Dylan stared at the water for a long moment. She followed his gaze, searching for odd bubbles, a swirl of water, a shadowy monster coming out of the sea. Was he really gone? Was her father dead? Was the man who had haunted her for more than twenty years finally vanquished? She wanted to believe it was over, but she still felt uneasy, uncertain.

Dylan turned his head to look at her, his eyes still conveying his shock. "You saved my life. I would have died if you hadn't come after me."

"You saved my life. He was going to kill me. If you hadn't thrown that rock at his head I'd be dead now."

"I never wanted to hit a target so badly in my life."

Dylan grabbed her by the shoulders and hauled her over to him, kissing her again and again, his mouth impatiently seeking hers, his need to reaffirm that they were both alive echoing through both of them. His fingers dug into her skin as if he were afraid that she'd slip through his fingers, but she wasn't going anywhere. She was going to hold on to him as long as he held on to her. Eventually they had to come up for air. Catherine's heart broke with emotion as she saw the tenderness in Dylan's eyes. He cupped her face with his hands and just looked at her.

"He didn't hurt you, did he?" Dylan asked, his gaze searching.

"No, not in a physical way. I don't really know what happened. He came up behind me at the cemetery. I didn't hear him. He put a cloth over my face. It knocked me out, I guess. The next thing I knew I was in the trunk of his car." She licked her lips. "I was really scared, Dylan. Not like in my dreams. This was real, way too real."

"I know. I've never experienced such terror as that moment when I realized you were gone. I shouldn't have sent you even ten feet away from me. You told me he was coming after you. I should have kept that in my head."

"It's all right. I'm okay. But there's something you don't know about that man."

Dylan's hands dropped to his sides, his gaze narrowing on hers. "What did he tell you? Did he say who hired him? Who wants us dead?"

She shook her head. "I asked, but he didn't answer." Mentally she replayed the scene between them, feeling once again the horror of recognition, the realization that he would kill her, even knowing who she was.

"Catherine," Dylan prodded. "What else?"

"I know why I was connected to him now. I know why I could hear his voice in my head, why I could feel his evil all the way into my soul. That man who was going to kill me was my father."

Dylan's jaw fell open, his eyes widening in amazement, disbelief. "That's . . . that's unbelievable."

"He didn't know it was me," she said quickly. "Not until we got down here to the dock, and he finally looked me in the eye. Before that I was just a job to him. That's what he does. He kills people. All these years . . . all those nightmares . . . all those victims . . . they were his victims. I saw them die. I saw him kill, and I couldn't stop him. I couldn't save anyone, not even my mother." Her eyes filled with tears. "I remembered the night she died, everything-how I crept out of bed when they started yelling, the awful things he said to her. He thought she was crazy. He was high on drugs. He was wild, like an animal, a vicious animal intent on ripping his prey apart. I tried to throw my arms around his leg once, but he shook me off, and after that I just stood there and watched. How could I do that, Dylan? How could I just stand there?"

"Oh, Catherine, you were a little girl." He pulled her into his arms, pressing her face against his chest, stroking her hair. "You did try to stop him, but you couldn't. No one could have."

She wanted to believe him, and in her head she did, but the emotional guilt would run through her veins for a long time to come. "Maybe I wouldn't have succeeded," she admitted. "But I should have tried harder."

He held her away from him so he could look at her. "You tried damn hard to save me, and you did. Think about that, Catherine. Let the past go. It's over. He's dead. He's gone."

"I wish I could be sure he's not going to come out of that water. What if he just swam away?" She could see by Dylan's expression that he'd considered the same possibility.

"I don't think he did. I saw his eyes bug out when I had my hands on his neck. He couldn't get his breath. He was going down."

"But you said you hit something hard. He must have knocked your head into the pillar under the dock. You were unconscious when I jumped in the water. He could have gotten away."

He inclined his head in agreement. "I guess it's possible. But you didn't see him, did you?"

"No. I didn't see him. I just saw blood everywhere."

"I think he's gone, but you don't have to believe me. You know what's in your heart. What do you feel?"

What did she feel? She shook her head, not sure she could go there so soon. "I don't know. I'm confused. And I don't really want to try to reach him again."

"Well, that's understandable."

"You finally trust my connections, don't you?" she asked, a little amazed at the idea that Dylan had come around to believing in her so completely. She'd thought that there was a part of her that his logical brain wouldn't ever be able to accept.

"They brought me to you," he said. "I heard you talk to me. You described the house, the bird feeder, the stone chimney."

"Oh, my God. Really? So you're saying you heard voices in your head? You'd better not tell the police that. They'll take you to the loony bin."

"Not voices, your voice." He gave her a slow smile. "Apparently you're not the only one who might be a little psychic, but why don't we keep that between the two of us?" His smile dimmed, his eyes turning more serious. "I also remembered the place from a long time ago. My mother used to come here. I think she met him here, my father. There has to be a meaning to this location. That's all I can think of."

"I wish I could have made my father say who hired him."

"We know, Catherine. It's always been about our fathers and our mothers, and the odd parallels between our lives. I can't believe I'm admitting it, but I'm beginning to see that life isn't just about facts. It's not black and white. It's filled with a million shades of gray and things that don't make sense."

She knew it had taken a lot for Dylan to realize that he didn't have all the answers and that he wasn't in complete control of his life or his destiny. But he was starting to accept his emotions and have faith in what he didn't understand.

For a moment they just sat on the pebbled beach, staring out at the water. She didn't know if Dylan was searching for signs of her father, but she certainly was. He would have had to swim a long way to get out of sight, to be able to come to shore without their seeing him, but it wasn't impossible. Maybe she was the one who needed faith.

"We should go," Dylan said. "But before we leave the island, before we go back to face my father, I want to see if I can find anyone here who can tell me exactly how my mother drowned. Maybe one of the neighbors will know. Some of the people who live on the island have been here for years."

"All right," she agreed. She got to her feet and ran her hands through her wet hair. Her clothes were still dripping, and she leaned over to wring out the edges of her shirt and pants. She retrieved her shoes and sweater from the deck, standing there for a moment to take another sweeping perusal of the area. She drew in a breath and tried to be really quiet. She didn't want to reconnect with her father, but she had to see if she could get to him one last time. Her mind could call up his image. She could see him wrestling with Dylan, falling into the water, but there was nothing else. She couldn't feel him inside of her. Maybe he really was gone.

Dylan shifted in his seat, his soaked jeans sticking uncomfortably to his legs, but being wet was the least of his worries. Despite his confident proclamation that Catherine's father was dead, he wasn't absolutely sure. Nor was he willing to let down his guard in any other way. They'd escaped one bad guy; who knew how many more were waiting in the wings? If there was anything he knew about Richard Sanders, it was that the old man got what he wanted, and he never gave up. But Richard had probably never expected the pro he'd hired to fail. They were both supposed to die on this island, far, far away from Richard's life.

Still, if Richard had wanted to distance himself from the crime, why hadn't he sent them somewhere else, steered them in another direction? Why send them back to a house that he owned? Frowning, Dylan knew something wasn't adding up, but he couldn't figure out what it was.

Hell, maybe the plan had been to kill Catherine and frame Dylan once again. Perhaps he'd never been meant to die, just to be held responsible for the deaths of a bunch of innocent people. It was a sick thought, but his father had to be unbalanced to have lived the lies he'd lived for twenty-plus years.

Not his father, he reminded himself. Richard Sanders was not his father. His ugly, nasty genes did not run through this body. Thank God for that.

Glancing over at Catherine, he realized she was still feeling on edge, because her father-her ugly, nasty father-had tried to kill her. It was amazing that the shooter had turned out to be her father-or maybe it wasn't. Maybe, as Catherine said, the universe had thrown them together for a reason. Whatever the reason, he couldn't imagine how she'd felt facing the man who'd killed her mother. But she certainly hadn't shown fear. When he'd come down the path she'd been standing strong and tall. She hadn't wavered in front of her father. She'd faced him head-on. Dylan was more than a little proud of her. It had to have taken every last ounce of courage she possessed to look her monster in the eye.

Besides being proud, he was also more than a little grateful to her for saving his ass. If she hadn't jumped in the water, pulled him out of Puget Sound, and given him mouth-to-mouth, he'd be swimming with the fishes right now-or worse yet, with her insane father.

They made a good team. It was going to be hard to say good-bye to her.

Why should you say good-bye? a voice inside his head asked.

Because she'll want more than you can give. She'll take everything-your heart, your mind, your soul. You'll never be your own person again. You'll never have complete control over your own life.

But hadn't she already taken everything he had? And hadn't she given him back far more?

She glanced over at him, offering him her beautiful, generous smile. She held out her hand, and he took it.

He didn't have to say good-bye just yet.

After parking the car in front of his mother's house, Catherine and Dylan headed across the street to knock on the door of the nearest neighbor. Dylan had certainly recovered the bounce in his step, Catherine thought, following him a bit more slowly. She still felt uneasy. It probably had to do with the fact that she hadn't really seen her father die, and it was difficult to believe he wasn't going to pop up out of nowhere and finish the job. She tried to push the bad feeling away and concentrate on Dylan. There were so many things he would never know about his mother, but perhaps she could help him at least find the answer to how she'd died.

"I remember I used to play over here with a couple of girls," Dylan said as they approached the blue house with white shutters. "I can't remember their names. I know our parents were friends. We barbecued together on the weekends. There's a car in the driveway. Hopefully someone is home and can tell me what I need to know."

Dylan knocked on the door, his rap sending the door ajar. Apparently it hadn't been closed all the way.

"We can't just go in," she whispered. "It's someone else's home."

"This is the island; everyone just goes in. The people are probably at the beach or on a hike. And we won't find any information out here." He stepped into the living room. Catherine slid in behind him. No one seemed to have heard them. Nor did anyone appear to be in the house. The little living room was very neat and very empty.

Catherine moved farther into the room, her gaze sweeping over the furniture, the couch, the tables, the photographs on the mantel. From that distance she could see two little girls, a mother and a father. She started across the room, and then stopped abruptly, the picture on the wall stirring her memory.

A sand castle with turrets and towers, and a moat to protect the prince and the princess and all the children inside. But the waves came and the water swirled through the open doors and windows, drowning everyone inside.

She drew in a deep breath and moved closer to get a better look at the picture. Next to the sand castle stood two little blond girls and their mother, all wearing bathing suits. Behind them was their father, a tall man also in a bathing suit and a bright yellow T-shirt, a big grin on his face. The man had his arms around all of his girls, and they looked impossibly proud.

"What are you staring at?" Dylan asked.

"I saw this picture in my head a while ago- yesterday, I think. I thought I was connecting to your mother, but this woman isn't her."

Dylan crossed the room and took the photograph off the mantel. "I think I remember when this was taken. Those were the girls I played with. What were their names? Shannon was the older one, and Julie was the younger one. Yes, Shannon and Julie." Dylan gave her a pleased smile, which quickly faded as he read her expression, as he reviewed what he'd just said in his mind. "No, it can't be." He turned his gaze back to the picture. "My God, Catherine. I think that's Julie Bris-tow, the woman from my office."

"So you finally remembered me. It's about time."

Catherine swung around as Julie came into the room. Catherine was shocked to see that the woman was in a wheelchair. When she'd met Julie before she'd been sitting at a desk. She'd had no idea that the woman was disabled. There was a blanket over her lap hiding her legs, but there was no hiding the expression of disappointment on her face.

"He didn't kill you," she said, as her gaze settled on Catherine. "I had a feeling he would fail. Dylan always wins. He's the golden boy. He saved you, didn't he?" She turned to Dylan with pure hatred in her eyes. "You're always the hero."

Catherine had thought Julie was in love with Dylan, but now she saw it was the opposite: Julie despised him. She wanted him to suffer. She wanted him dead. She was the one who'd made the plan. The realization hit Catherine hard. They'd been wrong about Dylan's father.

It was Julie. It had always been Julie.

Catherine glanced at Dylan and saw the same shock in his eyes.

"Julie, what's this about?" he demanded. "What's going on?"

"You haven't figured it out yet? I thought you were so smart."

"I know my father isn't my father."

"Very good," she said. "Give the boy a prize."

Dylan stared at her in confusion. "You knew that?"

"Of course I knew."

"I don't get it. You set me up? This is your work? I thought we were friends. Why would you do that to me? Why would you use Erica? Shit! Why would you kill Erica? She was an innocent woman."

"Not so innocent, and she was just the means to an end. I wasn't going to kill her at first, but I knew they wouldn't be able to pin a murder charge on you without a body, so she had to go. I wanted to see you in jail, suffering, trapped. I saw how happy you were when you sent the senator there. Even though he hadn't been convicted yet, you crowed about how he would never be free again. You don't know what it's like not to be free. You need to know. I figured you'd believe the senator was behind the plan to frame you, that you'd never suspect me, and you didn't. I left you that video from the Metro Club so you'd wonder about your father, about Blake. And I told you that Blake had gone to Seattle with Erica so that you'd eventually figure out to come here. Even though you didn't remember me, I thought you might remember coming here. Then I planted your mother's obituary in the drawer of your old house."

"Julie, you're not making sense."

"I'm not making sense? Maybe you're not listening. You never listen. You're far more interested in talking."

"I'm listening now. Tell me the rest."

"When you came to the station the other day I knew you were going to keep running, that it would be difficult to send you to jail, so I had to change the plan. I had to kill you. But first I wanted you to suffer, because dying is easy. It's the rest that's hard." She drew in a quick breath, her eyes filled with the fire of hate. "I wanted you to be afraid of every shadow, every sound, to worry if you would die every time you stepped outside or in front of a window. I wanted you to feel trapped, the way I've been trapped in this chair for the last twenty-three years. And I wanted you to come here, to know the truth before you died. I sent the house key to Erica weeks ago. Originally I was planning to have her come here and leave you a paper trail to follow. But she started asking for more money. She was going to be trouble, so I had to revise a few things."

"You killed her, Julie. Do you even understand that?"

"I didn't pull the trigger."

"You ordered someone else to do it." Dylan paused. "But what did I do to you?" he asked in bemusement. "Why do you hate me so much?"

"Because you were born," she said in a shrill, high voice. "You ruined everything. You made my mother crazy. She found out about you, about my father and your mother." She spit out the words. "Do you finally get it? Our parents had an affair."

Dylan swallowed hard. "Your father is . . ."

"Your father," Julie finished. "And because he couldn't keep his pants up, my mother went insane. She completely lost her mind. She wanted to punish my father. She wanted to destroy everything he had, so she put my sister and me in the car and she drove up to the house where they used to make love. All the way there she ranted about him and her. She said she couldn't leave us with him. He was a bad man. And he had to suffer. He had to pay for what he'd done."

Catherine held her breath as Julie stared at Dylan with wild, crazy eyes. The woman was reliving some horrible moment from her past, and Catherine was almost afraid to hear it. But Julie was going to tell them. She wanted Dylan to know. She'd probably always wanted Dylan to know. That was why she hadn't had him killed before now.

"So my mother drove us off the cliff into the water," Julie said. "She thought we would all die, but guess what? I didn't. I was in terrible pain, but somehow I got out of the car. I tried to open the front door where my sister and mother were, but I couldn't. It was jammed. I could see my mother slumped over the wheel, my sis-ter's hands pressed against the glass, the terror in her eyes as she realized what was happening. I wrapped my hands around the door handle, but the current was too strong. It pulled me away. Eventually I washed up on the shore, my back broken. I was alive, but they were dead. And I would never walk again. Because of you."

Dylan swallowed hard, his face pale. "Julie-"

She cut him off with a wave of her hand. "My father lied to me when I was in the hospital. He told me that I'd imagined my mother's ranting words, that she hadn't tried to kill me, that he hadn't had an affair, that none of it was true. I wanted to believe him. My mother and sister were dead. He was all I had left. But he lied. And last year when he died I found out that he'd bought the house across the street, that he'd wanted to have it because it was where she was happy. I read the truth in the letters your mother had written to him, letters that he couldn't give away because she was the love of his life. I finally realized what had triggered my mother's breakdown. It was you."

"What do you mean?"

"You were sick. You were in the hospital. You needed blood. Your mother kept calling my father because you both had some rare blood type. My father had to tell my mother that he'd betrayed her in order to save you. You're the reason my family broke apart and she tried to kill me. You're the reason I ended up like this. My father saved you, but he didn't save me."

"God, Julie-please. Think. I was a little kid, too," Dylan cried. "I was born. I didn't choose my parents."

"But they always chose you," she said dully. "Over and over again. I knew I had to find you, meet you, make you pay. So I hired a private investigator to track you down. I got a job at the station. I thought for a few days you might recognize me from the past, but you barely glanced at me. You were set on making yourself a superstar. I couldn't stand that your life was so good. It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair."

Dylan licked his lips. He darted a quick, pleading look at Catherine, but she didn't know how to help him. And she feared that if she got in the middle it would make things worse.

He turned back to Julie. "What about my mother? Do you know what happened to her? Do you know how she died?"

Julie shrugged. "My mother killed her, too. She took her out on the boat one day. She told her she wanted to make peace, be friends again. They were friends, you know, all of them. Then she pushed her off the boat and left her in the middle of the sound. Two days later she drove us off the cliff. It was her final act. She wanted to take everyone my father loved away from him. That was his punishment. And mine."

Julie's words came with a sense of finality, as if she had said everything she intended to say. Catherine started, realizing a split second too late where this was headed.

"Stop!" Julie pulled a gun out from under the blanket on her lap and aimed it at Catherine. "Don't take another step."

"She's not the one you want to kill," Dylan said. "I am."

"But you'd suffer more if you watched her die. You like her; I can tell. I saw the way you looked at her when she came to the office. No one has ever liked me. Who would? I'm in a wheelchair."