She was tied to Dylan in a much deeper, far more personal way. He might not believe in her visions, but she knew they were real and that they always came true. She was a part of whatever was happening to him. But she didn't have to participate, she reminded herself.
She could get into her car and drive home. In eight hours she'd be far, far away from whatever mess Dylan was in. She could choose to leave. And she would. She'd just go down to the hospital and say good-bye. Dylan surely had other family and friends who had come to the lake for the wedding who could assist him. This was not her problem.
As she walked down the path toward the line of cabins adjacent to the lodge, she saw yellow tape strapped across the front door of one cabin. The detective stood in the doorway. Another officer worked inside, probably collecting evidence from what appeared to be a crime scene. But what exactly had happened in there?
The detective had said they were checking on the welfare of Erica, so that meant she was missing. The window near the front door was broken, shattered glass on the ground. Had someone broken in during the night?
Catherine's pulse began to speed up. She could hear glass breaking in her head along with the sound of a scream. But was it a scream from a few hours ago, or one of the screams that haunted her from the past? It was difficult to tell the difference.
The detective turned and caught her staring. She started moving quickly, not wanting to get trapped into answering more questions, but it was too late. He was already coming toward her.
"I thought you were going to the hospital with Mr. Sanders," he said.
"I'm taking my own car," she replied in a steady, unconcerned voice, although inside she was shaking. She didn't like cops; she never had. And even though this man wasn't wearing a uniform, she knew he could make trouble for her. But she also knew that the surest way to arouse attention was to be uncooperative. She had to at least make it look as if she wanted to help. "Is this where the woman was staying?" she asked. "The one who disappeared?"
The detective ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Tell me something, Ms. Hilliard—does your friend have a temper?"
"Dylan?"
"Yes."
"I don't know him that well."
"But well enough to go down to the hospital and stand by his side?"
"He's my friend's brother-in-law. I know she would want me to help him if I could, especially since she's not here." Catherine paused. "What exactly do you think Dylan did?"
"I'm not sure. That's why I'm asking questions."
"Dylan is a good guy. He wouldn't hurt anyone."
"I thought you didn't know him that well."
Catherine realized how easily the detective had tripped her up. "I don't know him well, but my friend speaks highly of him. I trust her judgment. I should go."
"One second," Detective Richardson said. He held up a plastic baggie. Inside was a gold cuff link. "Do you recognize this?"
Catherine had seen such a cuff link before, when she'd helped one of the groomsmen put it on. Jake had given cuff links to all of his ushers, including his brother. Had Dylan been in the cabin with Erica? Had he hurt her? He was the only one who had a connection to Erica. And what did she really know about the man?
Maybe her vision had pointed the danger to the wrong person. Maybe she wasn't supposed to help Dylan; perhaps she was supposed to help Erica.
But that thought didn't ring true. She needed to stop thinking and go with her instincts.
"Ma'am?" the detective prodded.
"I don't recognize it," she said, realizing that with the lie she'd just taken a step she wouldn't be able to reverse.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"One last question—did you happen to hear anything during the night? You're staying in the main lodge, right?"
"What would I have heard?"
"That's what I'm asking."
She thought about the screams that had rung through her head, but she'd heard screams before, and they hadn't occurred in real time. "I didn't hear
She could get into her car and drive home. In eight hours she'd be far, far away from whatever mess Dylan was in. She could choose to leave. And she would. She'd just go down to the hospital and say good-bye. Dylan surely had other family and friends who had come to the lake for the wedding who could assist him. This was not her problem.
As she walked down the path toward the line of cabins adjacent to the lodge, she saw yellow tape strapped across the front door of one cabin. The detective stood in the doorway. Another officer worked inside, probably collecting evidence from what appeared to be a crime scene. But what exactly had happened in there?
The detective had said they were checking on the welfare of Erica, so that meant she was missing. The window near the front door was broken, shattered glass on the ground. Had someone broken in during the night?
Catherine's pulse began to speed up. She could hear glass breaking in her head along with the sound of a scream. But was it a scream from a few hours ago, or one of the screams that haunted her from the past? It was difficult to tell the difference.
The detective turned and caught her staring. She started moving quickly, not wanting to get trapped into answering more questions, but it was too late. He was already coming toward her.
"I thought you were going to the hospital with Mr. Sanders," he said.
"I'm taking my own car," she replied in a steady, unconcerned voice, although inside she was shaking. She didn't like cops; she never had. And even though this man wasn't wearing a uniform, she knew he could make trouble for her. But she also knew that the surest way to arouse attention was to be uncooperative. She had to at least make it look as if she wanted to help. "Is this where the woman was staying?" she asked. "The one who disappeared?"
The detective ignored her question and asked one of his own. "Tell me something, Ms. Hilliard—does your friend have a temper?"
"Dylan?"
"Yes."
"I don't know him that well."
"But well enough to go down to the hospital and stand by his side?"
"He's my friend's brother-in-law. I know she would want me to help him if I could, especially since she's not here." Catherine paused. "What exactly do you think Dylan did?"
"I'm not sure. That's why I'm asking questions."
"Dylan is a good guy. He wouldn't hurt anyone."
"I thought you didn't know him that well."
Catherine realized how easily the detective had tripped her up. "I don't know him well, but my friend speaks highly of him. I trust her judgment. I should go."
"One second," Detective Richardson said. He held up a plastic baggie. Inside was a gold cuff link. "Do you recognize this?"
Catherine had seen such a cuff link before, when she'd helped one of the groomsmen put it on. Jake had given cuff links to all of his ushers, including his brother. Had Dylan been in the cabin with Erica? Had he hurt her? He was the only one who had a connection to Erica. And what did she really know about the man?
Maybe her vision had pointed the danger to the wrong person. Maybe she wasn't supposed to help Dylan; perhaps she was supposed to help Erica.
But that thought didn't ring true. She needed to stop thinking and go with her instincts.
"Ma'am?" the detective prodded.
"I don't recognize it," she said, realizing that with the lie she'd just taken a step she wouldn't be able to reverse.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"One last question—did you happen to hear anything during the night? You're staying in the main lodge, right?"
"What would I have heard?"
"That's what I'm asking."
She thought about the screams that had rung through her head, but she'd heard screams before, and they hadn't occurred in real time. "I didn't hear
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