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.
"Iâm taking my own car," she replied in a steady, unconcerned voice, although inside she was shaking. She didnât like cops; she never had. And even though this man wasnât 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 donât know him that well."
"But well enough to go down to the hospital and stand by his side?"
"Heâs my friendâs brother-in-law. She would want me to help him if I could, especially since sheâs not here." Catherine paused. "What exactly do you think Dylan did?"
"Iâm not sure. Thatâs why Iâm asking questions."
"Dylan is a good guy. He wouldnât hurt anyone."
"I thought you didnât know him that well."
She realized how easily the detective had tripped her up. "I donât 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 sheâd 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 wasnât supposed to help Dylan; perhaps she was supposed to help Erica.
But that thought didnât ring true. She needed to stop thinking and go with her instincts.
"Maâam?" the detective prodded.
"I donât recognize it," she said, realizing that with the lie sheâd just taken a step she wouldnât be able to reverse.
"Youâre sure?"
"Yes."
"One last question -- did you happen to hear anything during the night? Youâre staying in the main lodge, right?"
"What would I have heard?"
"Thatâs what Iâm asking."
She thought about the screams that had rung through her head, but sheâd heard screams before, and they hadnât occurred in real time. "I didnât hear anything. Iâm sorry."
"Well, thanks anyway."
"No problem." She walked quickly to the parking lot, feeling the detectiveâs gaze follow her every step. He was suspicious of her -- because of her connection to Dylan, possibly, or because he sensed that sheâd lied. She would have to be more careful in the future.
As she got into her car, she couldnât help wondering again what on earth had happened in that cabin. The detective obviously didnât want to say, but it must have been bad, and possibly loud enough for someone to hear.
She hoped she wasnât putting her faith in the wrong person. Dylan had to be innocent. She needed to find him, look into his eyes, hold his hand, and see the truth in his soul -- if heâd let her.
Although she hadnât spent that much time with him, one thing she knew for sure: Dylan was very private and guarded. He was a man who was used to asking questions, not answering them. She understood that. She had her own emotional walls, walls she had the terrible feeling Dylan could breach -- if she let him, but she wasnât about to do that. No one had gotten into her heart in a very long time, and that was the way it was
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.
"Iâm taking my own car," she replied in a steady, unconcerned voice, although inside she was shaking. She didnât like cops; she never had. And even though this man wasnât 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 donât know him that well."
"But well enough to go down to the hospital and stand by his side?"
"Heâs my friendâs brother-in-law. She would want me to help him if I could, especially since sheâs not here." Catherine paused. "What exactly do you think Dylan did?"
"Iâm not sure. Thatâs why Iâm asking questions."
"Dylan is a good guy. He wouldnât hurt anyone."
"I thought you didnât know him that well."
She realized how easily the detective had tripped her up. "I donât 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 sheâd 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 wasnât supposed to help Dylan; perhaps she was supposed to help Erica.
But that thought didnât ring true. She needed to stop thinking and go with her instincts.
"Maâam?" the detective prodded.
"I donât recognize it," she said, realizing that with the lie sheâd just taken a step she wouldnât be able to reverse.
"Youâre sure?"
"Yes."
"One last question -- did you happen to hear anything during the night? Youâre staying in the main lodge, right?"
"What would I have heard?"
"Thatâs what Iâm asking."
She thought about the screams that had rung through her head, but sheâd heard screams before, and they hadnât occurred in real time. "I didnât hear anything. Iâm sorry."
"Well, thanks anyway."
"No problem." She walked quickly to the parking lot, feeling the detectiveâs gaze follow her every step. He was suspicious of her -- because of her connection to Dylan, possibly, or because he sensed that sheâd lied. She would have to be more careful in the future.
As she got into her car, she couldnât help wondering again what on earth had happened in that cabin. The detective obviously didnât want to say, but it must have been bad, and possibly loud enough for someone to hear.
She hoped she wasnât putting her faith in the wrong person. Dylan had to be innocent. She needed to find him, look into his eyes, hold his hand, and see the truth in his soul -- if heâd let her.
Although she hadnât spent that much time with him, one thing she knew for sure: Dylan was very private and guarded. He was a man who was used to asking questions, not answering them. She understood that. She had her own emotional walls, walls she had the terrible feeling Dylan could breach -- if she let him, but she wasnât about to do that. No one had gotten into her heart in a very long time, and that was the way it was
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