"Actually," she added, interrupting his thoughts, "I think sex can be easy. It's intimacy that's much more difficult. You can give away your body, disconnect- but your heart, your mind, that's a whole different thing."

"I wouldn't have thought you'd want one without the other-sex without love, love without intimacy. You have so much . . . You're so . . ." He couldn't find the right words to describe her.

"I have so much what?" she asked, curious.

"Passion. Intensity. Depth. You're emotional. You're sensitive."

"That's why intimacy is more difficult. It takes a lot out of me. It opens me up and makes me vulnerable," she confessed. "And the intensity I have . . . it scares people. No one really wants to see the future, not even when they think they do. You'll be scared one day, too, and you'll leave, and you'll hope to God you never see me again."

"You've already scared me, and I'm still here," he reminded her.

"For the moment. It will get worse, especially when you start to believe in me, which you haven't done yet."

She was right. He still didn't trust her sixth sense, so to speak, but he doubted that would ever happen. "Why are you trying to warn me away?"

"Because you and I . . . we shouldn't get involved." She paused, biting down on her bottom lip, her deep blue gaze fixed on his. "Even if we . . ."

"Even if we what?" he asked, unsettled by the way she was looking at him now-not like a psychic but like a woman, a woman who wanted him. His body hardened as his mind immediately stripped off her clothes. She would not appreciate that he was now imagining her naked, her beautiful breasts filling his hands. Or maybe she already knew what he was thinking. There was knowledge in her eyes, as well as desire.

"Even if we have an attraction. I feel the pull between us," she said simply. "Don't you?"

"Uh, yeah, sure." He cleared his throat. "Are you saying you want to have sex with me?" His body began to sing with anticipation.

She hesitated and then said, "Maybe I do. But not now." She turned quickly and headed toward the door.

"Hey, where are you going? We're in the middle of something, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I'm going for a walk before I do something I regret."

"You wouldn't regret it," he told her.

She smiled. "You're not short on confidence, are you?"

"We'd be good together. Just remember you're the one who ran away, not me. I'm not scared of you."

"Not yet," she murmured before slipping out the door.

Dylan let out a breath as she left the room, feeling frustrated and yet a little relieved that she was gone. He was attracted to her. What man wouldn't be? But, dammit, no matter what he'd told her, the truth was that she did scare him. He liked casual relationships, fun in the sack, nobody saying, Good bye, or love you, or Don't leave me. He couldn't give a woman anything more than a good time. And he'd never pretended otherwise.

Intimacy was almost impossible for him. The only person he'd ever cared about was Jake. He'd tried to love his father, but he'd had the love beaten out of him. And his mother . . . well, she hadn't stuck around long enough for anyone to love her. He was just like her, he thought. At least, that was what his father had told him over the years, so much so that he'd come to believe it.

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?

a Uploaded by Coral a

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."