"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 one 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 between 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 sidewalk 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. Crossing 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.

The phone rang a couple of times. Finally he answered. She started to tell him she was sorry, that she didn't have a choice. Then she heard the front doorknob turn.

Her heart stood still. Someone was trying to break in. It wasn't Dylan. He was on the phone. She hung up, his voice still ringing in her ear. She moved around the room, searching for a way out, but she was on the second floor.

Whoever was after her was going to get her.

She ran into the bedroom, sensing that she didn't have much time. She threw open one of the windows, relieved to see the branches of a tree not far away. If she missed the tree, she could severely hurt herself. But what choice did she have?

She crawled out of the window and jumped toward the tree, her hands slipping on the branch, but she managed to hang on. Then she scrambled down the trunk, dropping to the ground just as she heard a male swear from the floor above her.

She ran through the next yard, pausing when she hit the street. She saw a man come out of Dylan's building. He was between her and her car. Unable to go back, she fled down the block, trying to stay close to the buildings and out of sight. She didn't stop running until she reached the park by the Palace of Fine Arts. She could lose herself in the crowds, the building, the shadows.

"Please, God, don't let him find me," she prayed. But she wondered deep in her heart if anyone was listening. She'd been a fool to believe she was only supposed to pretend to be dead. Her greed had gotten her into this mess, and now she was going to pay.

"Catherine."

Catherine opened her eyes as Dylan's sharp voice penetrated her brain. He'd opened the door on the passenger side, and he was holding a woman's purse.

"I found her bag in the car," he said. "But there's nothing in it except a wallet, a few pens, and some makeup."

She swallowed, trying to bring herself back to reality. "Her cell phone is in the car."

Dylan stared at her for a moment. Then he said, "Where?"

"Between the seats. It fell out of her purse when she reached for your keys."

He took a breath but didn't bother to ask her how she knew. He jogged back to Erica's car, and she watched him reach between the seats, finally pulling out a hot-pink metallic phone. He was already reading through the numbers when he returned to the car. "Anything else?" he said.

"Nothing that will help you, I don't think. You already know that Erica was in your apartment, and that someone came in after her. She went out the window in your bedroom and ran toward the Palace of Fine Arts."

"You're channeling her again, even though she's dead? Do you think there's a chance that the woman in the park is not her?" Dylan asked.

She immediately cut him off with a wave of her hand, seeing the hopeful glint in his eyes fade. "No, I'm sorry."

"Then where did the vision come from?"

"It was her car. I was watching you, and when you touched the door I suddenly saw her and all the rest."

Dylan sat down in the seat and pulled the door shut, then stared at the cell phone in his hand. "I don't recognize any of these numbers, but I certainly don't mind spending the afternoon calling them. Erica must have had some contact with whoever used her to get to me. That person has to be on this phone. We're getting close, Catherine. I can feel it."

"I hope so. But I don't think we should hang around here."

"I agree. Looks like you finally got the driver's seat. Go down to the corner and turn left. I'll direct you back to my grandmother's house from there."

"Do you think we'll still be safe there?"

He turned on the car radio, flipping through the channels until he got to the news. "As long as we don't hear my name I think we're still okay-for a few hours, anyway."

Catherine shivered as a chill ran through her. She had the distinct feeling they weren't going to have that long.

Chapter 13.

Catherine's tension eased as she drove away from Dy-lan's apartment. Leaving Erica's Jetta behind seemed to break the link between them. Her mind felt light again, yet she couldn't deny a lingering sadness. Her visions had taken her into Erica's head. She had experienced the same fear, the same desperation, and Erica was now dead. She'd lost her battle, and there wasn't a damn thing Catherine could do about it. Erica might have made some huge mistakes, but she certainly hadn't deserved to die.

And it wasn't over. There was still a fight to win, Catherine reminded herself. That was what she had to focus on now. She couldn't do anything to save Erica, but she could help Dylan, and hopefully together they would find Erica's killer and make sure he paid for what he'd done. Erica would have justice, even if she wasn't completely innocent.

Having glimpsed Erica's thoughts, Catherine knew the woman had been conflicted about what she was doing. Not that that justified her actions, but Erica had obviously felt some pressure to set Dylan up; she'd had some reason to participate, and Catherine suspected that whoever had coerced or invited Erica to participate had known exactly how to manipulate her. That person was very, very clever. She and Dylan were going to have to be smarter.

They had almost reached Dylan's grandmother's house when Catherine spotted a supermarket with a deli. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she decided to make a quick stop. It was already after one o'clock, and they would need some fuel to keep them going. Dylan looked up from the cell phone when she pulled into the parking lot.

"Groceries," she said simply.

"Want me to go with you?"

"I think I can make it on my own, and your face is the one we're most worried about being seen," she replied.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that. We might see a photo of both of us on the evening news."

She paused, her hand on the door. "The only photo they'd have of me is the one on my driver's license. That's a scary thought."

"Don't flash your license or a credit card in the store. Do you need cash?"

"I have enough. I'll be right back."

It felt surprisingly normal to walk into the market, to be around people who were completing their average, everyday Sunday chores. So much had happened in the past few days, Catherine had begun to feel caught up in a vacuum. Now she could breathe again, give her brain a rest, peruse gossip magazines and listen to the idle conversations of the people waiting in line to check out.

A mother and her young son were in line in front of her. The boy was about four or five years old and was standing in the back of the shopping cart, holding on to the side with tiny, grubby hands. A colorful Band-Aid, decorated with red stars, crossed his forehead, and he was not happy about it. He kept putting his fingers to the Band-Aid. The mother smoothed the golden curls away in a loving, tender gesture. "Don't touch," she said. "We want to keep your skin clean."

Catherine's heart sped up as another voice came into her head, another woman, another child....

The little boy was crying, his knee scraped. The mother knelt down on the deck and placed the Band-Aid over his cut. Then she put her arms around the child and gave him a tight squeeze. Her yellow summer dress blew in the breeze. "It's okay, Dylan. You're all right. Mommy will make it better."

Catherine rocked back on her heels as she realized she'd seen Dylan with his mother, the woman who'd left him so many years ago, who'd abandoned him to his abusive father, the woman Dylan thought hated him. But the woman in her vision had seemed soft and caring, tender and kind. Something was off about Dy-lan's memories. Or maybe there was something Dylan didn't know about his mother. Catherine sensed that what she'd seen was important in some way. It had been just a brief moment in time, but it meant something. She had to figure out what.

Maybe she'd tapped into his mother because they'd been at his father's house where so many of Dylan's memories were stored. Or perhaps she was remembering because Dylan was remembering. But that didn't seem likely. Dylan was intent on forgetting his past, not bringing it back.

After checking out of the store she returned to the car to find Dylan on the phone. He hung up with a frown as she set her groceries on the backseat and then slipped behind the wheel.

"Who were you talking to?" she asked.

"Unfortunately, no one. That was the third no answer, no message machine that I called. I thought this phone was going to be more helpful, but so far I've spoken to a woman at a hair salon where Erica went, connected with her wireless company, and reached a pizza place."

"It's funny how those details make her seem less evil, more human, just like us. It's really horrible, what happened to her."

"Yeah," Dylan said in a clipped voice.

"You're not letting yourself feel it, are you?"

He shot her an annoyed look. "What's the point? If I waste time and energy feeling sorry for Erica, I may end up just like her."

She knew he wasn't as callous as he pretended to be. He cared. She'd seen it in his eyes last night when the reality of what had happened to Erica had become clear. But she could understand why he needed to keep his emotions under lock and key, at least for now. Perhaps if he let himself feel too much, he wouldn't be able to go on the way he needed to go on.

Dylan was far more used to compartmentalizing his feelings than she was. As a journalist he had to stay apart from the action. He had to keep a distance between the horror he was reporting and himself. That was what he was doing now. She, on the other hand, felt as if part of her had died the night before. And she felt a sharp edge of pain every time the last image she had of Erica played in her head. She hoped someday she would be able to forget it.

"Erica made a lot of calls in the last two weeks," Dylan said with a sigh.

Catherine started the car and drove out of the parking lot. "Any numbers look familiar?"

"She called my news station three times last week."

"Well, you said she'd tried to call you before she came to Tahoe, so that makes sense."

"The odd thing is, I don't remember getting any messages from her at work. She left messages on my cell and also my home phone but not at work."

"She might not have wanted you to know how many times she was calling, and if you weren't in she just hung up."

"Yeah, you're probably right."

Catherine heard the doubt in his voice. "What are you thinking, Dylan?"

"I'm not sure. I just have a bad feeling. Shit. I'm starting to sound like you."

"You should listen to your feelings," she said, ignoring the jab. "If she didn't call you at the station, who else would she have called?"