Silent Fall

apologetic smile, but the woman’s anxiety was palpable. She twisted her hands together in agitation. "Dylan, this isn’t a good time. Your father has been very stressed lately. He’s been working long hours, getting telephone calls even after he comes home, holding late-night meetings. It’s a busy time for him."
    "Why? What’s he working on?"
    "I don’t know. His business."
    "Does Senator Ravino ever call here?’
    "What the hell is going on?" Dylan’s father demanded as he stomped into the entryway, interrupting their conversation.
    Even though she’d seen him in the video, Catherine wasn’t prepared for the size of the man. He was tall and broad-shouldered and wore a gray cashmere sweater over a pair of black trousers. There was a dark fire of rage in his eyes when his gaze settled on his youngest son. He didn’t even glance in Catherine’s direction. She felt almost invisible as the energy centered on the two men. Mrs. Rogers slid out of the room, obviously not wanting to be part of the conversation.
    Dylan straightened, but he was still a few inches shorter and many pounds lighter than his father. He raised his chin in the air, threw back his shoulders, and said, "I want to know what your connection is to Joseph Ravino."
    "That’s none of your business," his father replied sharply. "Now get out."
    Dylan stood his ground. "Not until you answer my question. I saw a video that shows the two of you together at the Metro Club. You were in an intense conversation."
    "We’re both members of the club; there’s no crime in that. Or are you trying to frame me like you did Ravino?"
    Catherine watched Dylan’s father, hoping to catch some sign in his expression that would tell her if he was speaking the truth, if he really thought Dylan had set up the senator. But Richard Sanders was impossible to read, his emotions hidden behind a very cold facade.
    "I didn’t frame him. Ravino killed his wife. I just helped the police figure it out."
    "You think you’re some big man now?" Richard challenged. "You’re not. You’re a worthless piece of shit, and you always have been. Now leave, or I’ll call the police and have you thrown out."
    "I’ll go when I’m ready. Do you know Erica Layton? And I’d suggest you think about your answer before you give it."
    Something flickered in the older man’s eyes, Catherine thought. Mr. Sanders did know Erica. But how close was their relationship? Did that flash of guilt have to do with Erica’s death or something else?
    "Erica Layton worked at the Metro Club," Dylan added. "She was a hostess in the back room."
    "I know that," Dylan’s father replied. "So what?"
    "She had an affair with the senator. She revealed his motive for murdering his wife. And now she’s... disappeared."
    "Why should I care? She’s nothing to me."
    Before Dylan could reply, a very attractive woman came down the stairs. She was dressed in white cropped pants and a button-down pink blouse, her blond hair styled away from her face. His father’s girlfriend, Catherine presumed. The woman appeared to be a good fifteen years younger than Richard. She had a cool, classic beauty, the perfect accessory for a rich and successful man. But perhaps Catherine wasn’t giving them enough credit. Maybe they actually cared for each other, although it was hard to believe that the hard man standing in front of her was capable of caring for anyone.
    "What’s going on?" the woman inquired. "You’re Dylan, right? I recognize you from the news."
    "And you must be Rachel Montgomery," Dylan said.
    "How do you know her name?" Dylan’s father interrupted.
    "I keep up."
    "You stay out of my business."
    "Richard, maybe we should offer Dylan and his friend something to drink," Rachel said.
    For the first time Dylan’s father looked in her direction. Faced with the sharp point of his gaze, Catherine felt a sudden desire to flee, but she couldn’t leave Dylan alone, not here, not with the bully of his childhood. Instead Catherine moved over to Dylan, slipping her hand into his. She didn’t know if he welcomed her support or not, but his fingers tightened around hers and he didn’t let go.
    "I’m Catherine Hilliard," she said when Dylan couldn’t seem to find his way to an introduction.
    "Richard Sanders," the man said gruffly. He’d been too well trained not to be polite to a stranger.
    Now