Silent Fall

side of the garage, jumped into the car, and waited for the door to go up. The next two minutes would be the most dangerous.
    "Get down," Dylan told her. "On the floor."
    She undid the seat belt and tried to squeeze herself into the space between the seat and the front console. "What about you?"
    "I’ll be fine. Hang on."
    She grabbed the edges of the seat and prayed as Dylan pushed his foot down on the gas and the car shot forward. The window next to her shattered, and she screamed as the car skidded out of the driveway.

Chapter Fourteen

    Dylan sped down the street, relieved that that last bullet hadn’t hit him or Catherine. He took the turn with a squeal of tires, and as the car straightened out, he glanced in the rearview mirror for headlights. Sure enough, there they were. Was it the shooter or just a random car? He couldn’t afford to make the wrong decision. He hit the gas hard again.
    Catherine started to wipe the glass off her seat.
    "Stay down," he told her tersely. "I think he’s following us."
    "Can you see him?"
    "There’s a car, looks like a small truck." Dylan turned right, then left, trying to elude their pursuer, but the vehicle clung to his tail. He saw the silhouette of a man with a cap on his head, but he couldn’t get any more detail than that.
    Finally he reached the Pacific Coast Highway, a stretch of road that ran along the ocean. There would be more traffic, more cars, which he hoped would prevent the man from taking another shot. Dylan headed north, moving in and out of the lanes as he tried to lose the truck. He passed the Cliff House perched on the edge of the Pacific Ocean, winding his way through the tree-lined roads of the Presidio, finally ending on the approach to the Golden Gate Bridge. There was no way to turn off, and with the bustling traffic on the bridge, Dylan decided leaving San Francisco was his best bet anyway. With the merging of lanes the small truck appeared to be a dozen cars behind them now.
    As he left the bridge, reaching the four-lane freeway once again, Dylan pressed the accelerator, hoping to use his small lead to his advantage. With the burst of speed the wind ripped through the missing window, thundering loudly through the car. He glanced over at Catherine, still huddled on the floor. Her head rested on her arms, which were pressed against the edge of the seat. Her hair covered her face, so he couldn’t see her expression, but he could see her body shake with each breath she took. He wanted to tell her she could get up now, they were safe, but the area on this side of the bridge was surrounded by empty rolling hills, and if the truck caught up to them now it was possible the shooter would take another drive-by shot. He didn’t want Catherine in the line of fire.
    For miles he drove, constantly checking the mirror, searching for some sign of the truck. It seemed to have vanished. He wanted to relax, but he couldn’t. To date every move he’d thought was the right one had turned out to be wrong. If he’d stayed in Tahoe instead of running back to San Francisco, he wouldn’t have been in town when Erica was killed and would have been absolved of the crime. Instead he’d played into the killer’s hands. He’d helped to set himself up. What a fool he’d been.
    So now what? What was coming next?
    Catherine lifted her head, wiped off the remains of the glass from the leather cushion, and climbed back onto the front seat. She let out a weary sigh as she stretched her cramped legs as best she could in the small space. Then she leaned back against the headrest, letting the wind from the broken window blow through her hair.
    In the shadows of the night her pale face stood out in sharp relief. Her eyes were huge, wide and scared, but her chin was up, her arms crossed in an almost defiant posture. She wasn’t going to quit on him. He could count on her.
    The realization hit him hard. He was almost afraid to believe it. Other than Jake, he’d never let himself depend on anyone, and here he was counting on Catherine to stick with him. She certainly didn’t have to. She had no obligation to him. She had nothing to gain and everything to lose. But still she’d stayed. Even now she was quiet, going along for the ride, not demanding to be let out at the nearest police precinct.
    He was surprised by her loyalty, not sure how to handle it. Did he even want such a commitment from her? What would she