over the fireplace. Against the window was a desk holding a computer as well as a pile of newspapers and a stack of file folders. Dylan obviously brought his work home with him. On the walls were photographs of the city, many of which she suspected had been taken by Sarah. Sarah had also sent her some of her photographs. She was apparently thinking of making her longtime hobby a business.

As Catherine moved around the room she noted the details. The apartment was comfortably messy: an empty cup on the coffee table, a basketball on the floor, a sweatshirt slung over the back of a stool by the kitchen counter. She liked the feel of Dylan's home. It was casual, unpretentious, yet he had all the latest high-tech gadgets. It suited him. And nowhere did she see any sign of a woman's influence. That wasn't surprising. He was a private man, and he liked to control his environment.

It was probably easier to leave if he went home with a woman rather than inviting her here. Not that she needed to be wondering about that part of Dylan's personal life. It was certainly none of her business where he spent his nights, and in whose bed. But, of course, she wondered anyway, because she was ridiculously attracted to the man, and she knew he was not for her. He would rock her entire world, and then he'd go, and she was so tired of saying good-bye to people, especially to someone she wouldn't be able to forget. Dylan definitely fell into that category.

ocus on Erica, she told herself, watching as Dylan disappeared into his bedroom. She needed to try to connect with Erica. The woman had been here in this room. So why couldn't Catherine feel her presence?

It had to be that her mind was too cluttered. Her senses were much too aware of Dylan. She was having trouble letting anything else into her head. She took a deep breath, searching for some tiny hint of perfume lingering in the air, something that would link her to Erica, but nothing clicked.

After a moment she entered Dylan's bedroom, knowing it was probably not the best move but compelled to see where he slept. His king-size bed was unmade, the blankets tossed toward the foot of the bed, but while there were two pillows, only one showed the imprint of a head. Dylan had slept alone the last night he was here. She found that fact strangely comforting.

Dylan shut the window and locked it. "I never leave this window open. I'm going to check the living room again, see if Erica left any clue behind."

Catherine stared at the window for a moment, trying to picture someone climbing out or in, but again her brain refused to cooperate, and her gaze drifted back to the bed. As she focused on the light blue sheets and the soft pillows her pulse quickened, and she was suddenly afraid that the connection she'd been searching for was going to happen now. She knew Dylan and Erica had spent the night together six weeks ago. Had their one-night stand taken place here? The last thing she wanted was to follow Erica into Dylan's bed. She could not stand the idea that she might envision them having sex together. But as much as she wanted to leave the room, she couldn't force herself to move or even gaze away from the bed.

n her mind she could see Dylan sitting on the bed, naked rom the waist up, fine golden hairs across his tanned chest. He was waiting or someone. His warm brown eyes sparkled with desire. He waved a beckoning hand and then patted the mattress next to him.

She elt hersel drawn to him, the power o his confident smile, his gaze, so intense, so filled with want and need, the same emotions tumbling around inside o her. She didn't want to fight it, yet as she elt hersel moving closer, she won dered i she was making a terrible mistake. He wouldn't want her orever, just or tonight.

Maybe that was enough.

t couldn't be wrong, not the way she elt. She would take whatever she could get. She would have no regrets. Nothing in her li e had ever lasted orever. Why should this be any di erent?

She sat down on the bed, placing her palm on his abdomen, the warmth o his skin charging the heat already running through her. He was a beauti ully made man with tight, sup ple, and power ul muscles, a man who could tear her heart apart with one kiss.

He put his hand on the back o her neck, pulling her closer until his breath caressed her cheek. Her heart skipped in an ticipation. But he suddenly seemed in no hurry. His fingers curled in her hair; then his lips touched her cheek, setting o a firestorm o emotion, but it wasn't enough, not nearly enough.

Sliding her arms around his back, she turned her head, shamelessly seeking a ull on kiss. As her mouth settled against his, her stomach clenched at the sweet, hot taste. She went back or more, kissing him until she couldn't breathe, her hands moving restlessly down his spine.

Dylan groaned, taking the lead as he tossed her on her back in one quick movement. Her legs tangled in the sheets as he straddled her body. He cupped her ace with his hands, then swooped in or another kiss, his tongue sliding inside her mouth, demanding everything she had to give. One o his hands dropped to her breast, kneading the so t flesh, his thumb running across her nipple, making her crazy with de sire and very impatient. She'd never elt this way about any one.

But he was pulling away, his gaze meeting hers. She was a raid he was leaving, but then she saw the seductive smile. "Catherine," he murmured.

The sound of her name sent her reeling. She wasn't seeing Erica and Dylan together. She was seeing- "Catherine."

Dylan's voice rang out again, and she started in surprise. He wasn't half-naked in bed anymore. He was standing right next to her, fully clothed, his gaze narrowing as he took in her expression. "What did you see? You had another vision, didn't you?"

Her breath came quickly, and she struggled to slow down her racing heart. How on earth was she going to answer that question? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth.

"You saw someone in my bed. Was it Erica?" he persisted. "Were you channeling her again?" His eyes narrowed as his gaze ran across her face. "I'm going to need an answer."

"I thought it was Erica, but it wasn't," she said finally, hoping he would leave it at that. "Did you find anything in the other room? Because if not, I think we should go." She turned to leave, but he caught her by the arm.

"Hold on a second. Don't clam up on me now, Catherine."

"I didn't see anything that will help you," she told him, desperate to get away, but he had a tight grip on her arm.

"Let me be the judge of that. Come on, spill it."

"I saw you in bed with a woman, okay? Are we done?"

"I don't think so." He tilted his head to one side, his gaze thoughtful. "I didn't bring Erica here. I thought you were connected to her."

"I thought I was, too."

"What did the woman look like?"

She stared at him for a long moment. There was a spark in his eyes that told her he was asking a loaded question, a question he already knew the answer to. She wanted to say nothing, but she knew Dylan wouldn't let her go until he'd gotten everything out of her. "I saw us, you and me together. Are you satisfied?"

"I don't know-was I satisfied?" A cocky smile spread across his lips.

"It didn't go that far. We just kissed and stuff." She tried to yank her arm away, but he hung on.

"Stuff?" he echoed. "Like what?"

Her breasts tingled as she remembered the heat of his touch. She cleared her throat, trying to get a grip on her emotions. "I can't remember."

"Liar."

"Just leave it alone."

"You know I never leave anything alone. So you and I are going to go to bed together in the future, right? You said your visions always come true. If you saw us in bed, then-"