Silent Fall

rings? I think it will take Mark a while to call back, but I don’t want to miss him. His name is Mark Singer."
    "Sure," she said, relieved when Dylan grabbed his clothes and entered the bathroom. She needed to catch her breath, figure out what she could do to help, and she could think more clearly with Dylan out of the room.
    Returning to the window, she took a moment to absorb the gorgeous view of the mountains and lake. She’d planned to stay in the area and paint for a few days. At least, that was what she’d told herself. Perhaps deep down she’d known all along that she would stay in Tahoe because of Dylan. She’d never admit it aloud, but she hadn’t been able to get him out of her head since she’d met him two months earlier. He’d been a prominent star in her daydreams, and painting his portrait had done little to banish him from her mind. She’d told herself it was just a foolish crush or infatuation or an inconvenient attraction, and that it would go away with time, but so far that hadn’t happened. When she’d seen him at the wedding, standing next to his brother, looking so ruggedly appealing, her heart had skipped a beat. And it had shocked her to feel that gut-clenching desire. It had also scared her a little.
    That was the real reason she’d left Dylan alone with Erica. She’d welcomed the other woman’s presence as a good interruption, an opportunity to excuse herself and put some distance between herself and the man she couldn’t forget. She knew Dylan wasn’t right for her in so many ways.
    But perhaps if she hadn’t let fear run her off, Dylan wouldn’t be in the mess he was in now. Not that she could have possibly anticipated the current turn of events.
    As she gazed down at the entrance to the lodge, she saw several men gathering there. They looked like some sort of search-and-rescue team that had come from the woods. They conversed for a few minutes and then got into two separate vehicles and drove away. Obviously they hadn’t found Erica, but had they found anything else?
    More worry settled in the pit of Catherine’s stomach as she let her gaze drift out over the lake, wondering what secrets were hidden in its depths.
    As she watched the shimmering blue water it seemed to grow more turbulent, whitecaps and waves developing, shattering its peaceful beauty. The sun disappeared. Dark clouds covered the horizon. Shadows turned the tall trees into terrifying shapes. Shaken, she turned away.
    She’d never had nightmares in the daytime before. Was the monster getting closer?
    A man parked his car in front of a convenience store just outside Tahoe City and pulled out his cell phone. He was supposed to have reported in several hours ago, but he’d spent half the night searching the woods for that damn woman. He didn’t know how she’d gotten away from him, but he would find her, and he would finish the job.
    His call was answered on the third ring.
    "She got away," he said shortly, hating to admit it, but there was no escaping the facts.
    "How did that happen?"
    The stone-cold voice reminded him that there was no excuse for failure. "You said she wouldn’t be expecting me, that she would be taken by surprise, but she was ready," he complained. "She jumped me before I was halfway through the door."
    "You were sloppy to let her hear you coming. I thought you were supposed to be the best."
    "I am the best, and next time I’ll plan the hit my way." He enjoyed turning the blame around; it took the bad taste of failure out of his mouth and softened the pain in the back of his head where the woman had nailed him with the iron poker from the fireplace. He intended to pay her back for that. Now that he knew what a wildcat she was, it would make the eventual taking that much sweeter. There was nothing like killing a woman. Every time he did it he felt an intense rush of satisfaction, better than sex, better than anything.
    "Does anyone know you were there?"
    The question drew him back to the present.
    "Of course not. I never leave anything behind." Once he’d come to terms with the fact that the woman had escaped, he’d gone back to the cabin and cleaned up his own blood so as not to mix it with the evidence planted in the cabin. Then he’d wiped off the poker and, to be extra careful, had tossed it into the lake. No one could trace it back to him. And no one would ever know he’d been