Sanders 01 - Silent Run (38 page)

During the daylight hours she could draw beautiful pictures, landscapes, flowers, happy people -- but at night, after the dreams came, her paintings became monstrosities as she was driven to put brush to canvas in a desperate effort to free herself from the endless nightmares.

She'd tried changing her environment, but that hadn't worked. As a child she'd lived in eight different foster homes, and the nightmares had always found her. As an adult she'd tried three different cities and rented more than a few apartments before settling into her current beach cottage, but the dreams always returned.

Of course, there were months when she slept undisturbed. She wished for the relief of those dreamless nights. The longest she'd gone without a nightmare was six years. She'd thought they were over. Then they'd returned, and she'd realized she would never be free until she did something....

She had the sense that she was meant to act in some way -- only then would she be able to escape. But what was she supposed to do? She didn't know. Nor did she recognize the abstract faces of the people she painted. They called out to her, but she couldn't answer, because she didn't know who they were.

Although tonight she couldn't help wondering if the face in her picture belonged to the woman who'd approached Dylan in the bar. There was a faint resemblance, wasn't there? Maybe she was just imagining it. Or perhaps she'd painted the woman's face because she'd seen her in her head, when she'd had a brief glimpse into Dylan's future -- a future that seemed to include her. Not that she wanted to be included. She had a feeling Dylan was heading for trouble, and the last thing she needed was more trouble in her life.

Getting up, she walked over to the window and drew back the curtain. Her room was located on the top floor of the three-story lodge and had a direct view of the lake several hundred yards below. The water shimmered in the light of a full moon. The tall pine trees that covered the hillside swayed in the breeze like giant monsters. A shiver ran down her spine. She believed in connections, in fate and destiny. Nothing happened by chance. There was always a purpose. A long-ago childhood psychiatrist had told her that sometimes bad things just happened, and she had to stop looking for reasons, but Catherine hadn't believed the doctor then, nor did she buy into that philosophy now. Which was why she couldn't ignore the fact that something was wrong.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she felt a cold draft through her thin camisole top and silky shorts. She hoped her sense of impending doom didn't have anything to do with Sarah. Her friend deserved to be happy after everything she had been through the past few years. And Jake and Sarah and their daughter were on their way to Hawaii, to the land of swaying palm trees, soft, warm breezes, and blue skies. They were fine. They had to be.

She drew in a deep breath and then slowly let it out. She repeated the action several more times. Usually painting her nightmares tired her enough so that she could sleep until morning. Tonight she still felt edgy, as if she were waiting for something else to happen. She walked over to the valise set against the wall and pulled out another painting, a portrait this time....

Dylan stared back at her with his golden brown eyes that were a mix of mystery, pain, amusement, and cynicism. She'd worked hard to capture the complexity of his eyes, the proud strength of his jaw, and the hint of wariness that was usually present in his expression, as well as the cocky smile that could also be kind, but she didn't think she had it quite right yet. They'd spent only a few days together two months earlier, when Dylan had asked for her help in finding Sarah and Jake's daughter, but those few days in his presence had touched her in a way she didn't completely understand. She just knew that they were connected. There was a reason Dylan had come to her.

He'd say pragmatically that it was because she and Sarah shared a past, and that was the end of it. But she suspected there was more to come. If only she knew how the woman in the bar figured into things, that would be helpful, but her visions were never as complete or as forthcoming as she wanted. She would have to wait for whatever came next.

Setting the painting aside, she returned to the window. In the light of the moon Dylan's image flashed through her head once again. She saw fear in his eyes, an expression of shock and betrayal. She grabbed the curtains with both hands, swaying with the sudden and certain knowledge that Dylan was in trouble.

Glancing back at the clock, she realized an hour had passed since she'd first awoken in the grip of her nightmare. It was almost six. She just had to make it until dawn and then she would be fine. Once the sun came up she could relax. She could breathe again. And she could check on Dylan. She wanted to call him now, but she doubted he'd appreciate being wakened so early.

A red-and-blue strobe light caught her eye. She turned back to the window, stiffening as a police car pulled up in front of the lodge. She pressed her face against the glass, watching two uniformed policemen enter the building.

Her fear intensified. She was torn between wanting to go downstairs and find out what was happening and wanting to stay safely tucked away in her room.

This wasn't her problem, she told herself. She didn't need to get involved in a situation that didn't concern her. Keeping away from cops was second nature to her. They hadn't been able to protect her when she was a child, and as she'd grown up she'd learned that the only person she could trust was herself -- certainly not uniformed police officers, whose nightly sweeps of the streets had made trying to survive only that much more difficult.

She moved away from the window and sat down on the bed, staring at the phone. She couldn't shake the desire to call Dylan and find out if he was all right. She hadn't seen him since she'd left him at the bar with that woman. She'd looked for him several times during the reception, especially when Jake and Sarah had wanted to say good-bye to him, but he'd been nowhere in sight. Jake had joked that his brother had probably gotten lucky. And she'd figured he was right. But now she wondered.... Dylan and Jake were so tight, as close as brothers could be. Would Dylan have really taken off with a woman at his brother's wedding? It seemed unlikely.

Giving in to impulse, she picked up the phone and dialed the hotel operator, asking for his room. The phone rang and rang, finally giving way to voice mail. She hung up, her hand shaking. He might just be a heavy sleeper. Or he could be spending the night with that woman.

Catherine crawled under the covers and pulled the blankets up to her chin. She stared at the clock, watching each minute tick away. She wanted to sleep, but she knew she couldn't, not until the sun came up and her fears went back into hiding.

Buy SILENT FALL

Excerpt @ Copyright 2011 - Barbara Freethy

All Rights Reserved

Prologue

25 years earlier

She took her bow with the other dancers, tears pressing against her lids, but she couldn't let those tears slip down her cheeks. No one could know that this night was different from any other. Too many people were watching her.

As the curtain came down one last time, she ran off the stage into the arms of her husband, her lover, the man with whom she would take the greatest risk of her life.

He met the question in her eyes with a reassuring smile.

She wanted to ask if it was all arranged, if the plan was in motion, but she knew it would be unwise to speak. She would end this evening as she had ended all those before it. She went into her dressing room and changed out of her costume. When she was dressed, she said good night to some of the other dancers as she walked toward the exit, careful to keep her voice casual, as if she had not a care in the world. When she and her husband got into their automobile, they remained silent, knowing that the car might be bugged.

It was a short drive to their home. She would miss her house, the garden in the back, the bedroom where she'd made love to her husband, and the nursery, where she'd rocked...

No. She couldn't think of that. It was too painful. She had to concentrate on the future when they could finally be free. Her house, her life, everything that she possessed came with strings that were tightening around her neck like a noose, suffocating her with each passing day. It wasn't herself she feared for the most, but her family, her husband, who even now was being forced to do unconscionable things. They could no longer live a life of secrets.

Her husband took her hand as they walked up to the front door. He slipped his key into the lock and the door swung open. She heard a small click, and horror registered in her mind. She saw the shocked recognition in her husband's eyes, but it was too late. They were about to die, and they both knew it. Someone had betrayed them.

She prayed for the safety of those she had left behind as an explosion of fire lit up the night, consuming all their dreams with one powerful roar.

 

Chapter One

Present Day
...

Julia DeMarco felt a shiver run down her spine as she stood high on a bluff overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge. It was a beautiful, sunny day in early September, and with the Pacific Ocean on one side of the bridge and the San Francisco Bay on the other, the view was breathtaking. She felt like she was on the verge of something exciting and wonderful, just the way every bride should feel. But as she took a deep breath of the fresh, somewhat salty air, her eyes began to water. She told herself the tears had more to do with the afternoon wind than the sadness she'd been wrestling with since her mother had passed away six months ago. This was supposed to be a happy time, a day for looking ahead, not behind. She just wished she felt confident instead of... uncertain.

A pair of arms came around her waist, and she leaned back against the solid chest of her fiancé, Michael Graffino. It seemed as if she'd done nothing but lean on Michael the past year. Most men wouldn't have stuck around, but he had. Now it was time to give him what he wanted, a wedding date. She didn't know why she was hesitating, except that so many things were changing in her life. Since Michael had proposed to her a year ago, her mother had died, her stepfather had put the family home up for sale, and her younger sister had moved in with her. A part of her just wanted to stop, take a few breaths, and think for a while instead of rushing headlong into another life-changing event. But Michael was pushing for a date, and she was grateful to him for sticking by her, so how could she say no? And why would she want to?

Michael was a good man. Her mother had adored him. Julia could still remember the night she'd told her mom about the engagement. Sarah DeMarco hadn't been out of bed in days, and she hadn't smiled in many weeks, but that night she'd beamed from ear to ear. The knowledge that her oldest daughter was settling down with the son of one of her best friends had made her last days so much easier.

"We should go, Julia. It's time to meet the event coordinator."

She turned to face him, thinking again what a nice-looking man he was with his light brown hair, brown eyes, and a warm, ready smile. The olive skin of his Italian heritage and the fact that he spent most of his days out on the water, running a charter boat service off Fisherman's Wharf, kept his skin a dark, sunburned red.

"What's wrong?" he asked, a curious glint in his eye. "You're staring at me."

"Was I? I'm sorry."

"Don't be." He paused, then said, "It's been a while since you've really looked at me."

"I don't think that's true. I look at you all the time. So do half the women in San Francisco," she added.

"Yeah, right," he muttered. "Let's go."

Julia cast one last look at the view, then followed Michael to the museum. The Palace of the Legion of Honor had been built as a replica of the Palais de la Legion d'Honneur in Paris. In the front courtyard, known as the Court of Honor, was one of Rodin's most famous sculptures,
The Thinker
. Julia would have liked to stop and ponder the statue as well as the rest of her life, but Michael was a man on a mission, and he urged her toward the front doors.

As they entered the museum, her step faltered. In a few moments, they would sit down with Monica Harvey, the museum's event coordinator, and Julia would have to pick her wedding date. She shouldn't be nervous. It wasn't as if she were a young girl; she was twenty-eight years old. It was time to get married, have a family.

"Liz was right. This place is cool," Michael said.

Julia nodded in agreement. Her younger sister, Liz, had been the one to suggest the museum. It was a pricey location, but Julia had inherited some money from her mother that would pay for most of the wedding.

"The offices are downstairs," Michael added. "Let's go."

Julia drew in a deep breath as the moment of truth came rushing toward her. "I need to stop in the rest-room. Why don't you go ahead? I'll be right there."

When Michael left, Julia walked over to get a drink of water from a nearby fountain. She was sweating and her heart was practically jumping out of her chest. What on earth was the matter with her? She'd never felt so panicky in her life.

It was all the changes, she told herself again. Her emotions were too close to the surface. But she could do this. They were only picking a date. She wasn't going to say "I do" this afternoon. That would be months from now, when she was ready, really ready.

Feeling better, she headed downstairs, passing by several intriguing exhibits along the way. Maybe they could stop and take a look on the way out.

"Mrs. Harvey is finishing up another appointment," Michael told her as she joined him. "She'll be about ten minutes. I need to make a call. Can you hold down the fort?"

"Sure." Julia sat down on the couch, wishing Michael hadn't left. She really needed a distraction from her nerves. As the minutes passed, she became aware of the faint sound of music coming from down the hall. The melody was lovely but sad, filled with unanswered dreams, regrets. It reminded her of a piece played on the balalaika in one of her music classes in college, and it called to her in a way she couldn't resist. Music had always been her passion. Just a quick peek, she told herself, as she got to her feet and moved into the corridor.