Silent Fall

Erica knew each other," Catherine interjected.
    "Good idea." Dylan typed in that question and also asked Julie to see if she could find any information on any of Erica’s activities for the past two to three weeks. He clicked down to the next e-mail, which was from Ryan, the other fact-checker.
    "‘Dude, you’re in deep shit. The cops are interviewing everyone at the station. I had to tell them you were here earlier and asking about Erica. Sorry, man. Let me know if I can help.’ "
    "Maybe the fact that you were asking for information on Erica’s murder will make you appear less of a suspect," Catherine said. She could see by Dylan’s cynical expression that he wasn’t convinced.
    "I’m sure they would chalk that up to me covering my ass."
    Catherine glanced back at the computer screen. The next message was from his news producer, expressing concern. Three other friends had also sent supportive messages mixed in with questions. The last message was from Mark.
    "‘Dylan, the heat is on. Every news station in the city led off with your photo tonight. I don’t know where you are, but you’d better stay low. I don’t know if this will help, but a PI friend of mine ran Erica’s credit cards for me. She made a trip to Seattle, Washington, about four weeks ago. I don’t know if that had to do with you, but I thought I’d mention it. She was also in a lot of financial trouble, heavily in debt, and she was about to lose her condo. She needed cash. She may have sold you out to get it. Let me know what else I can do.’"
    "Do you think Erica’s trip to Seattle is important?" Catherine asked.
    "I can’t think why it would be. I don’t know anyone in Seattle. I wonder if Ravino has a place there. Something to look into. Maybe Mark can check on that, or find out if she met anyone there." Dylan typed in his questions. "I also want Mark to get someone to go over to my grandmother’s house and board up the windows," he added.
    "If he tells the police we were shot at, perhaps they’ll realize you’re not the only one they should be interested in."
    "You’d think." Dylan pressed send and sat back in his chair. He looked up at Catherine. "I know you’re trying to be an optimist. I appreciate it, even if I can’t get on board the happy train with you."
    "No one has ever called me a happy train before."
    He grinned. "That might have been a reach." He let out a sigh and stretched his arms high over his head. "I know there are a dozen things I should do now, but I can’t seem to think of one. Help me out, would you?"
    "Okay." She moved around behind him and put her hands on his shoulders. She knew he’d been asking for a suggestion, but she had a better idea. His muscles were in tight, hard knots, and she kneaded them gently but firmly, working to release some of the tension. Her own personal story had undoubtedly put some of those knots there. The least she could do was try to get them out.
    "You’re good," Dylan muttered, closing his eyes, relaxing his neck. "God, I hope you’re not planning to stop anytime soon."
    She smiled. "Nope. I can keep going. But let’s do this right." She released him and stepped back. "Go over to the bed, take your shirt off, and lie down."
    He raised his eyebrow at her. "You’re quite the boss all of a sudden. What else do you want me to take off?"
    "Nothing," she said, enjoying the return of his cocky smile. "At the moment."
    His eyes darkened at her amendment. "Round two?"
    "Dylan, I just want to give you a massage. If you ask me more questions, that offer will be off the table."
    "My lips are sealed." He took off his shirt and lay down on his stomach on the bed. He rested his head on his arms.
    For a moment she just stared at him, delighted by the male feast spread out before her. She didn’t know where to start. In fact, she didn’t know if she should start, because she might not be able to stop.
    Dylan raised his head and squinted at her. "What’s the holdup?"
    "Nothing." She knelt down next to him and put her hands on his shoulders. She rubbed his muscles gently at first, then worked at the hard knots with as much pressure as she could muster. His murmured appreciation sent a charge through her body. She wanted to please him in so many other ways. But this was just a massage, she told herself, nothing more.
    Her hands drifted lower as she attacked the kinks in his mid-