Silent Fall

was just imagining it. Or perhaps she’d painted the woman’s face because she’d seen her in her head, when she’d had a brief glimpse into Dylan’s future -- a future that seemed to include her. Not that she wanted to be included. She had a feeling Dylan was heading for trouble, and the last thing she needed was more trouble in her life.
    Getting up, she walked over to the window and drew back the curtain. Her room was located on the top floor of the three-story lodge and had a direct view of the lake several hundred yards below. The water shimmered in the light of a full moon. The tall pine trees that covered the hillside swayed in the breeze like giant monsters. A shiver ran down her spine. She believed in connections, in fate and destiny. Nothing happened by chance. There was always a purpose. A long-ago childhood psychiatrist had told her that sometimes bad things just happened, and she had to stop looking for reasons, but Catherine hadn’t believed the doctor then, nor did she buy into that philosophy now. Which was why she couldn’t ignore the fact that something was wrong.
    Crossing her arms over her chest, she felt a cold draft through her thin camisole top and silky shorts. She hoped her sense of impending doom didn’t have anything to do with Sarah. Her friend deserved to be happy after everything she had been through the past few years. And Jake and Sarah and their daughter were on their way to Hawaii, to the land of swaying palm trees, soft, warm breezes, and blue skies. They were fine. They had to be.
    She drew in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. She repeated the action several more times. Usually painting her nightmares tired her enough so that she could sleep until morning. Tonight she still felt edgy, as if she were waiting for something else to happen. She walked over to the valise set against the wall and pulled out another painting, a portrait this time....
    Dylan stared back at her with his golden brown eyes that were a mix of mystery, pain, amusement, and cynicism. She’d worked hard to capture the complexity of his eyes, the proud strength of his jaw, and the hint of wariness that was usually present in his expression, as well as the cocky smile that could also be kind, but she didn’t think she had it quite right yet. They’d spent only a few days together two months earlier, when Dylan had asked for her help in finding Sarah and Jake’s daughter, but those few days in his presence had touched her in a way she didn’t completely understand. She just knew that they were connected. There was a reason Dylan had come to her.
    He’d say pragmatically that it was because she and Sarah shared a past, and that was the end of it. But she suspected there was more to come. If only she knew how the woman in the bar figured into things, that would be helpful, but her visions were never as complete or as forthcoming as she wanted. She would have to wait for whatever came next.
    Setting the painting aside, she returned to the window. In the light of the moon Dylan’s image flashed through her head once again. She saw fear in his eyes, an expression of shock and betrayal. She grabbed the curtains with both hands, swaying with the sudden and certain knowledge that Dylan was in trouble.
    Glancing back at the clock, she realized an hour had passed since she’d first awoken in the grip of her nightmare. It was almost six. She just had to make it until dawn and then she would be fine. Once the sun came up she could relax. She could breathe again. And she could check on Dylan. She wanted to call him now, but she doubted he’d appreciate being wakened so early.
    A red-and-blue strobe light caught her eye. She turned back to the window, stiffening as a police car pulled up in front of the lodge. She pressed her face against the glass, watching two uniformed policemen enter the building.
    Her fear intensified. She was torn between wanting to go downstairs and find out what was happening and wanting to stay safely tucked away in her room.
    This wasn’t her problem, she told herself. She didn’t need to get involved in a situation that didn’t concern her. Keeping away from cops was second nature to her. They hadn’t been able to protect her when she was a child, and as she’d grown up she’d learned that the only person she could trust was herself -- certainly not uniformed police officers, whose nightly sweeps of the