"Your relationship wasn't just business, was it, Mr. Sanders?"

Dylan licked his lips, feeling as if a noose were being pulled around his neck. He needed time to think, but he doubted the detective would give it to him. "Do I need to get a lawyer?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

"Look, I was drugged. I don't know what happened to Erica-if, in fact, anything did happen to her. If you don't believe me I'll get a drug test," he said impulsively. He needed to prove his innocence, and this was the perfect way to do it. "I'll get one right now."

"You'd be willing to do that?"

"Absolutely. I don't have anything to hide."

"If you didn't have something to hide, I doubt you'd be asking for your lawyer," the detective said with a wry twist to his lips. He paused for another second and then nodded. "I'll send one of our deputies with you to the local hospital. He can set up the tests. Excuse me for a minute."

Dylan let out a breath as the detective went to confer with the deputy. He hoped he hadn't made a mistake by agreeing to take a drug test, but he couldn't think of a better way to prove he had been incapable of hurting anyone. Turning his head, he saw Catherine watching him from across the lobby. He walked over to join her.

"Are you okay?" she asked with concern. "You have dirt in your hair, and you look like you've been up all night."

He ran his fingers through his hair, creating a shower of needles on the carpet. "Obviously I'm not all right. What do you know about Erica?"

"Was she the woman at the bar?"

"Don't play dumb, Catherine. You know something is going on. That's why you're down here. And you predicted Erica's arrival, remember?"

"Of course I remember. I never forget my visions," she said, her blue gaze meeting his. "I knew her face, but I didn't know her name."

"Didn't you?" he challenged. "You said we were all connected. Why do I get the feeling you're setting me up?"

"Why would I do that? You're Jake's brother, Sarah's brother-in-law. Sarah would kill me if I tried to hurt you." Her eyes narrowed. "Besides, what reason could I possibly have for wanting to set you up for something? I barely know you."

He couldn't think of a reason; he just knew he didn't completely trust her. "If you knew Erica would cause trouble for me, why did you take off yesterday? Why didn't you stick around to help me?"

"It wasn't my business, and you seemed to know her. I certainly didn't expect her to drug you and drag you off to the woods, if that's what happened. I heard what you told the detective," she added. "You weren't talking all that quietly. I'm sure everyone heard your story."

"Well, it's not a secret," he said with annoyance, although now he wished he'd spoken to the detective in a more private setting. The lodge employees were all looking at him with extreme speculation.

Catherine's gaze darted around the room as if she were waiting for something else to happen. Did she know what was coming? Had she seen something else?

He'd never believed in psychics or visions, and certainly Catherine's prediction that two women would enter his life and cause problems was vague enough to come true at just about any time. After all, a lot of women came into his life. But it did bother him that Catherine had identified Erica as the woman she'd seen in her vision, especially now that Erica was missing. Had it been just a lucky guess? Had Catherine seen Erica come up to him at the bar and decided to tell him that was the woman from her vision to make it look as if she really were a psychic? Or was there something to her supposed visions?

"So what's going to happen next?" he asked. "Since you seem to have an insight into the future that the rest of us don't have."

"Obviously you don't believe that I do," she snapped back. "I don't know why I came down here."

"Why did you? Or are you going to claim you were just headed for breakfast?"

She hesitated. "I was worried about you. I saw the cop car from my room. I knew something was up."

"And you decided I was the one in trouble?"

"I had a bad feeling."

"Sure you did," he said wearily. "You can never give me a straight answer, can you?"

"That is a straight answer. I work off my instincts, Dylan. But you have bigger problems to worry about than why I'm here."

"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?"