Silent Fall

reality. "Her cell phone is in the car."
    Dylan stared at her for a moment. Then he said, "Where?"
    "Between the seats. It fell out of her purse when she reached for your keys."
    He took a breath but didn’t bother to ask her how she knew. He jogged back to Erica’s car, and she watched him reach between the seats, finally pulling out a hot-pink metallic phone. He was already reading through the numbers when he returned to the car. "Anything else?" he said.
    "Nothing that will help you, I don’t think. You already know that Erica was in your apartment, and that someone came in after her. She went out the window in your bedroom and ran toward the Palace of Fine Arts."
    "You’re channeling her again, even though she’s dead? Do you think there’s a chance that the woman in the park is not her?" Dylan asked.
    She immediately cut him off with a wave of her hand, seeing the hopeful glint in his eyes fade. "No, I’m sorry."
    "Then where did the vision come from?"
    "It was her car. I was watching you, and when you touched the door I suddenly saw her and all the rest."
    Dylan sat down in the seat and pulled the door shut, then stared at the cell phone in his hand. "I don’t recognize any of these numbers, but I certainly don’t mind spending the afternoon calling them. Erica must have had some contact with whoever used her to get to me. That person has to be on this phone. We’re getting close, Catherine. I can feel it."
    "I hope so. But I don’t think we should hang around here."
    "I agree. Looks like you finally got the driver’s seat. Go down to the corner and turn left. I’ll direct you back to my grandmother’s house from there."
    "Do you think we’ll still be safe there?"
    He turned on the car radio, flipping through the channels until he got to the news. "As long as we don’t hear my name I think we’re still okay -- for a few hours, anyway."
    Catherine shivered as a chill ran through her. She had the distinct feeling they weren’t going to have that long.

Chapter Thirteen

    Catherine’s tension eased as she drove away from Dylan’s apartment. Leaving Erica’s Jetta behind seemed to break the link between them. Her mind felt light again, yet she couldn’t deny a lingering sadness. Her visions had taken her into Erica’s head. She had experienced the same fear, the same desperation, and Erica was now dead. She’d lost her battle, and there wasn’t a damn thing Catherine could do about it. Erica might have made some huge mistakes, but she certainly hadn’t deserved to die.
    And it wasn’t over. There was still a fight to win, Catherine reminded herself. That was what she had to focus on now. She couldn’t do anything to save Erica, but she could help Dylan, and hopefully together they would find Erica’s killer and make sure he paid for what he’d done. Erica would have justice, even if she wasn’t completely innocent.
    Having glimpsed Erica’s thoughts, Catherine knew the woman had been conflicted about what she was doing. Not that that justified her actions, but Erica had obviously felt some pressure to set Dylan up; she’d had some reason to participate, and Catherine suspected that whoever had coerced or invited Erica to participate had known exactly how to manipulate her. That person was very, very clever. She and Dylan were going to have to be smarter.
    They had almost reached Dylan’s grandmother’s house when Catherine spotted a supermarket with a deli. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of food, and she decided to make a quick stop. It was already after one o’clock, and they would need some fuel to keep them going. Dylan looked up from the cell phone when she pulled into the parking lot.
    "Groceries," she said simply.
    "Want me to go with you?"
    "I think I can make it on my own, and your face is the one we’re most worried about being seen," she replied.
    "I wouldn’t be so sure of that. We might see a photo of both of us on the evening news."
    She paused, her hand on the door. "The only photo they’d have of me is the one on my driver’s license. That’s a scary thought."
    "Don’t flash your license or a credit card in the store. Do you need cash?"
    "I have enough. I’ll be right back."
    It felt surprisingly normal to walk into the market, to be around people who were completing their average, everyday Sunday chores. So much had happened