UNREQUITED

by Becky Bain 

"Cathy, there's someone I'd like you to meet."

Catherine looked up from the files spread out on her desk andsmiled at Joe Maxwell and the man who stood beside him.

"This is Josh McKenzie," Joe went on. "He's just starting as aninvestigator with us. Cathy's one of our best," he added, turning tothe man. "I know she'll be glad to help if you have anyquestions."

"Of course," Catherine agreed, offering her hand. "Welcome to theD.A.'s office, Josh."

She hated it when men only grasped her fingers to shake hands;Josh McKenzie took it fully, his grip firm and his gaze direct. Helooked about her age, blond and blue-eyed. His hair was cut a littlelonger than strict fashion dictated, but it was carefully styled andhis warm smile had just the right touch of friendly charm.

"Thanks," he said. "Already I think I'm going to like workinghere," he added.

Joe smothered a grin. "I'm taking Josh out for a welcome lunch.Why don't you join us?"

Despite the grin, his expression showed no sign of an ulteriormotive, so she nodded. "All right." It was amazing how quickly she'devolved from novice to old hand. Joe had asked her to provideguidance for Rita Escobar when Rita was new; now, apparently, he wasabout to ask the same for Josh McKenzie.

The men moved away and she went back to her files. She was juststraightening her desk so she'd be able to find things after lunchwhen Joe rushed up.

"Something's come up, Radcliffe. I'm stuck here. Can you take Joshto lunch, you know, make him feel welcome, maybe give him a fewhints?" he asked hurriedly.

"Sure. Don't worry. I'll take good care of him."

"Thanks, kiddo." Joe vanished in the direction of his office andCatherine reached for her coat.

She found Josh at his desk, reading through some case files.

"Ready for lunch?" she asked brightly.

His face lit with a smile as he closed the folder on his desk andslipped into his jacket.

When they reached the street, Catherine suggested a sandwich shopwithin walking distance. Josh agreed and they strolled companionably,exchanging casual conversation along the way.

Like Catherine, Josh had been brought up within the narrowconfines of money and society. He had attended all the "right"schools, and, until recently, had worked for one of the "right" lawfirms.

"Corporate law?" she guessed.

"Corporate law," he confirmed as they reached the restaurant. "Oneday I woke up and realized that I wasn't doing anything with my life.So I quit the firm and applied with the D.A., and was very surprisedwhen I got the job."

"You sound like me."

That simple comment was apparently enough to pique his interestand while they ate, Catherine found herself giving him an abbreviatedversion of her own experiences. Josh listened attentively and shefound herself making a mental list, the way she used to do when shemet an interesting man. Josh was good-looking, intelligent, funny,charming, and shared many of her interests. But when she held thelist up beside the reality of Vincent... and Josh McKenzie fellwoefully short.

He insisted on paying for their lunches and protectively took herarm as they walked back to the office.

"Thanks for lunch, Josh," Catherine said as he escorted her to herdesk and helped her off with her coat. "Even though I was supposed tobe taking you out," she scolded gently.

"What, and crush my male ego? I can't be seen allowing beautifulwomen to buy my lunch!" The warmth of his laugh lingered as he walkedaway, and Catherine smiled after him.

Evening found her attending a glittery, upscale charity dance. Shewould have preferred to mail a check and stay home, but thechairperson of the organizing committee was an old college friend andhad pleaded and cajoled until Catherine agreed to come. She hoped shewouldn't have to stay long.

As she gave her coat to the attendant, she heard a cheerful voicecalling her name. She turned, pleasantly surprised to find JoshMcKenzie beaming at her.

"I didn't know you'd be here tonight." He was clearly pleased tosee her as he came forward to take her arm. "Are you alone?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I'm afraid so."

"Then you must give me the first dance," he told her, and pulledher out onto the floor.

He turned out to be an excellent dancer and she already knew hewas good company. Much to her own surprise, she thoroughly enjoyedthe evening and when it ended, Josh took her home. With a courtly,old-world insistence that reminded her somehow of Vincent, he askedthe cab to wait while he escorted her to her own door.

She thanked him and he smiled and pressed her hand. "My pleasure,"he answered. "See you in the morning."

"Goodnight."

It occurred to her, as she unlocked her door, to wonder exactlywhat Josh's perception of the evening had been, but once inside herapartment, a familiar silhouette on her balcony drove all otherthoughts away.

"Vincent!"

"Catherine," he greeted her softly.

"I wasn't expecting you," she chided him gently. "I would havecome home earlier if I had known."

"You were enjoying yourself," he answered, taking her hands inhis. "I wanted only to see you for a few minutes on this beautifulnight."

"It is lovely, isn't it?" she agreed, wondering how she could havemissed noticing the soft radiance of the stars, the glitteringbrilliance of the city lights. "Have you been waiting long?" Shemoved closer, basking in the glow of his presence.

"Not long." His tender smile surrounded her, warming her fromwithin. "There is a concert in the park tomorrow night. Will youcome?"

Only one reply was possible. "Of course."

The pleasure he felt in her answer was reflected in his face andhe pulled her to him. She pressed her face against the warm roughnessof his cloak as he held her close. "I must go," he whispered finally."One of the sentries isn't feeling well and I promised to take hisshift. It begins soon and I must be there."

Reluctantly, Catherine released him. "Tomorrow..." she promisedsoftly.

"Yes," he agreed. A last look and, with a fluid movement, hedropped over the balcony wall and was gone.

The following morning, Catherine was guiding Josh through some ofthe intricacies of the case filing system when Joe stormed around acorner and slapped a buff-colored folder on her desk.

"Joe?" she asked cautiously. "What's wrong?"

"I'll tell you what's wrong," he snapped. "Your witness nevershowed up at the hearing this morning! I was there. The judge wasthere. Even the defendant and his attorney were there. But yourwitness never came. The judge dismissed the charges for lack ofevidence and raked me over the coals for wasting the court's time."His face was dark with fury as he stalked off, leaving heropen-mouthed with astonishment.

"Cathy?" Josh asked after a cautious minute. "What happened?"

"I don't know," she admitted, turning to study the file Joe hadleft. "I'm sure I subpoenaed... yes, here it is." She held up a copyof the subpoena.

Josh perched anxiously on the edge of her desk. "Then it's notyour fault the guy didn't show up. Are you going to tell Joe?"

Catherine smiled and shook her head. "Not now. After he cools off,he'll be back to apologize. I'll tell him then. And meanwhile," sheadded, reaching for the phone, "I'll try to find out what did happento my witness."

She had just tracked down the elusive witness when Joe peeredsheepishly around the corner. "Hi," he said awkwardly.

"Hi." She smiled back at him, enjoying his discomfiture.

"Uh, do you have that file..."

Still smiling, she pushed it across the desk.

"Thanks." He picked up the folder and toyed with the edges."Listen, Radcliffe," he said finally, "I'm sorry I blew up..."

"It's okay, Joe," she interrupted. "And I found my witness. He wasrushed to the hospital for an emergency appendectomy last night, buthis doctor says he should be able to testify in a week or so." Shepropped her chin on her palm and grinned. "Guess you'll have torefile the charges."

Joe fumbled for a reply; she let him squirm for a few secondsbefore she let him off the hook. "Come on, Joe. It's lunch time. I'llbuy you a sandwich."

"I can't, Radcliffe. I have a meeting with Levinson in..." heglanced at his watch, "...fifteen minutes. But... hey!"

He turned quickly and grabbed Josh, who was passing by, anddragged him over. "Take McKenzie instead," he suggested.

Catherine opened her mouth to protest and realized that Josh wasregarding her uneasily. Joe's blatant matchmaking seemed as alarmingto him as to her.

She relaxed and smiled. "Come on, Josh. My treat this time."

He blinked in surprise and smiled back. Catherine reached for hercoat and they walked down to the same sandwich shop.

"So," Josh said a few minutes later, in between bites of anenormous corned beef sandwich, "are you doing anything tonight?"

Catherine couldn't help smiling as she contemplated the evening tocome. "Yes. There's a concert in the park that I'm looking forwardto."

"Tchaikovsky?" At her nod, he went on. "I was thinking of going tothat. Are you going alone?"

"No, I'm meeting a friend," she explained.

"Oh. Well, I think I'll go anyway. Maybe I'll see you there."

"Maybe." Catherine was carefully non-committal.

That evening, she had just finished dressing when someone knockedon her front door. Puzzled, she padded to the door in her stockingfeet to ask who was calling.

"It's Josh McKenzie," came the answer through the closed door.

Even more puzzled, she unlocked the door and swung it wide.

Josh's smile was awkward. "Hi. I hope I'm not botheringyou..."

"I'm just getting ready to go..."

"To the concert?"

Catherine nodded.

"Well, actually, that's why I'm here. I only live a couple ofblocks away, and you said you were meeting someone there, so, since Ihad to practically pass your place to get there, I thought I'd see ifyou wanted to walk over together."

Catherine was so taken aback that, for a moment, she couldn'tthink of anything to say. Flustered by her reaction, Josh began toapologize. "I'm sorry, maybe I should have called first..."

He looked so stricken that she found herself reassuring him. "Itwas very nice of you to think of it," she said slowly. She gropedhelplessly for an excuse, but she'd already told him she was ready togo and now couldn't see a graceful way out. "Let me get my coat," shesaid weakly.

It was hard not to show the despair she felt as they left herbuilding, when she knew Vincent waited patiently below, and they werehalfway across the park before it occurred to her that she neededsome sort of explanation as to why there would be no one there tomeet her after all.

"I guess it's a good thing you came," she told Josh finally. "Myfriend called to say he couldn't go, so I was planning to go bymyself." It sounded lame, but Josh seemed to accept it easily.

"Then would you care to sit with me?" he invited diffidently.

She agreed absently and they found seats near the front, chattingidly until the music began. From her seat Catherine could just seethe corner of the grate which covered the tunnel where she andVincent listened to the music when they came to concertstogether.

Fleetingly, she wondered if he was there now, alone. If he was,then he also knew she was here... or was he waiting for her still atthe junction below her building? Perhaps he had climbed to herbalcony. She wished she'd had the presence of mind to leave a notethere. "I'm sorry, Vincent," she whispered to herself, knowing hewould feel her regret, wherever he was.

Lost in these troubled thoughts, she couldn't keep her mind on themusic. She was so distracted that Josh noticed and leaned over towhisper his concern.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry. I've developed this terrible headache..." She liedwithout hesitation. "Maybe I'd better go home."

Making sympathetic noises, Josh rose and guided her carefullythrough the narrow rows of seats and away from the crowd.

"Thank you, Josh, but you don't need to walk me home. I don't wantyou to miss the rest of the music because of me."

"Of course I'll take you home!" Josh was indignant. "You can'tcross the park alone."

Not only did he insist on taking her home, but also on coming into be sure she was all right. "My sister gets migraines," heexplained as he unlocked her front door. "So I know how a badheadache can be."

He made her sit while he rummaged in her tiny kitchen, emerging afew minutes later with a steaming teapot and a bottle of aspirin."Take three," he directed, pouring her a cup of tea. "Then drinkthis."

She did as directed, feeling guilty for deceiving him and, at thesame time, wishing she could get rid of him without actually beingrude.

As she sipped the tea, he moved behind her and began to massageher neck and shoulders. "This really helps my sister," he explainedas he kneaded and rubbed. "You need to try to relax. I can feel thetension."

She did try, but it was useless. "I'm sorry, Josh, but it doesn'tseem to be helping. I think it would be better if I just got somesleep."

He peered at her anxiously. "You're sure?"

She nodded. "Sure."

"Okay. Finish your tea though, huh?" He picked up his coat andpaused in the doorway. "You're sure I can't get you anything elsebefore I go?"

His solicitude was touching, but she shook her head. "No, really,Josh. I'm fine. I just need some sleep."

"All right. Lock up after me, okay?"

She got to her feet. "Right now," she agreed, and closed the doorbehind him with relief.

In the bedroom, she undressed, but instead of reaching for anightgown, she pulled on pants, boots, and a warm shirt and dragged awarm jacket out of the closet. She fidgeted impatiently as theelevator made its slow way to the basement. No one else was downthere this late so she didn't have to be careful about being seen.She hurried across to the access door, scooted aside the cardboardboxes that shielded it, and stepped through, finding the ladder withan ease born of practice. She reached the bottom and turned to findVincent waiting, as she had known he would be.

"I'm sorry," she said simply, going to him. Briefly she explainedwhat had happened. "I was so surprised to see him, I couldn't thinkof anything to say." She tucked her hand into the crook of Vincent'selbow and they began to stroll through the tunnels. "Even now, I'mnot sure what I could have said that would have sounded plausible andwouldn't have aroused his suspicions."

"I knew you wouldn't miss our time together without good reason,"Vincent said comfortingly. His eyes held a hint of a smile as helooked down on her. "Did you enjoy the music?"

"You know I didn't," Catherine told him, laughing, and addedwistfully, "I kept thinking of you. Were you there?"

"For a time. While you were."

She'd known it, of course, on some basic level, but his admissionpleased her anyway. "I suppose the music's over now."

"I imagine it is," he agreed. "But we could go see, just to besure. If you like."

She could feel the radiance of the smile she turned on him; itglowed from within. "Let's do."

The music, as predicted, was gone, but the moon shone softlythrough the grate and a fresh breeze swept through in little gusts,making it a peaceful place, a welcoming place. They nestled togetheron cushions Vincent had placed there earlier and talked music -- themusic they would have heard this evening, and of music they hadshared at other times. Even after the conversation died away theystayed, savoring each other's company, and it was very late whenCatherine climbed the ladder and returned, reluctantly, to her ownworld.

Signs of her late night must have shown on her face the nextmorning. Joe noticed, and so did Rita, but it was Josh whose overtconcern raked at her nerves.

"You're sure you're okay?" he asked, pausing at her desk for thethird time. "I could get you an aspirin..."

His well-meant interruption broke her concentration and shefrowned, grasping for the shreds of the paragraph she had carefullycomposed in her head but hadn't yet written down.

Too late. It was gone.

"Cathy?"

Her patience, already worn thin, snapped. "Josh," she said, toocarefully, "isn't there something you ought to be doing? Because I'mcertainly busy."

His look of hurt incomprehension made her regret her hasty words,but before she could draw breath to explain, he'd mumbled somethingapologetic and backed away.

Wearily she followed him back to his desk. "Josh, I'm sorry. I'mjust irritable this morning. I didn't mean to take it out onyou."

"That's all right." He accepted her apology with a grace thatshamed her and made one of his own. "I've been a pest this morning.Will you let me buy you lunch to make up for it?"

"I can't. Joe and I are going over the Riley case this afternoonand I still have a lot of work to do on it."

"Then how about this evening? Dinner and a movie?" He'd reboundedfrom her churlishness and his smile was boyishly eager.

"Josh, I can't. I'm sorry."

"Another time, then," he said agreeably. "Meanwhile, I'll try toremember not to ask how you're feeling."

His easy manner cheered her. Catherine laughed and returned to herwork.

True to his word, Josh stayed out of her way the rest of the day,stopping by only on his way home to offer a quick goodnight.

The next day, though, he asked her again to dinner. This time, headded the incentive of an off-Broadway play and seemed undaunted byher gentle refusal.

Friday morning she found a small package neatly centered on herdesk. As she picked it up, Josh appeared around the corner, smiling."The other day at lunch, you said how much you liked BrigitO'Donnell's books. So when I saw her newest one, I picked it up foryou. I hope you don't mind."

His apology negated the protest she'd been about to make. Sheshook her head in resignation. "No. I don't mind. It was verythoughtful, Josh. Thank you."

He looked pleased as he went back to his desk and she fingered thebook uneasily. It was evident now that Josh hoped to be more than afriend.

She turned down his invitation to lunch, and escaped the office tointerview a witness before he could make an offer for theevening.

On Saturday, Catherine found herself a little relieved she didn'thave to go to work. She liked Josh, but his cheerful persistence wasbeginning to fray her nerves.

Her peaceful day at home didn't last long, though. The phone rang.It was Josh, asking if she'd like to play tennis. She explainedpatiently that tennis really wasn't her game, only to have him callback a little later to suggest a trip to an art gallery in theVillage. Again, she made a polite excuse. Then, fearing another phonecall, or worse, a knock on the door, she fled to the tunnels.

Vincent wasn't expecting her, but she was always welcome below andif he was busy, there were many others she would enjoy visiting. Shehadn't gone far when she came across one of the tunnel childrensitting on a narrow stone ledge and looking disconsolate.

"Samantha? Is something wrong?"

"No," the girl replied, sliding down from the shoulder-high ledge."Just the boys are playing a game and they won't let me play becauseI'm a girl."

"That's not fair, is it?" Catherine offered in sympathy.

"No. May I walk with you?"

"Sure," Catherine said. She always enjoyed spending time with thetunnel kids.

"I didn't know you were coming today," Samantha said curiously asthey walked.

"Me either. I'm running away," Catherine confessed wryly.

"Running away?" Samantha sounded suspicious. "I didn't knowgrown-ups were allowed to do that."

Catherine laughed. "Yes, we can run away, but usually we go backlater. I'm just escaping for the day."

"Oh. Okay." A companionable silence ensued and they were nearly tothe occupied portions of the tunnels when Samantha spoke again."Catherine," she said suddenly. "Do you know how to make a Frenchbraid?"

"As a matter of fact, I do. Why?"

Samantha gave a casual shrug. "Some of us girls were trying tomake one and we couldn't get it right. Mary and Jamie keep promisingto teach us, but they never seem to have the time. That's all."

Catherine knew a hint when she heard one. "Would you like me toshow you how?" she offered.

"Would you?" Samantha's eyes lit up. "And the others, too?"

"Of course. Where is a good place to do it?"

Samantha frowned. "I don't know. There's something wrong with thelights in our chamber and Mouse is trying to fix them. We're supposedto stay out of his way."

"Tell you what," Catherine suggested. "You find your friends and acomb, a mirror and some elastic bands. I want to stop by Vincent'schamber. Meet me there, and I'm sure Vincent will know of someplacewe can go."

"Okay," Samantha agreed brightly and darted down one of the sidetunnels, a short-cut, no doubt, to wherever she was going. Catherinestuck to the familiar route and was soon at Vincent's chamber.

Vincent held a small boy, perhaps six years old, in his lap, theirheads bent together over an open book. Both looked up when Catherineentered the room.

"Hello, Catherine," the boy cried eagerly, squirming with obviousdelight.

Catherine exchanged warm smiles with Vincent as she came to kneelbeside the chair. "Hello, Ross," she said, giving the boy a hug."What are you doing?"

"Vincent's teaching me to read," Ross announced proudly.

"Really?" Catherine assumed a look of amazement and pointed to theopen page. "Can you read that for me?"

Haltingly he named each letter of the alphabet as he pointed toit, receiving only minimal prompting from Vincent. When he finished,he looked to Catherine for approval.

"That's very good, Ross. You should be proud of yourself."

Ross wriggled with pleasure and looked up at Vincent. "Can... mayI get down now?" he asked.

"For a few minutes," Vincent agreed, helping the boy off his lap.Ross ran to the other side of the room and knelt beside a newaddition to Vincent's decor -- an enormous stuffed ape. Catherine wasafraid to ask where he got it, but Ross seemed intrigued. He sankdown beside it, singing tunelessly to himself.

"He's doing well, isn't he?" Catherine asked softly.

"We've been working on the alphabet for nearly a month, and bytomorrow he'll have forgotten half the letters again. But every dayhe remembers one or two more."

"So you're making progress."

Vincent was non-committal. "Father believes Ross may be tooseverely retarded to learn to read," he reminded Catherinegently.

She smiled affectionately. "But you won't be happy until you'vetried."

Vincent returned the smile before glancing at Ross regretfully."Catherine, if Ross is to continue to learn, I must spend more timewith him today, and I've promised him a story afterwards."

"That's all right. I have another invitation, anyway." She alloweda sparkle of mischief to show in her eyes. "I met Samantha on my waydown," she answered his questioning look. "I offered to help her andsome of her friends with their hair. The only problem, according toSamantha, is finding a place to do it. Any suggestions?"

"Why not here?"

"In your chamber?" She looked at him dubiously. "Are you sure wewon't disturb you?"

"What would we find disturbing?"

"Well, probably the giggling."

"Giggling?" Vincent was plainly disbelieving.

"I'm afraid so," Catherine told him somberly. "There's anunwritten law that whenever girls get together to do their hair, theygiggle."

Vincent pretended to give that serious thought before replyinggravely, "I believe Ross and I can endure giggling, if it'snecessary. Come, Ross," he said to the boy. "We'll sit over here inthe corner." He lifted Ross into his lap and opened the book.

A moment later, Samantha burst noisily into the room, followedclosely by four other girls ranging in age from eleven to fourteen.They all greeted Vincent and Ross cheerfully, if somewhatperfunctorily, before gathering around the table to watch asCatherine began to brush out Samantha's hair.

Their girlish chatter soon turned to important things, like boys,and the giggling Catherine had predicted began to surface.

There was a long discussion and much disagreement about which ofthe tunnel boys was cutest before the younger girls began to teaseMichelle, who was fourteen, about a budding romance.

"Has he kissed you yet?" thirteen-year-old Molly wanted toknow.

Michelle blushed and didn't reply.

"I think that's Michelle's business," Catherine interceded gently,her fingers busy creating an intricate braid out of Michelle's longblond hair. Chastened, the younger girls were silent for a momentbefore Samantha, laying aside the mirror in which she'd been admiringher own neatly braided hair, propped her chin in her hand.

"Catherine?" she asked seriously. "How old should you be beforeyou let a boy kiss you?"

"Well, older than you, anyway, Samantha," Catherine evaded thequestion.

"No, really," Samantha persisted. "How old were you?"

There was a restless stir from the corner. "I was six," Catherineadmitted with a smile.

"Six!" Samantha sounded shocked.

Catherine laughed. "My cousin David is my age, and when we wereboth six, we decided we were going to get married when we grew up.And of course, we had to kiss because that's what married people do.Our parents thought we were very cute."

The girls giggled. "Where's your cousin now?" Molly asked.

"I haven't seen Davy in years. He moved away when I was eight andI've only seen him a few times since." She sighed and tried to lookheart-broken. "He married someone else."

The girls giggled again and Samantha doggedly returned to heroriginal question. "How old were you when a boy really kissedyou?"

Catherine was acutely aware that Vincent still sat in the cornerholding Ross, who had fallen asleep. She wondered briefly where thistypical adolescent girl's conversation was going, but she had nosecrets from Vincent and felt confident of her ability to keep awayfrom any potentially embarassing topics.

"I guess I was about fifteen," she answered thoughtfully, tryingto remember exactly. She smiled. "We were convinced we would be inlove forever."

"What happened?" Michelle inquired.

"Six months later, he found someone else."

"Oh, no!"

Catherine smiled and shook her head. "Young love isn't always truelove. I think it's important to remember that."

"How do you know when it's true love?" asked Michelle.

Catherine thought a moment. "That's a good question, Michelle. Iread something once that makes more sense than anything else I'veheard. If you have to ask yourself if you're in love, then youaren't. When you truly love, there are no doubts or questions. Itjust is."

There was a moment's silence as the girls absorbed that. "Youdon't have any doubts, do you, Catherine?" Samantha asked atlast.

"No, Samantha. I don't have any doubts at all." Catherinecarefully did not look to where Vincent was sitting, but she couldfeel his eyes on her. She tied off the end of the braid she had justfinished and handed Michelle the mirror. "Finished," she announced,flexing cramped fingers.

Vincent rose carefully from his chair and deposited Ross, stillsoundly sleeping, on his bed. "Michelle, will you take Ross to Marywhen he wakes?" he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he reachedfor Catherine's hand and moved toward the door.

There was a burst of girlish laughter as they stepped out into thepassage, but Catherine quickly decided she didn't want to know whatit was about.

"I have the rest of the afternoon free," Vincent said softly."What would you like to do?"

"Be with you," Catherine replied, just as softly. "Let's go for awalk. Show me something I haven't seen," she suggested. One of thethings she loved was exploring Vincent's vast, complex world,especially with Vincent as her guide.

Vincent considered for a moment before leading her down one of themany side tunnels. Catherine was getting better at finding her wayaround the world below, but after a few twists and turns, she hadcompletely lost her sense of direction. The tunnels they passedthrough became narrower and at last Vincent stopped before whatappeared to be a wide crack in one of the walls. He leaned into thefissure and looked up speculatively.

"It's smaller than I remembered," he said, taking Catherine's armto help her up into the crack itself.

"What am I doing?" she asked curiously, looking up too.

"Can you see that rectangular opening?" Vincent pointed to a darkpatch about five feet above her head.

She nodded.

"Climb through there and go to your left."

She eyed the opening, looking quickly at Vincent and then upagain. "What's up there?" she wanted to know.

Vincent's eyes twinkled. "You'll have to go and see," was all hewould say.

The crack was irregular enough to provide plenty of hand andfootholds, so, with Vincent's hand steadying her, Catherine began theshort climb. She hesitated when she reached the opening because allshe could see beyond it was blackness, but Vincent would never sendher anywhere that wasn't safe, so she thrust her head and shouldersinto the hole in the rock and wriggled through.

Remembering Vincent's instructions, she crawled to her left,feeling her way through the darkness. When she came up against acold, rough wall, she turned to crouch against it. The opening was afaint, gray oblong that disappeared as Vincent pushed his cloak aheadof him and started to climb through.

He grunted softly and she could hear him breathing, but he seemedto have stopped halfway through the hole. "I'm caught on something,Catherine," he said after a moment. "Can you help?"

She reached out cautiously until she touched his shoulder, thenstretched out in the cramped space and wormed her hand down betweenhis body and the rough rock wall.

"A little farther down and more to the right, I think," Vincentsaid softly, his face very near hers.

Somehow, the awkwardness of the situation struck Catherine asfunny and she began to giggle as she squirmed closer to fully extendher arm. Her forehead rested against Vincent's shoulder as she triedto find the snag.

"I don't know why you're laughing." His voice, low and resonant,was very close to her ear. "There's no other way out."

That seemed even funnier and she was still trying to stifle herlaughter when her fingers found the small projection where his beltwas snagged. She worked it free, carefully extracted her arm andscrambled back out of Vincent's way. With one powerful movement, helevered himself through to sit beside her.

Catherine heard a rustling, followed by a click and suddenly shecould see. Vincent had produced a small flashlight from somewhere andhe propped it against the far wall, letting the beam reflect dimlyfrom the low ceiling, eerily illuminating what Catherine now saw wasa very small cave-like room, perhaps four feet by six. The roof wasonly about four feet high in the center, lower as it joined thecurved walls.

"This is wonderful, Vincent. I've always loved secret places." Hervoice still held a trace of laughter as she looked around the cozyspace.

"Devin found it," Vincent explained. "He called it his hideout. Heshowed it to me one day and it became my refuge... a place I couldcome to be alone, where no one could find me."

Her merriment vanished in the time it took him to say the words."Did you need a place like that, Vincent?" she asked gently.

He bowed his head. "Sometimes," he admitted. "When the otherchildren were allowed to do something I wasn't... going above for anadventure I wasn't permitted to share..."

She moved closer and touched his shoulder.

"It was here that I struggled with and learned to accept mydifferences," he finished quietly, his voice reflecting rememberedpain.

"I wish I could have been here to help you," she said softly. "Tobe with you."

"You're here now," he answered, his eyes meeting hers at last."You're with me always, now."

Her arms went around his neck and they shared a clumsy embrace ofmutual solace in the cramped space.

Because the room was too small and the walls and floor too unevenfor any kind of comfort, it wasn't long before Catherine descended,jumping the last few feet and stepping back to wait for Vincent. Thistime he managed to squeeze himself through the narrow aperturewithout incident and dropped easily to the tunnel floor besideher.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering aimlessly throughthe tunnels, enjoying the sheer luxury of hours together with noobligations to keep. As always, the time passed too quickly.

Facing each other, they leaned on opposite walls of the tunnelbelow Catherine's building, silently putting off the painful momentof parting. They could delay only so long, however, and at lastVincent straightened and held out his hand. Catherine took it andtogether they walked the last few feet to the doorway. Their embracewas brief, intense, longing. When it ended, Catherine stepped backreluctantly, her eyes fixed on Vincent's for a last goodbye beforeshe turned and stepped into a bright spill of light from above.

In the pleasure of the afternoon, Catherine had nearly forgottenJosh McKenzie and his perseverance, but when she turned on heranswering machine to check her messages, his was the first voice sheheard.

"Hi, Cathy, it's Josh. I guess I'm probably being a pest again. Iwas going to ask if you'd like to go on a picnic in the park with me,but since you're not home... Anyway, I'm sorry if all these calls aremaking you crazy... I care about you, Cathy. I guess I'll see youMonday. 'Bye."

Long after the tape spun itself into silence, Catherine sat, stillhearing the echo of Josh's words. She had tried, as gently as shecould, to let him know she wasn't interested in him, but she didn'tseem to be getting through. She liked Josh. He was interesting totalk to and fun to be with. She would enjoy having him for a friendand didn't want to spoil the friendship by rejecting him too harshly,but was beginning to think there was no other way.

To her immeasurable relief, the phone remained silent on Sundaymorning and she spent the time tidying the apartment and working onthe Sunday crossword in the Times. In the early afternoon, she tookadvantage of the balmy spring weather to take a walk in the park.Striding along briskly, she basked in the exercise, the sun, and herown thoughts.

Several miles were behind her and she was on her way home when shespied a familiar figure slumped on a park bench. Lost in thought, shewas actually past him before the familiarity registered.

She stopped and looked back to where Josh stared sightlessly at abook open on his lap. She was sure he didn't see her and for ashameful moment considered stealing quietly away, but something inhis posture, something on his face told her he needed comfort. Shecouldn't just abandon him, so she went back.

"Josh? Are you all right?"

He jumped, startled. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, looking down atthe book he held.

She sat beside him. "What are you reading?"

"Poetry. A.E. Housman." He tilted the volume so she could see thecover. "Ever read any of his stuff?"

"'To an Athlete Dying Young,'" she said, naming the only Housmanpoem she could remember. "It's kind of sad... and cynical."

"Yeah. Most of his stuff's pretty cynical," Josh agreed, half hisattention focused elsewhere.

Catherine gently removed the book from his hands and began to leafthrough it, pausing to read random lines that caught her eye.

"Why do you sit in the park on a lovely spring afternoon and readsad poetry?" she asked at last.

He shrugged. "Sometimes, when I start thinking about my brother...reading Housman helps."

"What happened to your brother?" Instinct made her voicegentle.

Josh squinted in the sun as he gazed across the park. "Hedied."

Catherine waited patiently.

"Tim was my big brother... four years older than me," he began,his eyes still fixed on something far away. "I thought he waswonderful, perfect, could do anything. I idolized him." There was along, painful silence. "One day, he took my father's hunting rifle,put the muzzle in his mouth and blew his brains out."

Catherine made a horrified sound and reached out to touch hisarm.

"I found his body," Josh continued in a toneless voice. "I wassixteen. He was twenty. I still don't know why he wanted to die."

She squeezed his arm lightly, offering what comfort she could. Hestared into the distance for a little longer, then seemed to shakehimself mentally and turned to smile at her.

"It all happened a long time ago," he said in a lighter voice,taking back his book. "Thanks for stopping."

"What are friends for?" Catherine asked as she got to her feet.She hesitated. Something in Josh's eyes still troubled her, so sheheld out her hand. "Come on. I'm not leaving you here like this."

Josh demurred, but Catherine insisted and finally he gave in andaccompanied her home. "I can see why Joe says to watch out for you,"he commented drily as she unlocked her door.

Catherine laughed. "Would you like something to drink?" she asked,going to the kitchen.

"A soft drink would be fine."

"I have beer," she offered.

"No, thanks. I don't drink much."

"Okay." In the kitchen, she busied herself with glasses andice.

"Hey," Josh called from the living room, "are you hungry?"

She had to think a second. "Now that you mention it, I'm starved,"she called back.

"You like pizza?"

She stuck her head out the kitchen door. "Doesn't everybody?"

"Do you mind if I order one? I know a great place thatdelivers."

"It sounds good," she answered.

She heard him pick up the phone and dial. "Do we want everythingon it?" he called.

"No anchovies!" she called back and picked up the tray withglasses, ice and pop bottles on it.

"No anchovies," Josh was saying into the phone. "Thirty minutes.Great. Thanks!"

He hung up and smiled almost shyly. "Pizza's on its way. I hopeyou don't mind... I feel like I've practically invited myself todinner."

"Don't be silly. I asked you to come and if I didn't want pizza,I'd say so. Sit down," she invited.

He perched on the edge of the couch opposite her and fingered thebook he'd laid on the coffee table.

"Read me one of Housman's poems," Catherine suggested on impulse,trying to put him at ease.

He seemed startled but pleased and picked up the book to leafthrough it. "I don't know what you'd like..." he begandiffidently.

"Choose something you like," she encouraged him, kicking off hershoes and tucking her bare feet under her.

"Okay." He turned a few more pages, paused to glance quickly ather, took a deep breath, and began to read.

 

"'Shot? So quick, so clean an ending?

Oh that was right, lad, that was brave:

Yours was not an ill for mending,

'Twas best to take it to the grave.

 

Oh you had forethought, you could reason,

And saw your road and where it led,

And early wise and brave in season

Put the pistol to your head.

 

Oh soon, and better so than later

After long disgrace and scorn,

You shot dead the household traitor,

The soul that should not have been born.

 

Right you guessed the rising morrow

And scorned to tread the mire you must:

Dust's your wages, son of sorrow,

But men may come to worse than dust.

 

Souls undone, undoing others,--

Long time since the tale began.

You would not live to wrong your brothers:

Oh lad, you died as fits a man.

 

Now to your grave shall friend and stranger

With ruth and some with envy come:

Undishonoured, clear of danger,

Clean of guilt, pass hence and home.

 

Turn safe to rest, no dreams, no waking;

And here, man, here's the wreath I've made;

'Tis not a gift that's worth the taking,

But wear it and it will not fade.'"

There was a moment of silence after he finished. Catherine saidquietly, "You read very well. That reminds you of your brother,doesn't it?"

Josh nodded. "You probably think I'm morbid, reading stuff likethat," he commented. "But somehow, it comforts me. I mean, maybethat's why he did it. You read about guys going to schools and fastfood places and post offices with automatic weapons... maybe he wasafraid... I don't know." Josh gave her a lopsided attempt at a grin."You'd think, after eighteen years..." his voice faded.

"I still miss my mother," Catherine said softly. "Some days Ithink about her a lot." She told him of her mother's death more thantwenty years earlier and of her father's death only a year ago.

That led to talk about grief and missing loved ones, even thoselong dead. The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of thepizza and by the time they were settled on the floor, eating off thecoffee table, the sadness was dispelled and they found more cheerfultopics of conversation. Several friendly disagreements about poetsand quotations ensued and soon the table and floor was stacked withbooks taken from the shelves to settle arguments.

The evening passed quickly and it was late when Josh rose andannounced it was time for him to go home. He insisted on helping tidythe living room first, reshelving the books while Catherine dealtwith the litter left on the table from their meal.

"Thanks for dragging me up here," he said at the door. "I neededsomebody to talk to and just didn't know it, I guess."

"Thank you for the pizza," Catherine replied. "And thecompany."

Josh smiled and leaned forward quickly to give her a brotherlykiss on the cheek. "'Bye. See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," she acknowledged.

As she locked up and turned out the lights, she reflected that ithad been an enjoyable evening. Josh had kept everything strictly on afriendship level. Maybe things were going to be all right.

Once ready for bed, she stepped out onto her balcony. It wasalmost a nightly ritual to go out and look at the skyline beforegoing to sleep. Involuntarily she glanced toward the corner but noone was there.

The times when Vincent didn't come were much more frequent thanthe times he did, but she always half-hoped to see him and was alwaysa little disappointed if he didn't appear. Tonight was one of thedisappointing times and after a while the chill of the early springnight drove her inside.

The next day was Monday and Catherine dragged herself reluctantlyto the office. Even when you liked your job, she mused in theelevator, Mondays could be depressing. Joe saw her come in and calledher into his office to ask about the witnesses she'd interviewed onFriday and, as a result, it was nearly ten o'clock when she finallyheaded for her own desk. As she came around the corner, she stoppedin surprise.

A simple, inexpensive glass bud vase was centered on her blotter.In it stood a single, perfect sweetheart rose. The petals of theflower were a delicate, creamy peach color and Catherine bent toinhale its fragrance before moving the vase to a corner of her deskand lifting the single sheet of paper it held down. Neatlyhand-printed in the middle of the page was a poem.

 

THE ROSE FAMILY

by Robert Frost

 

The rose is a rose,

And was always a rose.

But the theory now goes

That the apple's a rose,

And the pear is, and so's

The plum, I suppose.

The dear only knows

What will next prove a rose.

You, of course, are a rose--

But were always a rose.

 

Underneath, in a less tidy scrawl, was a note.

"Cathy, I needed someone yesterday and you were there. Thank youfor being my friend. Love, Josh."

Smiling, she read the poem again, then tucked the paper away andwent around to Josh's desk. He wasn't there and she called to Joe,who was passing. "Where's Josh?"

Joe looked blank for a moment. "Who? McKenzie? He's out at theTombs, taking a deposition. After that he has to go to Brooklyn tointerview a witness." Joe's expression changed. "Nice flower he leftfor you, Radcliffe," he said with a pleased grin. "You and McKenzie,huh?" He walked away, still grinning and shaking his head.

It was Tuesday afternoon before Catherine actually saw Josh again.She came out of Joe's office with her head down, reading a file andliterally ran into him.

"Oh, I'm sorry..." she began, apologizing before recognition setin. "Josh! I wanted to thank you for the rose and the poem. It wassweet."

He tried to shrug it off. "It was nothing... a small repayment forpulling me out of my depression." He gave a deprecating laugh, lookedat his watch, mumbled something about being late and rushed off.

Bemused, Catherine watched him go before walking slowly back toher own little cubicle. Last week, Josh was actively pursuing her;this week he seemed to be avoiding her. And tradition had it thatwomen were unpredictable! Still, she couldn't help smiling as sheadmired again the lovely peach colored rose that was starting toopen.

On Wednesday and Thursday, Josh was carefully correct the fewtimes she spoke to him... cheerful and charming but not too personal.Catherine became more and more convinced that he was prepared tosimply be a friend.

Thursday was rough. Three separate cases, all important and allsupported by hours of painstaking work, were thrown out of court ondifferent technicalities. As a result, Joe was in a foul mood thataffected everyone else.

Catherine worked late, going over all the painstaking details ofone of the cases, looking for anything that would support aprosecution independent of evidence which had been ruledinadmissible. At last, though, she pushed the papers away tiredly andreached for her coat. The rest would have to wait for tomorrow.

At home, she dropped her bag and coat on a chair and went directlyinto her bedroom. Almost automatically she washed her face, brushedher teeth and changed into her nightgown. Then, pushing her feet intoslippers and pulling on a warm robe, she stepped outside.

Leaning against the low brick wall that surrounded her balcony,she felt rather than saw the dark form that materialized beside herand turned to smiled wanly into compassionate blue eyes. Vincentopened his arms and she went into them gladly, grateful for thecomfort he so willingly offered.

He held her tightly and she felt all the tensions and frustrationsof the day slip away, leaving behind only a warm, peacefulcontentment. She felt she could have stayed in his arms forever, buteventually his hold loosened and she tipped her head back to smile upat him. "You always know when I need you."

His eyes smiled back, full of warmth and love. "Your pain is mypain," he reminded her softly. "You know that."

"Yes," she agreed, resting her head against the solid comfort ofhis shoulder. "I do."

"Tell me?" he invited, and listened patiently while she describedthe day's events. Legal technicalities were beyond his expertise, sohe didn't try to offer advice; instead, he simply held her, strokingher hair with one gentle hand. "If there is a way to salvage thesecases, you will find it," he said when she finished, and as always,she was touched by his belief in her.

"I don't know if it's that simple, Vincent," she whispered intothe folds of his cloak, "but I'm going to try."

"That's all anyone expects of you, Catherine. That you try."

It was late, so Vincent stayed only a few minutes more beforegiving a brief farewell and descending. Catherine remained on thebalcony, looking wistfully out over the city. When she was sure he'dhad time to safely reach the tunnels, still warm from the memory ofhis presence, she went inside and slipped into bed.

Friday at the D.A.'s office was just as bad as staff members triedto salvage something from Thursday's debacle. It was late whenCatherine finally cleared her desk. Stiffly she rose to her feet,stretched, and gathered up her things. Bending for one last breath ofperfume from her now fully opened rose, she switched off her desklamp and started for the elevator.

"Cathy? Cathy, wait!" called a voice behind her.

She turned to greet Josh with a tired smile.

"I'll ride down with you," he said as the elevator doors slidopen.

Inside the elevator car, Catherine leaned wearily against one wallas Josh braced himself against the opposite one.

"Is it always this hectic in the D.A.'s office?" he asked.

"Sometimes," Catherine admitted. "But fortunately, not often."

"That's good," commented Josh, rubbing the back of his necktiredly and grinning as Catherine tried unsuccessfully to stifle ayawn. "I couldn't do this every week. Hey," he suggested as theystepped off the elevator. "How about a cup of coffee before we gohome?" He gestured toward the coffee shop.

Catherine considered the question carefully. She was tired; on theother hand, a cup of coffee might actually keep her awake long enoughto reach home. Further, a pleasant conversation with Josh might gether mind off of work. Right now, half a dozen cases were whirlingaround inside her head.

"All right," she agreed, and followed him to one of the littletables in the coffee shop.

A disinterested waitress served them cups of coffee and retiredbehind a nearby counter.

"So," asked Catherine lightly, "How was your second week at theD.A.'s office?"

"Oh," Josh moaned theatrically. "Do I have stories to tell!" Hebegan regaling her with anecdotes about the places he'd gone, thewitnesses he'd seen and the depositions he'd taken. It wasn't longbefore he had her laughing and telling tales of her own first fewweeks with the D.A.

Their mood quieted as the waitress apathetically refilled theircups and Josh toyed with the handle of his for a moment beforeglancing at her almost apprehensively. "I was wondering... I can gettickets for The Magic Flute tomorrow night. Would you like togo?"

Catherine felt a stirring of dismay. "Josh, I'm sorry. I can't,"she said, as kindly as possible.

His mouth tightened and he glanced away; he seemed to be wrestlingwith something internal. When his gaze returned to her, she could seethe hurt determination in his eyes. "Cathy, why won't you go out withme?"

She searched helplessly for something to say. He went on,doggedly.

"I think you like me. We seem to have fun together, but every timeI ask you out, you close up. What's wrong?"

"Josh," Catherine began cautiously, choosing her words carefully,"I do like you. As a friend. But..." she stopped and sighed.

"What if I want more than friendship?" he asked softly.

Catherine bent her head, peering intently into her cup. "Josh,"she said uncomfortably, "I want to be your friend, but that's all Ican offer you."

"Why?" he demanded, looking suddenly very young andvulnerable.

She studied her cup; the silence dragged on and on.

"Just tell me why," he repeated, almost whispering.

Catherine glanced uneasily at the sullen waitress and back down ather own fingers grasping the cup. "I'm involved with someone," sheadmitted at last.

"But," Josh sounded bewildered now, "I asked around. Joe says youalways go to parties alone. You never talk about anyone..."

"It's not something I talk about," she conceded in a low voice. "Ifeel funny talking about it now." She shrugged slightly. "I wantedyou to know it's not you."

Josh leaned forward. "You don't talk about him. You never goanywhere with him. Cathy, what kind of relationship is that?"

She shook her head. "You don't understand..."

"I understand you're seeing some guy who won't take youanywhere... None of your friends have ever heard of him... He evenstood you up the other night at the concert in the park..."

"No." She gripped the cup hard, frustrated by her inability toexplain. "It isn't like that..."

"No? Then tell me what it is like, Cathy!" His voice rose inanger. "What does he offer you? A commitment? Marriage?"

"He loves me!" Catherine surprised herself with her fierce defenseof Vincent. "He would give his life for me!"

Josh didn't look angry any more; instead he looked sad as heslowly shook his head. "Cathy, you deserve better. Maybe that's notme, but you deserve someone who appreciates you..."

"Josh, I don't want to argue with you. Thank you for the coffee."She pushed her chair back and walked out.

"Cathy, please wait!" She could hear him behind her but didn'tlook back.

She hesitated at the curb, suddenly annoyed with herself forhaving stayed so late when she hadn't brought her car. Josh hadjoined her on the sidewalk and the last thing she needed was for himto offer her a ride home.

He didn't. Instead, a cab appeared and he hailed it. He stoodback, holding the door while she got in, but when he tried to closeit, she stopped him. "How are you getting home?"

He shrugged. "Another cab'll be by soon..."

"No, it won't," she said wearily. "Not at this time of night. Wewere lucky to get this one." She pushed the door wide. "Get in."

He obeyed meekly, but seemed wary, keeping to his own side of theseat. She didn't try to ease the strain. Instead, she folded her armsstiffly and stared out the window. They were cruising north onCentral Park West, almost to her building, when Josh broke thesilence.

"Please don't be angry, Cathy. I didn't mean to tell you how tolive your life. I just..."

"It's okay, Josh. I'm not angry." And she wasn't. Not anymore. Shewas just tired.

"...I care for you, Cathy. I want you to be happy."

She turned to give him a penetrating look. "I am happy. Whetheryou believe it or not, I am happy."

The cab pulled up in front of her building and Josh got out andheld the door. Catherine paid the driver her half of the fare andfollowed.

"Goodnight, Josh."

"Goodnight, Cathy."

As the doorman opened the door for her, she glanced back. Joshstill stood by the cab, watching her.

Inside, she leaned against the elevator wall and stared at theslowly changing numbers on the floor indicator, reflecting. No, shewasn't angry, not really, but she was upset with herself. She hadsaid more, much more than she should have and accomplishednothing.

She couldn't really blame Josh for believing she was involved inan unhappy relationship... certainly that's the way it would appearfrom his side, given the few facts he had to work with. It was one ofthe reasons she normally never mentioned her relationship withVincent to people she knew. If only she hadn't been so concernedabout hurting Josh's feelings. Now she'd probably made thingsworse.

As the elevator slowed to stop at her floor, she took a deepbreath and willed herself to be calm. If she continued to fret, she'dhave Vincent up here wanting to know what was wrong and she didn'twant to trouble him with this now. Later, after she'd workedsomething out, she could tell him everything.

She tossed her things on the bed and stepped out onto the balcony.She leaned on the wall and let the mild breeze ruffle her hair.Strange, how the air here seemed somehow fresher, sweeter. Illusion,she knew, but it made her smile.

She didn't know if it was the coffee she'd consumed or tensioncreated by the argument with Josh, but all her tiredness haddissipated, leaving her wide-awake.

She had a sudden longing to see Vincent, not to tell him hertroubles, but just to talk to him, be with him for a little while.Sometimes, just the sight of him was enough to make everything allright. Yielding to impulse, she changed clothes and was soon walkingthe familiar route to Vincent's chamber. It was late and she passedno one on her way.

When she reached Vincent's chamber, she was disappointed to findit dark. After a moment's thought, she turned toward Father's study.Perhaps Vincent was there.

She stopped in the doorway and looked around the candle-litchamber. "Hello?" she called tentatively, seeing no one.

"Catherine!"

She turned to see Father, book in hand, leaning against thewrought-iron railing of the study's upper level. "Is somethingwrong?" he asked in concern.

Cathering began to feel a little foolish. "No, Father. I'm lookingfor Vincent."

"He isn't here," Father explained, limping slowly down the spiralstaircase. "He's delivering some medicine to one of our helpers."

"Oh." Her disappointment must have shown, because Father smiledand gestured toward a chair.

"You're welcome to wait for him," he invited.

Catherine wavered a moment before sinking into the offered seat."Thank you." Idly she examined the titles of the books lying on thetable at her elbow as Father bent over a stack of papers on hisdesk.

Unbidden, her mind began running over the problem with Josh. Aftera few moments, she noticed Father studying her covertly and realizedher thoughts must be reflected in her face. When he caught herlooking at him, Father pulled off his glasses and laid them carefullyon the table.

"Catherine, something's troubling you," he said kindly. "Would youlike to talk about it?"

She recognized gentle compassion in his eyes.

"Or is it something you'd rather discuss with Vincent?"

"No," she said quickly. "I don't want to bother Vincent with thisnow. I don't want to..." she bent her head, "hurt him."

Father waited patiently and after a moment Catherine began torelate the events of the past two weeks, culminating with tonight'sargument. "I told him too much," she finished. "I shouldn'thave."

"Vincent knows nothing of this?" Father asked, toying with hisglasses.

Catherine shook her head. "He knows about Josh," she said. "Heknows I came down last Saturday partly to avoid him and he knows Joshasked me out and I refused. He knows why I missed the concert. But hedoesn't know about anything that's happened this week. He doesn'tknow about the conversation this evening..." Her voice became small."I don't want him to know what Josh said... it would hurt him..."

Father sighed pensively. "You know, Catherine, some of what yourfriend says is true. Commitment... marriage... these are thingsVincent cannot offer you..."

Her head came up sharply. "Don't try to put limits on us, Father,"she said. "I accept what Vincent is willing to give, is able to give.He's offered me his heart... I call that a commitment!"

Father made a pacifying motion with his hand. "I know, Catherine,I know, but it doesn't change the facts. Vincent can never be a partof your world. Never." His voice softened. "He only wants what's bestfor you."

"Vincent is what's best for me!" Even to herself, her voice rangwith conviction.

Father studied her intently before sighing and leaning back in hischair. "Very well. What will you do about this man?"

"I don't know," Catherine said despairingly. "I thought tonight,telling him I had a relationship..." She lifted her hands in defeat."He's so persistent."

Father's gaze sharpened. "Do you believe he is a danger toyou?"

"No," Catherine reassured quickly. "It isn't like that." Shesmiled ruefully. "He's actually very nice. I like him. He just won'ttake a hint. Or a direct refusal. Tonight he told me he wanted me tobe happy, and I think he really meant it."

Father worried the bridge of his nose. "There are no easyanswers," he said at last. "I think you must continue as you havebeen, refusing his invitations, keeping him at arm's length."

"That would be easier if I didn't have to work with him,"Catherine observed. "But you're probably right."

"I'm sorry I couldn't offer you more help."

"You lent a sympathetic ear," Catherine said. She leaned acrossthe desk to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. "Thank you."

As if the sharing of her burden made it lighter, she felt all herweariness creeping back. Suddenly she wanted nothing so much as to goto sleep.

"I think I'll go home now," she told Father, smothering a yawn."Tell Vincent I was here."

"I will," Father promised, rising to walk with her to the exit."Goodnight."

"Goodnight," she echoed.

There was something strangely peaceful about walking the tunnelsalone late at night. Even the pipes were silent. The only sound wasthe soft crunch of her footsteps echoing faintly.

Slowly she made her way through the long, dim corridors of rock,climbed wearily up the spiral stairs and started down the lasttwisting series of tunnels that would take her home.

A sudden grating sound from one of the side passages made herstop. She peered warily around the corner to find the source of thenoise and smiled as she recognized the familiar, beloved silhouetteof Vincent far down the tunnel. He was reaching overhead to replacethe grate that covered the entrance he'd just used. There was thesound of metal scraping cement as the grate settled into place andthen Vincent was striding toward her, cloak billowing gently behindhim.

"Is this luck?" she called as he drew near. "Or did you plan itthis way?"

His eyes smiled at her. "I knew you were here. Are you allright?"

She nodded. "Just lonely for you."

They exchanged soft looks before he moved to take her arm. "I'llwalk you home."

"What's troubling you?" he asked a few minutes later, when theypaused at the basement threshold.

Catherine smiled and shook her head. "It was just a long andfrustrating day. I'm fine."

He studied her intently, making her feel, as he sometimes did,that he could see straight into her heart. He dropped his eyes andstarted to turn away and Catherine could sense his doubt. Somehow, heknew she was hiding something.

Impulsively, she reached out and caught his arm. "Vincent.Wait."

He turned back, watching her.

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together as shesearched for words that would reassure without wounding. "Somethinghappened today," she began slowly.

She gave him a carefully edited version of her talk with Joshbefore recounting the events of last Sunday, when she'd found Joshdespondent in the park and invited him home. She finished with thepoem and flower he had left on her desk the next day. "I thought itwas sweet," she said. "I looked on it as a gesture of friendship."Her gaze had remained fixed on her interlaced fingers throughout herexplanation and only now did she lift her eyes to look at him.

She saw pain in his blue eyes, pain she had wanted to spare him,and knew he was thinking of all the things he believed she deservedto have, things he could never give her.

"Catherine," he said slowly, avoiding her eyes, "Perhaps..."

"Don't," she interrupted, catching his arm. "Don't say it. I don'twant anyone else."

"I only want you to be happy," Vincent whispered, unknowinglyechoing Josh's earlier words.

Catherine reached up to cup his chin, forcing him to look at her."You make me happy, Vincent. Only you. Why won't you believe that?"She searched his face.

She could see he wanted to trust what her heart was telling him,but somewhere deep down he still believed that someday this would allend, that someday she would leave. The shadow of that fear was in hiseyes.

She slid her arms around his neck and buried her face against hisshoulder. I love you, she thought fiercely, letting the feeling wellup inside her. I love you. I love you. "I love you," she whisperedaloud.

His arms tightened around her.

"I love you," she repeated, releasing her hold. He seemed shakenby her intensity, but she was immeasurably relieved to see the shadowgone from his eyes. "Maybe tomorrow we can spend some time together,"she suggested.

He searched her face and seemed comforted by what he found there."I will try," he promised softly.

"Until tomorrow, then," she answered, and hugged him once morebefore turning to the ladder, and home.

Somehow, she made it through the weekend. Swamped with work, shestill managed to steal a few hours Saturday to attend a violinrecital below.

Vincent seemed himself again, his doubts and fears buried, if notfor good, at least for now, and Catherine made herself the promisethat someday, somehow, she would vanquish those doubts and fears, ifonly by sheer persistence. Then she wondered wildly if that was whatJosh had in mind for her.

At work the next week, she avoided Josh whenever possible and wasno more than polite to him when they spoke. It bothered her to treathim with indifference, but saw no other way to discourage him.

Things had eased off a bit in the crimefighting department, as JoeMaxwell liked to put it, but Catherine still put in some late nightstrying to get caught up. It was nearly ten on Wednesday evening whenshe finally switched off her desk lamp and shrugged into hercoat.

The offices were cast in gloom, lit only by a fixture near thedoor and someone else's desk lamp. She peered around the corner tosee who else was giving the taxpayers their money's worth.

Josh looked up and smiled at her warily.

"I'm just leaving," she explained. "You'll have to lock up." Shestarted toward the door.

"Cathy, wait. I'm done here. I'll walk you down." He rose hastilyand reached for his jacket.

"No, that's all right..."

"It's ten o'clock at night," he said in exasperation. "This is NewYork City. You're not walking down alone."

"Josh..."

"As a friend, Cathy."

In the face of his calm determination, she capitulated. "Allright. As a friend."

The elevator ride passed in silence. "Cab?" Josh asked as theycrossed the lobby.

"Not tonight. I have my car."

"Where are you parked?"

Catherine opened her mouth to object, then closed it again. If shedidn't let him walk her to her car, he'd probably follow her. "Thisway."

She was parked a block away, on a narrow side street flanked bydarkened office buildings. Josh followed her silently. A nearbystreetlight was out, leaving a puddle of shadow around her car. "I'mright there." She pointed and fumbled for her keys.

From out of nowhere, someone grabbed her and pushed her backagainst the wall. A surly teenager, no more than seventeen years old,brandished a knife and warned her roughly to keep still. Hiscompanion, larger and older, waved a similar weapon at Josh anddemanded his wallet.

Moving with extreme care, Josh produced the wallet. The muggersnatched it and peered inside.

"Eight bucks!" he cried, giving Josh a vicious shove. "You gottado better than that, man!"

"I have some money in my purse," Catherine interjected, hoping tokeep a simple mugging from escalating into violence.

"I told you to shut up!" the younger boy shouted, punching at hershoulder with the heel of his hand for emphasis. His action broughtthe knife close to her face - too close, and she recoiled, but thebuilding was at her back, crowding her. Claustrophopic terror surgedup and for an instant she was back in that van three years ago, arazor coming at her face.

She fought back instinctively, sweeping her arm up, knocking theboy's arm away. He reacted with a furious yell, slashing at her withthe knife. Across the sidewalk, Josh struggled with his ownassailant; she could hear him shouting. Then, as suddenly as it hadbegun, the attack was over. The two youths sprinted away.

Josh knelt on the pavement near her car, his suit scuffed, oneknee of his trousers torn. "Are you okay?"

"No," she replied, her voice sounding unnaturally calm. "I don'tthink so." She extended her right fist to show him the dark bloodseeping between clenched fingers.

He was beside her in a second, cradling her hand in his. "Openyour hand, Cathy," he commanded. "Let me see."

"I can't," she said, faintly surprised that her hand refused toobey her mind's command.

Gently he pried open her fingers. Blood welled up from an uglyknife slash across her palm. Fruitlessly, Josh searched his pocketsfor something to stanch the flow.

"There are tissues in my purse," Catherine said, watching with akind of detached fascination as her blood dripped steadily to stainthe cement at her feet.

Josh found her purse where it had been flung during the scuffleand extracted a wad of tissues. He gently swabbed away the worst ofthe blood and laid some clean tissues across the cut.

"Close your hand on these," he instructed, curling her fingers ashe spoke. "They'll help control the bleeding."

As he searched the sidewalk for her keys, she closed her eyes. Shewas trembling now with the shock of the encounter and for a brief,irrational moment she wished for Vincent. If only she could be in hisarms, everything would be all right. And then, inexplicably,something shifted and suddenly she knew he was near; he had respondedto her fear and was somewhere close, watching her.

He must be frightened, she realized. He must know she was hurt,must be feeling the helplessness of it. She grasped for the innerstrength he'd helped her find and used it, forcing a composure shedidn't really feel.

She swayed, and Josh was there, a supporting arm around hershoulders, his hand on her elbow. "Here," he said, unlocking hercar's passenger door. "Get in."

Mutely,cradling her injured hand against her body, she let himassist her into the front seat. He tossed their briefcases into theback seat and slid behind the wheel. She couldn't resist a swiftbackward glance as he pulled away from the curb but nothing wasthere. Only shadows.

At the hospital, Josh sat with her in the emergency room, makingcheerful small talk to distract her while they waited. A policeofficer came and filled out a report on the assault and afterwardJosh held Catherine's good hand while a doctor stitched up herpalm.

All this took time, and it was nearly three in the morning whenJosh drove her home. He insisted on escorting her to her own door. Heunlocked it for her, but she turned in the doorway to forestall hiscoming in.

"Thank you, Josh," she said firmly. "I'll be all right now."

"Are you sure?"

When she nodded, he handed over her keys and leaned forwardquickly to kiss her gently on the lips. She stepped back, startledand he looked at her wistfully. "Goodnight, Cathy."

Only when she was sure he was gone did she close the door. Shelocked it carefully and hurried across to the french doors. Shefumbled with the lock, haste and her injured hand making itdifficult, but at last it sprang open and she pushed the doorwide.

"I'm all right," she said, even before Vincent moved intoview.

He pulled her into his arms. "There was blood on the sidewalk."His voice was taut.

"Mine," she admitted, pulling back to show him her bandaged hand.He took it tenderly in both of his.

"Nineteen stitches," she told him, moving her fingers gently. "Thedoctor says I was lucky... he's never seen a cut this deep withoutany nerve or tendon damage."

She looked up at his face and saw the distress there. "I'm okay,Vincent," she said urgently. "Truly. It's just a cut."

He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it. "It frightenedme... knowing you were hurt, bleeding. You're in pain now," he addedsoftly.

She looked down at her hand. "The anaesthetic is wearing off. It'sstarting to hurt."

"It's late and you're tired. You should sleep." He moved his handas if to touch her cheek, then seemed to catch himself, pulling itaway. "I should go."

"Vincent, wait." Catherine said the words quickly. "Please... willyou stay to say goodnight to me?"

He turned back slowly, his eyes searching hers. "I'll wait," heagreed slowly.

"I won't be long," she promised, and went inside. In the bathroom,she tried to hurry through her evening routine, but her hand made herslow and inept. By the time she finished, it was throbbing badly.Before she went back out, she swallowed one of the pain pills thedoctor had given her.

Vincent was at the balcony wall, gazing out over the city, butturned when she came outside. "I'll read you to sleep if you like,"he offered.

She smiled. "I won't turn that down. What will you read?"

"Whatever you choose."

She went to the living room and ran a thoughtful finger along thebooks shelved there. She hesitated, but finally selected a tall, thinvolume from among the children's books left over from childhood.

"What is it?" Vincent inquired, as she paused in the doorway.

She smiled and ducked her head. "I'm afraid you'll think I'msilly."

He stepped toward her and took the book. "A Child's Treasury ofBeatrix Potter," he read aloud.

"My mother used to read the stories before I went to sleep. Italways seemed like a going to bed sort of book."

Vincent leafed through the pages. "Father used to read this toDevin and me," he mused. "When we were very young."

She moved closer and he opened his arms. She lingered in thewarmth and security of his embrace as long as he would allow, butfinally he released her. "Get in bed," he instructed gently, makingher feel a little like a child who's stayed up past her bedtime. Shedidn't argue.

Obediently, she slid between the sheets, curling on her side towatch Vincent in the moonlight. He sat in the open doorway, leaningback against the door frame, and opened the book. "Peter Rabbit?" heasked.

"Jemima Puddle-Duck," she answered, smiling. "It was my favoritewhen I was little. I loved the sound of her name. JemimaPuddle-Duck." There was still a certain satisfaction in saying thesilly name.

Vincent regarded her with an indulgent look she thought he mighthave directed at a well-loved but recalcitrant child and she subsidedinto her pillow. Only when she was perfectly still did he find hisplace and began to read.

As the sound of his voice, soft and soothingly hypnotic, washedover her, she allowed herself to wish, just for a moment, that hewould come inside. But it was a futile wish, so she pushed thethought away.

The pain pill was beginning to work, making her feel sort of fuzzyaround the edges. She tried to keep her eyes open, to anchor herselfin his reality and to savor the moment, but exhaustion and themedication were stronger and she drifted off long before Jemimafinished sitting on her eggs.

When she woke the next morning, the sun was streaming in throughthe closed balcony doors and Beatrix Potter lay on her bedside table.She sat up and touched it gently.

She didn't have long to ponder the significance, though. A glanceat her alarm clock sent her flying into the bathroom.

The hand felt awkward this morning -- it had stiffened upovernight -- and it was enough to make the simplest task seemdifficult. She showered carefully, taking care to keep the bandagedry, and fumbled her way through brushing her teeth and drying herhair.

It wasn't until she had nearly finished dressing that she realizedshe had chosen a blouse which buttoned at the cuffs. She could buttonthe right one easily enough, but her bandaged hand was too clumsy tomanage the left. She glared at the open cuff in exasperation, thenpulled her jacket on anyway and reached for her shoes. It would taketoo long to change.

It was just after ten when she reached the office, making her onlya few minutes late for a meeting with Joe and D.A. Moreno. Shehurried to her desk to drop off her things and was riffling through apile of folders, looking for information she'd need in the meeting,when Joe interrupted.

"Radcliffe, what are you doing?" he demanded.

"I'm sorry, Joe, I know I'm late..."

"The meeting's been postponed. We didn't think you'd be intoday."

She looked at him blankly. "Why wouldn't I be in?"

"McKenzie says you got mugged last night. Something about a knifeand you got hurt." Joe was beginning to look puzzled.

Catherine held up her hand and waggled her fingers at him. "It'sonly a cut. I plan to live," she said drily. "Rita!" she called overhis shoulder.

"Cathy!" Rita Escobar altered course, looking worried. "Should yoube here?"

Catherine exhaled sharply. "What kind of story is Josh telling?"She didn't really expect an answer; instead, she proffered her leftwrist. "Would you button this, please?"

Rita looked bewildered as she buttoned the open cuff. AgainCatherine displayed her injured right hand. "Nineteen stitches. Thepatient is expected to survive. No other injuries. Spread theword."

"Okay." Rita laughed, exchanged significant glances with Joe, andleft.

Catherine sat down and opened a file, hoping Joe would take thehint and leave, but instead he perched on the corner of her desk, hisface bright with curiosity.

"Come on," he urged her. "Spill it. What happened?"

She looked up at him with resignation. "I don't suppose you'regoing to go away until I tell you everything."

"Nope," he agreed cheerfully.

Reluctantly she described the previous evening's events. "Joshtook me to the emergency room, we filed a police report, he took mehome. Satisfied?" she finished.

"Your version isn't nearly as exciting as McKenzie's," Joegrumbled good-naturedly, heading for his office. "But I guess it'llhave to do."

A little while later, she heard Josh's voice and called out to himas he passed.

"Cathy!" he exclaimed, hurrying over. "I didn't..."

"...expect to see me today," she finished for him. "I know. Josh,what have you been telling people?"

He looked abashed. "I only told them what happened."

"And convinced everyone I was at death's door."

"No, I didn't," he protested, genuinely perturbed. "I said youonly got cut. It's just, well, I guess I thought you'd stay hometoday to sort of... get over it."

"What? The mugging?" Catherine was surprised. "Being mugged is notthe worst thing that's ever happened to me, Josh," she informed him."I'm not fragile."

"I'm sorry." He looked so genuinely contrite that she couldn'tstay annoyed with him. She smiled.

"It's okay. And Josh?" she added as he turned to go. "Thanks forthe help last night. I was glad you were there."

"No problem."

What she'd said was no more than the truth -- she had been glad tohave him beside her during the four hours in the emergency room, buthe walked away looking inordinately pleased and she sighed inwardly.She hadn't meant to, but apparently she'd encouraged him again.

By the end of the day her hand was throbbing again and when Joeordered her home at five, she didn't argue. She didn't want to takeone of the prescription pills because they made her sleepy, but twoTylenol tablets dulled the discomfort enough for her to ignoreit.

After a dinner of leftover Chinese, she struggled, per doctor'sinstructions, to change the dressing on her injured hand. "We don'tusually cover stitches," the doctor had said, "but since these are onthe palm of your hand, I want to be sure they stay clean. Keep thembandaged for a few days. You don't want this cut gettinginfected."

It was difficult, though. Working one-handed was awkward and whenthe dressing cooperated, the adhesive tape didn't. In frustration shecrumpled the mass of gauze and tape and hurled it as far as she couldwith her good left hand. She took another sterile pad from the box onthe table and was reaching for the tape when she was interrupted by awelcome tap on the balcony door.

With the sound, her frustration melted away. She stepped out ontothe balcony. "Hi," she greeted him softly.

"Catherine." He stood over her but didn't try to touch her."You're upset."

"Exasperated," she corrected. She showed him her hand. The fleshalong the knife slash was reddened and puckered where the fine bluenylon held it together. Her palm glistened where she'd smeared itwith anti-bacterial ointment. "I'm supposed to keep it covered, but Ican't get the new bandage on."

Silently, he held out his hand; it was a moment before sheunderstood. She ducked inside just long enough to snatch up the boxof gauze pads and the roll of adhesive tape, and placed them on hispalm.

He tipped her hand toward the light, laid a fresh sterile pad overthe cut and taped it deftly. "Is that too tight?" he asked when hefinished.

She flexed her fingers experimentally and shook her head."Perfect," she announced. "You should have been a doctor." Suddenlyconscious of what she'd said, she glanced up, trying to gauge hisreaction.

He gazed down on her, his expression sweetly wistful. "Father usedto say that," he said softly. "When I was a boy, sometimes I wouldfind injured animals or birds in the park at night. I would bringthem home and tend them until they were well. Then I'd take them backto the park and set them free."

"You don't anymore?"

Something curious and unreadable came into his eyes. "I had togive it up," he said softly.

"Why?"

His eyes, gazing deeply into hers, seemed to carry some specialsignificance. "Because one night, I found something... someoneinjured there... and later, I couldn't bear to let her go."

Catherine yawned her way through the next morning. She'd stayed upmuch too late, sitting outside with Vincent and two late nights in arow were catching up to her.

"Come on, Radcliffe, wake up," Joe commanded.

"Hi, Joe. What's up?" She propped her chin on her hand and blinkedat him.

"You might want to try to get a nap this afternoon, kiddo," hewarned. "Big night tonight."

She looked at him blankly.

"You remember. The governor's in town. The reception forhim..."

She'd forgotten, but Joe's reminder brought the memory floodingback. "Oh, that's right. I suppose there's no way out of it?"

Joe grinned. "You know how Moreno likes all his loyal troops toshow up at these things."

"Yeah." Catherine resigned herself to an uninterestingevening.

"Hey, McKenzie," Joe called, looking past her. Catherine cringedinside as he approached.

"Yeah, Joe?"

"Did anybody remember to tell you about the reception for thegovernor?"

Josh nodded. "Attendance required, right?"

"You got it," Joe agreed.

"Cathy." Josh turned to her. "Will you need a ride thisevening?"

Catherine hesitated barely a second before replying. "Thanks,Josh, but Joe's picking me up." She fixed Joe with a fierce stare,daring him to deny it.

"Uh, yeah, that's right," Joe confirmed a shade too slowly.

"Okay. Maybe next time," Josh said comfortably. He walked away andJoe turned on Catherine.

"Okay, Radcliffe, give," he demanded. "What's with you andMcKenzie?"

"There's nothing with me and McKenzie," Catherine said, tryingwithout much hope to dismiss it lightly.

"Come on, I'm not stupid," Joe persisted. "He lives two blocksfrom you and I'm on the other side of town, but you want me to pickyou up." His face said clearly that he expected an explanation inreturn for his cooperation.

"It's just that he's asked me out a few times and he won't take nofor an answer."

"Why tell him no? He's a nice guy." Joe was curious.

"I know he's nice, Joe. I just don't want to go out with him."

"Why not?"

"I have my reasons."

He was watching her, and she bent over her work, pretending deepconcentration. If she ignored him, maybe he would go away. "Okay," hesaid finally. "You win. I'll pick you up at seven-thirty." He paused."You know, Radcliffe, you have too many secrets. It's going to getyou into trouble one of these days."

He strode off in the direction of his office; she waited until hewas out of earshot before she answered. "Already has," she mumbledunder her breath.

Evening found her rushing to get ready before Joe arrived; she'dforgotten, once again, to allow extra time for the clumsiness of herbandaged hand. She had managed her hair and make-up and wasstruggling with a recalcitrant zipper on her dress when she heard afamiliar tap on the glass of the french doors. She yanked the zipperup the last few inches, crossed to the doors and threw them open.

Vincent took in her appearance with one incredibly blue glance."You're going out," he observed, disappointment evident in hisvoice.

"Yes. Is something wrong?" She stepped outside to be closer tohim.

"No. I came to invite you below this evening. The children haveplanned an evening of entertainment for us all. I wanted you tocome."

Now it was Catherine's turn to be disappointed. "I wish I could,but there's a party I have to go to. Joe will be here any minute topick me up..."

He nodded his understanding and turned to go.

"Wait. Please."

He turned back, his expression questioning.

"Will you stay and talk to me while I finish getting ready?"

Vincent hesitated, then tipped his head in acquiescence and cameto stand in the doorway. Catherine went to her dressing table andbegan to fumble with her earrings. "What are the children planning todo?" she asked over her shoulder.

Vincent smiled, crossing his arms and settling himself comfortablyagainst the door frame. "It's supposed to be a secret, but there's arumor they've written their own play."

"Oh, I hate to miss it," Catherine said mournfully. "It soundslike a lot more fun than meeting the governor. Maybe I can leaveearly..." she added thoughtfully.

Vincent shook his head. "Go and enjoy your party," he urged. "Ifyou like, I'll come later and tell you about the play."

His suggestion offered a bright end to an otherwise dull eveningand she snatched at it. "Yes, please."

An impatient knock on her front door interrupted. "Cathy, open up,it's me!"

"That's Joe." Catherine started toward the living room, but lookedback when she reached the doorway. Vincent was pulling up his hood,preparing to leave. "Please... wait?" she asked. "Don't go yet."

"All right," he agreed, and she knew he was as reluctant to leaveher as she was to see him go.

Carefully she closed the louvered bedroom doors and went to openthe front door for Joe. He looked her up and down and grinned. "Ihope you're not going like that," he said, eyeing her stocking feetand pointing to the earring that dangled from her hand.

"Come in, Joe," she said wryly. "I'll only be a minute."

"Oh, no, take all the time you need," he urged her sardonically."The governor can wait..."

"Sit down, Joe," she said impatiently. "I'm almost ready."

She retreated to the bedroom. Behind her, Joe was talking tohimself. "If she's only going to be a minute, why do I need to sitdown?"

She was smiling when she turned from closing the louvered doors,and the smile widened when Vincent stepped back into view. He glanceduncomfortably toward the balcony doors that led into the room whereJoe was, but Catherine knew the drapes were drawn and she could stillhear Joe muttering in the front part of the room. Vincent must havedetermined that, too, and some of his wariness eased.

She needed to hurry, though, before Joe became too impatient.Quickly she worked the second earring into her ear and located hershoes, slipping them on. Giving herself a critical glance in themirror, she turned for Vincent's inspection. "Do I look all right?"she whispered.

The glow in his eyes answered her before he spoke. "You lookbeautiful."

She felt radiant as she stepped up beside him. "You'll come backlater?" she asked wistfully.

"I'll come," he confirmed, bending his head close to hers.

"Radcliffe!" Joe shouted from the living room. "Your minute's up!Let's go!"

"I'm coming," she called over her shoulder. She looked up atVincent apologetically. "I have to go."

"I know." He stepped back into the shadows. Catherine closed thefrench doors slowly, savoring every second he was in her sight.

"Cathy!" Joe bellowed again. "We're late!"

Sighing, she pulled the doors solidly shut, picked up her purseand coat and went into the living room. "We have plenty of

time, Joe. Stop worrying."

"I still don't see why McKenzie couldn't pick you up," Joegrumbled as he helped her with her coat. "Seems like he'd be justyour type."

They arrived at the reception a few minutes before the governorwas scheduled to appear and Catherine gave Joe a smug smile.

"Okay, okay," he conceded. "You were right. And Moreno sees us,"he added, lifting his hand to acknowledge the District Attorney'snod. "So we're covered there. Want to dance?" He made it sound like adare.

"Sure," she agreed readily. "I feel reckless."

They shared one dance, then went to pay their respects to a groupof dignitaries that included D.A. Moreno, the mayor and the governor,who had just arrived. Afterwards, Joe excused himself and moved offto talk to someone from the public defender's office.

Catherine drifted slowly around the perimeter of the dance floor,pausing occasionally to exchange a few words with someone she knew.She'd paused to pick up a glass of wine when she spotted Josh acrossthe room. He was watching her, and when he saw her looking, weaved apath through the other guests to join her.

"Hi, Cathy," he greeted her quietly. "Boring party, isn't it?"

"I'm afraid so," she admitted. "These functions usually are."

"All these people wishing they were somewhere else," Joshobserved.

Catherine laughed. "Is it that obvious?"

"You'd rather be somewhere else," he said pointedly.

"Yes," she conceded, deciding it was senseless to deny it.

"With him." Josh's tone left no doubt about who he meant.

"Yes," she repeated softly.

"Did he stand you up again?" Josh asked conversationally. Was sheimagining it, or was his voice tinged with bitterness?

"No." She tried to be gentle. "In fact, I had to turn down hisinvitation to come here. He wasn't able to accompany me." It wasnothing more than the truth, but she could feel Josh's gaze on her asshe deliberately turned her attention toward the dance floor.

"Cathy! Cathy!" Joe broke the tense moment, dashing up andspeaking quickly. "I've got to get back to the office, Radcliffe. Thecops picked up a suspect in the Stoppelman murder this afternoon andhe wants to confess. Moreno wants me to make sure it's by the book;we don't want to lose him. Can you get yourself home?"

Retired grocer Myron Stoppelman had been brutally murdered in hishome only a week ago. Putting his murderer away would make a lot ofpeople happy. "Sure."

"I'll take her home."

Josh spoke at the same time she did, and she glanced at himuneasily.

Joe looked from one to the other and gave Catherine a helplessshrug. "Sorry," he apologized, and made for the nearest exit.

Catherine looked at Josh wearily. "I can get myself home, Josh.Thanks anyway."

"I think we went over this the other night," Josh reminded her."I'll see you home safely."

Catherine sighed. "It's too early to leave yet, anyway," shehedged. Maybe, by the time she was ready to leave, Josh would bedistracted and she could slip out unnoticed.

She hoped for too much, though. As she made her way toward theexit a half-hour later, Josh appeared out of nowhere and fell intostep beside her.

"I'm taking you home, Cathy," he said firmly. "You don't have tolike it."

"Josh, really..." The protest died on her lips as she looked athis implacable expression. "All right!" She surrendered gracelesslyand let him help with her coat.

During the cab ride home, she managed to make polite conversation,but it escalated into argument on the steps of her building. "Thankyou, Josh."

"When I take a lady home, I see her to her front door," Joshreplied unyieldingly.

"This is my front door," she insisted.

"No, it isn't."

"Josh, please..."

"Look, Cathy, I'm going to walk into the building, ride up in theelevator and see you to your own door. The only way to stop me is totell the doorman to keep me out." His eyes challenged her and she wassuddenly aware that the night doorman was holding the door open andlistening avidly to every word.

She'd been brought up to avoid public scenes and that earlytraining wouldn't let her rise to Josh's challenge. "All right!" Shecapitulated irritably and went inside. Josh followed closely.

The atmosphere inside the elevator was heavy with tension. Theywere the only two passengers and she didn't speak to him during theride. She was far too angry to trust herself with words. Instead, sheused the time to calm herself and marshal her arguments; once theyreached her apartment she would put an end to this once and for all.It had gone on far too long already.

On the eighteenth floor, Catherine unlocked her door and pushed itopen before turning to Josh and drawing a deep, fortifyingbreath.

"Josh, I don't want to hurt you," she began. "But I don't want tosee you here anymore..."

"Cathy," he interrupted, his eyes anguished. "Don't say that. Ithink I'm in love with you."

"No." Instinctively she stepped back and Josh followed herinside.

"Please, Cathy," he begged. "Please just let me talk to you."

Pain etched itself across his face and her innate compassionresponded, halting the angry words she might have said. Sorrowfullyshe shook her head. "There's nothing to talk about. You're a goodman, Josh. You deserve someone who will see your warmth, yoursensitivity, your care and kindness. Someone who will make youhappy."

"I want it to be you." The words came out in a painfulwhisper.

"No. Not me, Josh. It can never be me. I'm in love with someoneelse."

Her bluntness seemed to penetrate as all her gentle rebuffs hadnot. Slowly his expression shifted from harsh, painful longing toregret.

When he spoke, his voice was small. "I'm sorry, Cathy. I nevermeant to, but it looks like I barged in and started messing up yourlife. I'm sorry." He fumbled for the doorknob. "Be happy, Cathy."

For long moments after the door closed behind him, she stood,aching with regret. Josh McKenzie was a gentle, caring man, and she'dhurt him, badly. Sadly she crossed to the balcony doors and steppedoutside for a much-needed breath of air.

"Catherine."

Startled, she swung quickly to face Vincent. "I forgot you werecoming," she faltered. "How long...?"

"Long enough." He moved toward her.

Uncomfortable beneath the intensity of his gaze, she turned tolook across the park. He came to stand beside her.

"You couldn't help hurting him, Catherine," Vincent said slowly."You tried to be kind."

"I know," she acknowledged quietly. "But part of me wants to reachout to help him, even though I know I can't." She turned then and letthe solid comfort of his arms engulf her. "He reminds me so much ofyou."

Monday morning, Catherine found a sealed envelope on her desk. Shehad just picked it up and was working on the flap when Joeappeared.

"I don't know what you did to McKenzie Friday night," he saidaccusingly, "but he asked to be transferred to another division thismorning." Stunned, she was groping for an answer when his scowltranformed itself into a grin. "I'm going to want details on thisone, kiddo," he added, and sauntered back toward his own office.

She stared after him and only when he was gone did she resume herefforts with the envelope, tearing it open and unfolding the notewithin. Josh's now-familiar handwriting leaped up at her.

Dear Cathy,

 

I'm sorry things happened the way they did. It was my fault, but I want you to remember what Housman said...

 

'Shake hands, we shall never be friends, all's over;

I only vex you the more I try.

All's wrong that ever I've done or said,

And nought to help it in this dull head:

Shake hands, here's luck, goodbye.

 

But if you come to a road where danger

Or guilt or anguish or shame's to share,

Be good to the lad that loves you true

And the soul that was born to die for you,

And whistle and I'll be there.'

 

-Josh

 

THE END