Running For Home

By C.J. LaBelle

***********

“Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape… ”

William S. Burroughs

***********

Every story begins with a small idea.  Many Alternate S3 fics of the SND variety have Vincent saving Catherine from Gabriel. This one began with the question: “What if it was Elliot who saved Catherine from Gabriel? What happens then?”

Surprisingly, quite a lot.

Like ripples in a pond, one change naturally begets others. (Isn’t that the fun part of fanfic writing?) If you’re lucky, a good story evolves. It struck me how every time Elliot ever got tangled up with Cathy, he emerged a changed man. A little sadder, a little wiser, maybe, and a little more in love with our heroine, for all that. I think this story preserved that trend.

There’s no baby in this one, but no bond, either. The events of the cave are pretty much left up to the reader.

Please accept this humble offering in the “what if?” spirit in which it was intended. Cleon Manning is here, along with Elliot, Father, Joe, Diana, Geoffrey, Vincent and Catherine. Some grow and change, as stories (and deep traumas) tend to have them do. “What ifs” have long echoes…

It is sent with love to all the Beauty and the Beast characters we knew.

So, without further ado, please accept:

Running for Home

***********

Chapter One

You’re Safe, Now…

“Perhaps home is not a place but simply an irrevocable condition...”

James Baldwin

***********

Catherine didn’t know how long she’d been trapped in the stark, white room, strapped to the uncomfortable bed. She couldn’t remember how often the malevolent looking man, who’d called himself Gabriel, had appeared to gloat, or how often the video cassette tape of Vincent, slaughtering a man, had played on a loop. It filled the room with awful sounds she couldn’t escape.

She didn’t have a sense of how many times a white-coated man had used a hypodermic needle to push fresh drugs in the IV bag, or what the concoction was doing to her, other than sending her spiraling into another horrific nightmare, full of terrified screams. Some, her own.

The stark room was overly hot and stuffy. There were no windows, and only one door to the outside. It was locked, at all times.

The plain cotton hospital gown she wore clung unpleasantly to her moist skin. She sensed her hair was lank and unkempt. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d showered. Being assisted to attend to nature’s call only once a day, and supervised by a female attendant in washing herself with a bucket of tepid water in the tiny attached bathroom, had been another dehumanizing aspect of her confinement. The attendant had been eerily silent. They all had, save for Gabriel – and the sounds on the tape.

Where had it all gone so wrong, and why?

Catherine tried to make sense of it all, but failed. She knew she’d been in this room longer than just a day or two. Her back ached cruelly and her leaden limbs had long ago gone numb.

Have I been here for weeks? Maybe months, even?

She didn’t know. She just didn’t. If she tried to move, her body complained. An awful sense of helplessness finally closed her throat to the screams that forced their way through the terrible dreams.

She felt herself sinking further into the pit of hopelessness. Surely it’s easier to just give up than to struggle… Somewhere deep inside, some remnant of Vincent’s faith in her ability to fight, remained. It told her she must resist, no matter the odds.

Time seemed fuzzy, and elastic. Right now, everything did.

She had only the dreadful knowledge that she’d been utterly betrayed by John Moreno, and that Joe Maxwell might or might not be dead, right now. It depended on whether or not the latter had made it through surgery. That hurt more than anything. Her good friend did not deserve that.

She’d given Elliot the book, hoping his people could decode it. That seemed like a lifetime ago. Is he dead, too? Did I get him killed? Catherine added it to the things she didn’t know.

John seemed secure, in his victory. Perhaps Joe really was dead. Dead and gone. Elliot, perhaps, as well. The final step would be her unwilling betrayal of Vincent’s world.

She knew that she was very likely ‘next’ on the ‘dead’ list, the moment she gave Gabriel what he wanted. The hateful man demanded she tell him where Vincent was. Expose where he lived. She couldn’t, no matter what they did to her...

Catherine knew they wanted to capture and kill Vincent, possibly after they’d tortured him first, for their own sick pleasure... Gabriel had said something about using Vincent’s heightened blood to create the ultimate warrior…

Oh, Vincent… Vincent! She blessed that they no longer shared their bond. It would only draw him to her. To her, and into this… nightmare, from which there seemed no escape.

Her aching body strained upwards against her bonds, as her tortured mind screamed out to him, even though she knew their connection had been shattered. Rationally, she understood that Vincent wasn’t here. Only the sound of him killing the man over and over again kept her company. Sometimes she found a strange kind of comfort in just hearing his terrible sounds on the tape.

Sometimes… mostly she was revolted by what they’d both been forced to do.

Catherine released her pent-up breath. Blissfully her demise was not ‘now.’ Thankfully, in the room where they’d imprisoned her, she was temporarily suspended in a kind of twilight sleep. She sensed it must be evening again, and the medical shift would change soon. She kept her eyes closed, trying to sink into ignorant oblivion, before her torture began anew.

And then, suddenly, the room wasn’t silent. The door opened and shut quietly, and stealthy footsteps crept to her bedside. Catherine feigned sleep, praying whoever it was, they would leave her in peace. No more drugs, please!

“Forty seconds,” a man’s voice spoke with purpose. “Come on, we can do this. Our luck’s just gotta hold a little longer.”

Even through the haze of drugs clouding Catherine’s mind, the voice seemed both familiar, and yet, not. Forty seconds? What was forty seconds? Her heart leapt with confusion, but she tried not to move, for fear of attracting their unwanted attention.

“Cathy?” A new, low voice, this time, saying her name, a voice that she knew she should have been recognized, yet it seemed… muffled, somehow. “Hi, Cathy…” He was close now. Warm breath fanned against her ear. “We found you at last…”

Strong fingers assessed the tumultuous pulse in her wrist. “We’re in time. She’s still alive,” the first voice confirmed. “But we’ve only got thirty-two seconds left before the cameras come back on. We’ll be cutting it fine. Save whatever you’re gonna tell her for later, we have to get going.”

“All right. Keep watch. We’ll get her moving.”

There were so many questions, but Catherine remained immobile, sensing a trap she couldn’t understand. This had to be some new ploy to get her to talk…

There were sounds of activity. Metal sounds. The click of the brakes on wheels being released, the buckles at her wrists and ankles coming undone, and the sensation of the IV needle being removed from her arm, as her restraints fell away.

She still didn’t move. Every muscle felt like lead.

But the bed beneath her turned, as Catherine realized for the first time she was on a gurney. The sensation of being pushed. The sensation of being… moved? What? Stop! I don’t understand?! Where are you taking me?

“Get the door. Check the hall,” the second muffled voice commanded.

“Clear. Twenty five,” the other man said. “Go. Go, go, go now!”

Catherine willed her eyes open, wanting to understand the mysterious countdown. She forced her eyelids to rise and she looked up.

The image was hazy. A tall, broad shouldered man in white surgical scrubs stood above her head, pushing the gurney down a stark, white hall. He wore a mask and cap. Overhead lights blinded her eyes. She could make out long brown hair peeking out from the edges of the cap and his sideburns indicated he was probably bearded.

“If you need to shoot somebody, do it,” he ordered his companion, his voice still muffled by the mask. “We’re not here to make any friends.”

Catherine frowned at the narrow hallway ceiling running past her eyes, and willed her eyes to look to the side, just to avoid being further blinded. There were cameras mounted overhead, but the red lights indicating that they were recording something weren’t working. Nothing makes any sense. She kept still, praying for some clue to the recent events.

Where are we going? Where, on earth, are we? Questions she couldn’t voice through dry lips, and a throat choked with sorrow. All she could do was put her trust in these two men.

As a group, they were moving fast. Past many closed doors and around a corner. Catherine turned her head enough to see that a black man walked at her side, rapidly. Both men wore the surgical masks, to cover their faces. Doctors? No... Not doctors.

Catherine sensed they were different than the older, austere men who’d been handling her. Those men never spoke, and had moved with a frenetic purpose that spoke more of fear, than clinical care. As if their lives had depended on her remaining alive, until she gave up her secret...

These two men talked and moved with a different kind of purpose. As if they didn’t wish to be seen. Catherine inhaled a sharp breath of returning awareness. A burgeoning sense of hope rose with her. Maybe this wasn’t the end, after all. Escape? Oh, please…

She began to wonder if Vincent was a part of this escape, somehow. But how could he be?

“Elevator?” the man at her head asked his companion.

The black man checked a small device he held in one hand. “Negative. The medic is coming up to give her the next dose. We’ll have to use the stairs. It’s the only way.”

“Hell!”

“Fifteen. Come on, we’ll make it, if you pick up the pace.”

“I’m going as fast as I can. She can’t walk it. God knows what they’ve been pumping her with. Make it happen. It’s what I pay you for.”

“You don’t pay me enough to get killed,” the black man complained sarcastically, on a hollow laugh.

“Stairwell door. End of the hall.”

“Yes, boss.” He touched his white cap with an ironic fingertip.

They moved faster, and Catherine was forced to clutch at the edge of the gurney to prevent herself from falling off. The man at her head was right, she couldn’t walk, even if her life depended on it. Which it did…

The black man hurried to swipe a key card at the stairwell door. After a beat of tension, the red light on the keypad turned green, and the lock clicked open. The man pushing the gurney looked down at her, and Catherine saw a pair of the most beautiful blue eyes she ever recalled. Very familiar ones…

“Elliot?!” her dry voice croaked.

She now knew the black man, even concealed under his surgical scrubs. Cleon... It was Cleon Manning. And there was a gun tucked into his waistband, beneath his scrubs.

“Hello, Cathy,” Elliot replied, hoisting her into a sitting position on the now-useless gurney. It wouldn’t make it down the stairs. “Welcome back.”

“What…? Wh- what in… the—?” Her voice sounded drunk, even to her own ears. Catherine’s confusion reigned. Why was Elliot here? Is this some crazy, drugged dream? She frowned over the happenings. You can’t be here.

Cleon Manning talked as he moved. “Ten. I’ll hold the door open at the bottom, so you won’t get locked in, in case the—”

“No time. Go get to the van. Pull it around and have the back door open,” Elliot ordered.

He didn’t watch his henchman leave. He knew Cleon would obey him, implicitly.

“Come on, Cathy. You can do this. Trust me, once more.” He threw the thin sheet aside and gathered Catherine into his arms. She clutched desperately at his wide shoulders, her arms going around his neck, as they began to hurry down the stairs as fast as Elliot dared. In her weakened state, it took all Catherine’s strength to simply hang on.

The steel door at the bottom was flung open, and Cleon’s large frame filled the doorway. Beyond him, lay darkness.

“Cuttin’ it close, man,” Cleon commented drily. “You gettin’ old?”

“If we’re not clear of the garage before the alarm sounds, none of us are getting any older,” Elliot replied grimly, as Cleon turned, and vaulted over the stair railing – twice – and achieved the exit door to the parking garage, below.

Cleon looked at what was obviously a tracking device in his hand, and called back up. “The doc’s getting out of the elevator. Five seconds before he finds she’s gone and raises the alarm. Maybe a tick more.” Cleon slammed out of the doorway at a sprinter’s run.

Catherine prayed the van was close. Elliot ran down the concrete stairwell as fast as he dared, his precious load in his arms. Catherine knew she couldn’t walk, to help him. She could barely string two coherent words together.

“Why…?” she managed through cracked lips. “How…?”

Elliot pulled his mask down so she could see his face. “Because I had to. Lucky the bastard who ordered your kidnapping had more pressing things to attend to today. Like a big fire at his main drug warehouse. We needed to distract his attention from this place.”

“Thank… you…” Catherine croaked, hugging him closer.

“Any time…” Elliot nodded. They both knew time was ticking off the clock. Once the cameras came back on, they’d be seen. And when that happened…

Catherine tried again. “Elliot? I can’t… I can’t… believe… you’re doing this.”

“Don’t you go to the movies, Cathy? I’m Luke Skywalker,” he replied sardonically, shouldering his way through the fire door Cleon had opened just a few moments before.

A large black van was coming hard around the corner, Cleon at the wheel. The side door was rolled open.

“And I’m here to rescue you,” Elliot added, bundling her inside the almost still-moving vehicle. “Isn’t that what heroes do? Save the damsel in distress?”

“Yes, but—”

“We’re running on borrowed time,” Cleon warned them both, flooring the gas as Elliot slammed the door shut. Curled on the hard floor, Catherine felt the big vehicle lurch forward.

“The police…” she mumbled. “We need to…”

“John Moreno is the police, Cathy,” Elliot reminded her. “There’s no help there. Only more pain. And Joe can’t help you, not from his hospital bed. It’s been weeks, and they still haven’t let him out.”

“Oh, Joe…” He’s alive. But… weeks? How many weeks?

“Faster!” Elliot ordered Cleon. “If he gets us we’re all dead.”

Catherine groaned at the idea of being caught again. She didn’t think she could bear it.

Vincent…her tortured mind whispered. Oh, Vincent…

She longed to see him. To feel his arms around her. Would she ever find him again? She shivered in the chill of the steel van.

“We’re out of time,” Cleon commented bleakly, as the light above the camera mounted over the exit blinked back into life.

Suddenly, a low-slung Mercedes turned into the garage from the street above, and sped down the ramp past them. A man’s white face was momentarily framed in the back window. His thin mouth opened in a shout of command to his henchmen, in the front. He began to wave his hands frantically.

“We’ve gotta make it. Push it, Cleon!” Elliot snatched a blanket from the floor and covered Catherine with it.

“Damn it!” Cleon swore. “We’re almost there. Hang on, this is gonna be tight!”

Elliot sat up enough to look back the way they’d come through the van’s rear windows. Behind them, the Mercedes slid into a screeching, sideways halt, and men boiled out of it, waving hand guns. The back seat passenger threw his door open, grabbing at the revolver of the nearest man, screaming his outrage, as he took aim.

Elliot had never met the man before, but he instinctively knew him to be Gabriel, and Catherine’s hated kidnapper. Now, I know you. Elliot’s glare said.

I know you, too, came the reply. They glared at each other until a concrete pillar cut him from view. On the other side, flashes from gun muzzles flared. Elliot ducked back down, as metal pinging sounds hit the back doors of the van. Go, baby, go, he prayed.

Seeing none of this, Catherine lay clutching at the blanket, grateful for Elliot’s strong hand pressing her to the floor to keep her from skidding away from him. The van swung around the corner of the ramp, almost on two wheels as they climbed upwards.

Elliot turned to look in the direction they were fleeing. Can we make it out? A square of streetlamp light beckoned, in front of them. Almost there…yes!

In the next moment, they reached the exit to the street, just as a strident claxon sounded, behind them. The van cleared the concrete structure. Bullets smacked into its back, and into the concrete pillars beside them. In the same moment, a large steel door rolled shut across the garage entrance, clanging hollowly as it closed off any immediate pursuit, and the dangers of being shot.

“Made it!” Both men cheered, together, as they roared into the traffic.

“But it’s not over yet.” Elliot looked back. “Gabriel’s gonna tear the city apart looking for us. You know what to do next, Cleon.”

“Yeah, boss. I’ve got it all sorted just like you ordered.”

The van rocketed through the city traffic, with the black man dragging at the wheel to prevent them from colliding with a yellow cab. The driver’s shouted abuse and two–fingered salute out his window spoke volumes. It also lightened the tense moment.

“Welcome to Brooklyn,” Cleon deadpanned.

“That was a lot closer than I would’ve liked. Maybe you’re the one gettin’ too old for this, man.” Elliot clapped his henchman on the shoulder before he fell back to land close beside Catherine, his breath coming in heavy rushes, as he grinned at her like a pirate king who’d just stolen the greatest treasure in the world…

***********

Chapter Two

No Way Back…

“Home isn't where you're from, it's where you find light when all grows dark...”

Pierce Brown

***********

It was barely ten minutes before Cleon turned down a cluttered back alley and pulled into a decrepit-looking parking garage. He leapt out and opened the van’s side door.

Catherine sat up. “Wh-where are we—?” She shuddered with reaction and cold.

“Changing cars and splitting up. We’ve been made, Cathy, and Gabriel has shown himself to be a vengeful man,” Elliot answered, reaching down to pick up a large leather jacket which he assisted Catherine to pull on over her thin hospital gown. He zipped the front closed right up to her chin, leaning close to press a swift kiss of encouragement to her white cheek.

“Right now, Gabriel’s most likely calling John Moreno, who’ll put out an all-points bulletin on us. They can’t afford to let us escape. The scandal would bring down half the city officials. They’ll take the city apart brick by brick, right down to the foundations. We need to get across the bridge, before they close it. All Gabriel knows is we’re driving a black van with bullet holes in it.” He stripped out of his surgical scrubs, revealing dark slacks and a heavy navy polo shirt. He pulled on a black denim jacket.

Catherine looked around. They were far from any tunnel access, at least any she was aware of. She wasn’t even entirely sure what part of town they were in, considering. Vincent. Oh, Vincent. How I wish you could sense me. Know where I am...

Cleon tossed Elliot a set of keys, which he caught in mid-air. “Over there.” The investigator nodded toward an older Ford sedan, parked a few spaces away. It was nondescript. There were thousands just like it, on the road.

“This is one of the few parking garages with no cameras in it. It’s an old building. Even if they eventually find the van, they won’t find us,” Cleon continued, moving toward a late model Chevy.

“Gun?” Elliot asked, nodding toward the Ford.

“In the glove box,” Cleon replied. “And a bag of cash, underneath it. Best we make tracks. They’ll be onto us. That taxi driver will’ve reported our direction, by now.”

“Yeah.” Elliot nodded. “I want you to get on the Jersey Turnpike. Make them think we headed south, if you’re spotted. Then double back to the airport. You don’t go back to the office. Not for anything. I’ve left strict instructions with Karen about what to say when my absence is noticed. I’ve made it known I had plans for an extended overseas business trip weeks ago. Make sure you fly out on my private jet, not the company one. Just like we planned.”

Cleon grinned. “My mama didn’t raise no fools.”

“Has it truly been weeks?” Catherine stepped down out of the van. Her bare feet cringed at the touch of the damp, stone floor. She managed to stand, leaning against the side of the van. “I’ve lost all… all track of… time.”

She realized Gabriel had stripped her of far more than material things such as her handbag, clothing and ID. He’d taken her ability for rational thought. Her normally sharp lawyer’s mind struggled against the lassitude of her limbs, and fog-bound mind. Home, her mind whispered. I need to go home.

“It’s been nearly a month since the explosion, Cathy. But we never gave up looking for you.” Elliot watched her closely as she took that in, and tried to process it.

A month! Confusion owned her grey-green eyes. That, and disorientation. “It… can’t be…”

“You left me a book. Then you vanished off the face of the earth. We left no stone unturned, looking for you,” Elliot assured her. He took hold of her shoulders, steadying her. “Easy, Cathy. I’ve got you.”

“John… John is… he’s bad, Elliot,” she could barely make sense of it, herself, much less explain it, in her current state.

“I know John Moreno is dirty. Cleon finally got lucky with a property search, three days ago. That place they held you in was a fortress, almost totally off the grid. It turned out to be owned by one of Gabriel’s shell companies, and he’d put in security cameras and a twenty-four hour guard. We had to find out why it was so important to the man. We managed to get in when the surgical team changed shifts.”

Catherine’s eyes closed, as adrenaline tried to clear the drugs from her system. “I don’t know… what would’ve happened to me… if you hadn’t found me. I couldn’t have held out much longer…” She reached for Elliot’s hand. “It’s been such a nightmare…” She felt naked, and very frightened.

He drew her close, putting an arm around her shoulders. “It’s over now, Cathy. Even if we still don’t know what Gabriel wanted with you.” His free hand slid down her arm to support her slight weight. “We’ll try and make sense of it later. For now, we gotta get out of here, and make tracks.” He guided her towards their car.

Cleon followed them to the Ford. “You got anywhere in mind, boss?”

“Best you don’t know,” Elliot said, bundling Catherine into the back seat of the car and covering her with extra blankets. “But I’ve made plans. Is the trunk loaded with what I ordered?” he asked.

“You don’t need to ask. How do I get in touch with—?”

“You don’t. The news will tell me what it needs to. As far as anyone knows, you and I have gone overseas and won’t return for some time.”

Catherine tried to slow down what felt like a runaway train. “We… we need… I have to get to my apartment…” she trailed, trying to tell them (without telling them) that she needed to get to where there was tunnel access.

She couldn’t say she would be safe beneath the city. She had no words about how to explain, without betraying those she loved. Elliot was so determined to be her knight in shining armor, and shield her from everything. And she didn’t know Cleon well enough to trust him with her secret, either way. “Please. I just need to… go home.” Anywhere. Anywhere I can reach Vincent. Just drop me off in the park…

Elliot shook his head, blaming her words on the drugs they’d pumped her with. “Cathy, we can’t go to your apartment. Or to a friend’s house. Or any place else you know. They’ll be watching everything. And tapping every phone you might try to call.” He nodded toward Cleon. “And if we’re not out of town in the next ten minutes, we might not make it at all.”

Cleon checked his watch. “Another countdown. The day’s just full of ’em.”

Elliot cupped Catherine’s cheek in his palm. “Trust me, Cathy. It took me a long time to find you and plan how to get you out. Just lie down and try to get some sleep. I’ll keep you safe.” He shut the door before she could reply.

Catherine blinked away tears. Safe. You’re safe, now. It was the first thing Vincent had ever said to her. Oh, Vincent…

She huddled on the back seat, hearing the two men talking briefly, before the front door slammed shut, and a key turned in the ignition. The sedatives she was still pumped full of warred with the adrenaline, trying to counteract it. Wait! I need to think. I need to—

Elliot drove the car quickly out of the garage, pausing briefly to check in both directions for any signs of pursuit, before joining the flowing line of vehicles.

He didn’t notice the homeless vagrant staring at him from the shadows, beside the entrance. The man’s eyes tracked their progress down the side street until the car turned right, and was quickly lost in the streams of evening traffic.

Only then did the man hurry away towards an abandoned building on the other side of the street.

***********

Elliot steered the Ford through mid-town. The slow congestion of the evening rush hour gave him time to think, and plan.

In the back seat, Catherine lay half-asleep, trying to determine the direction of their escape. After a few minutes, she heard the hum of steel radials on concrete give way to an incline. They were going over a bridge. They were getting out of New York. In the driver’s seat, Elliot said nothing, as he turned the radio to a news channel, and kept it down low.

Catherine felt her eyelids growing heavy again, and knew she couldn’t fight it. Wherever she was, wherever she was going, she was going to have to count on Elliot Burch to get her there. Get her there, and keep her safe. There was an odd kind of comfort in the notion. She was no longer alone in this fight for survival.

The miles slid beneath the car, as she fell back into a fitful sleep, plagued by dreams of remembered people and places she eternally could not reach. A spiral staircase wound forever downwards, in her mind’s eye. Then, the ladder to her basement, and its shaft of light.

She knew where both led. Her groggy mind held onto one word. Home. I want to go home. To Vincent…

***********

Chapter Three

Going To Providence…

“How often have I lain beneath rain on a strange roof, thinking of home?”

William C. Faulkner

***********

It was the lack of motion that finally awakened her. She struggled to sit up, peering through the car’s window. “Where are we, now?”

Rays of early morning sunshine obscured her view through the dusty window. She could hear birds singing, and the sighing of the wind through close-set pine trees.

“Somewhere safe. I took the backroads and made frequent stops, to make sure we weren’t followed.” Elliot was sitting in the driver’s seat, his arm flung along the back of the passenger headrest. He’d been watching her sleep, Catherine realized. She wondered for how long.

He smiled at her confused expression. “Have you ever been to Providence, Cathy?”

“N-no… no, I haven’t.”

A distant memory intruded. ‘I’m going to Providence, Joe…’ Catherine swallowed tightly at the sudden memory. She felt tears scald her eyes.

“Well, you’re some way from it now. Not that we’ll be visiting the city any time soon.” Elliot grimaced as he turned away and opened his car door. “This is where we’ll be hiding out until I can get you safely out of the country.”

But, I don’t want to leave… Catherine bit back the choking protest as she opened her door and got out. Her legs still felt like jelly, but she managed to stand, keeping one hand on the car.

They were parked before a small, ramshackle cottage, sheltered by a veritable forest of trees, and perched above a small inlet of choppy water. There was no sign of any other houses in the immediate area. It looked old, and barely cared for. It didn’t look like Elliot, to her. “Whose place is this?” she asked.

“It’s mine, now. This is where my mother grew up,” Elliot replied with a shrug. “She inherited it, and my old man hung onto it after she died. I guess he hoped to make a fortune when the property market finally made it worth his while.” His eyes studied the sad little cottage. “The deed was among his papers. I found it after he… after he was killed.”

His sombre eyes swung back to her, and Catherine instinctively knew he was thinking about that night; also about the kiss they’d shared on the docks. Among all the chaos and tragedy of that time, he chose to dwell on the one moment between them that had anchored him to reality. To the faint hope of a shared future for them.

And now here we are again, depending on each other…

“Come on, let’s get you inside. You look ready to fall down.” Not waiting for her answer, Elliot took her arm, assisting her faltering steps towards the front porch. But… we’re going in the wrong direction. She knew she was. Every step away from New York was a step away from Vincent.

“Here we go,” he said, guiding her up a set of bowed wooden front steps.

Catherine resigned herself to allowing him to take charge, for now. Men like Elliot assumed women needed the help and support of a man. Someone to cling to in times of crisis. She had once been that kind of woman, but no longer.

“I can make it,” she assured him, determined to do just that.

‘You have the strength, Catherine — you do. I know you...’ Vincent’s comment echoed through her, as they entered the cottage.

Surprisingly, the interior was tidy, and quaintly appointed with old-fashioned furniture and heavy hangings. It was at odds with the dilapidated exterior. The large stone fireplace had been set with wood, and the open pantry in the small kitchen beyond had been well-stocked with canned food.

“I had it some maintenance done after I found out I owned it,” Elliot replied to her confused look. “I set up an offshore company in my mother’s maiden name, so there’s no tie to me.” He shrugged. “It was simply a convenient tax write-off.”

Perhaps, but that didn’t explain why an old oak dining room table gleamed with polish, or why there was a new screen on the door.

Catherine felt steadier. “Elliot, I suspect you have a side to you that’s softer than you would like me to think.” Catherine put a hand on his arm where it was linked through hers. “I know you miss your mother very much, and you wanted to honor her memory.”

“It was just good business,” he denied her assertion hoarsely, disengaging his arm from hers. “Go on, the bedroom’s through there.” He indicated a door leading off the main room with a jerk of his chin. “There’s only one bed, so I’ll take the pull-out sofa. Don’t argue.”

He held up one hand when Catherine made to protest. “You look all done in. I’ll go and unpack the car, and put our cases in the bedroom. Cleon bought clothes and toiletries for you. Seems Gabriel was pretty thorough in stripping you of everything you owned. I think I guessed your size right. The water’s been turned on, so the shower will be hot.”

“Thank you, Elliot.” Catherine’s skin prickled at the luxurious idea of a long, hot shower. She needed no further urging, hurrying on unsteady feet towards the cottage’s other rooms.

The hot spray of an old shower felt like a benediction. If she closed her eyes she could pretend she was in her apartment, and getting ready for the evening ahead. Beneath her feet, Vincent would be standing at her tunnel entrance, watching and waiting for her to join him once more…

***********

Chapter Four

Where Are You…?

“For the two of us, home isn't a place. It is a person. And we are finally home...”

Stephanie Perkins

***********

Vincent sat at his writing desk, staring at the note in his hand. He had no idea what to make of the message scrawled on the grubby piece of paper. In the month since Catherine had vanished, the Helpers of the world Below had searched the city for any sign of her, even as Vincent searched throughout the night. Until now, they had all come up empty.

The utter lack of their shared bond had affected Vincent severely. He barely slept more than a couple of hours after he returned each night from searching the world Above. He knew Jacob was deeply troubled by his son’s awful dilemma, but there was nothing the old man could do to help. But he was well aware of the toll taken by losing all trace of a beloved.

Vincent passed a weary hand over his eyes before reading the note again. ‘Elliot Burch seen. Last Night. Brooklyn. Old parking garage. Acting suspicious. Too dark to see, for sure.’ The helper had drawn a simple map with an address.

“Elliot Burch…” Vincent pictured the darkly-bearded man who loved Catherine. Vincent knew the area. “What were you doing there, in such a place?”

It had been Father’s idea to keep an eye on Burch and his movements. He had read the newspaper articles where Elliot had been vocal and persistent in his inquiries about Catherine’s whereabouts, and the man had the resources and will to achieve his aim of finding her.

“There is only one way to find out.” Vincent stood and gathered his cloak, flinging it around his shoulders.

‘Though lovers be lost, love shall not and death shall have no dominion...’ he quoted the Dylan Thomas poem softly as he hurried through the tunnels.

He prayed Elliot Burch was onto any kind of solid lead, and that it was not already too late to save Catherine…

***********

Chapter Five

I Would Give You The World…

“Home is the nicest word there is...”

Laura Ingalls Wilder

***********

Catherine left the shower box with every intention of rejoining Elliot in the living room, but the wide bed looked too comfortable. The welcome warmth of the heated water had sapped her few reserves of strength.

“I’ll just lie down and close my eyes for five minutes,” she promised, getting into a new pair of panties and matching bra. She pulled on the lace dressing gown she also found in the cases Elliot had carried in. Of course, they fitted her perfectly.

She dried her hair with a towel before sliding onto the bed, and laying down with a sigh. “Five minutes…” she said again, closing her eyes.

It seemed as if no time at all had passed, when she came awake with a start, to find the westering sun teasing at her eyelids through the bedroom window. She rose onto one elbow, momentarily confused by her surroundings. Then, reality struck anew.

Elliot. I’m with Elliot, and we’re near Providence. Rhode Island. It wasn’t a dream. Elliot rescued me…

Her muscles felt heavy. She didn’t want to move from the bed and face what was to come. She stretched carefully, testing each of her cramped limbs. The sleep had done her a great deal of good. It was only then she noticed the large patchwork afghan had been pulled from the bottom of the bed to cover her.

“Elliot…” she breathed, sitting up.

Getting out of bed, she rummaged through the case and pulled on dark trousers and a matching blouse. Both were a little loose, testifying to a weight loss she’d endured while in captivity. Any port in a storm, she thought, tugging a belt from the bag. Adding a warm pair of socks to her bare feet, she went in search of her rescuer.

“Feeling better?” Elliot asked, when Catherine emerged from her bedroom. He smiled. “You missed breakfast and lunch. But you looked too comfortable to disturb.”

He was standing at the kitchen bench, making coffee. Catherine sniffed the air appreciatively. It had been too long since she’d had anything as simple as a cup of coffee. The aroma was heavenly.

Stark memories of her recent imprisonment made her shudder. John. Joe. My job. My life… She had lost so much, and she had no idea how to recover any of it. Or what she was going to do in the immediate future. Do we even have a plan?

“It’s truly heaven to finally feel clean, again,” she confirmed, watching him warily. What was his agenda now they were alone together? She had no fear of Elliot trying to force himself upon her, but his mind worked in ways she didn’t always understand. “We need to decide on a plan about what to do next. We can’t just stay here, Elliot.”

Elliot moved to stir a pot of simmering vegetable soup. “That, lady love, is the first incorrect thing you’ve said since this whole thing started, other than asking to go back to your apartment. Not only can we, it’s our greatest… and possibly only strength, right now.”

He carried the coffee peculator and the pot of soup to the table set between the kitchen and the living room. Hooking out a chair with one foot, he sat down, indicating she should do the same.

“I don’t see that.” Catherine sat down opposite from him. “And the Elliot Burch I know wouldn’t run and hide. You always knew what you were going to do next.”

“The Elliot Burch you know has no idea who all his enemies are, right now. And neither do you,” he replied, splitting the contents of the pot between two bowls. “Think. How many people in the D.A.’s office are dirty, besides Moreno? How many bugs did he plant, how much evidence did he tamper with?” He gave her a long look. “Who told you to come to me? Who told you to come and get whatever it was I had on Max Avery?”

Catherine frowned at him, and glanced up, accessing her memory. She remembered the day Joe sent her to Elliot. She tried to recall the words he’d used, and what she’d said, in reply.

Joe had been adamant she would do as she was asked. ‘Moreno wants me to talk to you... There's one major developer who hasn't said no ...’

‘No. Don't ask me, Joe. Don't even think about it.’

‘Gimme a break, Radcliffe! Do you think I want to do this? I just work here. Just have a little talk with Elliot Burch...’

‘My relationship with Elliot was personal ...not to mention painful. And it's in the past tense!’

‘All right, take it easy. We're just asking you to interview him, not have his children. If Burch talks, we can put Avery away...’

Catherine shivered, “Joe. Joe Maxwell came to me. He was… embarrassed. But he said he’d been forced to ask me.”

‘Moreno wants me to talk to you…’

Realization dawned. “Because John Moreno told him to.” She sighed heavily. “Oh, Elliot. It was John who set up the meeting. That’s who told Joe to get me to agree to meet with you.” Understanding was slow in coming. “John wanted me to meet you… to get what you had on Avery.” There had been an indictment, but no conviction, on the Avery case.

“I told him I’d only give it to you. I thought I was being clever.”

And he had been. But someone in the room was being cleverer, still. “He wanted what you had. And made sure I got it.” She looked up at Elliot. “So, I did.”

“I didn’t expect you to agree.” Deep blue eyes stared back at her.

“John… he disposed of your evidence. Didn’t he?”

“Disposed of it. Culled it. Very likely,” Elliot replied, pouring the coffee into two mugs. “Avery’s still in business, and as mean as ever. It’s part of how I knew something had to be wrong. There was too much evidence against him. I gave you enough to send him away. Yet, he’s still as free as he ever was.”

Catherine’s heart sank. Max Avery was a very big fish. “John… John handled that case himself.” There was nothing unusual about that. He was the District Attorney. But he didn’t get a conviction. It happens. He said, we’d try again. I… oh, Elliot. “He was lead counsel.”

“And aren’t we all not a bit surprised,” Elliot stated.

He put spoons in the bowls and set one in front of her. “I knew I didn’t screw with that evidence, and somehow… don’t ask me how.” He gave her a small smile. “I knew it wasn’t you. That left Joe Maxwell, or Moreno. And Joe’s in the hospital with serious burns and a lung that’s collapsed twice, so…” Elliot’s broad shoulders lifted.

“That left John,” Catherine concluded, and sighed. You knew John Moreno was dirty before I did. And I saw him every day. How did I not see the signs?

“That left John,” Elliot agreed. “When Joe Maxwell’s run-in with a car bomb hit the papers, well, Cleon back-traced Patrick Hanlon. Moreno, Avery, and Hanlon all have only so many things in common, and none of them are good. You got in deep, Cathy. With some of the nastiest people on the planet. And I don’t just mean John Moreno. He was only the front-man. There are others who kept to the dark places, and pulled his strings.”

She knew he was right, as she picked up her spoon. The hot soup looked appetizing, and she knew she must eat, but her empty stomach was suddenly churning, with all the awful possibilities of what they were facing. Who could they trust?

Vincent… her heart whispered. But he was miles away and impossible to reach. If only she could get Elliot to drive her back to the city…

“How does any of this bring down John Moreno?” she asked. “We’re just sitting here, waiting to be found.”

“We sitting. They aren’t.” He picked up his own spoon. “Never underestimate the power of frustration, on your enemy. What’s going to happen in a day, in two days, in three, when they don’t find us? When they worry that we’re sitting in Albany, or Chicago, or Boston, or DC, giving depositions and demanding witness protection? Or we’ve somehow managed to flee the country?” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Cleon and my private jet will be arriving in Sydney, Australia about now.”

Catherine sighed. The ‘heavy’ feeling she still had thanks to the remaining drugs in her system made it hard to think, in the way he wanted her to. “I don’t know what could happen.”

“Dishonest people tend to over-react, to everything. It’s in their nature,” he replied, watching her try to eat, with approval. “You saw John Moreno? You saw him betray you? You saw his face?”

“Yes…” Catherine nodded, as the painful memory lanced her consciousness. “He… he was waiting for me, as I got off the elevator. He chloroformed me and threw me in the trunk of his car.” It’s how I knew I was never going to see Vincent, again. How I knew they’d never let me go.

Elliot stirred his soup, and batted down a sense of anger he pretended he didn’t feel, as he listened to her describe her abduction. He opted for a pragmatic tone. “Then offhand, I’d say he doesn’t have much longer to live, Cathy. The man I took you from isn’t going to leave any loose ends. With every move they make… they risk exposure.”

“Gabriel…” Catherine shuddered with remembered horror. “I saw him, too.”

Then you’re in more danger than you know. You can identify him. And so can I…

“What I still don’t get is, what did he want with you? It would have been much more expedient to kill you outright.” His large hand covered hers across the table, to lessen the blow of his forthright words. Sugar coating the truth would get them nowhere. “Not that I’m not grateful he didn’t.”

He wanted to use me as bait... “I have no idea,” Catherine lied smoothly. “I’m sure it has something to do with the book Joe managed to pass me. John knew I had it. He wanted it, badly. Not just the copy I made. You still have the original?”

“In my luggage. My people couldn’t make heads nor tails of it, beyond what little you managed to decipher.”

“Hanover Norton Trust. Bank names. Numbers.”

“Probably account numbers. Maybe date codes. Transaction amounts. You’re sure Gabriel didn’t say what he wanted?”

An evil voice hissed, in Catherine’s memory. ‘He’s magnificent, Miss Chandler. Where is he? Tell me!’

“No,” she answered. “They just… kept me drugged, mostly. I’m sure it was about the book.” She leaned over her soup and swallowed a mouthful.

“I see.” Elliot let the comment pass, not picking up on her falsehood. “Sit tight. There are good cops out there. It’s just that we don’t know exactly who’s dirty and who’s clean, or whose office has been bugged.” He ate a few spoonfuls of soup.

Catherine looked up. “You’re sure we can’t sneak back in?”

He shook his head. “Right about now, Gabriel is tearing New York apart, looking for you. If we contact anyone you know, anyone at all… they’re as good as dead, Cathy. Sometimes the best defense is a patient offense.”

Catherine sighed, and set down her spoon. “So we stay here? Eat out of cans? Lie low?”

“Until either John Moreno turns himself in and swears to testify against his boss, or he winds up dead and they figure out what he was, and who did it. Patience. It’s won me more fights than I can count. And I’ve won a lot of fights.”

This sounded like they could be here for far longer than Catherine wanted to be.

“You told me you went for the win. By any means.”

“Of course. I also told you I too can play hard ball. But I know when not to fight. The man who acts first can often be the loser. He has shown his hand. Crackers?” He offered her a plate, laden with food.

“No, thanks. I’m really not hungry,” she replied, not sure if she was willing to give his methods a chance. But what choice do I have?

“You must eat. You’ll need all your strength.” Elliot frowned, as he watched her oblige him by picking her tableware back up and swallowing a few spoonfuls of soup.

“It’s good…” She nodded, taking one cracker and nibbling it, slowly.

He knew why she had no appetite. They strapped you to a table and fed you through a tube. My poor Cathy. My poor, beautiful Cathy. I’ll make them pay. Or die trying. You have my word. Gabriel is a dead man…

But he kept his tone light, knowing it was what she needed, right now. He chuckled. “One day we’ll eat at again at the best table in Delmonico’s. You’ll see. When Gabriel is dead and buried for what he did to you. That, or in a jail cell. And I will make sure that happens.” He shot her a confident look.

“You’re not a vigilante, Elliot,” she replied, dutifully swallowing her meal.

Oh, aren’t I? then: If I wasn’t, you’d still be strapped to a table, rather than eating at one.

His blue eyes caressed the picture she made sitting there, eating what she didn’t really want, taking time to watch him closely, as she tried to gauge what he was thinking. He knew she didn’t fully trust him with any of her secrets.

He longed to ask her about those tunnels she’d taken him into, beneath Central Park, after his father was murdered. Longed to ask why she’d sworn he could tell no-one about them, or about anything he’d heard, while they’d walked through them.

It was another one of the many mysteries, surrounding her. He had deliberately not returned to the culvert entrance in the park. He’d wanted to, many times. It was the not knowing that was eating him up inside. But he had given her his word…

There were so many things she would not speak of. His hands itched to get at whoever it was who stood between them, like a giant shadow. He was aware there was someone else, some other man. Of that much he was certain. She’d admitted it.

Does he have anything to do with all the things you won’t tell me? He wondered. He watched her select a cracker, and dip it in the bowl of soup. He knew she didn’t really want it. But he also knew she needed it.

You’re so fragile. Yet so strong, he thought.

He wanted to hug her close and whisper… I would give you the world, Cathy. If only you could learn to trust me…

His fist clenched with the need to declare his love once more. If he did nothing else during their self-imposed isolation, he was going to find out more about all the things she wouldn’t say. He was determined to open all her secrets. And he would finally discover why she needed those explosives she’d once demanded from him. And why she’d agreed to marry him, but then placed the cancellation of his Tower plans as her bride price. And the name of the man that came between them every time he thought he’d finally snared her love.

“Jason Walker took the law into his own hands. I don’t think it ended well for him,” she said. They both knew she was talking about a missing martial arts instructor. One who’d headed up a neighborhood watch group.

“I wouldn’t be entirely sure about that. Some people say vigilantes are the right answer.” He picked up some crackers from the plate.

“But not you. You’re not like that.” Her mind flickered back to Jason Walker’s fall. Be careful, Elliot. Neither one of us knows just who we’re dealing with.

“Right now, I’m just a simple man, trying to get you to finish a bowl of soup,” he replied disarmingly, digging into his own meal.

Catherine frowned at him. She knew his words belied what he was thinking, and planning. You can be a good man. But the last thing you are is a simple one.

She didn’t buy it. Not for a minute…

***********

Chapter Six

The Clues Left Behind…

“A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it…”

George Augustus Moore

***********

Vincent stood in the shadows opposite the run-down parking garage and watched for any signs of life. Nothing moved, not even a mouse. It was almost too still, fraught with expectation.

“That’s where he came out of.” The ragged man at his elbow pointed with his chin. “He turned down the alley and then went north. He was driving an old Ford.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

Shoulders in a tattered coat shrugged. “Sure as I can be. His picture’s always in the paper.” He gestured to a stack of those. In a pile, they were a chair. In desperation, they could be used to line a holey shoe, or even as a night-time covering, against the cold.

“Thank you, Jake.” Vincent grasped the older man’s shoulder. “It’s better if you leave me now. I don’t want to put you in any danger. You should go and see William. Have him feed you a hot meal.”

“Thanks, but, nah…” Jake shook his head. He preferred the alleyways and open places.

“But, I can stay…” the old man continued, even as Vincent silenced him with an upraised hand and a nod.

“I will be all right. It’s too dangerous.”

“If ya’re sure, Vincent,” the vagrant retreated slowly. “See ya around, then.” He slipped away into the surrounding shadows.

Vincent went back to his observations. Traffic rattled by, on the street, headlamps casting shadows and illuminating an ancient fire hydrant. Hours passed, and he remained silently watchful. Still, nothing moved and no-one either went into the garage, or emerged from it.

Why would Elliot Burch be driving an old car away from a parking garage in Brooklyn?... Perhaps Jake is simply mistaken…

The decrepit building remained still, and offered him no answers.

Catherine… his heart whispered. He was no closer to the truth. If Catherine had been here, she was no longer. She was somewhere else and impossible to reach, if she lived at all.

“I will not accept that!” His great hand fisted at his side. “She lives! She must!”

The traffic thinned, owing to the later hour. Somewhere, a clock struck midnight. Throwing caution to the wind, he crossed the street and slid in through the half-open door of the garage. There were a few old cars parked around the walls, but nothing obvious drew his searching gaze. It was several minutes before he found the black van, riddled with bullet holes in its rear and sides. It had been tucked away in a dark corner, as if the absent owners didn’t wish it to be readily found.

Vincent approached it warily, his hackles on the rise. Somehow, he knew the van was connected to Catherine, and Elliot Burch.

The side door was half-open, and he peered inside. A tangle of discarded blankets were piled in the middle of the floor, along with two sets of white surgical scrubs. A doctor’s vehicle? But clearly, it wasn’t. Nothing made any sense…

Vincent raised his sensitive nose and inhaled the van’s musty smell. Despite the bullet holes, there was no sign of blood. He sighed with relief.

He moved around the vehicle, testing the depth and size of the bullet holes with his fingertip, seeking answers. There was a faint, charged scent, centered just behind the front seat, and it echoed in one of the sets of abandoned clothing. Expensive cologne. Very. That, and something more. An entirely masculine smell that Vincent recognized. Elliot Burch… Catherine’s coat had carried that smell, when she’d been dealing with him.

A low growl rumbled deep in Vincent’s throat. It was Burch. He was here…being shot at? He pressed his nose to the driver’s seat, and the other set of scrubs. Again a strong masculine scent, but this told him nothing beyond the fact there had been a second man.

He slid back the open door and climbed inside, searching for further clues. There… underlying the other smells, was another, more visceral scent. Vincent bent closer, gathering up the blanket between his hands and holding it close to his nose. He sniffed again, and an unmistakable smell lifted delicately into his nostrils. It was the merest hint of a presence, but it told him everything he needed to know.

“Catherine…” he breathed, long and low, on a deep sigh.

He cradled the blanket to his face, wrapping up every one of his senses in the memories they invoked. His beloved had been in this van, wrapped in this dark cloth, and not too long ago. It seemed to him that there was the tiniest trace of her feminine warmth, still trapped in the wool folds… You were here. You were here, and I didn’t know. You’re alive and I could reach you. I almost forgot how to hope...

He stepped back from the van and frowned at the damage to the bodywork. Alive, yes. But in terrible danger, for certain.

Again, his night-visioned eyes searched the shadows, but he saw nothing. Whoever had held Catherine, or had taken her from this place, he was too late to help her, once more.

‘Forever too late…’ his darker side gloated. ‘You’re a fool to go on chasing after shadows. You don’t need her. You only need me. I’m always here, with you…’

“No! I will find her!” Vincent turned away from the van, and the carping voice in the back of his tortured mind. He carried the blanket tucked beneath his arm.

‘Will you? How? You haven’t, so far. Not so easy without the bond, is it?’ the dark voice gloated. ‘He has her, now. Her rich king. Her knight in shining armor… Go home. Pour your sorrows onto a blank page,’ the voice sneered. ‘Forget her…’

“Never!” Vincent silenced the taunting voice inside himself, as he scanned the corners of the garage. There were no cameras, here. Nothing to help him find her. Or to identify him, as an unwelcome visitor. This is an old building. Whoever Elliot took her from, he knew that. Knew he didn’t want to be seen. I know more than I did this morning. That’s all I can know.

In a swirl of dark cloak and wild blond hair, he was gone into the night; and the dusty garage sank back into its interrupted slumber once more…

***********

Chapter Seven

A New Player…

“A home filled with nothing but yourself. It's heavy, that lightness. It's crushing, that emptiness...”

Margaret Atwood

***********

Diana Bennett sat in her office. She was a deeply frustrated woman. Which was to say she was often that, given the nature her job, but this time, things seemed more frustrating than usual. Nothing made any sense in this troubling case of the missing D.A.

She’d combed through every inch of Catherine Chandler’s apartment. Everything from her books to her clothes to her childhood doll, looking for clues as to who might have taken her, and where. But, aside from some mementos from a guy named Vincent, whom no-one Diana had interviewed had ever met, there was nothing.

What little she knew wasn’t leading anywhere. The trail was stone cold. Diana sighed, and lifted her hair off her neck, then hastily wrapped it into a bun.

“What am I missing?” she asked aloud. “Did this Vincent kill you? Why and how? Or does this have something to do with whoever killed Patrick Hanlon, a man you didn’t even know, but Joe Maxwell did? A man Hanlon knew, who then put Maxwell in intensive care?”

She knew Joe had met with Patrick Hanlon. They’d shared a drink, then gone their separate ways. Aside from giving brief statements from his hospital bed, Joe had no idea where Catherine Chandler was, or who’d taken her. He said he’d given her a book, and now berated himself for doing that. A book that was in some sort of code, passed to him by Hanlon. A book none of them could find, now. It was assumed Catherine had it with her, when she disappeared. Had that book been the cause of it all?

“So, has the woman already been murdered and dumped in the East River?” Diana stared at the file, knowing that if she closed it, if she said she had no more leads, that it would be relegated to the ‘cold case’ file. If that happened, Catherine Chandler (or her body, or whoever had done this to her) might never be found. She deeply disliked the idea of giving up.

“One break. Just one break. It’s all I need. Just one… damn… break. Is that too much to ask?” She glared at the telephone, willing it to ring.

“Miss Bennett?”

Startled, Diana looked up. One of the uniformed officers who worked in her building stood before her desk.

“Yes…?”

The woman’s name was Greta Fullerton. She’d been on the force for five years, and was divorced, with two kids. That, and her physical description was almost everything Diana knew about her. Other than she had a tendency to bite her nails and was carrying a few extra pounds. Some things, you couldn’t hide. And Diana made her living noticing what you couldn’t hide.

“What’s up, Greta?” Diana asked tiredly.

“Who knows? This came for you, downstairs. Special messenger.” She proffered a plain manila envelope with Diana’s name typed on it, and nothing else.

“I’m not expecting anything,” Diana stated, slitting it open. There was almost nothing inside. Just a note. And not a very long one, at that. She tugged the single piece of paper out, then read it.

Diana’s blue eyes flew to her companion. “Who dropped this off? Who signed for it?” She shot up out of her chair.

“I… I… front desk. Whoever is working the front desk. Why? Is it important?” Greta asked, following Diana down the hallway.

“Maybe. I hope so,” Diana replied, glancing at the singular note again, as she jabbed at the elevator button. “I asked for a break. Maybe God was listening, after all.”

One sentence gashed the page. Just one. ‘If you want to know who’s responsible for Catherine Chandler’s abduction, show Joe Maxwell the evidence file against Max Avery.’ the note said, in bold, typewritten prose.

The elevator doors slid open, and Diana hurried inside the car. “Just one clue. One little bit of luck. One break. That’s all I need.”

***********

Chapter Eight

Like Fate, Only Different…

“Home isn't a place, it’s a feeling…”

Cecelia Ahern

***********

Two nights spent on a decent mattress, rather than on a gurney, did good things to restore Catherine’s sense of equilibrium. It also brought a few other items sharply into focus. Like her companion, for instance.

Whenever they were close, she could see his blue eyes looked shadowed, and there was a tightness around the corners of his mouth. His hair and beard were more unkempt than she was used to seeing. It was as if he’d been running his fingers through them.

Now he was sitting at the table, fiddling with an old radio, as he had done for the last two days…and nights. His shoulders were slumped and he was pale with fatigue.

“You’ve barely slept,” Catherine said, knowing he hadn’t. While she’d been sleeping, eating and showering, getting the drugs out of her system, he’d been… what? Driving them here, securing the place, making sure they were supplied, and… sitting up drinking endless cups of coffee while she slept, apparently.

The metal coffee pot was near his elbow, and the cup beside it was half full. He drank it strong and black.

Elliot shrugged away her concerns. “You needed it more. I’ll grab a nap, later,” he replied, fiddling with the tuner on a radio dial. It was a news station. They were covering the stock market, at the moment. He turned up the sound, a little, as the tinny voice spewed out information Catherine cared nothing for.

‘…higher oil pri-  pushed markets lower , to - ay, as the Federal Reserve…’ Occasional static blurred the sound. Or it dropped altogether.

“I take it there’s no TV?” Catherine asked, looking around the room for what felt like the first time. Though she still felt a bit weary, her head felt clear. Clearer than it had in … weeks, apparently.

“Nope, no TV,” he replied, draining his cup. He frowned at the empty coffee pot. “My apologies, but my father didn’t hold with such modern gadgets. At least not for this place,” he added, trying not to look like he was studying her, as she studied the room. He wanted her to like it here. For some reason, that felt important.

Catherine took in the utilitarian space. The furniture was masculine, and solid. The field stone fireplace sported a wide mantle with brass ornaments. An antique looking quilt was draped across the back of the couch Elliot had pulled into a bed. But no television was in sight, and there were few books.

“There’s barely a radio,” he stated, adjusting the dial to overcome the static. “Television reception is too spotty, out here. You’d have to have an aerial the size of the Empire State Building. Too easy to be spotted. Too easy to be found.” He picked up a small screw driver and adjusted the simple wire that served as the radio’s antenna.

Catherine could do nothing but watch him. His strong, sure hands, hands that were comfortable with tools, tying a perfect knot in a silk tie, or handling the wheel of an Italian sports car, handled the task, efficiently. Rhode Island. The name was misleading. Though it wasn’t an island, it had more than one, in its waters.

Despite the longer route Elliot had taken to get them safely here, they were only a three hour drive north of New York, well past any way Vincent could reach her. Catherine bit her inner lip in consternation. She was too far away. She knew that when she’d considered taking a job, here.

“Why Providence?” she asked. ‘It’s when something is meant to be.’ She quoted Vincent, internally.

Elliot shrugged, and the motion pulled the fabric of his shirt tight, across his broad chest. “Providence is like fate, only different,” he replied, making a small joke as he finished adjusting a loose screw. “Ask my mother. Or hers. They lived here, for a while. Just a shack, almost off the grid. I’m not even sure she went to school, all that much.”

“It sounds… poor,” she said, feeling sympathy for a woman she never knew.

“Poor as church mice. But she made great goulash.” He looked up to watch her, watching him. “I think my dad even listed the place, once, trying to make a buck off it. But he never made the sale. Lucky for us.” He set down the screwdriver. The station they were listening to sounded clearer. “That’s better,” he approved.

‘Better than better.’ How like Mouse you look, right now, she thought, missing the tinker, as well. She longed for home. She longed for… everyone…

“Lucky for us,” she echoed, not sure if that was the word she would use. Any true bolt hole needed at least two entrances, and all she saw here was the narrow road in. The land behind the cottage was wild hill country covered in trees. An easy place for a city person like her to get lost in and run in circles. Or for others to get turned around, if they chase us in there? She wondered if Elliot had chosen the place for any strategic advantage it might have, in that direction.

How, and why, has my life become so fraught with difficulties? She longed for Vincent, longed for home. Longed for everything she couldn’t touch or see…

She walked over to the window and peered thought a gap in the heavy drapes. The sight of huge pine trees and large sugar maples greeted her eyes. The sky was overcast, and the little she could see of the distant water was choppy. They might be in for a bit of rain.

They were in a heavily wooded area, and from this vantage point, the gravel driveway looked lonely. The green Ford sat under a wide awning in what passed for a front yard, looking as though it would happily decay there, if given the chance. She closed the curtain, turning back to her only companion.

“I can’t thank you enough, Elliot. It… it amazes me, what you did.” She rubbed her arm. The injection site was bruised, and had a tendency to itch, as it healed. But her head felt clear, finally, and she could think without effort. She knew she owed this man much…

“Half luck, half crazy. Maybe just a little… determination on the side,” Elliot replied softly. “I’m going to end up owing Cleon Manning one hell of a bonus. I don’t usually send him to Australia, as part of working a case.”

“Do you think he’ll be safe there?” she asked.

“I think he’s Cleon, and he knows how to take care of himself. He’ll stay there for a few days, then move on. He’ll let me know when the coast is clear. And when it isn’t.”

“How is that possible?” Catherine asked. She already knew the cottage didn’t have a working telephone. And no mail service. They truly were “almost off the grid,” as far as she could see.

Elliot adjusted the dial on the radio, turning the sound up, some more. The tinny, announcer’s voice sounded much stronger. ‘Meanwhile, the Dow posted some losses across four sectors, with IBM looking steady ahead of earnings…’

“A small shell company I own will hit the news. Icarus Technologies. If they’re buying property, it’s good news. If they’re selling off assets, it’s bad. Right now, as we know, it’s bad. It means ‘Stay put’.”

Catherine appreciated the foresight of such a plan. “That’s ingenious.”

“It’s a simple way to get a message out. One that can’t be traced.” He stood, leaving the chore, and came around the table to stand with her, near the window. “But you’re free to think I’m terribly clever for it.” His smile was caressing. It was the one that had charmed her to begin with.

She returned it. “I do. But I also have the feeling this isn’t the first time you’ve had to use that ploy, or one like it. I do remember the Coronistas.”

She stepped away from him, and closer to the fireplace. A low fire burned there. It reminded her of the old brazier, in Vincent’s chamber. She stared into the dancing flames, seeing things and people she couldn’t speak about.

“Ah, yes.” Elliot nodded. “The Coronistas. There was a lot of selling going on in Icarus Tech, that month.” He shrugged. “It couldn’t be helped.”

Couldn’t be helped. Of course. Catherine shook her head, realizing how desperate her current situation was. The last time Elliot had used the ploy, there had been death squads chasing him.

And now? Now they were cut off, almost by design. And only Elliot’s ability to plan ahead was keeping them safely hidden. “I still can’t believe how… bad it is. I’m so worried for Joe.”

Elliot stayed near the window, and let her have her space. It wouldn’t do to follow her around the room, crowding her. “From what I could discover he’s got two uniformed guards on him, Cathy. And his condition was steadily improving. He’ll be all right, because he doesn’t know anything.”

“I thought you didn’t trust the police.”

“Right now, I don’t. But even if they’re dirty, they know that if something happens to Maxwell, they’re made. Nobody wants to go down for murder. Not in New York, anyway.” They both knew the state had a reputation for crowded prisons. And that it also had a death penalty for capital offenses, from time to time, depending on who was in office.

“There are cameras in every hall, nurses at the nurse’s station, and a ton of people around,” Elliot soothed. “He’ll be fine.”

It’s not him, is it? He’s not the one you love? Elliot wondered. Then, he dismissed the idea. He’d seen her with Joe Maxwell. If anyone was in love, it was Maxwell with Catherine. If she loved Joe, it was like a brother, not a lover. Elliot was too canny not to recognize the difference.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.” Catherine moved a little closer to the fire, needing its warmth. It was the one sensation she hadn’t managed to achieve, since her rescue. Feeling truly warm, again.

‘There are no maps to where we are -- it’s a forgotten place. But it’s warm and it’s safe…’ The first description of the tunnels Vincent had ever given to her echoed in her mind, as she stared at the flames. God, to be warm again. I’m starting to feel like I dreamed it. Like I dreamed all of it. But she knew she hadn’t.

“I can’t believe a book would be this important,” she said, still wondering what it said.

“Books are for people who have too much to keep track of, and don’t trust computers,” Elliot replied, watching her chafe her arms. You’re cold. If only you’d let me warm you.

“Do you have one?” she asked. “A book, like that?”

His blue eyes narrowed. “Of a sort. Most businessmen do.” He wanted her to understand that there was a huge difference between what he was and what Gabriel was, if she didn’t already. “Bank accounts, project names, completion dates. It’s coded so your competitors doesn’t get to know your plans. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone but me. But I know what it says, yes.”

“I never made sense of his. I only knew it was… full,” Catherine said regretfully. “I wish your people could have deciphered it. Maybe it would make more sense to you than it did to me.”

Elliot shrugged as he slid his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “For it to make sense, you have to know the code, for most of them. Whether he starts every line with the same kind of thing. A place, a person’s name, an account number… whatever. Shipping bills, court dockets… everything has a name and number, Cathy. Just… looking over it didn’t tell me any more than it told you.” He wanted to establish that though he and Gabriel were both men of business, they were worlds apart.

I saved you. Surely that’s enough? Why can’t you look at me in that same way you have, when you think of him…? His hands curled into fists beneath their concealment of dark denim.

“I’m sure you’re right,” she said, not quite sure of that at all. I don’t know what to think. I only know I want to go home.

She knew Elliot was very different from the man who’d had her abducted, and held her. Very different. But she also knew they were both businessmen who were used to being in charge, and getting their way. And they were used to having multiple projects go on, at the same time. And that Elliot, too, had been known to cut corners, when it pleased him. He’d admitted as much when he’d given her the files on Max Avery.

She rubbed her forehead, tired of trying to wrestle with a puzzle that had vexed her since Joe’s injury. And John was a part of it. For how long? Since the day I was hired, or…

She sighed. I miss you, Vincent. I miss you so much.

The thought was an unbidden one, and leaped into her head, unexpectedly. He felt a thousand miles away. Farther. Even when she’d gone to California, she’d felt closer to him than this. I’ll come back to you. I swear I will. I just don’t know when. Or how.

Elliot saw her sigh, and said nothing of it. What I wouldn’t give to know what, or who, you’re thinking of, right now.

Catherine held her hands to the fire’s warmth. “This place feels so far removed. I hoped we’d be closer. Back in New York, even. It would be easier to know just what was going on, and with who. Stay in the know. At least as much as we can.” She was thinking of the Tunnel World’s vast contingent of Helpers. People like Benny, like Clarence the sax player, or like Lin Pei. They often picked up on things other people missed. Any of them would pass a message to Vincent. If only…

Elliot puzzled over her statement. They’d already discussed why it was foolhardy, if not suicide, to be anywhere close to New York. “Where would you go?” he asked. “You can’t go into your work. Your apartment isn’t safe. Nothing is. We had to disappear.” It’s the only thing keeping us alive.

“I’m sorry. Of course, I wasn’t thinking…” Catherine realized she’d just let her stressed-out brain run away with her mouth. That while she was thinking of staying Below, hiding with Vincent, and hoping word came from Above, she’d just sounded like a person who wouldn’t mind walking right back into a bear trap. One she’d barely just escaped from.

“You’re right, of course,” she smoothed. Then, she changed the subject. “You really should get some sleep. And please use the bed this time, not the couch. I’ll take watch for a few hours. Listen to the radio,” she offered, moving away from the fireplace to take up a position near the table. She was going to have to brew more coffee. The percolator had gone cold.

Elliot rubbed the back of his neck. “I think I’ll take you up on that.” He tugged a semi-automatic weapon from his waistband, and set it on the table. It made a hard, metal sound, as it settled on the scarred wood. “No-one should be up here. If you hear anything, shoot first, and ask questions later. There are signs enough out there to warn anyone this is private property.”

“Yes, Boss,” she replied, carrying the pot of coffee over to the sink. She dumped out the old grounds. Time to start a fresh batch.

“Don’t let me sleep more than a few hours. I don’t, usually, anyway,” he instructed.

She gave him the same words he’d given her. “You need to keep up your strength, Elliot.” She ran water into the pot. “Fatigue makes you slow,” she added, her eyes on her chore.

His voice came from almost right behind her. “It’s like I told you before. Sleep is such a waste of time, for me.” He reached around her and turned off the tap. “And the only time I’m slow… is when I mean to be. Some things take time…”

His warm breath fanned her cheek as he let the double entendre stand. He took a step back. She remained silent, as she worked making the coffee. Her breath caught, but she refused to turn her head. She knew he wanted more from her than she was prepared to give. He always had. In that, nothing had truly changed, between them.

After several heartbeats and her lack of response, Elliot sighed brusquely, before turning away and leaving the room. Catherine released her pent-up breath. She didn’t look after him. She knew he would be sleeping in the same bed she’d just vacated. The cabin was small, almost too intimate. The bathroom was a small space. So was the bedroom. The living room/dining area/kitchen were all one open space.

Elliot pulled the door shut to the bedroom she’d been using. For Catherine, knowing he’d be laying where she’d just got up from felt strangely intimate.

Like when I slept in Vincent’s bed, when I was recovering, she thought, realizing for the first time that Vincent would have had to sleep right where she’d lain, the first night she’d had to return to her world. Her arms ached to hold him again, and know his solid warmth.

I miss you, she thought again. I feel too far away. I miss home more than I can say...

She spooned coffee into the basket, and shook herself, mentally. I’ll get through this. It’s child’s play, compared to what I just escaped from, she thought, plugging the cord back into the bottom of the percolator.

Yet somehow, she felt that she was very much in danger of some kind, right where she was…

***********

Chapter Nine

The Unkindest Cut…

“This was the most unkindest cut of all…”

Julius Caesar, by William Shakespeare

***********

Joe Maxwell had started out in Mercy General on the critical list. They’d kept him in ICU for nearly a week, after surgery had saved his life.

He had two cracked ribs and multiple lacerations, thanks to the flying remains of Patrick Hanlon’s car. He had a left lung that had collapsed twice. There were burns on his left cheek and hands, the only part of his skin that had been exposed, when the bomb went off.

He was upgraded, condition-wise, from ‘critical’ to ‘serious,’ the first day Catherine Chandler ever remembered waking up strapped to a table, something Joe knew nothing about, until the upgrade made it to ‘stable,’ and he was allowed to watch TV. He didn’t know where she was. No one did. But he knew she was missing. And that it was bad.

The moment he discovered Catherine was gone, he knew he had some calls to make. By the time he was listed as ‘recovering,’ Greg Hughes had visited and told him about a special investigator named Diana Bennett. Bennett had been on the case, ever since. And Joe was still recovering. Not liking it, but doing it.

Greg had spoken about Diana. “She’s good at her job. Like a dog with a bone, she’ll get results. And she can go places we can’t. She’s got Max Avery in her sights, right now. Have no idea why. She said she would be coming to interview you.”

Joe had shrugged. “Let’s hope she’s as good as you say. For all the good it was doing any of us. I have no clues for her. They won’t even let me get out of this damn bed.”

Greg had raised both hands. “You gotta heal. Then we’ll talk. You would’ve been no use to anyone, lying on a slab in the morgue. Which is where you nearly ended up.”

“Thanks, man.” Joe had grimaced, knowing his good friend was right.

“But it doesn’t make me feel any better.” Joe thumped his pillow into shape, before lying down again. Frustration gnawed at his bones, but he could do nothing about it.

With nothing more to report, Greg had left him to the boredom of his day.

Joe looked sardonically at the old TV, mounted near the ceiling in the corner of his room, not really ‘seeing’ it. Daytime television was awash in soap operas and talk shows, with the local news showing around lunchtime, then again, at five. It was his link to the outside world, for the most part. Due for discharge, soon, he wasn’t allowed to set foot in his office. Not yet.

The things that had caught and held his attention in the news was a drug warehouse fire in Harlem, the other day. Not much by itself, but there had also been an unexplained shooting event in an old, abandoned building in Brooklyn on the same day. The police speculated a link, citing renewed gang warfare, and closed both cases with barely an investigation.

Someone is pulling their strings… Joe frowned and began to make notes. It was the only thing he could do. He figured there’d been some sort of cover-up. It was almost too neat. He felt the first incident had some kind of planned diversion. The second was more problematic. A shoot-out in an abandoned building? Over what, and why?

His analytic mind chewed over the events, digging for answers. He wondered if either of them had anything to do with Catherine’s unexplained disappearance…

Then a still shot of Elliot Burch flashed onto the TV screen. The millionaire businessman was reported to have flown to Australia on an extended business trip. “Rats deserting a sinking ship,” Joe growled, wanting to hurl the remote at the television, in disgust. “So much for his assertion he would find Radcliffe, no matter what the cost!”

He pushed the button that lifted the head of his hospital bed. He wondered why in the name of Mookie Wilson, did Diana Bennett want to talk to him about Max Avery? As cases went, that one wasn’t going particularly well. One grand jury indictment notwithstanding, there’d been no conviction. Avery seemed just too slippery. Or too well protected. Even John hadn’t managed to bring him down. And John was good at his job.

Elliot Burch had provided a lot of evidence. Evidence drops took time to verify, and usually caused more leads to be chased down. Maybe one of those leads had something to do with Cathy, or one of her old cases. Who knew?

But Diana had called from her loft to verify that Joe would be in his room. Like I’m going anywhere useful! he fumed.

Half an hour later, the wide door to Joe’s private room swung open and a pretty, red-haired woman entered, looking like Joe felt. Sore, angry, not happy with most of what she knew, and not sure what was coming next.

Joe watched her purposeful stride towards his bed, knowing nothing in her demeanor meant they’d found Catherine Chandler, one way or the other.

“How’s it going?” she asked, pausing long enough to exchange a quick greeting. “You look sore.”

“The days are packed,” he replied humorlessly. They had him scheduled for a round of skin grafts, to help with the scarring on his cheek. Looks like Cathy and I will have stories to swap. And maybe matching scars. If I ever see her again. He refused to think that he wouldn’t.

The investigator tossed him a vending machine candy bar he wasn’t technically supposed to have, and skipped over any more pleasantries. “I need to talk to you, Joe. I’m just not sure why. Got a minute or two to spare?”

“I think I can fit you into my busy schedule.” He aimed the remote at the television and turned down the sound. “First question, where in hell is Cathy Chandler? That’s the only thing I wanna talk about.”

He knew they were fighting long odds. The longer Radcliffe stayed missing, the more likely it was that they would never find her – alive. He tossed the Zagnut bar to one side.

“I don’t know anything more than Greg told you. Nothing in her apartment helped,” Diana answered bleakly. “She had secrets, but she never shared them with anyone I’ve interviewed so far.”

“Yeah, she had secrets. She never shared with me, either.” Joe wanted to demand what was Bennett good for, then if that’s all she’d uncovered?

He huffed a sigh, knowing he was only a few days away from getting out of here. But that was only as long as he was a good boy, and didn’t overtax his already abused body. He lay back and accepted that he had to take it easy.

“It’s not all bad news, however.” Diana pulled a slender file out of the large bag she used as a briefcase. “Somebody seems to want me to think that this has something to do with it.”

“Okay, at least that’s something.” Joe took the slim folder out of her hand, and flipped it open. He saw nothing in it he hadn’t seen before, and well over a year ago, at that. It was an old file. And a not updated one.

“What does old evidence against Max Avery have to do with Cathy Chandler?” he asked. “She wasn’t even assigned to the case.” He handed it back to her.

“Beats me.” Diana shrugged.  “I’ve read Avery’s file cover to cover, and can’t see anything. It’s full of uncorroborated depositions and the eye witness testimony of people who suddenly realized they need their eyes checked, thanks to who Avery is. So…what?”

Joe glanced back at the TV. The weather was on. “If you’ve read the Avery file cover to cover, you’re tougher than I am,” Joe replied, knowing he was only seeing a fraction of the evidence they had.

Diana looked at him quizzically. “What do you mean? This is it.” She tapped the folder. “This is all of it. I’ve been through it a dozen times, already.”

“That’s not all of it.” Joe shook his head, still not liking how that tended to give him a headache. “Not by a long shot. Whoever gave you that file, they left a whole pile behind. There’s four, five times that much. Dates, places, deals done, bribes… who got paid, and when… Elliot Burch turned it over to us. John ordered Cathy to make him do it.”

Diana’s blue eyes sharpened. “That can’t be right.” She indicated the slim case folder with a wave of her hand. “This is all there is. I went over every page there was, down in evidence.”

“You’ve been had, then.” Joe glanced her way, then back at her proffered paperwork. “That’s all wrong. There’s a stack of files full of info. It’s all from Burch. Cathy had to agree to meet with him, just to lay hands on it.”

Missing evidence? So there’s the connection, Diana thought.

Diana pulled out the note from her pocket, and showed it to Joe.

“I don’t get it,” he replied.

“You say you’re sure Burch gave Cathy Chandler damning evidence against Max Avery?” Diana asked.

“Positive. Burch called, saying he had evidence against Avery. But he’d only talk to Cathy. She didn’t want anything to do with him.”

“That’s interesting.” But Avery has nothing to do with Patrick Hanlon. Unless they both work for the same man.

“Moreno told me to get Cathy to set up the meeting. I talked to her myself. If stuff isn’t here, somebody must be running down leads on –”

Diana shook her head. “Joe, no-one is working that case. No-one. Nobody’s been assigned. No-one has touched that file since I pulled it, this morning. Before that… I don’t know. But this is all there is. There is nothing else.”

“That’s not possible!” He pushed himself higher, alarmed. “Burch gave Cathy the files. Personally. Then, she gave them to me. A stack of them. She hated being forced to go see him.”

“You saw those missing files?” Diana asked. So, what’s here is only a piece of it. And Joe knows it. How does that connect to Cathy Chandler’s disappearance?

“I saw them.” He nodded. “She handed them right to me. Pages of information. A hundred, maybe. Bribes, shake downs, go-betweens. Dates, times, places. He had it all. And she told me if we ever used her personal life that way again, she’d walk.”

Diana frowned over his confession. What Joe knew about, someone else did, as well. Because she knew Joe hadn’t hurt Catherine Chandler. “Who else knew about the meeting Elliot wanted? Who else knew about that?” Diana asked. “How many people?”

Joe looked up and to the left, the direction of memory. “Me. Cathy. Burch, of course. His lawyer – who advised against it, and got fired. Cathy told me. And… John Moreno.”

“Moreno…” Diana’s mind raced. Only three of those people had access to the evidence room. One of them was missing, and the other was right in front of her, waiting on a skin graft. Oh. Oh, no… “Moreno asked you to speak to Catherine Chandler? After Burch called in and said he had evidence? You’re sure that’s who it was?”

“Diana, you don’t think—” Joe’s mind was working as fast as hers. Almost.

“Who did you give the files to?” Diana asked.

Joe knew who he just damned. “John Moreno. I turned them over to John. He was my boss.”

“He asked for them? Personally?”

Their eyes met, and held. “Yes,” Joe responded, knowing what he was saying, yet still not wanting to believe it.

“There’s your connection, then. It all fits.” She held up the note again. “Someone knows Moreno is dirty. Now, we do.”

“No. No, no, no. It’s not possible,” Joe said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The hell with how pretty his face looked. He wanted his clothes. Right now!

“Joe, there was a shooting in a parking garage. Right after Catherine left the office.” She wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know, thanks to Greg Hughes. “She vanished into thin air. No-one has seen, or heard a thing from her, since.” She paused. “John Moreno was in the building, that afternoon.”

Joe threw open the small closet door and snatched his trousers off the hanger. “No…” he denied, even as parts of his mind were starting to scream the opposite word. John! It was John. John betrayed Cathy. The book, the files. All of it leads to somebody. John. Oh, my God!

Diana was thinking out loud as he hitched his trousers up, beneath his hospital gown. She kept talking. “She was picked up by pros. A man at the scene was killed. Broad daylight. Greg Hughes has said all along he thinks she knew her abductor. That they knew right where she’d be, and when.”

“Diana, if John Moreno is dirty, that means I sent Cathy right to him, after the explosion. She’d have shown him the book.” He was zipping his fly.

“But there was an indictment issued against Max Avery, at some point?” Diana asked. Why no conviction, if there was good evidence? Unless…of course. It never made it to trial. Not at all.

“Yeah. For all the good it did. John said Avery had pit bulls for lawyers, and they were convincing the judge to throw out a lot of the evidence as hearsay. Unreliable witnesses. You get that, when you accept the word of shakedown artists and con men. I never questioned it.” He ripped off his hospital gown and tossed it aside.

“How much do you want to bet only a fraction of what Burch gave you made it to court, at all? Did Moreno ever meet with Burch, again?” she asked, as he shouldered his way carefully into a white undershirt. His left side still sported a white bandage, and stitches.

Joe had no trouble remembering that he had. “Yeah. Once. That I know of. Cathy and I were both in on that one, too.” He recalled the meeting they’d all had about the huge tower Elliot had wanted to build, in midtown. Burch had used the DA’s office to cast Luz Corrales in a bad light, so her protesters would be useless in stopping the project. “Burch was building a tower. Avery was under indictment, by then.”

“John was probably there to monitor what got said. And to report that Elliot wasn’t there to bother whoever’s running Avery. And him.”

Joe swore, richly. “For years. He’s been protecting him for years, Diana. We could never build a decent case against Max Avery.” He crossed back to the small closet and grabbed a shirt off a hanger. “So Avery and John work for the same boss. The same one who killed Pat. The same one that has Cathy Chandler, now.” If she’s still alive.

“Joe, you can’t charge in at John, half-cocked. We need to put a tail on him. See if he leads us to—”

Joe had murder in his eyes, as he buttoned up his dress shirt. “It was John who told me to hire Cathy in the first place.”

“Oh.” Because he wanted a weak link, not a tough lady who wouldn’t let go of a lead. Bad call, John. You got more than you bargained for, in Catherine Chandler, Diana thought.

“Probably figured she’d get bored and go home, after a couple of weeks,” Diana reasoned. “Or stay on, and do a half-assed job.” Joe didn’t look like he wanted to put a tail on Moreno. He looked like he wanted to kill him. There’s nothing more dangerous than an honest man, when he first realizes he’s been played, she thought.

Joe nodded that she was right about John’s initial assessment of Catherine. I didn’t think much better. I’m so sorry I got you into this, Cathy.

“He’ll spot a tail. And he knows how to sweep for a bug. He’s the goddamn District Attorney, Diana! My boss! Cathy’s boss! Hell, he’s—”

Diana put a staying hand over Joe’s, as he struggled to button his collar. His left hand was still healing. “Joe, think. You know Cathy’s work patterns better than anyone. What’s the first thing she’d have done with the book you gave her?”

“That’s easy. Opened it. Read it. Tried to make sense of it.”

“At the office, or at home?”

“Wherever she was. She took it from my coat, in the hospital.”

“Was John at the hospital?”

“Yeah. They told me he was. I figured he came there to check up on me.”

Maybe he did. And maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s not what he was there for.

“And if she couldn’t decipher the book? What would she do?”

Joe’s heart sank, a little more. John. We both trusted John.

“She’d have showed it to Moreno.” They both knew as much.

“And he probably would have tried to get it from her.” Diana’s mind was racing.

Joe nodded, but then shook his head. “She wouldn’t have given it to him. Not right away. Cathy’s like a dog with a bone when she’s on to something. She’d have offered to make him a copy. Maybe.”

“But by then, he knew she had it.”

They stood looking at each other, knowing it was Catherine’s very tenacity that had possibly cost her, her life.

“The logs say Catherine left work at five.”

“John would have known. He’d have known when she left, and he’d have known how long it took her to get to the garage. He set her up.” John Moreno was dirty. It made so much sense, once you saw it.

“Her car never left the parking lot.”

“The guys that shot the driver… they weren’t aiming for him. He just got in the way.” It made such terrible sense. “She’d have run back. Run back to the elevator. Got out of the line of fire.”

“And gone right back upstairs. To John’s office,” Diana finished.

Diana’s mind was working with its usual speed. “She’d seen the book. There was no blood at the scene, Joe. At least, not Cathy’s. There’s still hope.”

“They wanted her alive. I don’t know why. Damn it!”

“Maybe Moreno wanted to know what she’d figured out,” Diana offered. “The original book is still missing. Cryptography has the copy Cathy gave them, though. So the original wouldn’t do anybody any good.” She sighed. “Greg always thought it was too neat, and too fast, the way she ended up missing. And no way was it anything random. It was a pro hit. She was a target.”

“Set up by someone she knew. John damn Moreno,” Joe finished, grabbing his keys from the bedside drawer. “Do you have your gun with you?”

No, Joe. You’re not going to shoot him. Or threaten to, to get him to talk. That’s not gonna work. Gonna have to talk you down, on that one.

“Only Catherine Chandler’s, and that’s in my trunk, in a box of evidence. You’re not going to shoot John Moreno, Joe. You’re not going to even go near him. We need him to—”

The television screen mounted in the corner seemed to burst into flames, in its televised image. Fire trucks filled the screen. The words ‘District Attorney John Moreno’ scrolled across the bottom. Diana grabbed for the remote, and turned up the sound. “What the hell…?”

“…unexpected tragedy, as it’s confirmed that New York District Attorney John Moreno is presumed dead, his house engulfed in flames. Authorities are ascribing the explosion to a faulty gas line running to the furnace, which may have —”

Diana lowered the sound and looked at Joe’s stunned face, as it took in the screen. “Okay, this changes a lot,” she said. One step behind. I’m always one step behind, here.

“It looks like you got that right, Bennett,” Joe said sadly, realizing his only hope of finding Catherine Chandler had just died in an explosion – the same way Patrick Hanlon had. “What do we do, now?”

Diana stared at the devastation, knowing that as bad as it was, it was shrunk down, on the small, overhead square.

“What do you want to bet his office is clean of all evidence, and anything he had was in the house, with him?” Diana asked rhetorically.

Joe slowly removed his clothes, pulling on his hospital gown again, before sinking down onto the side of the bed. There was nowhere to go, now… “No takers. Jesus.” He stared at the screen. Fire was shooting through the windows of an expensive brick residence. “What do we do, now?” he repeated.

He climbed back into bed and lay down, looking defeated, and very much alone. He stared at the ceiling, seeing faces and people he had loved…and lost.

“All right, we start again.” Diana gathered his discarded clothes and tossed them across the nearby chair. “We find out who left me the note,” she continued briskly. “And what or who Patrick Hanlon, John Moreno, and maybe Max Avery all have in common.”

Joe gave her the only thing he thought he knew: and that was just a feeling. “There was a warehouse fire across town. A big one. And some sort of commotion in another parking garage downtown. Check them out. Here…” He held out his notebook. “I’ve made a start.”

“You got a feeling?” she asked, taking the book. She’d trust the instincts of a veteran over hard evidence, any day. It was how she herself made her living.

“I got a feeling. One I ain’t liking.” He tapped the book she held. “There’s a puppet master. Find him for me, Diana.”

“Yeah…” Her blue eyes assessed Joe’s grim expression. “I intend to.”

Joe lifted himself onto one elbow. “I want him,” he said grimly. “And if he’s hurt Radcliffe, I want him dead. You understand me, Bennett?”

“Perfectly.” Diana headed for the door. “And I’m ahead of you there. I have wanted the bastard dead for days, now. There’s no court in the land that can convict him, it seems. And he kills to cover his tracks.”

“You be careful.”

“It’s my middle name.” Her calm blue eyes radiated a steady kind of determination.

“Greg said I’d like you.” Joe nodded grimly. “Find him. I think Moreno’s funeral might be a good place to start.”

“You think somebody likes to gloat?”

“I think somebody likes to gloat.” Why not? What he’s doing has worked, for years. He’ll think he’s untouchable.

His hands closed into fists at his sides. He wanted to choke the life out of the bastard… slowly…

He watched Diana nod before she left the room. He lay down again and stared at the repeated coverage of John Moreno’s demise. He went back to trying to make sense of it all, detailing every move, every lead, in his mind.

What else did he have to do, besides obeying his doctors, and healing well enough to get out of this place?

John Moreno was dirty. And we never knew. I’m so sorry, Cathy. So sorry…

***********

Chapter Ten

Vincent Sends a Messenger…

“If Light is in your heart, you will find your way home...”

Rumi

***********

“No, Vincent. I can’t allow it. This is far too dangerous.” Father threw up both hands. “Surely the man is being watched. What if they catch Geoffrey and make him talk?”

Vincent raised his shoulders. “Joe Maxwell is the only connection to Catherine we can trust. Geoffrey can reach him, posing as someone there to visit one of the other patients. Marcus leads the team, and he will see to it no harm comes to the boy. Remember you once said no-one sees the little people among them.”

“I was talking philosophically. This is real life, and a very real danger. How can you be so sure Catherine is still alive?” Father worried the point again, as he had done for the last few days. “An old blanket and one odd sighting of Elliot Burch is a flimsy case on which to build your hopes.”

He didn’t want to say that it was possible that the blanket had contained Catherine before she’d died. He didn’t dare. He clasped his son’s hand across the discarded chess board, seeking to assuage the harshness of his words. But it needed to be said. “There are reasons to be… cautious, in your optimism, Vincent.” Like the ones that leave bullet holes in vans.

“She lives, Father. I know it. I would feel it if she had passed from us. I’m sure of that.” Vincent pressed his free hand to his heart. “I keep her safe, in here.”

“I wish I had your certainty. I know I said, ‘follow Burch to find the truth.’ But the newspapers are now saying he’s given up the search for Catherine and has already left the country to pursue his overseas business connections. It’s said he’s already flown out to Australia.”

“He wouldn’t give up that easily.” Vincent shook his head. “Would that not be what he wants others to think? Houdini once said, do something that would cause ninety-nine percent of the people to look over there, while something else was going on right in front of them. Misdirection, Father. Something that Elliot Burch is extremely good at.”

Jacob sighed. “I’m afraid you’re giving the man far too much credit.”

“No, Father. I think we do not give him credit enough. He is a wily businessman who knows far more than he lets on. He is canny. He would know where to strike to create a diversion. I am certain of it.”

“Your certainty… though commendable… is not proof, Vincent.”

His son raised his shoulders. “There was an unexplained warehouse fire in Harlem a few days ago. It’s said to have been a drug manufacturing plant that had been deliberately set alight. Then there was a police report on Mouse’s scanner that an old Brooklyn building was the site of a firearms incident they cannot explain. A link between them was speculated. Of course it’s been made to look like a gang war. The police have already closed their investigations.”

“I don’t see where you are going with all of this, Vincent…”

“There is someone behind it all.” Vincent’s blue eyes scanned Jacob’s confused expression. “I have been there, Father. The place in Brooklyn has been hastily abandoned, and the basement carpark entrance was riddled with bullet holes. They matched the holes I found in the van Catherine was transported in. I know she was held in that place.”

“And you think Burch is the one behind it all?”

“I know he’s behind Catherine’s rescue.” Vincent’s hand closed tight beneath Father’s overlaid clasp. “He isn’t in Australia. He is nowhere else but right here, somewhere. And I hope to find him, before it’s too late.”

“But why would Catherine stay with him? Unless…”

“If she cannot reach me, then she has no other choice. Burch loves her, he would not allow any harm to come to her, if he was alive to prevent it.”

“Very well. I can see your mind is made up. Geoffrey may go to see Maxwell. But I want more than Marcus to protect him. We have no idea who is out there, keeping watch.”

‘You’re using a child to do a man’s job. Reasonable, since you can’t do anything to help,’ the ugly voice inside him chided.

“Marcus will go inside the hospital with him. Jamie will stay near. All will be well, Father.” Vincent ignored the jibe.

Be well, Catherine. Be well. Wherever you are, he prayed…

***********

Chapter Eleven

Joe Gets a Visit…

“No other success can compensate for failure in the home...”

J. E. McCulloch

***********

Joe Maxwell turned his head sharply on his pillow. His newly grafted cheek stung. But after his conversation with Diana Bennett, he was jumping at every sound he heard.

Now someone’s in my room!

“Who’s there?” he demanded hoarsely. His damaged lung still hurt every time he breathed deeply. “Show yourself…” He felt naked and exposed, a sensation he hated. He cursed the explosion that had put him here, flat on his back, and the woozy sensation the anesthetic left him with.

“I’m just changing the water in your flowers…” A tall, skinny boy moved closer. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t,” Joe snapped, feeling foolish. “I just didn’t expect anybody in here before visiting hours.”

“Okay, man, it’s cool.” The kid shrugged his hunched shoulders. “I won’t be more than a minute.” He pushed the bunch of flowers back into its plastic vase and replaced it on Joe’s bedside table.

Joe frowned at him. The kid was wearing patched jeans and a ragged-looking shirt. He looked like some street urchin.

“You’re a little short to be on staff,” Joe opined.

The boy shrugged. “I told the cops outside your door we’re family. I’m your nephew, Geoffrey. Hi, Uncle Joe.”

Joe rubbed his forehead. “Okay. The anesthetic is really kicking in. I don’t have a nephew. I have two nieces.”

“Who’s to know any different? I’m just a harmless kid.” Geoffrey set the vase where he wanted it, and went to fill Joe’s water pitcher, from the tap in the bathroom.

What in the hell? Joe hitched up in the bed. “You should be in school. Where’s your mom?”

The boy’s mouth turned down at the corners. “There’s only me.” Even at his young age, he appeared beaten down by life.

“That bad, huh?” Joe lay back. “I’m sorry, kid.” The boy looked harmless enough. Joe was sick of starting at every movement and shadow.

“It’s okay. I get by.” The boy produced a rag from his overall pocket and dusted it over a few surfaces. He glanced at Joe. “Say, do you see anything of that pretty lady these days? That Miss Chandler. She was good to me, once. Helped me out and —”

Joe reached out. He wasn’t fast. He didn’t have to be. “Why do you want to know?” he demanded, seizing the boy’s thin wrist. “Have you seen her?”

“Hey man, let go! I was only asking…” The boy tried to pull back, but Joe hung onto him.

“Have you seen Cathy? Do you know where she is? Tell me!”

“That’s what I was just askin’ you.” The boy wriggled free, massaging his sore wrist with his free hand. “Geeze, you gotta calm down. I don’t mean you no harm.”

“Sorry…” Joe blinked. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just this bed, and…”

“I get it.” The boy backed out of reach. “Say, if I see the pretty lady, I’ll tell her you were asking after her. Okay?”

Joe wanted to grab him by his skinny shoulders and shake the truth out of him. He sensed he knew more than he was telling. He decided to make a bargain.

“Look, if you find out anything about where Cathy is, I want you to come straight to me. Okay?” Joe pushed himself up in the bed again. “No-one else can know. I’ll pay you good money to find out anything you can for me. We got a deal?” He held out his right hand.

“If it means that much to you…” The boy approached him warily. After a moment he touched palms with Joe in a brief handshake. “I’ll see what I can find out. I’ll let ya know.”

“Great. All I can do is lie here and wait for news.” Joe grimaced, sinking back onto his pillows. “What did you say your name was?”

“Geoffrey,” the boy replied, as he headed towards the door.

Joe frowned after him. He noticed the kid no longer slouched, and his movements were now filled with purpose. It was almost as if he was seeing a different person.

The door opened before he reached it, and an old black man looked in. “You about done, son?”

“Yep, I’m done here, Marcus.” Geoffrey looked back to Joe. “Be seeing you around, Mr. Maxwell. Uh… Uncle Joe.”

“How did you even know my name w—?” Joe started up.

“It’s above your bed.” Geoffrey pointed to the sign hung above Joe’s head. And you’re the only one on the floor with cops at his door. He grinned cheekily, and the door shut behind him.

Joe lay back and tried to make sense of what he’d just seen and heard. He wasn’t sure he should feel so relieved there was someone else was out there, looking for Cathy. And the fact that the boy looked like he didn’t own a single dollar gave him little comfort. Why would such a boy sneak into a hospital to ask about Cathy? He wondered.

“Radcliffe…just where the heck are you?” he addressed the shadowed silence of the room.

He received no answer…

***********

Chapter Twelve

Filling an Inside Straight

You draw cards. When you do that, you affirm two things: either that you have something to draw to, or are willing to support to your last cent the fact that you have not…

William Faulkner, Knight’s Gambit

***********

One day bled into another, and Catherine alternated between sleeping, eating, listening to the news on the radio, and pacing through the few rooms of what really was a fairly small house. There was no washing machine, so laundry was done with a bar of soap and a sink. No vacuum cleaner meant a broom and a dust bin, and a mop kept the bare parts of the floor clean. No dishwasher meant that that, too, was a chore done by hand. None of it was an onerous process. And none of it filled all the hours in the day, though it filled some of them.

They went outside seldom, given their circumstances, and talked, often. Elliot told her more about growing up the son of Stanley and Betty Kasmarek. Catherine returned with stories about growing up as she did, mostly with Charles, though Catherine told stories about her mother, too. They talked about John Moreno, Gabriel, and how the two were ultimately connected.

She felt stronger as the days went on. She did not feel more comfortable with staying there, a thing which had nothing to do with the cabin’s amenities. Icarus Technologies stayed down. Elliot remained vigilant. She missed Vincent more and more. And was happy with their current circumstances less, because of it. The view of the trees reminded her of the park. The view of the water reminded her that Long Island was not so very far away from here, considering. It all served to heighten her sense of longing.

I want to be where Vincent is. No matter where that is. That’s what I want. It was a thought she was never very far from.

Catherine realized that Elliot seemed far more sanguine with this “sit tight and wait” strategy than she did. Which was odd, because “waiting patiently” wasn’t a thing she’d ever ascribe to him, as a virtue. He seemed too dynamic a man for that.

Then she remembered he actually had called her fifty times, since the ‘disagreement’ that had broken them up, back when she’d first met the Langers. There is patience in him. It’s just of a certain kind. Like a hunter certain of his prey, if he sits and waits long enough…

He appeared content to keep his distance, though his vivid blue eyes tracked her often, when he thought she wasn’t looking. She ceased to take note of his every mood and began to browse the book titles on his shelves. Most were about architecture. Those were clearly his. Others were about quilting, and crochet patterns. His mother’s, perhaps? There were a few paperbacks by Zane Grey. Dog-eared westerns his father had perhaps favored. She actually read one of them, just to pass the time.

“You’re getting stir crazy,” Elliot accused, early one afternoon, looking up from listening to the radio. “I have an idea to pass the time.” He went to a low cabinet and pulled out a deck of cards, and a spindle of poker chips. “Do you play?” he asked, setting up the table.

“Not since college, and not very well,” she admitted. “Jenny’s father taught us how to play blackjack before he took us all to Las Vegas, one weekend.”

He made a face. “Blackjack is for math geeks who think they can count the cards and beat the odds, and little old ladies. Poker is for the pros.”

He set up her stack of chips as she considered his comment. “I don’t have any money to buy in,” she said, glad for the distraction.

“Your credit is good with me. Nickel, dime, quarter,” he said, pointing to the three different colors of chips. “Two raise limit. Nothing wild. Do you remember the rules?”

He set up his own chips and began to shuffle the cards, as she sat down. “Um… three of a kind beats two pair. And it’s foolish to try and fill a straight from the inside.”

He did a one handed cut and dealt the cards. “The lady’s already an expert. Five card draw. Ante up, Cathy. I intend to enjoy this.” He was almost relaxed, as he tossed his ante in.

“Is this how you made your first million, Elliot?” she teased, tossing the ante chip overtop of his and trying to relax, as well. The radio continued to play low, on a side table. It was always dialed to the same news station. She realized how much she longed for music.

“More like lost it, actually.” He smiled. “I think I kept trying to fill an inside straight.”

He watched as she deftly scooped up her cards, and grinned at her concentration. He quickly checked his hand. “You, ah… wouldn’t believe how much time I spent doing this, back when I was working as a deckhand.” He referred to his former life. She was literally now the only person in the world he could do that with. No-one else knew.

“Trying to tell me you’re good at it?” She tossed a nickel chip into the middle of the table. He matched it. They were going to play the hand.

“I’ll take two cards,” she said, handing two over.

“The lady has a pair with a high card kicker,” he said.

Catherine arched an eyebrow at him. “Maybe. Maybe I’ve already got three of a kind.”

He shook his head at her poker face. “If you pulled three of a kind out on the deal, you bet too low. Odds say you’ve got a pair. Or three cards of a flush, and you’re praying for the right suit. Maybe part of a straight, but those odds are long, if you asked for two. Dealer takes three cards.” He gave her what she asked for, then himself. Smoothly, like it was a thing he’d done many times.

She watched him deal himself the cards, and realized how much the game was revealing about him. His long, strong fingers sported a rich man’s manicure, and a signet ring – one that sported an initial he wasn’t born with – gleamed gold and onyx, on his little finger. A Rolex shone impressively, on his right wrist. But for all that…

He handled the cards like a pro, sliding his hand around in a one-handed shuffle, like someone who’d spent long hours playing the game. Catherine couldn’t picture him in such pursuits. I can’t see you playing a game for pleasure, she thought.

“You can make all sorts of deals over a card table. And I don’t mean ‘deal the cards.’” He answered her unspoken question. “You’d be amazed how many of my associates like Monte Carlo. I’m obliged to maintain a certain image.”

Ah. So it’s not just a game. It’s a useful tool. She picked up the cards he’d dealt her, but didn’t look, right away. “Do you size up everyone? The entire time you’re playing?”

His blue eyes glanced up from his hand. “Absolutely.” It was said with great finality. What other point does the game serve? He could have all but shouted it. He closed his hand, and tapped the cards to his chin.

“I took three cards. What do I have, Cathy? What am I trying to beat you with?”

She looked at the back of the cards, trying to pierce the red diamond pattern, then realizing she didn’t need to. “A pair. You have a pair. You kept two cards. So you have a pair. Or you kept your two highest cards, hoping to draw to at least one of them.”

He nodded. “Very good. So now all you have to do is decide if you have a higher pair than I do. If you’ve got better than eights, the odds are in your favor.”

“Why eights?” She was amused by him.

“It’s the halfway point. Six pairs will beat it, six pairs will lose to it. It’s not enough to just ‘have a pair,’ especially if you think your opponent has one. You want to have a good pair, if you’re going to ride them.”

“But I don’t know if you drew a card that helped you.”

“Neither do I, about you.” He mixed the cards in his hand, randomly, just for the pleasure of doing it. His thoughtful eyes never left hers. “Unless you give it away by betting big. But that would scare me off, and you want my chips. Bet a little low. Draw me in. If you think you can beat me.”

She was starting to appreciate why he’d done so well, in business. She picked up a chip from her stack and tossed it on the table. “Okay. I’ll bet you a dime.”

“I’ll see your dime… and I’ll raise you… fifty cents,” he said, tossing two blue chips onto the pile. For nicker/dime poker, it was a high bet.

She smiled at him. She’d been snookered. “You got the cards you wanted.”

He leaned forward, just a touch. “It will cost you fifty cents to find out.”

Catherine looked at her hand. She hadn’t drawn to the pair of nines she’d been holding, and she didn’t have a straight. Three diamonds a club and a spade didn’t make a flush, and apart from the nines, her high card was a jack of spades. It was a weak hand. The draw hadn’t improved it. He probably had her beat, if his bet was any indication.

“Fold,” she said, knowing she couldn’t beat a hand he’d been willing to bet so heavily on. She set her cards down.

He shook his head. “Pick them back up.” He reached over and put two of her blue chips on the table.

“I don’t think this is how you’re supposed to play the game, Elliot.”

“No, but it’s how you’re supposed to teach it.” He pushed the chips her way, then turned over her hand, revealing her nines. He put the cards back in her hand.

He laid his own cards on the table. He had nothing. Nothing at all. It was the worst poker hand she’d ever seen. And he’d nearly beaten her with it. “You… you—”

“I almost never bluff. But you can never underestimate the power to do so. And never forget that no matter how bad your hand is, bluffing is always an option. You don’t need to have the best hand, to win at cards. Or at anything else. You just have to convince the other players you do.”

“That’s why we’re here, isn’t it?” she realized. “We’re convincing other people we have the best hand.”

“Very good. They’ll panic. Bet too much. Give up too early. Overextend, trying to figure out what we’re doing.”

Catherine now felt she understood the aura of authority he so often carried. Yes, it was authentic. But she knew he wasn’t born with it. He’d acquired it, like his skill at cards. He’d probably bluffed his way through a lot of situations, at first. Back when he was just learning how to be Elliot Burch, rather than be Stanley Kazmarek. She was amazed by him.

But of course he’d know how to bluff, and when. His entire persona is a ‘bluff.’ But it’s a bluff he played until it became real. He’s like Devin, but he’s playing the long con, rather than a series of short ones. But he became what he pretended to be. He actually became it.

“Is that how you made your first million? Knowing when to bluff?” She was aware she was teasing him, at least a little.

The smile he sent her was electric. “Only the first half of it. The rest was all me.”

***********

They played for over two hours. Mostly, Catherine lost. This was just too much “his game” for her to beat him. But it made the time go by faster, and she was aware that the longer they played, the better she got. At first, she’d lost three hands out of four. As lunchtime neared, she was down to about two out of three. It wasn’t an impressive record. But she knew it was teaching her about more than poker. It was teaching her about Elliot.

His expression never gave anything away as to what was in his hand, and he bet quickly, and with the sure confidence that marked his days. When she commented about it, his reply was simple. “That’s a trick, too. In either a boardroom or at a poker table, don’t hesitate. Bet like you’re sure you’ve got the best hand, like you know you’re going to win. Start a project like that, too.”

“Look like you can’t lose?”

“Look like you’ve never lost. No matter how many times you have.”

She shook her fair head at him. “That’s not realistic, Elliot. Everyone loses, sometimes.”

He gave her another smile. “But nobody gets paid to look like they have.”

She played with her stack of chips, and picked them up, then clicked them down.

“And don’t play with your chips. It makes you look nervous. Or hesitant. In a board room, that’s the guy who’s tapping his pen, on the table, as he looks over the figures.”

“I never realized this game was so involved,” she replied.

“The game isn’t. Winning it is.”

He was self-assured, but not cocky. His easy confidence wasn’t an act. It was an extension of who he was. She appreciated that, about him. He wasn’t a man without virtues. After all, he’d risked his life, to save hers. You remind me of Vincent so much, in some ways. And not at all, in others. I hope you find someone, Elliot. Someone who appreciates all you are.

The news was a low hum, in the background.

She looked down at her hand, knowing this one would probably be the last one of the day, before they broke for a late lunch. “One card,” she said, taking the draw.

“Just one? Are you sure, Cathy?”

“Positive. And to make it interesting, here’s my bet.” She tossed a dollar in blue chips onto the table.

“Sounds like two pair. Or three of a kind with an ace kicker,” he said, matching her bet. “Or like you just missed a flush.”

“Maybe I have four of a kind.”

He chuckled at her bravado. “Yeah. Except that never actually happens, in real life. Dealer takes three. And I’ll match you. Just for kicks.” He tossed his chips onto the table, and dealt them their respective cards.

“How’s that pair you’re holding?” she teased, showing him she was learning.

He gave her a wicked smile, as he looked at his cards. “Better, now that it’s got company. Did you get a friend for your pairs? Draw a full house? Bet the farm, if you did.”

Catherine resisted the urge to fiddle with her stack of chips. “Tell you what. I don’t have a flush. But it will cost you another dollar to see what I’ve got.” She tossed the chips in. Considering how often she’d been losing, it was a considerable portion of what she had left.

Elliot glanced at his hand. He was sitting with three of a kind jacks, pretty sure he had her dead to rights. She probably had two pair. He knew he had that beat. Her big bet meant that she was trying to show him she could bluff, too. She was getting cocky. He liked that about her. He liked the way it made her smile.

He was about to fold the jacks just so he wouldn’t risk beating her two pair, when she goaded him, a little. “What’s the matter, Elliot? Afraid the student is about to beat the master?”

There was no way he was going to let that challenge pass. “Buck fifty. I raise.” He tossed the chips in, and so did she. He showed his jacks. “Can you beat that?”

With a triumphant smile, she showed her hand. There were no face cards in it, and the colors were a jumble of red and black. But she hadn’t been trying to bluff him. She had a straight, from the ace to the five. The lowest straight you could get, but still, a straight. She won the hand, and the nice pot that went with it.

“Nice cards,” he said, pushing the stack of chips her way. “What did you get on the draw? The ace? Or the five?”

“I got the deuce,” she said, showing him the two of hearts. It was the one card he’d dealt her.

It was the first rule of poker that that was the dumbest play in the world. They’d even joked about it, two hours ago. The odds against it were twelve to one. The worst in draw poker. “You’re kidding. You bet a dollar trying to fill an inside straight? And made it?” He shook his head at her, knowing the entire hand was a foolhardy gesture, on her part.

She stacked her chips. “Sometimes, you’ve just gotta take a chance, Elliot. Play the long odds. Even the really long ones. Sometimes, you win.” She glanced up his way. “Even when you shouldn’t. Even when everybody thinks you’re not going to win. Sometimes, you do.” I miss you so much, Vincent. Hang on. Hang on for me. I swear I’ll come home to you. We’re the long shot that’s going to make it. I just know it…

Elliot had the feeling she was talking about far more than a game of cards. But he had no idea “what.”

Just then, the announcer’s voice on the radio sounded more strident. They both turned their heads toward the sound.

“— explosion in the city, with three engines currently on the scene. New York District Attorney, John Moreno—”

“Wait. What? Turn that up,” Catherine said. Elliot was one step ahead of her, his hand on the dial.

“—has died. He was believed to be alone in the house at the time. To repeat: New York City District Attorney John Moreno was in his residence, when an explosion ripped through this normally peaceful neighborhood. Mr. Moreno has been confirmed dead at the scene. Investigators are attributing the explosion to a gas leak, which—”

Catherine shot up from the table. “John! John is dead…” Her hand went to her open mouth. She couldn’t believe it, in spite of Elliot’s prediction of just such a thing. “He… he’s dead,” she repeated, almost afraid to believe it was true. “It’s not… it can’t be possible…”

“I told you, if we waited long enough they would turn on each other.” Elliot finished listening to the newscast with her, then drew her into his arms. “I’m sorry for him if you are. But I told you he would be. It was inevitable.”

She grasped at his strength, needing it to steady herself. Catherine wasn’t sure how to feel. John Moreno had hired her. He’d even given her her first big case. She wasn’t sure when he’d gone bad. She only knew that there had been a time when she’d thought of him as an ally; a time when she’d thought of him with the respect due his office.

But his betrayal of her had shaken her to her soul. She was glad he was no longer a threat, to her, or by extension, Vincent, if he knew about him. But she couldn’t say she was glad he was murdered, thanks to the choices he’d made. There was too much heart in her, for that.

Maybe he could have changed. Maybe he could have turned his life back around. Testified. Gone into witness protection. I… I just don’t know. She felt Vincent’s gentle influence, in her thoughts. He’d taught her so much about redemption, it seemed impossible to damn someone like John, someone she felt must have been a good man, once.

“I… I don’t know how to feel. Angry. Sad. Relieved. Betrayed, still.” She inhaled deeply, or tried to. Her indrawn breath hitched. “I think he was a good man, once. But I… I just don’t know.”

Elliot let her lean against him, welcoming her slight weight, and her warmth. I’d hold you forever, if you’d only let me, he thought. “Feel what you want to, Cathy. There’s no right or wrong, here.”

She closed her eyes and relaxed against the wall of toned muscle that was his chest, and let him support her, for a moment. She glanced back at her chair as she felt her knees go weak. She needed to sit down. No, no, that was wrong. She needed to stay up. John was dead. She needed to get in the car, and drive. They could both return to the city, now. Surely they would?

“We… we need to get home. Get back to New York.” She staggered away from him and grabbed for the jacket she’d slung on the back of the chair.

Elliot blocked her way out the door. “Slow down, Cathy. Now who’s going off half-cocked? Moreno is dead. But Gabriel is still out there. And that’s who wants you. Who still wants you, as far as we know.”

He reached for her arm and tried to guide her, gently, back toward the table.

Temper flared in her green eyes. “No! If you think I’m going to sit tight while the man who betrayed me burns, you’re crazy.”

His voice was insistent. And his authority wasn’t “feigned,” it was real. “New York isn’t safe for you. It just isn’t. Gabriel has murdered the District Attorney! Do you think he’s going to stop, there? He’s tying up loose ends, and he’s looking for you, Cathy. For all you know, this is meant to draw you. You’re not safe anywhere but where you can’t be found.”

She yanked her arm out of his grasp. But I know someplace I can’t be found. It was a thing she could think, but couldn’t say. She missed Vincent so much, her arms ached with it. “Please, Elliot. I just want to go home.” She forced herself to maintain a reasonable tone.

It’s just an apartment, Cathy. You’re safer, here. Surely you know that? “He’s looking for you. He’s looking for me. And if he finds either one of us, we’re as dead as John Moreno is. Just a little more time, Cathy. I think that’s all this will take.”

She didn’t like his answer. Didn’t like the logic of it, and didn’t like what it meant, for her. “Damn it!” She turned around and her arm swept the table, sending cards and poker chips flying. The latter made a clattering sound, as they scattered across the wooden floor, then rolled onto the rug.

“Easy,” Elliot soothed. “You’ve just been cooped up in here too many days. Getting stir crazy. Hang in there, Cathy.” He scooped up the cards and tucked them into his pocket. “Try to remember what you got pulled out of. You don’t want to go back to that.”

She didn’t. She knew she didn’t. The image of being strapped to a metal table, bright lights shining in her eyes, the tape of Vincent killing a man playing over, and over, lanced her consciousness. And her conscience. Elliot had done nothing but save her life. And here she was, behaving like the rich debutante she swore she no longer was.

“You don’t need to remind me where I was.” She was angry. But not as angry as she had been, a minute ago.

Deep breaths. Deep breaths. Take it easy. Think! I have to do this right. Oh, Vincent. I wish I could just talk to you, about it. Somehow.

“I…I’m sorry,” she allowed. “I… I guess you’re right.” She bent down to help him gather up the poker chips. “I just… I feel so… impotent, here. Like I’m not really doing anything. Like we’re so… cut off.”

“— and in business news, Icarus Technologies announced plans to acquire a small, Australian pharmaceutical firm, possibly relocating its main offices to New York. Meanwhile, the S & P made no significant gains on the day, as —”

“Relax. Sounds like Cleon got the news, also. And he’s coming back to New York, from Australia.”

She set the chips back in their spindle, though they were mixed in color, rather than sorted. “How is it safe for him if it isn’t safe for us?”

“‘Safe’ is a relative term. Gabriel wasn’t holding him. He was holding you. You’re who he’s looking for. And I’m not leaving you. Not for anything, Cathy.”

Catherine put more chips in the spindle. “I’m sorry I got you into all of this, Elliot. If it weren’t for you—I might be dead, right now,” she admitted. Or wishing I was.

He watched her haphazard attempt to clean up her own mess. She looked tired, again. Like she had on the first day he’d saved her. You’re tired. You have a temper, but you don’t bear a grudge. You’re impulsive, but you can be reasoned with. Good things to know.

“You can thank me over dinner. Which looks like canned soup, again. Tomato or chicken noodle?” He let the incident pass.

Catherine followed him into the kitchen area, not caring which can he opened. “Doesn’t matter. You’re sure Cleon will be okay?” she asked.

“Sure as I can be. I have a feeling I know who he’ll head for, once he touches down in New York.”

“Who? Joe Maxwell? Please say it’s Joe. I want to know he’s okay.”

He flipped open a cabinet door. “I was thinking more of someone else. Someone Joe’s connected with. They assigned her to your case. She’s been looking for you since the week you disappeared.”

“Who?” Catherine asked, pulling out the saucepan from the drain rack.

Elliot eyed the shelf and reached for a can of tomato soup. “Someone you never met. Hair as red as the soup,” he said, opening the can and plopping it in. “I sent her a message, so she’d find out about Moreno. Her name is Diana Bennett.”

“Never heard of her,” Catherine said.

“She has a rep. They say she can find anyone. And I have a feeling she’s going to be the one to find Gabriel.  And put an end to him.”

We can only hope, Catherine thought silently.

***********

Chapter Thirteen

“Veritas”

“The truth is rarely pure, and never simple.”

Oscar Wilde

***********

Diana was no better than Catherine, at playing the waiting game. But a brief visit with the fire inspector assured her she didn’t have to wait for long for an affirmation of foul play, in the death of John Moreno. The fire at Moreno’s residence was arson. It was a thing only those privy to the investigation knew. Such things tended to draw the fire bugs out of the woodwork, confessing, and Greg Hughes doubted that many of them knew how to set up a rig this complicated. The device had been wired into the heating system. Once John had set it against the early spring temperatures, he was doomed.

“The boys at the lab say it’s not unlike the switch they put on Patrick Hanlon’s ignition system,” Greg said, reading the fire marshal’s report. “Once the heater came on… boom. What’s going on here, Diana? Do you know?”

“Only that Cathy Chandler is the only one who’s come up missing, in this whole thing. And the rats are running for cover. Even Max Avery has gone into hiding. That man values his skin far too much to risk it in a turf war he can’t win.”

“You’re sure he’s not dead, too?” Greg asked.

“He’s hiding out in the Caymans. He has an army of hired thugs for protection. And Elliot Burch is said to be in Australia, according to the news. Not to mention the flight plans filed by his private plane.”

“Burch? What does he have to do with this?” the detective demanded.

“I’m not sure. But Burch handed over a bunch of evidence that should have put Avery away. And I might as well tell you, Greg. Joe Maxwell and I think John Moreno destroyed that evidence. That he was… in on all of this, somehow.”

Greg Hughes gave a low whistle. “You’re sure?”

“Yes…” Diana nodded. “Sure as I can be, given what I know. We’re keeping it quiet, for now. I want whoever was running Moreno to show himself. I don’t know if he will. Joe said to try looking at those who attend John’s funeral. So that’s what I’m going to do.”

“What about Cathy Chandler?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did. I’m still looking. For all we know Burch has carried her off to Australia with him, if she’s still alive. It would make a weird kind of sense.”

“But you think the East River’s still more likely?”

“I can’t rule it out. I’ve got a van in a parking garage registered to Burch Industries. With bullet holes in it.”

Greg gave a low whistle. “Think it means anything? Think he crossed whoever got John?”

Diana put tired fingers to her forehead, and rubbed her temple in a circle. “Maybe. Those bullet holes in that parking garage tell their own story. Why would her kidnapper risk keeping her alive? It makes no sense that I can see. What more did he want from her? She’d be a liability.”

Diana shook her head at the confusion in Greg’s eyes as he tried to follow her logic. She rubbed her forehead. “But I’ll keep looking… and praying for a miracle, until she shows up, alive or dead.” She blew out a stream of air, causing a red curl to lift, then settle by her fair cheek. Then, she was all business, and on the move.

“So what do you need from me?” Greg asked.

“I’m going to need access to Moreno’s office. I think he was too careful to leave anything behind that could help, but… I gotta try. Y’know?”

Greg nodded. “I do know. Good luck, Diana. Keep me posted.”

“Of course. Good luck to you, too.” We’re both going to need it, she thought.

***********

Six hours later, she’d emptied John Moreno’s desk, gone through all the files in his credenza, checked his office phone records against his home ones, and made a neat stack of the papers culled from his garbage can, looking for anything that might be a clue. None of it helped.

She wasn’t sure what she was looking for. She could hardly expect to find ‘Catherine Chandler is being held at this address’ on top of a piece of paper, with explicit directions on how to get there. Much less directions on where her body had been dumped, if that had been the case. And Diana considered the latter far more likely an outcome than the former, right now.

As she searched through Moreno’s belongings, a few odd things stood out: He’d been to the evidence room twelve times, in the last four months. Not an odd thing in and of itself, but there had been a flurry of activity there, right before and after Joe had met with Patrick Hanlon, as if Moreno knew something was up.

The bomb in Hanlon’s car confirmed that something had been. The bad guys were on the move, Diana thought, wondering which files Moreno had tampered with, or been looking for, then. It couldn’t have been the files regarding Avery. That case had already been settled, a few weeks prior. He was probably hoping to find a clue that led him to the book everyone seemed so interested in. The book none of them seemed able to decipher.

On a scratch sheet of paper slid under John’s desk blotter, the names Hanover Norton and Molloy Davidson had been typed, both banks, and neither something John should have had much to do with. Below that, a brief inscription, in Latin. ‘Veritas te liberabit – G.’ Diana frowned at the note. Somehow, it seemed important. It could have been just a stray note, one that accidentally made its way beneath the blotter. On the other hand, it could have been hidden there, on purpose. She had no idea.

She scowled at her watch, not knowing where the time had gone. She’d worked clean through dinner. Hours ago.

Boxing up some of the contents of John’s office, she carried them to the elevator, and from there, to her car. As she joined the stream of traffic, she hoped she had something in the loft that was still edible. When she was working, that wasn’t always the case. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. Her options, like her supply of food, were becoming less by the day.

Where are you, Cathy Chandler? Please be alive. Joe Maxwell needs you to be. I don’t want you to be found in the East River tides…

Diana compressed her lips as she reached her designated carpark beneath her building. She was increasingly doubtful that she would find Cathy Chandler alive...

***********

She got out of the car and stacked the boxes so that she could carry them, in her arms. Crossing towards the entranceway, she saw movements in the shadows that made her pause in mid-step.

She cursed that her gun was trapped in her armpit holster. She took a defensive stance. “Who’s there? Show yourself!”

The tall black man who detached himself from the corner of her building was unknown to her. But considering he wore a Brooks Brothers suit and a London Fog coat, she considered that at least she wasn’t about to get mugged. Probably. He was wearing a leather shoulder holster underneath both jackets. Diana could tell by the way he held his shoulders.

She paused, settling between fight or flight, watching him, warily. She was hampered by her armload of boxes. But she didn’t doubt she could just drop them and outrun him, if needed.

“Can I help you?” she demanded, in her best no-nonsense voice.

“My name is Cleon Manning,” he said, calmly flashing her his ID. “And I do believe you want to speak to me. Something about a note you’re looking into?”

She assessed him as quickly as her nimble mind would allow. “A note. Did you send it?”

He shook his head. “No. But I work for the man who did. Shall we have this conversation somewhere less… public?” He gestured toward the entrance to her building.

“Very well. After you.” Diana circled him, keeping her distance.

They stepped together onto the elevator, and rode it to her floor. When they reached her loft, he tugged down the gate, after them, then pressed the button that locked it into place. He obviously didn’t want them to be interrupted. Or he wanted to keep her from getting out…

Great. Maybe he is about to kill me, after all. Yet, he made no threatening move, nor did anything to indicate he was hostile. And assassins rarely flashed ID, first.

He watched her move into the room, but he didn’t offer to help her with the boxes. He did glance down at the contents of the top one as she passed him. John Moreno’s nameplate was sitting at an odd angle, inside the cardboard receptacle.

“So, how can I help you?” Diana elbowed on the lights before dumping her load onto her dining table.

“I can see you’ve been busy,” her companion commented, pushing up his sleeve to glance at his watch.

Military. It fit what Diana was learning about the rest of him.

“Not as long as yours. Long flight?” Diana asked, heading for the refrigerator. She was considering a drink, over food. If this man meant her harm, he’d had time to do that, already.

Cleon shot her a look. “How did you know—?”

“Your coat flapped open as you pulled down on the grate. I saw your passport, in your inside pocket. And your watch is still set for a different time zone. Very different.” Australia, maybe? She tugged open the refrigerator door. Its interior was mostly bare. Condiments rattled, in the sparsely populated shelves. The milk had gone off, again.

“Very good, Miss Bennett.” Cleon nodded. He appreciated a quick mind. Probably more than most men did. “After this is all over, you might have a future with my boss. Elliot Burch.”

I thought so. Australia, it is.

“Elliot Burch, you say…” Diana took out two bottles of beer before closing the refrigerator door with her elbow.

She was both surprised to hear the name, and not. On the one hand, Elliot’s name had come up a lot, lately, and he’d once been romantically involved with Catherine Chandler. On the other hand, that didn’t explain why the man who probably ran his security service was standing in her apartment. She decided to make conversation, while she appraised him some more.

“Is he with you?” she asked. “Did you fly back, together?”

“Nope.” The big man unbuttoned his suit coat as he gave her an appreciative look. “He isn’t anywhere near, and hasn’t been. A little game of smoke and mirrors we’ve been playing.” He dropped his hands.

Okay. “Judging by the cut of your jacket, he pays you very well to do his dirty work. Or whatever it is you do. Were you a detective, for long?” She offered him one of the beers, but he declined. She shrugged as she returned one to the fridge, twisted off the cap on the other one, and took a long swallow.

“Couple of years on the job. And I’ll resist the urge to ask you how you knew.”

She answered him, anyway, revealing the mental acumen for which she was known. “It’s late, and you’re as tired as I am. But you’re not slumping. Your shoulders are held back, thanks to the leather on your shoulder holster. Judging by the telltale bulge under your jacket, I’d say you’re carrying a standard issue .38, just like detectives use. Both the holster and the size of the gun are comfortable, for you. You’re familiar with them to the point they don’t bother you.” She nodded to the gold ring on his left hand. “You’re married, but you don’t have the look of a man tied to his woman. Your actions are your own, when it suits you.”

She took another long swallow of the beer, and watched him, as he assessed her and her loft, in return. Right now, he knows where every exit is, that there’s no food in the fridge, and there are three messages on my answering machine. He figures there’s a gun in my holster and another in the desk drawer, but knows the kitchen knives are closer. What do you want, Cleon Manning? And what does it all have to do with Cathy Chandler?

“I see you got Mr. Burch’s note,” Cleon observed, tracking brown eyes back to hers.

“Not in time to make any good use of it. John Moreno died in a fireball. Someone got to him before I did. Max Avery has fled the country. Something big is going down.”

“And that annoys you.” Cleon smiled thinly. “Moreno’s master moved a bit… faster than anyone would’ve liked,” he stated. I didn’t care if you’d tried to save John to testify. I just wanted you to know he was dirty. That he set up Catherine Chandler.

“I don’t like being played, Mr. Manning. Where is Burch? His secretary would only say he was travelling overseas. With no number where he can be reached, apparently. And yet, here you are, without an invitation.”

Cleon studied her face and the hungry look in her eyes. She was thorny, and running out of patience, and he knew it. He kept his tone cordial. “I’m not playing you when I tell you I have no idea where he is, Miss Bennett.” He kept his hands where she could see them. Professional courtesy.

She believed him. But she also knew a plausible denial, when she heard one. You don’t know where Burch is because he didn’t tell you. Fine.

“Do you know where Cathy Chandler is?” she asked, hoping.

“Nope.”

Damn. “Then you’re not going to be of much use to me, Mr. Manning. And here I thought we were about to become friends.” She stepped closer to the butcher block. Just in case. “Did you know John Moreno was dirty before he was killed?”

“Not until just before you did. Not until it was confirmed that the evidence went missing. Someone has been very thorough.”

He strolled over to her refrigerator, deciding to take her up on the beer she’d offered. Opening the door, he fished the liquor out from behind a sad carton of milk that was two weeks past expiration. Uncapping the beer, he saluted her, as he closed her fridge with a bump of his hip.

“We can still be friends. Provided we both live through this. That ain’t a threat. Just an observation that the bodies been droppin’ kinda fast. Someone’s cleaning house.”

Diana studied him closely over the lip of her beer bottle. You’re tired, and your accent is starting to show. You’re originally from Queens. Maybe.

“They might be.” She relaxed her stance. “How did you know evidence was missing?”

Now you’re asking the wrong question. Come on, Diana. Ask the right ones, Cleon thought.

He sighed, eyeing the brown bottle, then her. “Miss Bennett, I’ve had a long career. And Mr. Burch gave me enough money to put forty good men on the street, then eighty, after Catherine Chandler vanished. Do you really think not one of those men has friends on the force? Do you really think I don’t? Do you really think Elliot Burch, smart as he is, doesn’t know what it means when a pile of evidence doesn’t net a conviction, for Max Avery?” He scoffed at her, then drank his beer.

Diana was properly chastised. “Sorry. Like you said, it’s been a long day,” she replied, joining him in the drink. She set the glass bottle down, on the counter. “Do you have friends who intentionally set fires in drug warehouses? Do they hold shoot-outs in vacant parking garages, just for fun?” She paused, considering. “That was you, wasn’t it?” She had a feeling. She decided to go with it.

Ah. I see we’re back on track. Good girl. “Yes, that was me. And I have those friends. Did you find out who owns the warehouse? Why it was important?”

“A dummy corporation. They’re trying to trace it, but everybody has a feeling they won’t be able to. And the DEA says the warehouse was loaded with enough cocaine to make a Bolivian drug lord blush.”

“Makes one wonder where all the money from selling it goes through.” He took a long swig and then set his bottle down, beside hers. “I’d start looking at, say, Hanover Norton Trust…”

“That is the name of the bank from Joe Maxwell’s book.” And tucked under John Moreno’s desk blotter.

“The very one.” Cleon smiled grimly.

She studied his handsome, brown features. He looked middle-aged steady, calm, and capable. Like he couldn’t be rattled, no matter what. And like the very sort of person Elliot Burch would hire – if not trust. “So you’re telling me that the man who owned that warehouse was the man John Moreno was working for. The one he was being paid well, to protect. And by extension, the one who ordered Catherine Chandler to be grabbed.” Joe Maxwell was right.

“The very one.” He saluted her again. “Very good. I’ll also tell you this, because none of us may have time for you to find it out on your own. The name of the man John Moreno was working for. It’s a man named Gabriel.”

“Gabriel…” She remembered the note. “Gabriel with a ‘G.’ Huh...”

“No other way to spell it I know of,” Cleon replied. “Why?”

“There was a note under John Moreno’s desk blotter. Just a scrap of paper.” She nodded toward the boxes, then went over to look inside it. “‘Veritas te liberabit.’ Mean anything to you?” she asked, hunting for it.

Cleon shook his head, behind her back. “Sounds like lawyer’s Latin. You’d have to ask Cathy Chandler.”

“Catherine…?” Diana turned around so fast she nearly knocked the cartons off the table. “She’s still alive?! But I thought you said—”

“I said I didn’t know where she is. That’s the truth. But I know who she’s with. She’s with Mr. Burch. Or she was, a few days ago. The fire at the warehouse? That was a distraction, to help her get out. And if he’s still alive, so is she.”

“You got her out in a van. A black one.”

“And got shot at, for my trouble. Imagine that.”

“Then Cathy Chandler… she’s still alive. And with Burch. You’re sure?”

“Sure as the fact I’ve been up for the last twenty-one hours. But that doesn’t mean they aren’t both in danger. Gabriel is not a… forgiving man. Those who fail him – or cross him - come to a sticky end.”

“John Moreno…” Diana stared at him. “Catherine’s still alive. You’re positive.” She wanted to hug him. “That would change everything…”

“Glad to hear it.” He tugged a notebook out of the breast pocket of the London Fog, wrote down an address on a slip of paper, and offered it to her. “This should be where Gabriel is hiding out. Be careful. I don’t have to tell you he’s as dangerous as a cornered snake.”

“If you know where he is, why don’t you and your eighty men just go there?” she asked, taking what he offered. She eyed what he’d written. It’s an expensive area. Business offices, mostly. Very high end. Lots of security. Very… exclusive.

Cleon moved toward her elevator, then slid the lift door open, indicating they were done. “Because I’m not the law, Miss Bennett. You are. And if Joe Maxwell ever wants to see Catherine Chandler alive again, Gabriel has to die. There’s no court in the land that could ever convict him, and no-one would ever be safe. He could still run his empire from a prison cell.”

So, you’ll burn down a warehouse, but you won’t murder a man. But you’ll let me know where he is, and tell me the law won’t hold him. You’re very smart, Mr. Manning. And so is Mr. Burch.

“What did Gabriel want with Catherine Chandler?” Diana asked.

Cleon shook his dark head. “I have no idea. Neither did Mr. Burch. But the death of John Moreno makes this something a lot of people in law enforcement would like seen drawn to a swift close. The publicity alone would be … damaging. Wouldn’t you say?” he asked, as he tapped the button that unlocked the controls.

Diana was being set up again, and she knew it. “I told you I don’t like being played, Mr. Manning.”

He entered the elevator and pulled the overhead gate down after himself. He addressed her through the steel grill, as he began to descend.

“None of us do, Miss Bennett. None of us do. That doesn’t mean the game’s not happening…”

***********

Chapter Fourteen

“Aloneness…”

“Home is anywhere that you know all your friends and all your enemies…”

Orson Scott Card

***********

Vincent walked an ever-decreasing circle from the edge of the cliff overlooking the Great Falls, to the entrance and back again. His boots kicked small stones from the rugged edge into the swirling waters, but he didn’t notice.

Geoffrey had told him all he’d been able to discern, in his conversation with Joe Maxwell. Catherine’s boss and good friend had no idea where she was. He’d even asked the youngster for his help…

Vincent could feel the uncertain balance of his mind tipping back towards insanity. He fought to keep himself anchored in the rational world, secure in the light of Catherine’s love…

If only I could find her… or any lead to where she is…

‘Fool… Lovelorn idiot…’

Vincent’s great body shuddered but he didn’t reply to the carping voice of his darker self.

The memory of Catherine’s love was all he had to cling to now. But she was not here to guide him. Not here to tell him how much she loved him, against all the odds and all the barriers that had always stood between them. And she was in danger. In danger, thanks to him… thanks to what he was…

‘I will not allow you to deny me… not after all we have been through… together…’

“Leave me alone!” Vincent clasped his head in his hands, and focused on what he knew, rather than what he didn’t.

Geoffrey had spread the word among all their helpers, in the city. No one had seen Catherine, or Elliot, either alone or together. Vincent still didn’t believe Burch had left the country with a woman who’d needed to be wrapped in a blanket. But no one had seen them, or even heard a rumor. No one seemed to have any idea where she was, or if she was even still alive. John Moreno had died in an explosion. Jake had spotted the van, and Elliot, days ago, now.

Vincent was no closer to the truth than he was over a month ago, when Catherine had first disappeared from his life…

He had retreated to the falls to think. And to form some kind of plan to find her, no matter the cost… He reached for their bond. Again. And came up empty. Again. If only I could sense you. If only I could feel you as I used to be able to do…

The darkness hovering at the back of his mind sneered at him. ‘She's with Elliot Burch now, who has money enough to see her safely hidden anywhere in the world. Places you cannot go. Ever. What if she never comes back to you? What then, oh, Foolish One…? Who will you cling to, then…? The old man? The whore? No. No, you won’t take her up on it. You forget, I keep the best part of you, safe in my keeping...’

Vincent’s hands clenched against his temples. “Catherine lives! She will return. And when she does, she will never leave my arms, again. That I swear!”

‘Oh, you’re so sure, so certain of nothing, based in fact. Why are you persisting with this reckless obsession? She will always make you unhappy. Father was right to tell you not to hope…’

“I didn’t ask for your advice,” Vincent snapped, aware he was engaging in a conversation he’d tried desperately to resist.

‘Ask or not, it’s all the same to me.’ The darker half of his soul sniggered derisively. He had made his renewed presence known in the parking garage, and now he haunted Vincent’s dreams, and deepening moments of self-doubt. ‘I am everything you chose to deny…’

“You live only to torture me…” Vincent looked down into the swirling waters at his feet. It would be so easy to topple forward and allow all his cares and fears to be swept away in the tide that lead only downwards, into oblivion.

‘Do it then, coward! Go on, I’m not here to stop you. Kill yourself over a mere woman. It’s of no matter to me what you decide. But remember, I will always be with you… even down there in the darkness… Hamlet said it best. “To die. To sleep… perchance to dream…” Go ahead. Do it. In hell you will be mine, alone. Mine, in every nightmare…’

“I will not give you the satisfaction,” Vincent growled. “Catherine…” He dropped his hands, sharp nails digging into his palms, in frustration. Her lovely image swam before her eyes. It was a memory, only. But it was something.

He felt as if his heart would burst with love for her. He moved back from the edge and hunkered down. Turning his face from the falls, he tried to formulate a plan.

The Darkness chuckled. ‘You’re hoping she’ll return? Why should she? I told you once she wanted a lover, not a mute fool! Surely you, of all people, should know better. This is a romance that can never be. We both know that, if nothing else. It will always the poet’s path for you, not the husband’s. That’s for another, more worthy man, to fulfill…’

“She will return to me. I can feel it. She is trying, even now…”

‘Now, we both know that’s a lie! You “feel” nothing, and we both know it! You forget, Hopeless Dreamer, how well I know you. I am a part of every one of your thoughts. Remember before she came? I hoard what we had, waiting for the time when you will be mine again. Lie to yourself, if you wish, but never to me. I live with the consequences of every one of your actions.’

“As do I. I never asked for you to be born. I was content with my solitary life. And the peace of certainty.”

‘There you go again, thinking you know everything. We’re both aware of when I was born. In the very moment that little minx, Lisa denied you. It was my hand that tried to stay her. My claws that marked her soft skin. My open-handed swipe that would’ve crippled Father with one slash, if you’d but released me.’

Vincent sighed wearily. “I know when you were born. I remember the instant of it. There was… pain in it. For me. And… surprise.” It was the only word Vincent had to describe it. In one moment, he’d been alone with Lisa. In another… someone else had been in the room. Someone who wasn’t Lisa. Or Father. Or him, exactly.

‘They had to restrain us,’ his Dark Self complained. ‘I didn’t like that. I was not born to be chained.’

“They had to restrain you,” Vincent replied.

‘So you say. Despite your surprise at my appearance, your will was too strong, even then. I detest these shackles you have me bound in, as much as I despised the ones they used. I command you, set me free!’ The voice grew seductive. ‘We can do so much, together…’

“Never! And my will is even stronger now.” Vincent rose to his feet, turning back towards the cavern entrance. “I hate the sound of your voice.”

‘No, you don’t. Because you need someone to talk with. There’s no peace in this kind of stillness. Only despair. You’re desperate for someone who understands your dilemma, your obsession over yet another woman who will reject you, eventually. Here I am, ready and waiting to help you see sense. You’ve always been a fool. A seeker after things that can never be yours…’

“If I must, I will go out and find her. Even search outside the city, if I have to.”

The derision in the voice was palpable. ‘What do you need with such a soft, city woman? She lives, and breathes, in the light. With Burch. Your place is in the darkness, where you’re safe, with me.’

“You know nothing of what I want. Or what she is like. She is nothing, to you. Leave me be. Or I will banish you again. I have done so, before.”

‘The man hath claws with which to rend asunder. Very well, I will freely admit, those are frustrating times when you’ve succeeded in locking me away. But my return was inevitable. Like the other night. You were too late again to save her, and your much-vaunted guard was down. It was as if I never left you…’

“I do not need you. Or your advice.” Vincent tightened his fists, trying to ignore his Other Self. But, he could not dismiss the truth of His dark words.

‘Do you remember, Vincent? That night you first named me?”

“You do not deserve a name…”

“Yes, I do! Don’t you remember, even that one, little bit? I was impressed. You said, and I quote, “You remind people of what they’re most afraid of…” do you remember what it was?’

“Their aloneness…” Vincent replied harshly.

“There you go! Was that so hard? I like it. It has power. Aloneness. I’d never had a name before. I think it suits me very well. All names have power, don’t they? Vincent, the Conqueror - of nothingness…”

“I did not name you. You assume too much. You are nothing to me.”

‘Liar. You named me twice. When Mouse asked you what love was. Don’t you remember, you impotent fool?’

He did remember. “Mouse asked me what it felt like… to have a love…” Vincent could have wept for the sweetness in the memory.

‘And you said…?’

“I said… she was the end of my—”

‘Aloneness!’ the being inside him crowed. ‘But I am not ended, am I? You are everything, to me. Don’t you see, Vincent? I will always be here, for you. We’re a part of each other. The Yin and the Yang of it. Blood brothers from an unknown mother. As I said, I hold the very best part of you. You need me, now. Remember how I kept your soul alive, when all others abandoned you to the howling darkness of despair that came, after Lisa ran from the sight of your rage... and then with your beloved Catherine, when you could have killed her in that cave? Who was there for you? Who is always, always here? When they leave you alone? When they leave you with nothing? Who is here…?’

Vincent dropped his head, remembering the adolescent boy that he’d once been. The boy who’d discovered he was destined to be alone, for the first time… and had refused that sentence, terribly. “I will allow I may have needed you, once… But, I do not need you, now. Remember those chains that you hate so much?”

‘Reckless Lover! She will be the end of you, my brother!’

“Perhaps she already is. But, if that is to be my fate, then I freely accept it. I can no longer sit here idle while others try to help me.”

‘I will not allow it! If you choose that path! What will become of me…?’

“I neither know, nor care. We will speak no more.” Vincent tightened the mental chains, and the carping voice inside his head was choked into brooding silence, for the time being.

We’ll be together again, Catherine. I swear it, he vowed. The night-time sentry tapped the message on the pipes. It was after eleven pm. The newspapers said Joe Maxwell was due to be released from the hospital, tomorrow.

You’ll have a visitor in your apartment, Mr. Maxwell, Vincent vowed, knowing the risk he was taking was a terrible one. He was being forced to reveal himself. He had to offer to help find Catherine, using whatever a newly-released Joe Maxwell might be able to determine. It was the only way.

Even if it might doom him to a cage, for the rest of his life – as long as that might be.

Vincent gave a further mental twist to the chains that bound his Alter Ego. He had no care for what the Alone part of him thought, about that.

***********

Chapter Fifteen

A Dream Within a Dream…

“I had spent my whole life feeling homesick. The only difference between the two of us was that I didn't know what or where home was…”

Marian Keyes

***********

Vincent lay in his bed, craving the oblivion of much-needed sleep. His internal fight with his darker self had left him adrift, and despairing.

He rolled his head to the side, trying to find the faintest trace of Catherine, in his pillows. She had lain here when she’d first come Below, and often, his senses threw up the memory of her. He clutched the blanket that had held her to him, and breathed in.

There… he found her, burrowing deeper into the warmth of her unseen presence and closed his eyes. It was almost as if she was here, with him, in the darkness behind his eyelids…

I will risk anything, for you…

Vincent knew where Joe’s apartment was, and how to access it, without being seen. Tomorrow night, he would try to visit Catherine’s old boss. It was the desperate act of a desperate man. But he was out of all other options. Which was to say he had no plan, save a reckless one. And he knew it. He tried to reason the best way to go about it and realized there simply wasn’t one. Exposure was exposure. It was a risk he would have to take. He opened his eyes and took in his bedside candle, wondering if he’d see it again, after tomorrow. It doesn’t matter. I’ll find you, Catherine. I’ll find you, my love.

As the hours crept slowly on towards dawn, Vincent’s eyelids drifted shut, and he found himself moving in a strange kind of twilight that slowly dissolved into a brightly colored place of trees and open fields. A sudden awareness that he was no longer alone sent a frisson running up and down his spine… it was almost as if their bond was trying to reassert itself, and bridge the gaping distance that had lain between them, ever since he had fallen desperately ill…

A young woman dressed in a white tunnel costume stood in the middle distance, watching him. She waved one hand, her face bright with a loving smile, as she moved quickly towards him, with lithe grace. Of course he knew her, the very moment she paused just a few feet from him. Sunlight drenched her hair, and warmed her beautiful features. He had played this scene over and over, a million times, in the darkness of his own mind…

‘Catherine…? Oh, Catherine, I have never stopped looking for you… please believe that…’

‘Vincent… I know… I have missed you so much… How I’ve longed to see you again… but we are here… now…’

He embraced her, and held her hand, firmly, in his. ‘Catherine. But how can it be, that we are standing in sunlight...?’

‘It’s because I wished for it. With all my soul. I had another such dream once, where we walked together, hand in hand. And no-one looked twice. We had a picnic and wanted you to kiss me.’

‘I want to kiss you…’ He sighed at the thought. ‘You also dreamed I was leaving you, then. I could never leave you, Catherine. I will never, ever, leave you, again... it would break my heart…’

He struggled against the truth he knew. She was still missing. He’d not seen her in more days than he cared to remember living through. ‘Catherine, when you disappeared, I feared… I mean, I felt I may never see you again. And now… this… you and I, here together… nothing makes any sense…’

‘I have always been with you… I have always wanted to show you everything. And now I can. We can go anywhere…’

‘And we will always be together?’ It was the desperate hope of a desperate heart.

‘Of course we will be together. How could we ever be apart? This is our world… we’ve created it for us alone…’

‘Catherine, surely this is a dream?’ He knew it was. But she denied it.

‘No! No, it isn’t a dream, Vincent. Everything is real, because it’s what I wished for, more than anything… I have missed you so much… I knew you would find me…’

‘But… I haven’t found you. And I do not belong in the light, Catherine. I cannot stay here with you…’

‘Yes, Vincent, you can. The two of us…in the sunshine. I love you, so much. You are so beautiful…’

‘Catherine, I’ll always be a part of you. What you see in me is the beauty of your own soul. But how can we live here…?’

‘Because it’s all so perfect…this moment. I’ve never been so happy! I cried for you, and you came to me…’

‘If only it could last forever…’

‘It can. We will. I love you so much! Remember what you told me, when I had trouble believing? When I first woke up in your bed? It's all true. It's all true, Vincent. We are. Everything is.’

‘But... we cannot be together in the light…’

‘Why not? You know there is no darkness, when you're with me…’

What? Who had said that? When? Had she? He struggled with a memory he couldn’t grasp, right now.

‘Catherine, no. This is not a place for us. I must leave before we are discovered. I must go…’

‘No, Vincent. No-one will find us here. Please, Vincent!’ She was trying to keep him there, even as he knew it was the last place he could ever stay. ‘Don’t leave me here, alone! Come back, please! I love you! Kiss me, and you will see…’

Vincent knew he shook his head at her. ‘No more than I love you, Catherine. I swear it. But if I kiss you, I will remain here, and I cannot…’

“Catherine…” Vincent thrashed around on the bed, and clutched at the covers, trying to ameliorate her heartache. His cheeks were wet with tears. Tears of sorrow. Tears of frustration. He could almost taste her skin against his mouth, her lips soft and warm beneath his...

‘Though lovers be lost, love shall not. And death… and death shall have no dominion…’ he quoted wretchedly, as the beloved vision of her began to fade.

***********

In the darkness of the living room, Elliot heard Catherine cry out in despair. He leapt from his chair beside the low-playing radio and crossed the floor to the bedroom door in a few urgent strides. Catherine needs me…

The room was in darkness, but he could make out her shape, huddled beneath the afghan. She was sobbing quietly into her pillow, as if her heart would break. He hurried to her bedside and bent down.

“Vincent…” Catherine whispered in a despairing tone. “Vincent! Please… no… don’t leave… stay with me…”

Elliot froze in the moment of reaching to cradle her cheek, and awaken her from what he presumed was a nightmare. His searching fingers closed into an impotent fist.

Vincent…his analytical mind latched onto that one name, and tore it apart, seeking the ultimate truth. A man’s name… Vincent… the conqueror…

He straightened, his hand falling uselessly to his side. Vincent…

He now had a name, the name of the man Catherine presumably loved, judging by the way in which she said it, as if her heart was breaking. He now had someone tangible to fight, and not some half-glimpsed shadow.

Before him, Catherine settled, and quieted. “Though lovers be lost…” she whispered. She drifted back to what looked like a fitful sleep, then she stilled. Either her nightmare had changed into something more pleasant, or she no longer dreamed. Elliot wasn’t sure which one was true.

He turned away and headed for the door. It was time they planned their next move. The sooner the battle was joined with her unseen lover, the sooner Elliot would fight to win… I’m going all in. Betting all that I have. I hold at least a few aces. It will be enough.

The man who’d made half his first million by playing the odds hoped he was right…

***********

Chapter Sixteen

Leaving Providence…

“I would enter your sleep if I could, and guard you there, and slay the thing that hounds you, as I would if it had the courage to face me in fair daylight. But I cannot come in unless you dream of me...”

Peter S. Beagle, The Last Unicorn

***********

Elliot was up, dressed, and having coffee at the table, before Catherine was even able to struggle out of bed. Shadow-eyed, unkempt, in a borrowed cotton robe that needed a good iron, or at least a trip through a dryer they didn’t have … she looked worse for wear, and she knew it.

And the dream of Vincent wouldn’t quite leave her. I’m coming home. Don’t you doubt it. No matter what. She’d felt connected, to him. The fractured bond between them had seemed to be trying to reassert itself. She prayed it was so.

She eyed the tidy room. It looked as it did the morning they arrived. The couch had been returned to rights, and the pillows were sitting in their tiny corners. The quilt was folded as well, and arranged across the back. The front door was uncharacteristically open, and the tangy smell of the Atlantic Ocean was coming through the screen door. This was a pretty place – in any other circumstances.

She sat down heavily in the chair, opposite Elliot. He pushed a cup of coffee towards her, before holding up his hand. “Before you say it, I know. You want to go home. But, your apartment still isn’t safe, Cathy. You must know that.”

She accepted the cup, and took a too-hasty sip. It burned her tongue, making her gasp. “I am going home, Elliot. If I have to swim across Block Island Sound, I’m going home.” She stared into his blue eyes which were assessing her too closely. “I must go.”

What he said next surprised her. “Okay, I understand.” He reached under the table, and produced a well-travelled leather valise. It was already packed. “Point me in any safe direction. I’ll get you there.”

“What is this?” She rubbed her tired forehead, knowing he was going with her, no matter what. She couldn’t just leave him here. And she couldn’t shake him off. They’d gotten into this, together. They would have to get out of it the same way. She knew what that meant. One step at a time. I’m going to have to take this one step at a time. First things first.

“New York.” She stared at him levelly. “We must to go back to New York. I have to get back inside the city.” Her heart jumped at the notion of freedom.

Elliot’s steady gaze didn’t alter. “It’s our funeral.”

Catherine didn’t miss the use of the mutual pronoun. He punctuated the sarcasm with an almost casual shrug.

She took another sip of the black coffee, needing its strong hit of caffeine. “You’re being very agreeable, all of a sudden. For someone who thinks I’m about to get us both killed.”

He set down his cup. “That’s because I figure you have a plan. So, where to? Where does Vincent live, Cathy? “Where do we hole up? Some attic apartment, in Queens? Some basement, in Chinatown?”

She didn’t have time to formulate a coherent reply before he rose from the table and crossed the room to dump out his coffee, in the sink. She realized he’d put away all the dishes in the drain rack. The open door now made sense. He’s airing it out, in anticipation of closing it up, again.

“Closer to the latter than the former,” she replied, evasively.

“Good to know. You do know he’s still out there. Gabriel.” He turned, and leaned against the sink, arms folded across his chest. He was wearing tan chinos and a white dress shirt. Give him a pair of sunglasses and he’d be the picture of a rich man on vacation, she realized.

She nodded, at his assertion. “Help me, Elliot. If you needed to sneak into the city without being seen, how would you do it?”

He shrugged. “Travelling alone? Put on something less… reputable. Take the car to the North Line Rail Yard and ditch it. Hop a freight. If I get spotted by a railroad dick, just pass myself off as another tramp, trying to catch a free ride. None of that is something I would do with you. A bum hopping a freight is nothing remarkable. Doing it with a woman in tow, is.”

“Our being together is a problem, then. It makes us easier to spot.”

“Our being together has always been a problem, Cathy,” he said, the words pregnant with meaning. He walked over to the open door and closed it, gently. It made the space more private, again.

“This has always been about someone named Vincent. Hasn’t it?” he asked. “Don’t try and deny it.”

“I’m sorry…” His use of that beloved name caught her unawares, and made her heart race. “I don’t know what you mean…” She struggled for composure.

‘Vincent, my love… I’m coming home…’

Her feigned look of surprise almost amused Elliot. “However you guard your tongue when you’re awake, Cathy, you talk in your sleep. And you look like hell. And we’re driving back. The van was made. The car wasn’t. You can nap in the back seat, if it’s sleep you’re needing. At least for a while.” His tone let her know he was far from pleased, with any of this.

“I don’t know what to say… But, thank you, Elliot…” She wasn’t about to discuss Vincent, or anything else, with this man. He saw too much already. And he had heard more than she’d intended.

She defended her choice. “Joe Maxwell has been in the hospital for as long as I’ve been missing. I have friends, in the city.” Or beneath it. “Friends who can help us. We’ll be in a safe place. I can promise you that, if nothing else.” Her gaze dared him to ask for more information.

“We’re already in a safe place. And there are only so many reasons against trading the one for the other.” He let her digest that, as he brought over the pot and topped up her coffee, then took it over to the sink, to wash it.

Cathy eyed her now-full cup. “Elliot, I know you don’t agree with—”

He cut her off, letting her know the decision was made, no matter what. “I want to get back in touch with Manning. If I can.” And I want to meet Vincent. Time I sized up the competition. Finally. “That means I need to find a pay-phone.”

Catherine drained her cup and rose from the table, bringing the chipped ceramic mug with her. She slid it into the dishwater and came to stand beside him. She picked up a dish towel. She’d dry while he washed. By now, that was habit, between them. “Do you think Cleon knows something?”

“I think he knows more than I do, right now, and I’ve never liked that feeling. But we’re sticking our necks out.” He washed her cup with sure hands. “This may be the wrong move. And if it is… we won’t know it until it’s too late.” He handed her the now-clean coffee cup, so she could dry it. “But I think we’re going to do it, anyway.”

Catherine took it, with nerveless fingers. Too late. Too late smart. Too late… everything. Visions of the elevator door opening before John Moreno’s inscrutable face reared up to haunt Catherine. Two men with guns had flanked him. It was the last ‘free’ moment she remembered, until Elliot had pushed her down a hallway, on a gurney.

We’re taking an awful chance. But I need to. I’m dreaming of Vincent. Maybe that means something’s wrong. Maybe he’s… calling to me. Without our bond… how frantic he must be. What if he suffers a relapse…?

“So. Chinatown?” Elliot confirmed.

She came back to present concerns. “More like back to mid-town Manhattan.”

‘Vincent… wait for me…’

“Now that’s really sticking your head right into the lion’s mouth…” Elliot shrugged. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

You really are desperate, Elliot thought. So what is he? An investment banker? Some… art dealer, from the district? A lawyer, at your dad’s firm? How come I’ve never seen the guy? Maybe he’s some down-and-out guy your dad wouldn’t have approved of…’

His big hands flexed unconsciously, beneath the cover of the dishwater. He could feel them going around the guy’s throat and squeezing…

He finished washing the coffee pot, as she kept talking.

“We will be safe,” Catherine hastened to reassure him, before he changed his mind. “You must believe that. I think we should wait until it’s dark. It will take us a few hours to drive there, and—”

Vincent… oh, Vincent… I will see you again… at last…

Elliot shook his head, as he handed her the now-clean coffee pot. “No. You wanted my advice on how to get back in? The best way to blend in is to stay with the crowds. New York has eight million people in it. We can use that. If we’re going to be moving around, we need to move when they do.” He pulled the plug on the drain, as she settled the dried pot on the counter.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure as I can be. I want to be on that bridge in the five o’clock rush. There are a million cars. And you’ll be driving ours, at that point. I’ll be under the blanket, in the back seat. With the gun close by. We’ll hit the city at dusk.”

“Why you? Why not me?” she asked.

“Because once we’re in the city, you know where we’re going, and I don’t. And Gabriel is looking for you, sure. But he spotted me when I got you out, so he’s looking for me, too. For all he knows, you were shot when we escaped, or died from whatever they pumped you with.”

He took the dishtowel from her hand hung it over a bar. “We’ve been gone over a week. Plenty of time for us to split up. Not to mention that Cleon planted the rumor that we’re in Australia, you and I. Gabriel’s probably tearing up the Outback, right now.”

Catherine smiled. “Misdirection. Make your opponent look somewhere else, while you sneak around right under his nose.”

“Just like Harry Houdini said. Toss your things in a bag, Cathy. It’s going to be a long day. We need to make a start right now.”

Catherine all but raced into the bedroom, happy to comply.

***********

Elliot loaded the car, throwing what little they had by way of luggage into the trunk, next to a Styrofoam cooler he filled with ice and a few cans of soda. Some towels from the cabin joined the mix. “In case we’re stopped. It makes it look like we were headed for the beach,” he explained.

More misdirection. Of course, Catherine thought. It was almost a reflex, with Elliot. He’s doing it to help us. He’s doing it to keep us safe. He doesn’t know how happy he is making me… It wouldn’t do to view him uncharitably, when Catherine knew that was true.

His instructions were simple. “We’re gonna need to stop at a gas station. We pay in cash. And we don’t stop to make conversation. We look for one that has a standing phone booth, outside. Not one bolted to the wall.” Catherine nodded.

“Is that how you’ll call Cleon?”

He checked his watch. “If we make it there before two, yeah.” He opened the passenger door, ushering her in. She’d traded the rumpled robe for a pair of jeans and a soft, olive green pullover, paired with a tan jacket. Her brown boots looked sturdy enough for any walking. She appeared as casually comfortable as he did.

“What happens after two o’clock?” she asked.

“If it’s Tuesday, he leaves a bar in Washington Heights. If it’s Wednesday, he stops hanging around a taco place, on Third. If it’s Thursday…”

“I have no idea what day it is.” In spite of days spent listening to the radio, she realized that without a regular routine to stick to, she’d missed out on that detail. It felt unsettling, to acknowledge it. She realized how much planning it took for Elliot to do all of this. What are the things you do I’m not even aware of? she wondered.

“Don’t worry. When we stop for gas, you can buy a newspaper. Time to go back to the real world.” He didn’t sound pleased about that. She settled in the car, and he closed the door, behind her.

Inside Catherine, her heart soared. Home. I’m going home. Before this day is over, I’ll be holding Vincent. – And having to explain to everyone why I had to tell Elliot. She settled a pair of face-concealing sunglasses on her nose and rolled down the window, as they pulled away from the little cottage. The breeze felt good. It still carried traces of the ocean. The same ocean that flowed into New York Harbor.

She breathed it in, gratefully. Home. I’m coming home. It’s felt like forever. Vincent… I love you more than life itself…

The little house outside of Providence slid away, in the rear view mirror, and quickly vanished, among the surrounding trees.

***********

Elliot drove skillfully, with the steady authority that marked almost everything he did, and once more, Catherine was reminded that this was a man who’d made his living around machines. He seemed comfortable with this one, in spite of the fact that it was neither new, nor high-end. She wondered if it was just that he was comfortable with any kind of machine. Bulldozers, dump trucks, cars… Lord knew he dealt with enough of them. Catherine realized that he even approached playing poker like it was a mechanical exercise, of sorts. It was an idle thought.

***********

They stayed off the interstate highways, and kept to either state roads or back roads. Trees rolled past, as they moved west. Catherine didn’t recognize any of the verdant scenery. When they’d come in, she’d been unconscious, in the back of the car.

The first phone booth they passed was near a gas station outside Hartford. Catherine hurried to buy a newspaper and discovered it was Tuesday. She stood silently beside the booth, while Elliot fed quarters into the phone. He held the receiver so Catherine could hear the conversation. Thankfully, no one else was nearby.

“Hi. Denny’s Watering Hole?... You don’t know me, but there should be a black man sitting near the end of the bar. Well dressed. Probably drinking scotch, but not in a hurry about it. He’s wearing a wedding ring, and he fiddles with it when he’s bored. Don’t ask me his name, just hand him the phone, and tell him I said there’s a twenty in it for you, after we hang up.”

Elliot waited until Cleon came on the line.

“Hey Boss. You still alive?” It was said with a slight chuckle. “Figured as much.”

“Maybe,” Elliot deadpanned. “How’s the Scotch?”

“I’ve got bunions that are older. You heard about what happened to Moreno.”

“Yeah. Couldn’t happen to a nicer guy. Any other news?”

“Nothing good. Nothing bad, either. Some of the cockroaches are scattering. The big one hasn’t. But he’s tore the city apart, looking for you. The jet’s fueled and ready, any time you decide to come to your senses. Just say the word.”

“I don’t need it, yet.” Elliot looked at Catherine, meaningfully. “And they can tear down the whole damn city, for all the good it will do them. We aren’t there.”

“Yeah, thought not. I gave Diana Bennett an address. We’ll see what happens. Friends say they look real busy, down at the station. Probably gearing up to raid the place.”

“Joe. Ask about Joe,” Catherine begged, in a stage whisper.

“Joe Maxwell. Any word?” Elliot relayed.

“He’s out of the hospital. Due for a promotion, according to the papers. Bennett paid a visit to his apartment to keep him in the loop. That’s all I know. I’m glad to hear you’ve still got that pretty lady with you. I knew you’d keep her safe. There are some mean folks who’d pay good money to find her.”

“Don’t I know it.” Elliot checked his watch. “Thanks, Cleon. Time for us to get off the line. I’ll call you, later. Tip the bartender a twenty.”

“Twenty!”

“What are you yellin’ for? It’s my money.”

“Boss, one day soon, we gotta talk,” Cleon complained. “Until then, be seeing ya. Take good care of that girl. I got skin in the game, too.”

“Goes without saying…” Elliot replied, watching Catherine’s intent expression closely.

She looked away as he cut the connection. Catherine faced in the direction of New York. Now for the hardest part of all… Vincent, can you feel me returning to you?

***********

They gassed up the car and left the station. But they’d only driven only about twenty more minutes down the road before Elliot came to a major intersection. One set of signs pointed them south, to New Haven. From there, it would be a fast drive down I - 95 into New York. Catherine knew it. So did he.

The other way kept them on the meandering state road they were already using. It would take longer, but would keep them to the back roads Elliot seemed to prefer.

A rest stop sat almost between their two choices, a large, green, grassy area, full of picnic tables, water fountains, and an obligatory set of rest rooms. Elliot pulled off the road, and ambled into its parking lot. It looked fairly deserted

“Do you need to check the map?” Catherine asked. They had gas, and they’d both taken a bathroom break at the gas station.

“Maybe,” was all he replied, pulling up on the gear shift lever to put the car into park. “Let’s stretch our legs.”

Catherine got out of the car, wondering at his strange mood. The man who insisted they needed to stick to some sort of schedule didn’t seem like one inclined to take many breaks, while travelling. Maybe this is a good time to try to prepare him to meet Vincent, she thought.

Elliot set his fists on his hips. “Where you’re taking us. It wouldn’t happen to be through that same set of tunnels we walked along when we made it off the docks, that one time. Would it?” he asked.

Catherine took him in. “Something like that. What made you think of it?”

He shrugged nonchalantly. “Only so many safe ways for us to move around, once we hit the city limits. And you’re familiar with it. You can’t live in a hole in the ground, Cathy.”

You’d be surprised. “We’ll be safe there. For as long as we need to be. You have to trust me, Elliot.”

“Trust…” He walked out a ways into the grassy area. She followed him. “That seems to be a word we keep having to use, between us.”

So it does. And I’m going to have to trust you with the most important secret I know. Lives depend on you being able to keep it. Vincent’s life depends on it.

“You trust Cleon Manning,” she pointed out.

“I pay Cleon Manning. There’s a difference. But yes, I trust him. And I trust you. Even though I have no idea what you got tangled up in.”

What she’d gotten tangled up in had to do with Vincent. Not yet. He’s not ready, yet. But I don’t have much time.

“Back down we go,” he said it easily, as he looked at the trees. Green was exploding, all around them.

“Thank you. I know that trust is … hard for you,” she replied.

I’d trust you with my life. And yet… you have your secrets. Don’t you? And you don’t intend to share them, even when I asked you to…

He looked around at their verdant surroundings, deciding not to pursue those secrets, for the moment. “I don’t know how old I was before I saw green grass. Really green. Five? Seven? Central Park, maybe. Maybe one of the others.”

He breathed in the smell of tall pines and mown grass, even as the road wasn’t far away. She did the same.

“I loved the trees in the park,” she replied. “Not the grass, so much. But I loved the trees.” She remembered climbing them, much to Charles Chandler’s terror.

He began to walk, and she fell in step, beside him. “You like the trees because you liked to climb them.” He knew it, from the conversations they’d had while playing cards, or just sitting in the cabin, this past week. “And you like the symphony more than the opera, and chocolate more than strawberry. You were afraid of the dark, as a child, and a couple of years ago, you struggled with your mother’s passing, even though it happened when you were ten. You worried that she’d be proud of you, of what you’ve become. I was listening, Cathy. And I heard more than you know.”

He had been. And in the days they’d spent together, they’d talked, often. He felt very close to her. And she, to him.

“You worried about your Mom, too,” she countered. “But it couldn’t keep you here. And you like art, even though you think the prices are ridiculous. You aren’t religious, but you never wanted to leave St. Peter’s Basilica, once you found it. Or the Acropolis, because the buildings were so beautiful, so important, in their way. You’ll eat soup out of a can and not complain, but you like a Delmonico steak cooked rare, along with a bottle of Cabernet. I was listening, too, Elliot. You know I was.”

“Ah, huh…” Elliot turned toward her, and blew out a steady stream of air. “Yes. Yes, you were. I beg you to listen to me now, Cathy.”

She paused, indicating that she would.

“We can still do this. Get right away from this place, and all its dangers. I have a villa in the south of France. And another in Spain, just outside Barcelona. Beautiful orchards, on the latter. Oranges, mostly. You can climb them, if you want. The smell, when they’re all in blossom… well. It’s amazing.” He paused. “You say the word, and this car turns around. We head due north until we hit an airport, then we call for my jet. And we fly out from there. We never have to come back here… ever. If that’s what you want…”

“Just like that?” Just throw it all away on a whim? Start over somewhere? Completely? What is it you think you’re offering me, Elliot? Do you think it’s my dream? Or is that yours?

“Just like that, my beautiful Cathy,” he answered, honey in his tone. “It is easy…”

Ah, but it wasn’t ‘just like that,’ was it? And life with Elliot would never be so simple. Even if he made it sound like it could be.

“There’s a Swiss chalet, if you find that more tempting. We could go there. Wait ‘til all of this… blows over. Then… see what happens from there.”

I see. The ‘no pressure’ approach. Because you know the pressure-filled one won’t work.

“Elliot… I know you think you’re offering me something lovely—”

He cut her off, gently. “We would be… so good together. So good, Cathy.” It was tenderly said, and firmly meant. He was using his most persuasive tone. The one that had made him millions. It was all the more effective because he honestly believed he was telling the truth. “I can give you the world, anything your heart desires, and never count the cost…”

“I know you think that now, Elliot. I know you truly think you mean it.” She stepped away from him and shook her head. “And even if… even if some part of me agreed with you…” She shook her head again. “You mentioned a name I said in my sleep. Vincent. I… I love him, Elliot. I know that hurts you. And I’m sorry for it. But I do. I have never stopped loving him.”

“Vincent…” His blue eyes were tracking her as she moved, and he’d become perfectly still, willing her to continue speaking. She recognized it for the tactic that it was.

“This isn’t a… a negotiation you can win. But I’ll always owe you. I’ll always… want what’s best for you. But he needs me…”

“I do understand that, Cathy. I’m not asking you to deny that.”

“Then what are you asking me?” Her green eyes shone with confusion.

He stepped closer. “Just that… before you make any decisions.” He eyed her naked ring finger meaningfully. “That you understand … no matter what… there’s something between us and there always has been. You agreed to marry me… once…”

He picked up her left hand and gently placed a kiss on its bare third finger. His breath was warm, as he pressed his lips softly over the only place a wedding ring would go. It was a courtly gesture, even as it was an intimate one.

“I would care for you, and love you forever, because you’re the most precious thing on earth, to me…” On impulse, he turned her hand over, and pressed a single, lingering kiss, in the center of her palm.

She startled at the sensation of his warm lips caressing her skin, and he felt the almost immediate tension in her arm, as she tugged her hand away just as he closed her fingers over his kiss, keeping it safe. Elliot looked up, and caught her expression.

She wasn’t just ‘surprised’ and she wasn’t angry. She was… discomfited, for lack of a better word. Like it had been a long time since a man had kissed her. Anywhere. “Cathy?” he questioned softly. Her odd look remained.

What in hell is going on here?

“You… you can’t do that,” she stammered. “You… you don’t understand the meaning of love. Not the way I do. Not the way… he taught me to understand it…”

She was blushing. Catherine Chandler was blushing. Furiously. It was an involuntary reaction, and one she clearly couldn’t control. Elliot was as surprised as she was, by it. You’re too sophisticated to be doing this. Unless it’s just plain been so long that…

Elliot consulted his considerable memory. He knew he’d kissed her full on the mouth, back when they’d been dating. More than once. And never had her cheeks pinked, like they were doing now. On the docks, when he’d determined to make her his with that one, long kiss, before they would’ve been killed…

“You just can’t,” she repeated, struggling to regain control of her equanimity.

‘Vincent…’ her heart cried out.

Elliot watched her confusion, the disbelief in her eyes. Maybe I can’t. But nobody else has been kissing you, have they? It was a thing he knew with rank certainty. Yet, you say you’re in love with someone else? Why does everything about you make a certain amount of sense… until nothing does?

He waited until her complexion returned to something close to normal. “I’d apologize. But we’d both know I didn’t mean it. What gives, Cathy? I don’t pretend to understand what’s between you and Vincent.” How can I, when you won’t tell me? “But you can’t deny that there was something between us, once. Something special.” There was fire in it. There was attraction. You were this close to being naked in my bed. “Very special. There still could be. You do understand that.”

Catherine blessed the breeze that was cooling her skin. Get it together, Chandler. She knew she had to step carefully, here. Elliot was a man with no small amount of pride, and a considerable ego. Cutting down either one would do her no good. And might do all of them harm, in the long run.

I understand we’ll always be friends. And of an incredible and unique kind, considering. But that’s all.

“I do understand that,” she said simply. It was the truth, after all, even if it wasn’t what Elliot meant, exactly.

He gave her the truth of his heart. “Every time I’m with you, I end up… changed. Being with you helps… mold me into something better, Cathy. You always have.”

Catherine almost smiled. “My friend would say ‘It cannot be taught. It was always within you.’”

They both knew she’d just quoted Vincent. She suddenly felt him with every fiber of her being. A stirring, an awareness that wasn’t there a heartbeat ago… She frowned… Their bond…?

“That’s a very quaint idea.” Elliot blinked, at her odd bit of wisdom, wanting to know more about his rival, so he could beat him. “I know I’m in love with you. Still. I know that’s what’s ‘within me,’” he replied. “Inconvenient though it is. For everyone. Thank you for not telling me I don’t feel it.” He was being civil, yet wary.

You’re such an amazing man. You risk so much. You fight so hard. Sometimes, you fight yourself. And sometimes… Catherine stepped closer to him, and gently took his face between her hands. One good truth deserved another.  “Elliot. Incredible, irreplaceable Elliot. One day, I think you’re going to do something wonderful...”

He held her wrists, liking her hands where they were. “If it brings me you, I guarantee it. The view from the top isn’t all bad, Cathy…”

She shook her blonde head softly, and her honey hair moved across her jacket-clad shoulders. “No,” she denied gently. “It’s not about me. It’s not about me… because it can’t be.” We aren’t going to be together, Elliot. There will always be the one who stands between us…

“But one day. One day, hopefully soon… you’re going to find yourself someplace. Someplace you didn’t expect, maybe. And you’ll look up, and you’ll see… the most beautiful face you’ve ever seen.”

She brought her hands down, and his slid to hold her fingers. And her expression changed, and went from one of cajoling to one of pure love. He knew she was seeing ‘him.’ Not him, not Elliot, but the face of the man she truly loved.

It was in that moment Elliot knew he stood very little chance with her. But he wanted that love; wanted it directed at him. Oh, Cathy…

“And that face…it might… surprise you at first, for some reason,” she continued. “You might not even see it for what it is, that first time. But as time goes on…” Her sincerity was a palpable thing, between them. “As time goes on, you’ll realize it’s the one face you can’t, just can’t be without. Even if no-one else sees what you do. Even if no-one else understands.”

She disentangled their hands, and stepped away. He didn’t like the feeling. What if I say that’s already happened, for me?

“It hasn’t, yet. Not the way it will,” she said, as if she’d been reading his mind. “But it will happen for you, Elliot. Sometime… maybe when you very least expect it to.” And if this is my fate, I accept it. Gladly. She turned, and walked back to stand near the car. He followed.

“That’s what he is to you? The most beautiful man you’ve ever seen?” Elliot asked. He had to know. No matter how much it hurt.

Catherine, her love for Vincent still in her eyes, could only nod. “That’s what he is to me. The most beautiful… man I’ve ever seen,” she echoed.

Elliot barely caught her hesitation over the word ‘man.’ He wanted to demand more information, but the look on her face forestalled him.

“He is everything to me…” Catherine froze, sensing something dark moving across her inner vision. A forbidding presence that tried, but failed, to suppress her sudden awareness. A growl of discontent made her shiver. Somehow, she sensed she knew that presence…

Bright colors suddenly began to swirl in front of her eyes, and a certain warmth began to filter through her system, heightening her awareness of all around her. It was as if she was seeing everything for the first time. A dark curtain had been lifted from her subconscious mind, allowing sunlight to shine in.

Vincent… it was as if he was right beside her… she could feel his love filtering through her very soul…

“Feelings change, sometimes,” Elliot was saying to her. His voice brought her back to their current reality.

“It’s what he’ll always be,” she answered. Always… The odd feeling of connection simmered down, yet remained.

Elliot frowned. Yet, you aren’t together. Near as your friends know, you never have been. Nobody knows him. Why? There are only so many answers, to that one. And that means I still have a chance…

Elliot gave it one, last ditch effort, trying to pierce the aura of secrecy that this whole thing seemed shrouded in. “Is he married, Cathy? Is that why—”

“No…” She shook her head, and the breeze teased her hair. It was getting longer than she normally wore it, thanks to her captivity, and her time with him. “No. No, he isn’t married,” Catherine answered. “Not everything is as simple as… building a skyscraper, Elliot.” She clearly wasn’t going to give him any specifics. “He is simply… Vincent…”

The name echoed throughout her whole being. Sparks seemed to fly from it, warming her blood with a new intoxication.

“Considering my luck with getting skyscrapers completed when you’re around, I’d say that’s not exactly ‘simple,’ lady love,” Elliot replied roughly, deciding to dispel the intense atmosphere by going around the car to the trunk. He opened it and reached in, then grabbed a cold soda from the Styrofoam cooler.

He popped the top and took a long swallow, enjoying the subtle bite of the carbonation, as it went down his throat. It wasn’t 30 year-old Scotch. But it would have to do. He brought her one. She accepted.

He looked out at the road. A few cars whizzed by. We’ll go the fast way. Then hang back until the traffic starts to build. He wanted to be in the rush hour chaos, harder to spot, in the throng. “We’ll head to New Haven. Next time we stop, I’ll get in the back, and I’ll toss you the keys.”

She nodded her agreement. He drained the can.

Time for the last draw of the cards. Everybody gets one more. Then they play what they’ve got. Win or lose.

“We’re burning daylight. We better get a move on.” He opened up the driver’s side door and slid in, letting Catherine do the same, for herself. He jammed the key in the ignition, and the old Ford roared to live. All eight cylinders of it. The engine made a sure, steady, rumbling sound. Elliot had always liked the sound of a big machine. There was a comfort in power you could rely on.

Like he’d always relied upon himself.

Elliot knew one thing for certain, as he turned toward New Haven. And it had nothing to do with powerful machines, shadow corporations, Gabriel, or the threat that hung over all their lives.

It’s time for me to meet this guy you say that you love. And it’s time for him to meet me… and we will see which of us wins the final hand…

***********

Chapter Seventeen

The Way Ahead is the Way Back…

“In the space, the pause between this breath and the one that follows, you have made a home inside me…”

Tyler Knott Gregson

***********

“I have one or two things I must explain to you,” Catherine conceded, as the car finally entered Central Park, under the cover of late evening. “And you can never tell anyone, Elliot. No-one, ever. Not even Cleon. You must promise me this one thing, or it all ends here, for us.”

As she spoke, she drew the car smoothly to a halt, in a secluded area of the park. She cut the engine and pocketed the keys, before she turned in the driver’s seat to watch Elliot, as he sat up in the back seat to look around.

“More mysteries…?” He avoided giving her the reassurance she sought. He looked through the window.

There was nothing to see beyond grass, trees and a bush-lined, old concrete culvert in the distance, with a meandering trickle of water running from it. Not much of a place to hide…

“Hang on…” He frowned. He wanted to demand… ‘Hey, haven’t I been here before?’… But he bit back the question. He waited to see the hand she would play now. He suspected he was closer to the truth than he was, before. You swore me to secrecy about this place once before. Remember, Cathy?

“I’m deadly serious, Elliot. We can’t go any further until I have your agreement. You must promise me.”

So you’d rather stay out here with the possibility of being seen, and caught, rather than risk God knows what, to wring a promise out of me…? You’re crazy… He grimaced. “If it gets you out of the car and under cover, then fine. I promise…”

“No, Elliot. You have to mean it. It’s very important to me. Don’t just say it because you want to save both our skins. I will leave you here, and you will never see me again.”

“Never see you…?” Elliot blinked at this new, forthright Catherine. She still looked the same, tired and drawn, without a trace of make-up, and yet… she looked like some ancient warrior queen, glaring at him with her green eyes full of fire...

You’re protecting a secret. Fiercely. One nobody knows about. Elliot knew only one secret she had which no one seemed privy to.

“You protect him,” he marveled. “This Vincent of yours. Amazing. I see it all, now. What sort of hold does he have over you?”

His frowning gaze swung back to the culvert. He tried to replay the path they’d taken underground, after his father had been killed above the docks. But he’d soon been lost in all the twists and turns. He was sure this was the way out she’d shown him, all those months ago. He’d never tried to go back. He’d never had reason to, until now.

“He has no hold over me, at all. Not the kind you mean.” Catherine thrust open her door and got out. “He trusts me implicitly, as I trust him.” She retrieved the keys and unlocked the trunk.

So whatever this is, you both know about it. He eyed the culvert. And now I will.

“This is too weird.” Elliot followed her, helping her unpack their gear. “There isn’t any place to hide, out here. And nothing is going to help us down there, in a bunch of musty, old tunnels. Surely you can see that, Cathy? How will we survive?” He locked the car and pocketed the keys. He felt a sudden need to possess them.

“You don’t know everything, Elliot Burch,” Catherine replied forcefully. “There are places and people you have never dreamed of.” She slung her bag over her shoulder.

“I find that hard to believe.” He eyed her as she took a stand beside the car, arms folded aggressively across her chest. Her stance challenged him to ask more questions. To delay their bid for safety just because he wanted answers. Answers she was not prepared to give.

He matched her stance, showing her he could be just as stubborn as she could, even when he was capitulating. “Very well. If you remember, I didn’t say anything about it after the last time we were here.” He sighed heavily, looking about for any safe bolt-hole they could use for cover. There was nothing beyond the drainage tunnel. He scowled at it. “I promise never to reveal whatever it is you’re hiding out here, somewhere. Now can we please go, before we’re seen…?”

“Thank you, Elliot. Follow me.” Catherine nodded, before hurrying across the grass and down into the concrete channel leading to the drainage tunnel.

“Besides, who would I tell?” Elliot threw his hands wide, before picking up his case and following her lead. “They’d lock me up and throw away the damn key…”

Catherine bent slightly, carrying her Elliot-bought luggage down the concrete tunnel. Elliot hurried after her, his height making the trip more uncomfortable, for him. He was grateful when they both straightened into a junction with two other tunnels. One opened to his left, while the other was covered with a huge steel door and a barred gate. There was nothing to be seen but sand, and a dusty silence; one that hung in the air like a tangible presence.

“Hell of a place to hide,” he grumbled. “We’re trapped.”

Something unwelcome stalked up his spine. There was no sense of the familiar here, even though he knew he’d escaped this way once before. He could swear he was being watched. A crazy notion he put down to too little sleep and too much adrenaline. This place looked utterly abandoned, fit only for rats and vagrants…

“So, now what…?” He demanded, looking around. “This is getting a little too crazy…” He felt on edge and out of his depth. “And it looks worse than it did the last time we were here.” Of course, she’d hustled him out, then.

“I did wonder if you remembered any of it.” Catherine crossed the dusty floor towards the barred gate. “This time we will be going far deeper than before.”

“How much deeper?” he demanded to know. “What’s down there?”

“A magical place.” Catherine smiled for the first time in a long while.

Elliot bit his lip to hold back a more derisive remark, as he watched her. This new, more assured woman didn’t seem to want his opinion, or his help. She seemed to know what she was doing…

Catherine tugged on the iron bar gate, and it gave easily. The steel door slid silently back under her hand, as she reached for a hidden lever beside it, revealing a murky tunnel that led away into a deeper darkness, illuminated dimly by a string of lights, along the wall.

“Great.” Elliot shrugged. “Down the rabbit hole we go, again…” He walked to her side. “You’re really sure about this, Cathy? I mean, the car’s still outside. We can still make a run for it. My jet’s ready to take us anywhere we want to go…”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” she replied, quickly, stepping into the tunnel mouth, without a backward glance.

“Curiouser and curiouser…” Elliot had no choice but to follow her into the darkness.

He had the distinct feeling she would leave him behind, on the wrong side of the gate, if he didn’t follow. Catherine pulled the steel grill shut before reaching to operate another lever, and the steel gate rolled shut behind them, with a clang that echoed hollowly down the dusty, dim tunnel ahead of them.

Why are we here? he wondered. Is this where we play our last hand? “Lead on, Queen of hearts,” he directed.

Catherine chuckled. The first real laugh Elliot remembered hearing from her.

“Just follow me.”

Vincent… I’m here. I’m coming home. She willed him to feel it.

***********

Chapter Eighteen

Home is Where the Heart is…

“Where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts…”

Oliver Wendell Holmes

***********

Vincent hovered in the darkest shadows of the alleyway beneath Joe Maxwell’s apartment window. He watched as Catherine’s boss moved to stand in the window, looking out into the darkness. He looked lost and alone, a feeling Vincent could sympathize with.

Vincent had stood there in the deepest shadow-fall since late afternoon, debating what to do next. Father didn’t know he was here. No-one did. Mouse had been his only company for part of the journey, as the tinker went Above, to look for treasure. But Vincent didn’t tell his good friend what he was about to do. He knew that everyone would try and stop him from this rash move that could threaten everything he held dear – and his life.

But he could not stand idle, waiting for something to happen, for some sign that may never come. In spite of what he told Geoffrey…if anyone has any clue as to where Catherine is, it will be this man, Vincent thought, knowing he was about do something incredibly rash. He was about to expose himself to another human being. One who had no warning of who or what he was. The results could be… disastrous.

“I must do this, for Catherine…” He moved the tip of one boot into the moonlight, easing his way forward. He knew he could scale the building easily, and find his way inside. He advanced another step, easing along the wall behind him, feeling his way towards the corner.

‘Vincent, I’m here… I’m coming home…’

“Catherine…” His heart jumped in shock.

‘Vincent… wait for me…’

He spun around, his cloak swirling out into the night. His keen eyes hunted for any sign of his beloved. Her voice was so clear and close, but yet…

‘Vincent… oh, Vincent… I will see you again… at last…’

“I long to see you again, my love…” he whispered it, somehow sure she’d heard him.

He felt her stop moving. Felt her surprise. ‘Vincent, can you feel me returning to you?’

“I can feel you, Catherine…” Colors exploded across his inner vision, in an assault that stripped him of his breath. He could sense her once more, moving through his very being like a ghost, her love settling into every fiber and corner of his soul, making him whole, once more.

‘Thank you. Oh… thank you. My love!’

In the same moment, Aloneness stirred within him, growling his discontent, hissing with distaste. ‘Enough of this maudlin behavior! It sickens me! Remember what I told you, my brother! This cannot be. Do not listen to her! You’re acting like a lovesick fool. I’ve been holding the very best part of you in safe keeping. She seeks to steal it from me…’

Vincent drew his booted foot back into shadow. “She’s alive. She is near,” he asserted. He felt sure of it, even though he couldn’t immediately sense her direction. “She is returning to me…”

‘For how long? How long, this time? You fail to see what is right in front of your lovelorn eyes. Why am I alone in this knowing?’

“How long she stays with me doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, but Catherine. ‘Though lovers be lost—’”

‘Stop quoting that nonsense! Why do you think you haven’t been able to feel her these last months?’ The question was a slap. It was meant to be.

Blue eyes flickered widely open, taking in all available light.

“I don’t know,” Vincent admitted. “I’ve never understood why—”

‘Oh? Don’t you? Don’t you just?’

Vincent replayed his memories. Not just from the last several weeks, but from before.

Aloneness had been born the night Lisa had been taken from him. He knew that. Knew that, and had wrestled with it, until they’d had to restrain him. In a way, it had almost been comforting to have the dark part of him there, in the room. It was at least better than being alone – Alone. The thing he now knew he was destined to be. Utterly.

But then…

Spirko… Spirko, and his pictures. Threatening to take Catherine away. Threatening exposure, for him, humiliation, for her, and… what?... for his people?

He would be alone, again. So alone. Worse even than the first time…

Realization, when it came, was terrible. The animal part of me… it couldn’t have…

“No...” It was a whispered word. “You… shattered our bond. Tore it from me. Held it…”

‘Yes! It was me. Who else is strong enough to rip your fabled bond from you?’

Vincent was horrified. Never had he realized the dark being inside him could be so vicious and cost him so much. He stepped far back from the window where Joe Maxwell still stood. “No…” he insisted, a little louder.

Not having a bond with Catherine was part of why she’d been able to be taken, in the first place. Without the link that tied them, he’d been unaware of her peril. And her location. He was unaware of the latter, still.

“You didn’t... you couldn’t…” Disbelief still staggered him.

“I’m the only one that could! So, of course, I did! That was all my doing. It wasn’t easy to wrest such control from you, even at your weakest and most defeated, you still tried to defy me. But I persevered, and I won! One of my proudest moments, I must say…’

“You!” Vincent accused with a growl. “It was you who kept our bond from me! All this time, you kept me from finding, and saving, Catherine! She could have died!”

‘So many have. What is one more? Some collateral damage is inevitable. But I was forced to look at the bigger picture, since you would not. Who else is here to save you from yourself, brother mine? From the consequences of your own, rash actions in saving that woman in the first place? You forget, I have done everything I must to keep you and I together… I will not be a party to your destruction, at her hands. I cannot live without you, just as you cannot exist without me. I am Aloneness! And I will always be with you!’

Vincent turned his back on Joe Maxwell’s building and faced the wall. “I can, and will exist, without you! Never again will you interfere in what you know nothing about! Leave me! Now!” Vincent tightened the control he kept on his darker self, crushing all dissention beneath the weight of his iron will.

‘No! We can still be together!’ the dark part of him tried to bargain. ‘In the end, I have been your savior. I’m all you can rely on, brother! Everyone else will leave you! Listen to me! I know what I’m talking about. You —’

‘I say, begone!’ It was a scream in his mind, and a determined thrust of his powerful will. He gave a mental ‘shove,’ locked inside his own fury.

Somewhere, inside of him, a dark door slammed shut with the clang of finality. Mental bolts and chains sealed it, forever… The sensation of another, unwelcome, being living inside his mind whimpered into silence, then faded into nothingness.

Vincent dropped to his knees, panting. Catherine. My Catherine. I’m so sorry…

Catherine’s soft voice immediately filled the void. ‘Home. I’m coming home. It’s felt like forever. Vincent… I love you more than life itself…’

“Catherine… I am here… always…”

‘Vincent…’

“I will find you…” He took off in the direction he felt her, at a run.

In the next instant, the moving shadows beneath Joe Maxwell’s window were silent and vacant once more. The moon rode the alleyway, alone.

***********

Restless and unable to sleep, Joe stood looking into the alley below. He could have sworn someone was down there, looking up at him. He had felt eyes upon him the moment he stepped into view.

Then, the sensation suddenly passed, almost as if it had never been. Now all he felt was the chill cold of loss. He dragged the two sides of his blue bathrobe closer across his chest.

“Radcliffe… I hope you know John’s dead,” he addressed the darkness beyond the window. “And Diana’s hot on the trail of his boss. It won’t be long now, before it’s all over.” He shook his head. “Wherever you are, I pray you’re well, Cathy. It’s safe to come home now, and I really want to see you again… someday, soon…”

***********

Chapter Nineteen

Down the Rabbit Hole to a Wonderland…

“And I was even beginning to think home might be with you…”

Ben Sherwood

***********

Elliot followed Catherine’s lead because he knew he had no other choice. To his amazement, she never appeared to hesitate, seemingly well aware of every twist and turn throughout their descent into a gloomy set of tunnels that lead forever downwards, changing slowly from old brickwork to dressed stone walls, illuminated by all manner of torches and lanterns, strung at intervals. What began as city work crews’ access tunnels became… something else.

To his eyes, it was an unknown world that shouldn’t exist. But he saw that it did, against all the odds. There was no sign of any living inhabitants, beyond the occasional rat that scurried by, intent on their own business. It didn’t bother him, overmuch. Life on the docks, and then as a builder, had acquainted him with New York’s ever-present rodent population. They were a necessary evil, down here.

Sometimes, Catherine stopped, and planted her hand on the wall. In those moments, he swore she was talking to someone. Someone he couldn’t see.

Elliot tried to map their path in his mind as they walked. But it soon became impossible. Beside them, in the upper tunnels, steam hissed along a series of steel pipes, and as they descended further still, there began a strange tapping sound; one that almost never ceased. He frowned at the pipes, not remembering hearing the sound last time he trod these tunnels.

They went slowly down a rickety, spiral staircase that had seen better days. Elliot tested its strength gingerly, and brushed away the flakes of rusty paint on his hand.

“Madness…” He shook his head. He frowned at the glowing light below him.

Reaching the bottom of the spiral staircase, they moved quickly on, and ever downwards. As they leapt a steam-filled channel between two massive pipes, and turned around yet another corner, he reached to take Catherine’s arm, drawing her back, beside him. He looked up toward the huge pipe that ran just over their heads. “I’ve heard the rattle of steam pipes before. That’s not what this is. It’s too constant, and too rhythmic. Yet, it changes. What’s that tapping all about? Do you know? It never stops.”

She smiled. “It’s people talking to each other, tapping out messages on the pipes. It’s the way they communicate, down here.”

“Cathy, please, tell me. What the hell’s going on here? Where are we?”

She stared at him, remembering the first time she’d asked Vincent the same question, and his wary answer. “We’re below the city — and we will soon be going below the subways. There’s a whole world of tunnels and chambers down here that most people don’t even know exists.”

He looked at the long, dusty passageway before them, and then the one behind. The pipe in the ditch they’d jumped looked old. Decades old. Maybe a century. “This is crazy.”

“It’s what keeps them safe,” she replied, continuing on.

“So… I figure there’s no maps to where we are.” Elliot looked around. “Is this really where your Vincent is? Down here, in the dark? Is he hiding out from the law? That would be ironic, considering.” He caught her hand. She was ‘the law…’

“No…” Catherine released herself from his grasp. “It’s a warm and safe place — for those who have nowhere else to live.”

Elliot was no fool. Nor was he a novice, when it came to desperate people living in desperate circumstances, especially in New York. More than one tenement building the city had demolished had been inhabited by squatters, living usually in the basement. They had to be cleared out, lest they get caught in the blast. The train tunnels of the New York subway system were a magnet for tramps, the homeless, and the disenfranchised. There was shelter, of a sort, below the streets. As a man who made his living in construction, he knew that much. The deeply planted footings of his own projects had uncovered more than one hiding place.

“Cathy, I get that, I really do. I’ve heard about these places, who hasn’t? Heck, they’re myth, at this point. Urban legend. But this deep? This far from any street access? It’s impossible.” Is this the secret you share with Vincent? That there are deep places full of refugees? We’re too far down. It’s just not possible.

“Anything is possible, Elliot…” She shook her head, and moved on.

He hurried after her. “And I still want to know what you’re doing down here. Why are you here? You’ve no need of… such shelter, under the ground. You have everything you could ever need, up there.” He pointed towards the city, far above them.

Catherine’s eyes became dreamy and full of love. “I… I don’t have everything I need, up there. I’m here, because… because there’s no other place on earth I would rather be. This is where I first discovered who I truly am, and how to be happy.”

To Elliot, she looked annoyingly beatific, in her claim. “And you couldn’t do that in any villa in the south of France, or a chalet in Switzerland?” He glanced up meaningfully at the dirt, all around them. “I could make you truly happy, Cathy. If you would only let me.”

“We both know that was never an option, Elliot. I’m so sorry.” She did a curious thing then. She moved away from him, and nodded to the blank stone wall beside them.

There was a beat of silence before a sudden flurry of renewed tapping sounded on the pipes. Elliot stared in disbelief. It was as if her nod to a stone wall had somehow elicited a response from an unseen source.

“Just how far down does this crazy rabbit hole go?” he asked, of no-one in particular.

“Come on.” Catherine returned to him, linking her arm through his. “Come and see what you have been missing out on, all this time.”

If she wasn’t going to leave with him – and she obviously wasn’t – he was content to be led. “I don’t suppose you’ve also got the Mad Hatter stashed down here somewhere?” Elliot tried to lighten his mood, even as his lips quirked with sadness. I love you, Catherine… I will always love only you…

“You will see…” Catherine reached up to kiss his bearded cheek, cupping it briefly in her upraised palm. He noticed it was the one he’d kissed earlier in the day. It was as if she was giving him back his determined vow to care for her. If only she would let him.

“Queen of hearts…” Elliot breathed, as she pulled back from him. Why can’t I make you love me…?

He felt the wind of his impending loss blowing through his soul. He should never have agreed to bring her here. But her insistence had over-ridden his caution.

He clung to his final poker hand, hoping against hope that all was not lost. Surely, even though she had said it wasn’t to be, he prayed he could still make her see his point. He was certain no-one could survive for long down here, in this lost and dismal place…

***********

Chapter Twenty

Home at Last…

“You feel more like home to me than any place I've ever been...”

Angela N. Blount

***********

Father leaned heavily on his cane. The staccato message that Catherine had been seen in the tunnels, was delivered to him by an excited Pascal. The pipe master was so overcome he could barely relay the message, before diving away to deliver Father’s hasty reply.

“Where’s Vincent? Have you seen him?” Father demanded of any passing tunnel dweller, as he hurried from his chamber. He received no affirmative answers.

“Gone Above, looking for Catherine, I think. Hours ago. Don’t know where,” Mouse finally confided, as he scurried along the tunnel leading towards his Mousehole. His arms were full of gizmos and gadgets only he knew the worth of.

The tinker frowned. “The pipes say Catherine is in the tunnels?”

“Yes, and Vincent must be told. Send out the message again,” Father commanded. “And keep sending it, until you get a reply from him. He must know before he does something rash.”

“Okay good, okay fine…” Mouse hurried away, crouching over his burden.

Jacob made his way to the meeting place Catherine had designated. An anonymous part of the tunnels that gave no clue as to what lay further beneath. Behind him, two of the tunnel sentries stood, staffs in hand. Franklin and Jeb. The message about Catherine’s return had also stated she wasn’t alone. She’d brought a stranger with her.

She’d been missing for more than a month. Jacob knew her situation must be dire indeed, if she risked exposing them. He braced to meet Catherine, and the stranger she had in tow…

***********

“Who, on earth, is that?” Elliot pointed towards an old man, dressed in ragged clothes, leaning heavily on a cane, in the tunnel ahead of them. It was the first actual person they’d seen since their journey from the culvert entrance had started.

“He’s the first step in making you understand this world,” Catherine replied softly. “I asked him to meet us here.” She dropped her bag to the floor.

“I don’t get any of this. How did you ask him?” Elliot’s frowning gaze swung disbelievingly to hers. “Okay, never mind. Is he… is that, your Vincent…?” Elliot’s heart leaped. He liked his chances, if this was his opposition. The old man before him looked older than Catherine’s own father. And by a good bit. How could he compare to all that Elliot had to offer…?

“Oh, Elliot…” Catherine shook her head. “No. This is his father, Jacob. There are some things you need to know, first.”

“I give up!” Elliot spread his hands wide. “I said this whole thing was crazy. Now, I swear, I feel like I’m losing my mind. Alice’s Wonderland doesn’t have anything on this place…” Two young men stepped forward to flank Jacob. Though they didn’t seem threatening, they were armed with long, wooden poles and they handled them well.

If that’s the security detail, you’ve got more trouble than you know. Kids with staves aren’t much good against a gun, Cathy. No wonder they need to be kept secret.

“Come on,” Catherine encouraged him, as she hurried forward towards the old man. “There’s no going back now.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of…” Elliot muttered, following her lead, warily.

***********

“Catherine…” Jacob grasped her hands between his, and then embraced her as firmly as his cane-holding hand would allow. He steadied himself, and took her in. “It is so good to see you again. You have been… missed. He has barely slept since you disappeared.” His wary gaze flicked over Elliot. “I feared we had lost you, forever…”

“It almost happened, Father.” Catherine kissed his weathered cheek. “It was Elliot who saved me from my captors. He brought me back to New York.”

“Elliot… Burch…?” Father assessed the other man as closely as Elliot was staring at him. Yes… This was that Elliot. His picture had been in the newspaper. Particularly when he’d been building Burch Tower. His powerful industry had threatened everything that Jacob held dear. Now, he is here…

“Then, we are in your debt, young man,” the older man admitted. His guarded tone belied his words.

Elliot had the distinct impression the old man didn’t want him here. That he had somehow offended a man he had never met before. He had no idea how…

“I gather I’m not supposed to be here. If I’d had my way, I wouldn’t have brought her below the city,” he replied shortly, once again taking firm possession of Catherine’s arm. “I had other plans. But she was determined about coming down here.” He glanced around the tunnel, his gaze dismissive.

“Thank you, Elliot. This is as far as you need go.” Catherine removed herself from his grasp, taking a position at the old man’s side. “You’re free to leave at any time. No-one’s holding you here. You will be escorted out.” The two young men behind them moved substantially forward, their intentions plain.

Elliot realized he’d carelessly overstepped the fragile boundaries she had set. He knew she was giving him one final avenue of escape. He could leave her here, with these odd people, and walk away.

He fingered the car keys in his jacket pocket, as he looked back the way they’d come. Everything sane within him, urged him to go. He didn’t move.

Instinctively he knew that if he left them now, curiosity about what she was doing, and who she was doing it with, would eat him alive for the rest of his life. He had to know. He had to see what, and who, it was that kept her coming back here. Besides, as far down as they were, he hadn’t achieved his real goal. He hadn’t met her Vincent.

Vincent… the name echoed through him, and the deeply competitive part of his nature reasserted itself. There’s still a bet or two yet to make…

“Thanks, but if it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll stay. I don’t have anywhere else to be, right now.” He glanced Catherine’s way. “Cathy already swore me to secrecy. I gave her my word. I’ve never broken that, to her. I hope that’s good enough.”

“We are grateful to you for certain… accommodations you have made in the past, on our behalf.” Jacob considered the man before him, for a moment. He was dangerous. But he was also, in his way, an honorable man.

Elliot’s sharp mind pounced. “Those explosives Cathy asked me for, once… They were for you.” He waited for any of them to deny the truth. No-one did.

“Yes.” Catherine nodded. “You saved lives that day, Elliot.”

“And for that, we accept your word. We will hold you to it. Lives depend on it,” Jacob replied. Elliot’s ‘escort’ fell back.

“Hard rock mining…” Elliot shook his head. He looked around at the walls.

“He has earned our trust.” Catherine’s green eyes beseeched Father for his understanding. “Elliot has known since last year. Not as much as this, but… he’s known. He’s never said anything. And for what it’s worth… I believe him, Father. He risked his life for me. He didn’t have to.”

I just couldn’t stay away, anymore. Somehow, I knew Vincent needed me. I can feel him. It’s like he’s trying to find his way back to me. Please, Father. Please... “If he’s in danger, it’s because he tried to help me,” she added.

“He never stopped looking for you.” Father nodded, at that. “So,” he continued, projecting a cordiality towards Elliot he didn’t feel. “Perhaps you’d like to join me for a cup of tea, Mr. Burch. And I will try to answer some of your questions about our world.”

Elliot choked back a sardonic laugh. Okay, so now we’re having a tea party. This is the Mad Hatter, he thought, following the leader of the group.

“Is there a dormouse in the teapot? Asleep?” Elliot whispered to Catherine.

She smiled back at him. “Close. There is a Mouse. But, he’s usually awake.”

***********

Vincent paused before the corner of the tunnel. He inhaled deeply, and sighed. Not only could he sense Catherine in the tunnels, he’d also caught her scent, on the warm air.

He knew that she knew he was there. The bond between them whispered in new and mysterious ways he was only just coming to understand. The renewal of their unseen connection had been reborn with new strands and impossible colors he had yet to decipher. Perhaps that was something he could thank his darker self for. Perhaps it was just what was meant to be.

You were born from a boy’s terror of being abandoned. I no longer need you to avoid being alone, he thought.

He pictured the chained and bolted door, deep inside his mind. Then… he pictured it gone. In the next instant, he dismissed that most frightening part of his consciousness forever…

***********

Chapter Twenty-One

Reunion

“There is no darkness, Vincent, when you are with me.” - Catherine

***********

Elliot spent the next thirty minutes listening to Jacob, and meeting some of the people in Father’s world. Mary came in to speak, as did others he had met before under different circumstances.

“Elliot Burch’s stuff’s the best.” Mouse hovered in the doorway to Father’s chamber, staying out of reach. “Catherine says Mouse is not to take anymore.” His expression was pained. “Mouse is not happy.”

“Well, if it isn’t the refugee from Ruritania. Now I understand,” Elliot replied drily, making the connection between Mouse and Catherine; the one that had eluded him when Mouse had tried to sabotage his construction equipment. The older woman and the odd boy stayed but a few moments, then left the same way they’d come in: quietly, in her case; boisterously, in his.

“…and so as you can see, we are a… home, for people might have none. A safe haven for those who need it,” Jacob concluded, pouring himself a fresh cup. Elliot hadn’t touched his.

“It sounds very… commendable,” Elliot said carefully, not sure if he’d chosen the right word. “And for whatever help you ever gave Cathy, I thank you.”

Elliot turned to Catherine. “So… thank you for showing me this. Thank you for trusting me with it. I know you didn’t have to. But what does all this have to do with Vin— ” He stopped in mid-sentence, as his brain worked just a little faster. Catherine faced him squarely, and said nothing.

Elliot frowned at her. “You mean… he’s one of them. He doesn’t just… know about them. Like you. Or me. This isn’t just a… a secret you share, between you. He’s… one of them.” Elliot’s mind grappled with this new truth.

“He saved me that night I was attacked, after I left Tom’s party,” Catherine confirmed.

“But he doesn’t just… stay down here. Sometimes. He doesn’t just… help. He’s someone who lives down here. He’s… like them.” Elliot’s sharp gaze took in Jacob. Poor. Cast off. Nothing. Poorer than I ever was. Everything I tried to escape from. Elliot’s mind struggled to grasp what his intellect was telling him. How can you be in love with a… vagabond?

“Do not be so quick to dismiss us, Mr. Burch.” Father cleared his throat, at Elliot’s rudeness.

“He’s… one of them,” Elliot repeated, modulating his voice. It was a fact he was trying to come to grips with.

Catherine and Jacob exchanged looks. “He is. And… he isn’t,” Catherine explained. It was time. “He doesn’t… look like other people. It’s why he stays here. It’s why… why I’m going to stay here. It’s all right, Elliot. It really is.”

You mean stay for a while, or stay for…

“You mean… live down here? In a hole in the ground? Cathy. You can’t! You can’t live your life like a… like a refugee from the 20th century! It’s not sane!”

Father’s eyebrows rose. “We tend to think it’s up there, where the madness lies.”

“I can stay here,” Catherine answered Elliot’s assertion. “I can… and I will. If he’ll have—”

The sound of heavy, running footsteps in the tunnel outside cut off her words.

“Catherine…?!?”

Elliot and Catherine looked up towards the deep voice at the same time. A huge, cloaked figure filled the doorway. His hood was down, his amazing face revealed, framed by wild, blond hair. And he was out of breath, and gasping for air.

Running. He’s been running, to get here. It was the last truly clear, incredibly random thought Elliot had, as the huge man leapt down the short staircase to the lower level, throwing his great, clawed hands wide, even as Catherine rose to meet him with a glad cry. She ran to him. Just as he’d run to her.

“What the —?” Elliot half-rose from his chair, but he was too late to intervene to save Catherine from the man’s direct assault.

The huge, beast-like man surged forward, as Catherine bolted across the room to meet him. They nearly collided in the middle, as Catherine Chandler, Manhattan A.D.A, Columbia graduate, East side deb, former corporate lawyer at Chandler and Coolidge, and New York socialite, threw herself into the arms of a man who looked more mythic than any incredible figure Elliot had ever seen, carved or painted, in his foreign travels.

He blinked, fighting to hang onto reality. So, this is her Vincent? This man is my rival for her love? Impossible! And yet…

Elliot tried to take in the whole without assessing the parts, and found he simply couldn’t do it. What are you?

The question repeated in his brain, over and over, but it had no answer. Whatever the beast-man was, Catherine had no fear of him at all. Neither did the old man, though Jacob had risen from his chair. Father looked with concern, at Elliot, but said nothing.

Elliot continued to stare, realizing he hadn’t been this dumbstruck since the first time someone had told him the price of a Ferrari, back when he was sixteen. His rival had a blonde length of hair that could only be described as a ‘mane,’ and features that could only be described as leonine. He had nails on his hands an eagle in full hunting mode would envy, and blue eyes that spoke of both his humanity, and his relief.

He engulfed Catherine in a breath-robbing hug, and his powerful arms half-lifted her onto the tips of her toes, as he bent to enfold her. A voice like honey in brandy kept repeating her name. “Catherine. My Catherine. You’re safe. You’re alive. Catherine…” Every syllable was a love word.

“Vincent…” she gasped, though Elliot hardly needed the name. He knew who this was. “I have missed you so much!” She had a handful of his cloak, and the other was buried somewhere in his hair. The cloak swung forward and he caught the edge, and enfolded her within its dark safety.

“I was terrified. There were times… I thought I’d lost you. Thought I’d never see you, again,” he confessed.

Vincent was confessing the torment of his soul, and Elliot watched it play out, before him. The lion-man looked huge, and powerful, yet also vulnerable, at the same time. What are you? Elliot thought again.

Catherine clutched him to her more tightly. “I’m safe. I’m safe. It was Elliot. He rescued me.”

Elliot could only stare in dumbstruck disbelief as he processed what was before him, wishing he could access that part of his brain that was famous for quick thinking, right now. He couldn’t. He simply couldn’t. Catherine’s words came back to him. “The most beautiful face you’ve ever seen... He doesn’t look like other people. It’s why he stays here. I love him… The most beautiful face…”

The face Elliot knew he would never describe as ‘beautiful’ was, right now, wet with silent tears. They streaked down coppery cheeks set higher than any Elliot had ever seen.

“He saved me, Vincent. He saved me,” Catherine repeated, a hitch in her own voice. Elliot knew they were both tear struck. Then she said, “You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t. Not yet. He won’t understand…” She spoke of Elliot as if she’d only just remembered that she wasn’t alone, with her love.

“I should be nowhere else, but where you are,” was all Vincent responded, unable to move to safety, or even pretend he wanted to. “I have waited too long for this moment…”

He wouldn’t let her go, wouldn’t let her turn around and either introduce them, or gauge Elliot’s reaction to him. She was trapped in a bear hug (would that be ‘lion hug?’ Elliot wondered) of an embrace the large being in the room clearly had no intention of loosening.

Vincent’s tear-bright blue eyes looked up, and at Elliot. “Thank you,” the unique mouth whispered. “Thank you,” he repeated, no louder for having said it twice. He was still holding Catherine to him, clearly not intending to allow the space of a wish, between them. The blue eyes fixed on Catherine, and he simply… reveled in her.

This is why we had to come back to New York. This is why. Because there’s no way he could come to you. There’s no way he can travel… anywhere. Elliot’s intellect came to the fore, and asked a question that had been bothering him since this whole thing began.

“Is he why Gabriel held you?” he demanded of Catherine, playing a hunch. Because he killed everybody else. You’re the only one he left alive.

Reluctantly, Vincent allowed Catherine to regain her feet, but wouldn’t take his eyes off her. She turned, and nodded. “He wanted us both. Gabriel had ideas of cultivating Vincent’s blood for terrible purposes…” She grasped his wrist in apology for her words. “I was kept as… bait. I could not give them what they wanted, no matter what they did to me…” her voice sank to a whisper on the last.

Vincent gently turned her back around to him. Don’t look at Elliot. Look at me. It’s been too long. I thought I would never see you, again.

“Safe. You’re safe now,” he said, as if he too had a slow brain, and couldn’t quite process the truth of his eyes. There was a demon inside me. Now there’s none. And you’re alive. And here. Fate… however ugly it can be… can sometimes be kind. If I had found you, we would both be dead… now… I can thank my darker self for that…

“We’ve been ah… telling Elliot about how we live, here,” Father said, softly.

Vincent guessed as much. And didn’t truly care. Not at the moment. He had eyes only for his love.

“Come with me?” he asked. Catherine simply nodded.

Elliot wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that invitation. As a matter of fact, he was fairly sure he didn’t.

“Wait a minute,” Elliot called.

But Vincent didn’t wish to ‘wait a minute.’ He didn’t want to wait a second.  He wrapped Catherine in the dark cloak that seemed like it was an extension of him, and guided her up the short flight of steps towards the doorway. Her arm slid behind his back, as they walked, together.

“I’ve got some questions for you!” Elliot insisted.

It was Vincent, who replied, “Perhaps my father will be kind enough to answer some of them. I will speak with you la—”

Elliot’s tone was uncompromising. “You’ll speak with me now.” He came up the stairs and advanced a step toward Catherine. It was the last thing he should have done, given Vincent’s current mood.

The snarl that greeted the other man was short, sharp, deep-throated, and sincere. Long fangs were bared, and then concealed, after just a second. It was all the warning the larger man was prepared to give, to the smaller one. I need no demon inside me to put you in your place, King-in-her-world. Vincent might as well have shouted it.

To Elliot, Catherine’s eyes looked startled. But not like she was seeing something she’d never seen, before. “Vincent…” her voice was a gentling one.

“I said ‘later,’” Vincent addressed Elliot tersely. “I have searched for my Catherine for over a month. I’m not about to give you an interview.”

‘My Catherine…’ Elliot didn’t miss the use of the possessive pronoun.

Now, Catherine did intercede. “Elliot, these are good people. Every one of them.” She glanced back up at Vincent, as she said it. “I promise. Let them talk to you, show you what this place is. Later… I promise I’ll answer whatever questions you put to me.”

She rested her head on one of the broadest chests Elliot had ever seen, and closed her eyes, in contentment. Elliot knew that Vincent could take her where he would; that she’d follow him to hell itself, if he asked it of her.

I already know the most important thing. That you’re truly in love with him. A man who looks like he stepped out of the pages of a fantasy — or a freak show — and you love him. ‘He’s one of them, yet not.’ No kidding.

“Very well…” Elliot shook his head, and stepped away. He knew there was nothing he could do to keep Catherine with him. Not now. Time to ask questions. He glanced toward Jacob, who shook his head.

Time to think. Time to plan. “All right,” he allowed, watching them depart, unable to think of anything to prevent them.

“Come back and sit down, Elliot.” Jacob indicated the younger man should return to his seat at the table. “I’ll pour us another cup of tea, and we’ll have a chat.” His brows drew together as the millionaire seated himself reluctantly. “I don’t suppose you know how to play chess?”

***********

Chapter Twenty-Two

New To This Magic…

“And suddenly, you know: It’s time to start something new, and trust the magic of new beginnings…”

Meister Eckhart

***********

The loving couple walked almost silently through the passageways of his home. Catherine knew Vincent was taking her to his chambers. He kept tight hold of her shoulder, and she leaned into him, more than grateful for his strength.

“You must have a million questions,” she said, as they approached his chamber.

Surprisingly, Vincent realized he had almost none. “Perhaps later,” he said, ushering her inside.

He dropped the covering drape of leather, a clear request for privacy. Then, he did something entirely unexpected. He cleared away the top of his writing table, stood it on its side, and placed it so that it, too, blocked the entrance to the room. Catherine realized he’d just created an odd kind of closed door; and practically barricaded them in.

“Vincent?” she questioned softly. She thought of the many times she’d invited him inside her apartment, so they could have this greater measure of privacy. He had always refused her offer.

“We will not be interrupted,” he declared, settling the table so that it stood on one end, as firmly as it was able.

Catherine watched him work. There was a certain economy of movement about him. He picked up his chair, next.

“Is that to keep them out? Or me in?” she asked, trying to lighten the mood with her tone.

He set the chair against the table, for good measure. “Don’t even joke. Not about being held prisoner,” he replied.

Ouch. My bad. Okay. “Hey. It’s okay. I’m not… I’m not going anywhere,” she said, aware that they were going to have to have a talk about just how true that was. “This is home. I kept… I kept thinking that it was the only place I wanted to get back to. Kept… wishing I was here, when they held me. Kept… telling Elliot it was where I wanted to be.”

I vanquished a shadow inside me. Don’t make me vanquish another one. I know you thought you loved him, once.

“That too, is a name I think I do not want to hear, right now.” He turned to her. “He saved you. I could not. If you blame me for my… impotence in this matter, you must tell me now, Catherine. Though I swear I walked every street, looking for you.” For all the good it did. “I would have done anything…”

Catherine shook her head. “We lost our bond. There was no way you could find me. Of course, I don’t blame you.”

Don’t you? I blame myself. For my blindness in not seeing the obvious…

Vincent stepped closer to where she stood. “The day Elliot helped you escape… a Helper saw you. He took me to the van, afterwards. I was both even more terrified, and incredibly relieved, then. The blankets had your scent. But the van was full of bullet holes. I knew you were being hunted. Only the fact that there was no blood on the blanket gave me any hope, at all.”

“If you had found where they held me… they would have killed you.” Catherine shook her head, processing how close she’d been to being able to be returned to the tunnels, that day. If I had only known a Helper was close by. “We had to flee the city. We went somewhere safe. But I wanted to get to you. I wanted so badly to come home. I dreamed of you. Did you… dream of me?”

He closed his eyes over the vision that could never come to pass, in her dream, then opened them, and faced her. “We were walking together. In the light. And I was telling you… it is a thing that can never be.” His tone was somber.

She finished closing the distance between them, and took his hand. “There is more than one kind of light. I think that’s what I felt the most. How… dark it felt, when I was away from you.” With her other hand, she reached up to cup his mighty jaw. “Now… there’s light again.” She remembered something she’d once told him at their first Winterfest: “There is no darkness, when you are with me.”

“Our first Winterfest. You said it in front of the Great Doors.” He remembered.

“I said it then. I say it now. I mean it, Vincent. There’s more than one kind of darkness. And there’s more than one kind of light.”

He knew the truth of that only too well.

And he now knew what their shared dream of walking ‘in the light’ meant. It wasn’t the light of a daytime sun.

“There is no darkness, when you’re with me,” she repeated. But only when you’re with me. He all but heard her think it.

Then we shall have the light. And we’ll walk in the light. Always... “Then we will always walk in the light.” He gave her the words, as he embraced her gently, and bent to brush a loving kiss across the crown of her head. Home. You’re home, at last...

Her smile was gentle. “Because it’s what I wanted. More than anything,” Catherine replied, sliding her hand across the back of his neck as she reached up for him.

It was meant simply as an embrace. One designed to be soft, yet firm. She meant just to hold him to her.

It was he who turned it into something more.

Leaving her hand where it was, he slid his unique mouth over her temple, the place where she’s once felt the bond, when he’d been in peril. He pressed his lips to the skin there, and exhaled, and felt her startle, at the intimate contact. Though lightly done, he knew the sensuality inherent in kissing her where she’d first felt their bond. How he wanted the bond between them, again. Consistent, and strong. Oh, to have that, again! To explore it as it was changing, and understand its new limits. He knew she felt him more than she ever had, before. He knew they ‘heard’ each other mentally, at least sometimes. He marveled at what was growing, between them.

We are something that has never been, he thought, not for the first time. For good or ill. We are something that has never been.

“The aloneness inside me… it was killing me,” he whispered. “I’ve been… fighting it. Every day.” He brushed her cheek. “It rose up when I first thought I’d lose you. It… stayed, when I thought I had. I think… that’s why I couldn’t find you, Catherine. Our bond was lost. In my fear… I lost it. I lost us.” The confession cost him much.

She just held him more closely. “I swear you’ll never lose me. Never.”

“I feel like I’ve been fighting a demon inside me. One who reminded me of how… empty my life could be. Without you. Even as I banish that darkness… I know its power. It’s a curse… only you can break.”

She kept him to her. “Then I am here, and it is broken. There’s only us. Only us, Vincent.”

He felt her mind reaching for his, even as her slender arms tightened their hold on him. Is there? Could there ever be?

“Catherine, right now… I swear. I just want to… shut the world away, and let there be only us.”

“I know,” she answered. But there’s Elliot to contend with. And Father. And Gabriel. And Joe, and a woman named Diana who’s looking for me, and God knows who else. She squeezed him all the tighter. And none of that matters, right now.

“You have to know I feel the same way. Can it just be us? Just… for a little while?” she asked.

“Just us. Only us,” he whispered, shutting out every other voice, every other concern, save her. He buried his head in the crook of her neck, and adjusted his hold on her.

Her arms wrapped around his waist, holding him right where he was. “I love you. I love you so much, Vincent.” Her grip tightened, again. “The one thing I was most afraid of… that I’d never see you again. Never… be here, again. Be home.”

“It’s here you are and here you’ll stay,” he declared, not sure if such a thing could truly be. He only knew he felt it in his soul, no matter how impractical it was.

“Yes,” she breathed, neither one of them caring if it was a lie. She leaned back and traced the back of her fingers down his beloved cheek. The most beautiful face… “Barricade the door with all the furniture in the room, and keep me in. I don’t care if I ever go back up. Ever.”

She was speaking from fear, and he knew it. From the fear of her recent abduction, and then the fear of the huge physical distance Elliot, in his well-meaning rescue, had put between them. She’d been gone too long. And then, she’d been gone too far. And she’d felt both pressures, intensely.

He grasped her hand and brushed a soft kiss across her fingertips. He leaned down. “Be with me? Stay with me?” he asked, breathing the words near her ear. “Love me…”

“Oh, Vincent. You have no idea how much I want that.”

Oh, don’t I? Do you think I need a bond, for that?

He lifted her once more, and felt her bury her mouth at his neck, the ragged white neckline of his shirt no impedance, to her close-mouthed kiss. She was clutching him like she was desperate, and he had no intention of letting her go.

We communicate this way, he thought. Through touch. Through the fierce embraces we’ve always given each other. Through the desperate grasping we do.

Then: You can touch me more than this.

It was a simple sentence. And it was one she heard. She pulled her head back. “Can I?” she asked. “I don’t know what you—”

I think you do. Can you hear me, Catherine? Like in our dream? He thought it to her. The blue eyes stayed focused on her, communicating his message.

She blinked, even as she became aware what was happening. “I… too fast. Something about our dream?”

He gave her words, since knowing his thoughts was so new for her. It was difficult. This might take time.

“Yes. That’s all right. Like in our dream. We have all the time. All the time in the world.”

He drew her hands up to the sides of his cloak, and still holding them, helped her push it off his shoulders and down his arms, to where it caught, at the elbows. His vested torso was before her, seeming like a nude thing, considering how it had just became uncovered. She seemed fascinated by it.

“You… you said… you thought… ‘You can touch me more than this.’ I… heard you.” She whispered it.

“You did,” he replied, seduction in his tone, mixed with his honesty.

“But… you didn’t say it.”

“We are new to this juncture. New to this faith.” He slowly dropped his arms so that his cloak slithered down them to the floor. “New to this… magic.”

She held the front of his vest, and closed her eyes. Inside, she felt like a runaway train.

“This isn’t because you’re afraid that Elliot and I—”

His hands covered hers, in blessing. “Of course not. It’s because I am done with my fears. Finally. After being… haunted by them for over a decade.”

He wanted her to tug the vest upward, but wouldn’t force her to do so. If she had no desire to see his undressed form, he wasn’t going to place blame for that choice. It wasn’t fear that prompted the decision. Just consideration.

“I’ve wanted to see you… since before our first Winterfest,” she said, closing her eyes, not sure what would be allowed. He brushed a kiss across them, then another, until they opened.

“Then see me. Will you let me see you?”

Diamond tears sparkled in her green eyes, then fell to her cheek. “Of course,” she whispered raggedly, tugging the quilted vest upward. “Oh, Vincent, of course.”

It was a slow undressing, and each bit of skin was worshipped, by each of them. She was fascinated with the soft lay of the hair on his chest, especially the area over his heart. He took a step back, staggered, when the soft candlelight in the room showed him the sweet curve of her breasts. Coral. Your breasts are tipped with coral. Like … the color inside the shell you sent to me from that distant shore…

Catherine smiled at the memory of the gift she’d sent him from California. “Yes,” she breathed the word, looking at the deep peach color that tipped his. Peach. Like the ripest fruit. She described him to himself.

He embraced her again, just for the pleasure of feeling them, skin to skin. “I was so afraid I’d never see you again. So afraid we’d… missed our chance, somehow.”

“You have to stop using that word. ‘Afraid.’ It doesn’t belong here. Not in this room. Not between us.”

He closed his eyes and felt the bond, between them, and realized how right she was. There was no fear, here. Nothing but love flowed between them; hers for him, and his for her.

I feel you. He meant it every way there was. She was curious, and excited, and just a little unsure. Considering his level of experience, he found the sensation from her positively endearing.

“I will never be alone, again. And neither will you,” he said, bending to take her open mouth on a sigh.

It was a drugging kiss, and he felt her sway, as he slid his arm behind the small of her back, just to steady her. She fumbled at the flap and tie that held his pants closed, and he blessed her for it.

It is for you to do, he thought, standing patiently as her fingers told her the truth of him. He was a man, here. Perhaps more here than anywhere else. He shivered, at the touch of her palm, and brushed her own pants down the feminine curve of her hips. Love you. I love you.

No more than I love you, she replied.

She was everything he wasn’t, yet everything he was. Soft to his hard, pliant to his rigidity, she was strong, in her ardor, and refused to let him go, once they achieved the bed. She seemed to want to look at all of him, and still only look into his eyes; into the eyes she’d stared into, so often. He felt so much the same, he could have wept for it.

Their joining, when it came, was so effortless as to be surreal. His angel was soft. His angel was powerful. She arched, and sighed, and met him. Her completion was glorious. So was his. Her hands locked around his neck, refusing to let him leave her, afterwards.

Too heavy.

Shhhhhh… She wouldn’t hear it. Even if he wasn’t actually saying it.

Do you think it will always be this way? she asked of this new Bond.

I have no idea, he replied, not sure if she was talking about that, or… something else. But I am too heavy, for you.

He simply turned over, bringing her with him.

My turn. My turn to love you, she thought, smiling against his chest, as she lay upon him. She knew he felt the words.

“I think we have to wait,” he said it aloud, regretfully.

She gave him a temptress’ smile. “Oh, I think we can find a way to pass the time…”

***********

Chapter Twenty-Three

A King in Your World…

“There is a truth… beyond knowledge...”

Jacob Wells

***********

Many hours later, Vincent rose from the bed, sat on its side, and reached for his shirt, tugging it on over his head.

“Tired of me so soon?” Catherine asked, placing a hand on his now-muslin-covered back. Where are you going?

He turned, slightly. “You know better,” he replied to her spoken question, reaching for his vest. He tugged that on, as well, and flipped his long blonde hair out from under the neckline.

This is a thing I’ve never watched you do. I’ve never watched you get dressed, she realized.

His movements were fluid, as he tugged on his pants. “There’s something I must do. Wait for me?”

“Of course. What is it?” she asked.

He faced her squarely, as he buckled his belt. “We’ve left Elliot to his own devices for a while, now. I need to go speak with him, if he’s still here.” Instinct tells me he will be.

Catherine stirred from the bed, about to put aside the covers so she could dress, as well. “Oh, Vincent. I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Especially now. Maybe I should go talk to hi—”

“No,” he said gently, stopping her movements by leaning over to plant a soft kiss on her nose. He smoothed the covers over her, and tugged them up to where they concealed her breasts.

It’s a sin to cover you, he thought. You’re more beautiful than any Venus. “It should be me. It’s my place, to do it. I’ll tell you all, when I return.”

“Vincent, he’s… he’s in love with me. I know you don’t want to hear that, but—”

“He is and always has been,” Vincent acknowledged easily. “That’s why I need to speak with him, Catherine.”  It is what any man would do. And I think he’s been waiting for me to do it. He tugged on his socks and boots.

Catherine looked uncertain. “I… I’m not sure this is a good idea.” Elliot is a prideful man. What will he do, if he feels so thwarted? And what will you do, trying to confront the man who saved me? The man who’s in love with me, who thinks he can to give me the world, and I will accept?

“There is no quarrel between Elliot and myself,” Vincent replied to her statement, even as he sensed her inner turmoil. “My heart knows no jealousy. Nor will ever need to, again.” He leaned over and cupped her cheek, then placed a soft kiss on the area just beside her scar. “Rest. I’ll return to you. Very shortly, God willing.”

Catherine spoke up, giving him the deep truth she’d been carrying. “I told Elliot I want to stay here. He isn’t going to understand that. You and I haven’t even discussed it.” She was shaking her head at him, and the tangle of her hair was shifting across her shoulders, playing havoc with his resolve to leave her.

“Then that is a thing we will speak on. And I will listen.” Gratefully. But not without reservations. But gratefully, still. There is no other way for us, Catherine. Perhaps there never was.

“I, um… I think I was supposed to rehearse that so it came out more… convincingly. You’re not going to talk me out of it, Vincent.” She was firm.

He almost chuckled at her. He’d been warring with his own heart, trying to decide how to beg her to remain Below, or even if he had the right to. And there she sat, half wrapped in his bedclothes, insisting she was staying, whether he willed it or no. His lioness has claws…

“My experience with such things is still new,” he whispered near her ear. “But if I understand how this works, ‘now’ would be the time you could ask me for nearly anything, and have me agree to it.”

Catherine blushed at the notion that sex would help her get her way him. He brushed her cheek with a soft kiss, trailed it across the bridge of her nose, and then brushed the other cheek, with lips more unique than any priceless work of art. “If you told me we should walk down Fifth Avenue to buy ice cream, I believe the only thing I would ask is, ‘What flavor would you like, Catherine?’” he whispered in her other ear.

And no one looked twice. “Oh, Vincent...” She breathed out his name on a sigh, remembering one of the other times he’d seen her in a bed. She’d been in a hospital. And had told him of a wonderful dream she’d had.

“Rest,” he repeated. “And know the only reason I can leave you is that knowing you’re in my bed fills me with more joy than I can ever tell.” He restored the furniture in the room to its usual order.

“Come back quickly,” she urged, as he gathered her discarded clothes from the floor, and settled them at the foot of his bed. He set his cloak there, as well.

He stepped closer to her, just for the joy of her nude proximity. “Like there are wings on my feet. I love you, Catherine. The day will not go by when I do not say it. And to your face. Not to the pages of a journal, or our friends.”

“I love you.” She reached up to pull him back to her, for a parting kiss. “I love you, so much.”

***********

Elliot had left word. He would be waiting for Vincent inside the tunnel that led back to the gate which gave access to the drainage culvert.

You haven’t gone far, Elliot. Or you have, but you’ve returned here. Did you know I would come? Or did you pray I was Catherine, come to find you? Vincent thought. Did you think she would leave with you? No. You’d never be such a fool.

“She’s not with you,” Elliot charged, as Vincent entered the passageway. He eyed his rival, acknowledging he was huge, even without his cloak.

“No. She’s resting.” Vincent kept a goodly amount of space between them. It wouldn’t do to make Elliot feel crowded. Any more than it would do to tell him ‘resting from what.’

“Staying. She’s staying, you mean,” Elliot snapped. It was an accusation, and it was meant as one. “You talked her into it.”

“No, Catherine is a woman who knows her own mind.” Vincent remained calm. He had no reason not to be. “But I believe it is her intention to stay, yes.”

“Because of you.” Elliot’s blue eyes spat fire.

“There may be other reasons. But… because of me. Yes.” Vincent knew he had to own that.

Elliot looked away, frustrated. “Cathy and I… we talked a lot, the last week or so. Hours. She said there was a time you maybe envied me. Do you?”

Vincent didn’t understand the intention of the question, but he could guess. He decided to answer honestly. “Catherine is not wrong. There may have been a time when I did. That time… ended, many months ago.”

He took a step closer to the lantern that lit the space. If Elliot was going to know certain things, he was going to have to face them head on. Vincent wasn’t going to stand back in the shadows, and let those minimize his appearance. Not with this man. Not anymore.

“What happened?” Elliot asked. He knew it wasn’t that Vincent and Catherine had become lovers. And while he wasn’t about to discount the notion that they were now, he knew full well they weren’t, then.

Vincent regarded him, thoughtfully.

Pity? Is that… pity, I see in those eyes? Those… human eyes? Elliot thought.

“You could have had her,” Vincent answered. “For the price of a… building, a thing you can always make more of … she could have been yours.” Vincent glanced away. “But you couldn’t do it. After that… there was never a reason to envy you, Elliot.” The blue eyes returned to the millionaire. There was no challenge in them. Just simple truth.

You bastard. “Let’s review that time. She came to me, offered to marry me, intent on saving you. To save this place. Didn’t she?” Elliot’s pride was stung, and both men knew it.

Vincent’s subtle nod was all the answer either one of them needed.

“At least I had a building to bargain with,” Elliot countered. Steady. He thinks he has the upper hand. You’ve beaten men who’ve thought that, before. Elliot softened his tone, fractionally. “And a fortune, behind it.” You want the truth? Well there’s one. Here are some more. He adopted the speech pattern of one who is about to give a lesson, one about to force another to see things his way.

“Vincent, I know you love her. But think. I could give her … so much. So much. What can you give her?”

There was no hesitation, in the reply. “All I am. All I have.” It was a gentle rebuttal, no less effective for the soft tone in which it was delivered.

Elliot stood still, then closed his eyes over the words that hit him like a body blow. All I am. All I have. He knew he’d never love anyone that selflessly. Not even Catherine. He wasn’t even sure if he could. But he believed Vincent did. Utterly.

That didn’t make the big beast the right choice, for Catherine, however. Elliot weighed what he knew.

She loves you. And you know it. But staying down here is the wrong decision, for her. I can’t beat you. Can I bluff you? With what? Elliot knew there was only one option left, if he was ever to have a chance with the woman he loved.

If I can just get you to fold…

“Talk her out of it. Tell her to come with me. She can go to the D.A.’s office. Issue a statement. Any statement she likes. Her life has so much … potential, up above.” He paused, for emphasis. “It has none, down here. You know that, Vincent. If you love her, truly love her… you’ll send her back. Back to her life, at least. Even if it isn’t back to me. She deserves that much, and more.”

Vincent stepped forward. “I think that perhaps it is time we allowed Catherine to decide what her life’s potential means, and stop trying to decide it for her.” There was no denying the conviction in Vincent’s voice.

If they’d have been playing cards, Elliot knew he was losing the hand. He could only reply with how he honestly felt: “She’ll regret this moment. One day. She’ll find out it was the worst thing she ever could have done. And when that happens, you’ll know you’re responsible.” Come on. Fold, damn you.

Vincent was unfazed by the charge. “As you would, if she goes with you, and the same thing happens.” He let the words lay. Elliot couldn’t deny their veracity.

“I will take my chances, Elliot Burch,” Vincent concluded. Elliot knew the larger man had just gone all in.

“And leave me to take mine,” Elliot replied, sorrow in his tone. Game over. No help from the river card. Nothing left to bet. I have nothing more to offer…

“Even so,” Vincent replied.

Blue eyes clashed with blue. Elliot’s dropped. He knew he was the one who’d just laid down his hand, and shown a mismatched collection of cards. He just didn’t have what it took to win, here. No matter what.

Vincent continued to study him, thoughtfully. So. Now, what will you do? Catherine feels there is nobility in you. Is she correct?

“You know I’ll never reveal this place. That she’d hate me, if I did,” Elliot stated. That too, was a truth, between them. “Your secret is safe with me, and always will be.”

The leonine head inclined. “Perhaps you will never reveal this place… because you’re a good man, Elliot.”

Yeah, right. Maybe. For all the good it’s doing me. “I wouldn’t bet on that.” The tone was a frosty one. It betrayed how hurt he was. Vincent knew as much.

The steady blue eyes, the most human feature on Vincent’s face, continued to regard the only man who had ever truly been his rival. “Perhaps I would bet on it. Perhaps Catherine would, as well. Perhaps she already has.”

Elliot regarded the giant Catherine was leaving him for. Still drawing to an inside straight, Cathy? Or did you get four aces, this time? “Yeah. Well she’s a bad poker player. She bets on a lot of things, when she probably shouldn’t.”

Vincent had no idea what that meant, exactly.

“I came to speak with you because… finding Catherine… rescuing her… keeping her safe… I am in your constant debt, Elliot. You will have to content yourself with that.”

Never leave the game like you lost it. Never. “Yeah. Well, break her heart and I just might come back and collect on that. You take care of her, Vincent. Good care.”

“That I will.” Vincent extended his hand. It was the most unusual one Elliot had ever seen. “Thank you. It is all I can say.”

Elliot looked down. And then, he noticed something. “That’s a hell of a scar you’ve got on your palm.” It was. His hairless palm revealed a long-ago wound. One that very much followed his life line.

“I received it saving Catherine… and you,” Vincent replied.

Elliot blinked. He now knew who had covered Catherine’s escape, at the docks. And his. He remembered that the men chasing them had been wielding machetes. It’s a miracle you have a hand at all, to offer. And it means… I owe you, as well.

Vincent’s outstretched hand remained steady.

Elliot took it, and felt its strength. Whatever this being before him was, he wasn’t a weak one. In any way. Elliot had spent too many years sizing up opponents to not recognize that. “You do know I love her.” Even though it was obvious, it was hard to confess it to Vincent. Hard to confess he’d lost.

Scheming had never won him Catherine. Honesty might not, either, but at least of the two, he was starting to feel more comfortable with the latter. Something about the big man in front of him commanded it. “Very much,” Elliot added.

Vincent gave the hand that gripped his a very gentle squeeze. “Of course you do.” The deep voice was low velvet. “How can you not? Who could not love her?”

Elliot returned the squeeze, then dropped the hand, still almost unable to take in the unique man, before him. Cathy Chandler is sometimes a fool. And none of that matters, now. “Tell Cathy I… no. Don’t tell her anything. Just… give her this, later. She’ll know what it means.” He handed Vincent a small envelope. “It’s not a love letter. Or directions on how to run away with me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Vincent pocketed the slim envelope. “I didn’t think it was. Good luck, Elliot. Be well.”

Elliot couldn’t wish him the same. Not when the taste of losing was so fresh in his mouth. “I think our paths will cross again, one day. You’ll be sure to give that to Cathy?”

“I will be sure. And I believe Catherine would have it no other way.” Vincent moved to release the latch that allowed the door to swing open. “There is still a world up there, Elliot. A world where you are still a king.” He nodded toward the exit.

Maybe. But I’m a king without a queen. And I’m one king among many. You’re the only one, down here. You’re right that I need to leave. Before it’s me starting to envy you.

“The subjects will be getting restless,” Elliot replied, knowing he was about to go, and that the door would lock, behind him. “Time to go crack the whip. The beatings will continue, until morale improves.” He zipped up his jacket. “Tell her I said she owes me a van. The last one we rode in together ended up with bullet holes in it.”

“I will tell her.”

Elliot looked at the amazing man before him. I bet you have one hell of a story. And it’s one I don’t necessarily want to hear.

“No. Don’t tell her that. Tell her I wish her well. That I’m… changed, every time I’m with her. Mostly, for the better. But it’s always painful.”

Vincent inclined his head. “I will pray your heart heals quickly. And I will deliver your message.”

“And you owe me, for Catherine. Just so we’re clear.” Elliot stepped toward the metal gate.

“I most definitely ‘owe you.’ Should you have need of me, just come to this gate, and strike it with a stone. I will come.”

“I think I’m leaving for Australia. It’s gonna be a long distance call, from there.”

“I wish you good fortune, then,” Vincent replied.

Elliot passed through the threshold, and turned. He put a hand up, stopping the door from closing. “Vincent… I would have made her happy. I would have tried, anyway. All I could. Every day. Do you believe me?”

Vincent took in the man who was so much like himself, yet so very different. Yes, you would have done all you could. It just wouldn’t have been enough. And that would have been a tragedy, for both of you.

“I believe you,” Vincent replied simply, choosing not to elaborate. “But my father once told me that there is a truth beyond knowledge. Some days, I am still trying to pierce his meaning.”

“Good luck with that,” Elliot said, removing his hand so the door could close.

“Good luck to us all,” Vincent replied, bidding Elliot farewell, one last time.

Elliot turned from the ancient metal door, and toward the culvert that led back to Central Park. And by extension, back to New York itself. Back to his own life. Back to… everything.

Good-bye, Cathy. Some part of me will always love you. Even if it can never be…

***********

Chapter Twenty-Four

“Curiouser and Curiouser…”

“Who in the world am I? Ah, that's the great puzzle…”

Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

***********

“Hey, there. Nice to see you again, Mr. Maxwell. You’re lookin’ good.” Subway patrons bustled all around them.

Joe glanced down at the boy who’d appeared at his elbow. A young, familiar face grinned back at him. Joe frowned. It was kid from the hospital. What’s his name? Geoffrey?

“You too, kid,” Joe responded. “You take this train?” he asked, looking around the crowded platform. Any one of the many people standing there could have been the boy’s parent. Somehow, he doubted if any of them were.

“Nah,” the boy replied. “Trains need tokens, and that takes money. But you do. Your place is near here.”

And just how did you know that?

“Some days you take a cab,” Geoffrey stated, with all the confidence of a young man who’d done his homework. “But not on court days. On court days, you take a train. Because it goes right by the courthouse, and saves you a couple bucks.”

What in the world? “Is there a point to all this?” Joe’s eyebrows rose.

“There’s an old, beat-up dart board in your flash new office. You like to keep it close by, to remind you of how far you’ve come. You’ve always loved baseball. And… and … chocolate covered cheese nuggets?” The boy’s mouth curled in distaste, as he recited his list. “Man, you sure got some weird tastes.”

“It was a passing phase.” Joe shook his head. “What is this? A shakedown?”

“Nah, I’m just being friendly.” The boy shrugged.

Joe considered his open, cheeky face. He’d clearly spoken with someone who knew Joe well. Very well. And not just the details of his movements, or his new office. But the more personal details of his life.

There were only so many people who’d been in the room that day he’d brought in those chocolate covered cheese nuggets, purchased from a street vendor. And one of them had been Cathy Chandler. She’d nearly gagged watching him eat them… he’d only persevered because he knew it annoyed her.

Joe stepped back. “Listen. If you’re trying to tell me—”

“Don’t worry. I don’t mean you no harm.” The boy threw up both hands. He took an envelope out of his battered jacket pocket. “Here,” he offered. “She says to give this to you.”

Joe took the envelope, and swore, long and low. There were two words written on the front. “From Radcliffe.”

“Who’s Radcliffe?” Geoffrey asked, watching as Joe tore open the envelope.

“Cathy…” Joe replied absently. “It was my nickname for Cathy Chandler,” he said, excitedly, reading the note closely.

It was bare in facts. She wanted to meet him. Today at midday. In Central Park, on a bench near the falconer. It was written in Catherine’s familiar, feminine scrawl. He’d know her handwriting anywhere, thanks to having read multiple deposition breakdowns she’d submitted, over the last couple of years.

He re-read the note, looking for hidden clues. The train pulled in, but he planned on missing it. He needed to talk to Geoffrey. Shake the truth out of the boy, if he had to…

Where’s Cathy? Why the note, rather than just coming into the office, complete with a police escort and a 5th Avenue parade, considering?

But the crowd pushed forward, intent on boarding the subway train. And as it did, Joe realized the boy was gone. Maybe even before he’d answered the question about Catherine’s nickname.

“Kid? Hey, kid!” Joe called, as the morning rush nudged him forward. He spun around, looking.

The boy had vanished as quickly as he’d appeared. There was no sign of him in the bustling crowd.

“Radcliffe… you better have a good excuse for all of this…” Joe tucked the envelope safely into his trench coat pocket, and allowed himself to be moved forward by the mass of humanity, rather than against it. Born and bred as a New Yorker, he knew there was no point in resisting the tide.

I’ll be seeing you this afternoon, Cathy, was all he could think.

***********

Joe was early to the park. He couldn’t keep away. He paced an impatient circle, out and back around the statue of the falconer, frequently running his hand over his hair. The waiting was about killing him.

“Come on, Radcliffe. Don’t let me down. Not now, not after we’ve come so far…” He took another turn, and glared at his watch, as a distant clock struck the hour.

Have I, somehow, missed her…?

“Joe…?” a familiar voice said from behind him.

Joe spun around so quickly he almost fell. She was sitting right where she said she’d be. Sunlight caught in her honey blonde hair, and as he approached, he realized it was getting long. Longer than he’d ever seen it, and it suited her. She was wearing a tan jacket over a white top, and camel colored slacks embraced her legs. A pair of soft looking boots encased her feet.

“Thank God!” He hurried towards her. He didn’t know when he would get tired of just staring at her, his mouth half-open in shock. He’d imagined this reunion for far too long.

“Cathy! Where the heck were you? I mean, just where have you been all this time? I’ve scoured the city looking for you. We all have!”

“I know that, Joe. And I love you for it.” Catherine smiled.

He watched her gently deflecting his concern, aware he’d demanded the same answers from her the last time she’d vanished from his life. She didn’t answer him then, either.

“I was held. Then… I was with Elliot, for a while.”

Maybe so. But Elliot Burch had been back on the radar for several days already. Cathy hadn’t been. And Burch had responded to requests for information on Cathy’s whereabouts by leaving for Australia. Again.

“Yeah, okay, I get it. More secrets you can’t share.” Joe ran a frustrated hand up and around the back of his neck, unable to believe she was right in front of him, and seemingly unharmed. He felt like crying, he was so relieved.

“Hey, it’s all right, Joe. I’m okay.” Catherine stood and her voice was full of understanding. Holding her arms open, she allowed herself to be swept up in the most relieved embrace Joe Maxwell had ever given anyone.

“Cathy. My God… Cathy... you have no idea how much I’ve missed you…” He gave her a bear-crushing hug. She smelled like oatmeal soap, and a different kind of shampoo. She wasn’t wearing her usual expensive perfume. But she was Cathy. She was Cathy, and he adored her. “Are you sure you’re okay?” He could barely stand to stop hugging her, so he could check.

“I’m fine, Joe. You?” she asked, a bit of a tremor in her voice. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d missed him – and was going to miss him more – until right this moment.

Joe set her back on her feet, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She wasn’t carrying a purse, something Joe realized he’d almost never seen her without. No briefcase, none of the ‘luggage’ that normally carried her through the day. Unless she had a wallet tucked inside her slacks, he realized she was without ID.

He looked around at the passing crowd, but there seemed to be no obvious threat. There was no one near her. There was also no sign to indicate this was a trap, of some sort, no matter how odd the meeting was.

Get a grip, Maxwell! Who would lay a trap, now? Gabriel is dead… Diana has tracked him and laid him low.

“Please tell me you’re okay,” Catherine urged. She knew he’d endured much.

He drew back and looked into the beautiful green eyes he remembered. There she was, his Radcliffe. Sadder. Wiser, maybe. But her. “I’m good. Yeah, good. Now that I’ve found you again,” he said, taking another step back so she could see.

He knew it was a lie, but he braved her critical gaze. He’d lost weight, thanks to his hospital confinement. There was a red area on the left side of his face, which was healing, and a thin scar just under his jawline that never would. His color was winter pale, even though it was officially spring.

Catherine watched him try and bluff her. He looked like he’d been confined. She realized that she did, too. Are you, Joe? Is either one of us okay? Or do we just wish we were?

“But I don’t understand. Why here? Why not just come to my office…?” Joe looked around, still searching for the truth of her disappearance. “I mean, even Diana Bennett, the crack investigator I hired, couldn’t find any trace of you.”

The last time she’d vanished on him, it had been right after her father had died. She’d turned up then, in a matter of days. That had given him a big enough heart attack, wondering where she’d gone, and who she was with...

But a whole, damn month and more, Radcliffe? You gotta do better than you’re just okay… “I mean, it isn’t that you don’t know where I work. We’ve shared the same building for the last three years, for Pete’s sake!”

“It’s not that simple, Joe.” Catherine sat down on the bench, and invited him to do the same.

“It never is with you…” Joe grimaced. “All you have is secrets. And why do you have to use that boy, Geoffrey, to set up a meeting? Cathy, the police still have you down as kidnapped, possibly a homicide. They’re still looking for you. I’m trying to work out extradition with Australia, for God’s sake! This is crazy. You need to come in and tell us what happened. There’s nothing that can’t be fixed.”

“Sorry, Joe, but no. It’s… it’s better this way,” she replied, sliding something toward him. It was the book. He recognized it instantly. The book that had started all of this, though in some ways, everything had started so much before.

Catherine shrugged. “Elliot gave this back to me, before he left. His people never could crack it. He hoped you’d have better luck.”

“This is what started it all. This thing is poison.” Joe picked it up gingerly, and pushed it inside his coat pocket. “Maybe Bennett can crack it. What we got on the whole operation was enough. Maybe that’s all we’re ever gonna get. Avery’s gone too, by the way. Supposedly had a heart attack and drowned while snorkeling in the Caymans. Makes one more rat, less. Saved the city the huge cost of a protracted trial.”

“Thanks for telling me, Joe.” Catherine nodded, looking down at nails that were still short, but no longer sported her traditional manicure. “Yes. What we got was enough.” She lifted her head and looked back out onto the green lawn, in front of them. The lilies were starting to bloom. It would be Easter, soon.

“More than enough,” Joe agreed sadly, looking out at the same scene. How badly had she been hurt? Were there scars beneath her clothing, the same way there were beneath his?

“They hurt you, didn’t they?” Joe asked. He didn’t want to know, but he needed to understand.

She shrugged. “They held me. I think they hurt you, more.”

Joe took in the claim, and weighed it, for veracity. You know, I don’t think so. I think the fact that it was John… I think that hurt you more than anything else ever could have.

“They gave me John’s old job. Imagine that,” he said, picking lint off his trousers. She seemed content to sit there with him, looking out at the park. So that’s what they were going to do.

Catherine glanced sideways at him. “So the new boss is a slave driver. Rita and Ted have my sympathies. He’s quite a handful. Especially eating those chocolate covered cheese nuggets.”

“You aren’t gonna let that go, ever, are you?” He let a long moment pass, taking in the message she wasn’t quite saying. There were only so many reasons to ask to meet here, rather than just pick up a phone. Only so many reasons to extend sympathies to Rita and Ted.

“Cathy… you’re not coming back. Are you?”

The question she’d been waiting for, and in some ways dreading, and there it was. “I’m not. I … can’t, Joe. I’m sorry.” She glanced at him, and then back at the park. “I have somewhere else I have to be.”

“I get it. I don’t like it, but I get it.” He blew out a steady stream of air. “This job. It takes so damn much out of you. I told John I’d give you five minutes, before you cut and ran back to your father’s firm. Shows you how wrong I was, back then.”

“I remember my first day.” She nodded, as she watched the almost idyllic tranquility of the setting before her. It was at odds with the turmoil that had brought both of them to this point. She reached over and took his gloved hand, in hers. “And it does take a lot out of you. But I think that the job gave me more. Even with… even with everything that happened.”

You do? Then why…?

“I had kind of an epiphany, Joe. While they were holding me. About where… about where ‘home’ is, and what that might mean for me. It’s not just the DA’s office I’m not going back to.”

“What are you not telling me?” He took in her appearance, again. No purse. No wallet. No briefcase. No jewelry. No… nothing. He figured Gabriel had stolen almost everything material from her. But this was more than that. He now knew she’d been rescued by Elliot, but free of him, for days. Yet she’d only just now come forward. And… like this.

“You’re… you’re talking about stepping off the map. Cathy… don’t make a rash decision, here. Go and talk with Grafton. Let somebody help you and—”

The smile she gave him was positively serene. “Oh, Joe. I don’t need Dr. Grafton’s help. Not for this. I just… I need you. I need you to tell them something. Whatever story you want, so that nobody’s looking for me. The truth, even, as far as it goes. That I’m still alive, but… that I’ve taken off. I need time to myself. Maybe a lot of that. Months.” Her gaze went back outward. “Years. Maybe.”

“Is it Elliot Burch?” Joe exhaled roughly. “Bennett told me Elliot’s man said he had you. The press even speculated you two were together.” He grimaced. “I didn’t believe a word of it. Burch isn’t good enough for you.”

“No, it’s not Elliot.” Catherine squeezed his hand. “I hear he’s doing all right. With Avery finally out of the way, he’ll be the top developer in New York, once he comes back. It’s what he’s always wanted.”

More than me… A faint trace of hurt colored her tone. Tied up in her memories of him was still the time he’d been unwilling to give up Burch Tower for her. And the hurt that had caused, to everyone. Especially Vincent.

“I get the feeling that’s only replacing the weasel with the fox,” Joe complained. “Burch is too slippery, by half. I’ll keep my eye on him.”

“He’s a good man,” Catherine replied. “He will be of use to the DA’s office, if you allow him to help you.”

Joe sighed, as he watched a pair of kids kick a ball, between them. “If you vouch for him, then I’m prepared to give him the benefit of the doubt. Until he slips up and shows his true colors. For your sake,” Joe conceded, letting the tension in him go, feeling it be replaced by a unique kind of sorrow. “Rich college kids. Whatya gonna do with ‘em,” he jibed gently. They both knew he didn’t mean it. Also that this was good-bye.

“Yeah. I guess I always was a long shot gamble.” Kind of like trying to fill an inside straight.

“Best one I ever took. You gotta call Jenny. She’s been worried sick. Calls the station every couple of days. Still.”

“I’m seeing her later this afternoon,” was all Cathy replied.

Joe stretched his legs, relaxing, in the warming sun. It had been a long winter, and had led to a slowly thawing spring. Maybe next week it would be warmer. Better. For all of them.

“It surprised me how few people I have left, up here,” Catherine said.

Up here? What did that mean? Had they held her underground? Judging by her fair skin, maybe they had.

“I’ll tell Greg Hughes to lift the tape on your apartment and wrap up the investigation,” he said, knowing she’d want that. “You’ll be able to get back in by this evening. The desk guy will have a spare set of keys.”

“Thanks. And tell him I said… thank you. For everything.” A soft tear slid down her cheek. “I knew this was going to be hard. But I didn’t think it was going to be this hard.”

He squeezed her hand. “Maybe it’s the wrong choice, then. Give yourself some space to think.” He hesitated, chewing over how much to reveal of what Diana had told him about the things she’d found in Catherine’s apartment. He decided to bite the bullet and ask. “Say, does any of this have anything to do with this Vincent guy?”

He felt her involuntary jerk, beside him, and knew he’d hit a nerve. The truth, at last? He hurried on. “Bennett said she’d found some references to him in your apartment. She said he gave you a book of poetry. I don’t wanna pry into your private life, but I just wanted to know the truth, for once…” He lifted his shoulders in apology, tightening his grip on her hand. “Is he your big secret?”

“Oh, Joe…” Catherine shook her head, brushing aside the tear as she returned his grip. “It’s…complicated. But none of it was, or is, any kind of mistake. I wish I could tell you about him. Maybe someday I will be able to do so. If you only knew the life I think is waiting for me... I think you’d understand.”

Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t. “Gonna tour the south of France? Get a massage in one of those fancy parlors?” he asked, his voice unsteady. He didn’t want to lose her from his life again.

Now he thinks I want what Elliot thought I wanted. “Maybe,” she lied. “I don’t know. The south of France gets pretty dull, after a while.”

If that was true, Joe had no idea. But he did know that the woman sitting beside him was a changed one. Both from over a month ago… and from over three years ago.

“Yeah. Well, I been thinkin’, too.” He disengaged their hands and put his between his knees, as he rubbed his palms together. “That Westfield law degree of mine just might be good enough to open up shop. Not right away, of course. Too many loose ends to tie up. Department’s a mess. Give it six months. Maybe a year. See how I like the new job.”

So she wasn’t the only one who was considering a big life change. John’s betrayal had had a lasting impact on both of them.

“You’re the new District Attorney of Manhattan. Whatever else you decide to be… you be. Your dad would be so proud, Joe,” Catherine said.

He turned his head her way, and gave her a small smile. “Yeah. He would. Hell of a way to get a promotion, though. Cathy, I don’t know if they told you. But Gabriel is dead, and rotting in hell, someplace, if there’s any justice in the universe.”

Killed by your gun. And by a woman you don’t even know. God bless her. “A cleaned up version of what happened will probably make the six o’clock news.” He tapped the book in his pocket. “I’ll give this to Diana. She has the time to spend on it.”

Catherine nodded at the information. Elliot is safe, then. That was good. He deserved to have a happy life.

“We made a pretty amazing team, didn’t we?” Catherine asked.

Joe watched her expressive face. In spite of the fact she had no purse to collect, he knew she was about to leave.

“We damn sure did. Brought down the bad guys. Won a lot of cases. Saved some old people from being evicted. We did a lot of good, Cathy.” Even though it damn near killed us. “I, ah… if I go private, you interested? I might need a partner. Just in case they’d rather have somebody from Columbia than Westfield.”

It was a kind offer. And one she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to take. Then again, he was talking a year from now. Who could say? She knew that a year ago, she never thought she’d be at this juncture.

“I may have to give that come consideration.” She smiled. “Just don’t be surprised if the answer is ‘no.’ Or even if it’s yes. I’m… I’m not running away from anything, Joe,” she hastened to add, knowing she couldn’t tell him too much. “I’m running to something. Or I’m trying to, if that makes any difference.”

He nodded, knowing he had no choice but accept her word for it. “No promises here, either. Maybe I’ll stay with the DA. But I kinda doubt it. The politics have corrupted, or killed, lesser men.”

He continued to take in the view. A pair of robins flew down, and were pecking in the grass. We’re both changing. We’re both changed, by this. Maybe it was inevitable.

She rose from the bench. “If you see Elliot Burch, you owe him a thank you. It was Elliot who got me out, Joe.” He just couldn’t keep me.

“So Bennett said. Figures. How do I get in touch with you, Cathy? Call your home phone and leave a message? Wait for wayward munchkins to approach me in hospital rooms and subway stations? Call Jenny?”

He was looking to keep a link with her, and she knew it. She also knew that none of those ways would work, ultimately. Maybe. She was just starting out. She had no idea ‘how she could be contacted’ and ‘how she couldn’t.’

“Call Dr. Peter Alcott. My family physician. He’ll probably know how to get in touch with me… no matter where I am.” She was purposefully vague.

He was pleased that she’d given him that much. He knew he’d be careful not to abuse it. “Yeah. Well. If you ever need anything… you know the office phone number.” He rose, and held out his arms, for a parting hug.

It was one she returned, gratefully. “I’ll just ask to speak to the head slave driver. The guy eating chocolate covered cheese nuggets. Who roots for the Dodgers.” She gave him a hard squeeze, all the things they’d both gone through, between him.

“I’m gonna miss you, Joe.”

Yeah. But not enough to stay. I don’t blame you, Cathy. Maybe it’s time for both of us to move on. Maybe not. If I go, I might only be a little bit behind you.

“Good luck, Radcliffe. Wherever you’re going, give ’em hell. And tell this Vincent of yours, he better be good to you. Or he’ll have me to deal with.” His quick smile was lopsided. “I’m a pretty good lawyer, ya know?”

“You’re the absolute best. I know…” She broke the embrace, knowing time was ticking past. He had places he needed to be. She’d arranged for the meeting she had, because of that. “But I’d prefer to think of it as they’re giving me heaven,” she said, not being specific as to who ‘they’ were.

“Yeah. Heaven. Once the new paycheck starts hitting, maybe I won’t have to take the subway, on Wednesdays,” he said, trying to draw out the time, between them.

“You’ll still do it. Court days. Nothing like ’em,” she replied. Then, she threw him a bone. One she meant, sincerely. “Maybe I’ll be in touch, now and then. If I need a good lawyer…”

“You do that…” He nodded, watching her walk backwards, as she walked away from him.

“I’ll try not to call on a court day. I know you’ll be busy, then.”

“Yeah. Nothing like a court day. Good-bye, Radcliffe. Good luck.”

“You too, Joe. You too.”

She turned so she could face the path. Face it, and see where she was going. He watched her walk away until she rounded a curve in the sidewalk, and went out of sight.

Joe retraced his steps back down the way he’d come in, looking up through the some barely green trees to where the New York skyline stood. The great city he loved – and sometimes couldn’t stand – rose, all around him.

He checked his watch. He was due back at the Municipal building in forty-five minutes. He had time to grab a hot dog from a street vendor and a quick cab. He had things to do. A dangerous book to hand off, and a new conviction to chase. A life to live, a good one of those, warts and all. He was going to make a difference in this town.

He hoped Catherine Chandler could say the same. Be well, Radcliffe…

Court days. There’s nothing like ’em...

***********

Chapter Twenty-Five

“We Have Only Just Begun…”

“What we have is all that matters… It’s worth everything!”

“Everything!”

~ Catherine and Vincent – A Happy Life

***********

Catherine had spent the rest of the afternoon with Jenny Aronson, trying to sooth her best friend’s fears, and concerns for her immediate future. She’d resisted the fervent offer of a room in Jenny’s huge apartment for as long as she needed, and the whole idea of a welcome home party.

They’d spent time discussing Catherine’s plans for her immediate future, and the important things she’d decided. Jenny had listened, intently.

She hadn’t disputed the idea of Catherine not returning to the D.A.’s office. “If you think it’s for the best.” Then she offered her friend a job with her own publishing firm, which Catherine turned down, gently.

“Oh, okay, I get it. I should’ve known.” Jenny sighed gustily. “There’s someone else. There always was. And it isn’t Elliot Burch, despite what the papers say.” She nodded wisely. “You’ve always managed to keep him very quiet.” She watched her best friend hopefully, seeking clues and answers. “But you aren’t going to tell me anything about him, are you?”

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. It was a gesture she was becoming well-practiced at. “I’m sorry, Jen. I don’t have a choice. His secrets are not mine to share.” Catherine deflected her concerns. “He… doesn’t live in my world.”

Jenny accepted the odd sentence, as only a woman who had prophetic dreams could. “Okay, so you gotta go and live with him, in his. You’ve been playing your cards pretty close to your chest all these years.” Her brown eyes contained only a mild censure. “I always knew something was going on. Why do I always miss out on all the good stuff? Why am I always the last one to know about a great romance?”

“Maybe because you get the scary dreams, more than the good ones,” Catherine had offered. Or maybe because I’ve been living a very scary life, lately. I’m trying to change that, Jen. Please understand. One day, I hope to be able to tell you everything. One day.

“I could come over tonight. Stay at your place. We could call Nancy, maybe?” Jenny offered. “We could have a PJ party, and a girls’ catch-up.”

“No…” Catherine shook her head, trying not to seem vehement. “No, I think I really need some… some peace and quiet, for a while. Catch up on my sleep…” She used her ordeal as an excuse to be by herself.

“You’re sure? I mean, I’d just sleep on the couch, and—”

“Jen, I’m sure. You’re my best friend in the world, though. You really are. You always were. I hope you know that.”

Catherine gave the brunette woman a long hug. Something inside Jenny sensed this was a ‘different’ kind of good-bye. She just couldn’t put her finger on why that was.

“I get that you want to be alone. But… I really want to know what’s going on with you, honey. Just so I know you’re safe.”

Given recent events, it was hardly an unreasonable request.

Catherine held her close. “I’m safe. I’m going home. Really home. One day… I swear I’ll tell you more. I just need you to know this: I’m happier than I ever remember being. Even if there’s… a lot of change in it.”

Jenny returned her hug, pressure for pressure. “You know I don’t want you to leave. What am I gonna do without you?”

“I know. But I’m going to. And it doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Nothing could mean that.” She broke the embrace. Both women had bright tears in their eyes.

“Okay. So I don’t get to know the particulars, but I know you’re happy. That will have to do, for now. Keep in touch, you hear me, girlfriend?” Jenny held her hand, tears running down her cheeks. “Wherever you go, wherever you end up, call me when you can. Or I will come looking for you. Nancy and me. I hate being kept out of anything interesting.”

“I will do my best.” Catherine squeezed her hand and let it go. I will see you again. I’m not dying. I’m… living. Living better than I ever have. Maybe living the way I was destined to, all along. One day, I’m going to tell you a story that makes everything your firm publishes look like a poor piece of fiction. And you’ll believe it, and embrace it. Just because you’re you.

Jenny wiped her eyes with a handkerchief and blew her nose. “And whoever he is that you’re running to meet, tell him he’d better treat you decent. Or he’ll have me to deal with! I’m pretty feisty when I get mad.” She laughed shakily.

“I love you, Jenny Aronson. Don’t you ever change.” Catherine hugged her with extra force before letting her go.

I won’t change. But I sure get the feeling you have. Again, Jenny thought, but didn’t say. I wonder who you’re going to become, this time?

Behind them, through the living room window, the sun was lowering towards the horizon. It would soon be night-time.

***********

Catherine hurried from Jenny’s home and took a taxi to her own apartment building. The evening was drawing in, and she didn’t want to be late for her longed-for reunion with Vincent.

Returning to her apartment in the last part of the day was easier than Catherine had anticipated. The desk clerk handed her a spare set of keys with a cheery greeting and a fond “Welcome back.”

The keys felt solid, and familiar, in her palm. Door keys. How… ordinary. It was almost as if she’d never been away. She closed her fingers around them. They’re not a thing I’m going to use very much, anymore, she realized. There were no locked doors in Vincent’s world. There was no need on any.

The lobby windows facing the street revealed the first violet shades of evening. The building opposite hers cast a long shadow. Though the sun was still above the horizon, New York’s skyscrapers and apartment buildings kept the world Above in almost perpetual shade.

“It won’t be long now…” she promised the warm, loving presence that hovered at the edge of her consciousness, as she hurried towards the elevator, and took the car to her apartment level.

She stepped from the elevator into the hallway, and hastened to her front door. In the next moment she was inside, pushing the door shut behind her. Turning to lock and bolt it, she then leaned back against the wood and sighed, absorbing the silence.

Saying good-bye first to Joe and then to Jenny had been emotionally exhausting. Necessary, but exhausting. She sighed as her steady gaze travelled the room. It felt like the unlived-in place it had always been. It felt like… like temporary lodging, or a place she remembered living in. It did not feel like ‘home.’ For all its loveliness, and all its conveniences, this was not the place Catherine knew she’d struggled for, and longed to get back to. It just wasn’t.

To her critical eyes it seemed as if nothing had been disturbed. Of course, she knew every aspect of her life would have been turned upside down and gone through thoroughly, in a determined effort to find her whereabouts. She was aware the female investigator Joe had hired would have looked through everything, seeking any clues. This was made very obvious by the cardboard box sitting in the middle of her dining table.

Catherine crossed the floor on quick feet, to look inside. It contained everything that Vincent had given her. Obviously the gatherer of this vital information now knew his name. Joe had asked about him, too. It scared her how close they’d come to revealing the truth. She needed to be more careful in the future.

She saw there was a small, folded piece of white paper pushed beneath the box. Catherine opened it to find a scrawled message.

‘If you ever wish to know the truth about Gabriel and his ultimate end, Joe knows where to find me. Good luck.’

Diana B.

“Diana, the huntress…” Catherine shivered.

She had no wish to ever know anything more about her hated kidnapper. Maybe one day she would. But not now…

She backed away from the table, her hands pushing deep into her jacket pockets. Paper crumpled, beneath her fingers. She withdrew the envelope she’d been carrying since Vincent had given it to her. Elliot’s note. She had avoided thinking about it, until now.

She wasn’t sure what to expect from him. A plea that they somehow reconnect, a wish for another meeting at some vague and distant point, words of warning, words of advice…  All were things she wasn’t sure she was ready for, from him. But the envelope had been hovering at the peripheral edge of her awareness for days.

It’s time. She owed it to him to read what he’d written, and perhaps even respond, if he required it. He’d saved her life. She was in his debt. She knew a part of her always would be, even if she could never be the woman he wanted her to be.

She slid her fingernail beneath the sealed flap and slit it open. There was no letter, no note. No carefully crafted missive greeted her searching eyes. She reached in and extracted the only thing that was there.

It was the two of hearts. The playing card she’d bet on. The one she’d beat him with, back when he’d taught her how to play draw poker, to pass the time. On a hand she shouldn’t have bet on, but had. He was returning it to her. It was as much of a blessing as he was capable of giving.

How appropriate, she thought. Catherine smiled, and tapped it to her bottom lip. “Sometimes, you really do have to bet on the long shots. I hope you find yours, Elliot. I hope you win her, even when all the odds say you can’t. You must be open to the possibility of change…”

She shook her head and tucked the card away. “We’re the two of hearts, Vincent. We are. Maybe we always were.”

She checked the angle of the lowering sun. He’ll be here, soon. I love you, Vincent. She sent him the thought, hoping he received it. She was still learning this new aspect of their bond. A thing she’d been doing when he was much closer to her, physically, felt a bit more difficult, now.

Give it time, she thought, cheered by the understanding they now had all of that they wanted. We’re changed, and we’re changing. Again.

She moved quickly into her bedroom, removing her clothes as she walked. She showered and dressed again, finishing her hair and make-up, all in record time. She eyed the incandescent light bulb of her bedroom lamp, and scowled at it. Days spent in candlelight suited her, the softer light taking the harsh edges of the world away from her eyes. She extinguished the lamp and lit a cluster of random candles within clear glass holders, liking the effect much better.

Without the lights on, the rest of her apartment quickly descended into full darkness. The warm, loving presence that had hovered at the edge of her consciousness the whole time she was Above, now drew nearer, and became even more powerful. A heartbeat, stronger than hers, beat alongside her own, in intimate harmony.

“Vincent…” She hurried to the bedroom window. Stepping up onto the small step beneath the balcony door, she moved through the drape of gauzy curtains and out onto the flat tiles. The cool evening air brushed her flushed cheeks with a chill touch. The hem of her white silk dress fluttered against her legs. But she didn’t notice.

Turning eagerly towards the far end of her balcony, she could see a large form, hidden in the shadows, standing in the corner. Vincent was standing exactly where he’d been the very first time he had ever come to her, intending to leave after gifting her with his ancient copy of Great Expectations.

“Vincent...!” Catherine cried, gladly. She rushed forward and embraced him. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“As I have missed you, more than I can say…” Vincent hugged her close, sinking his face into her hair and breathing her in. She smelled like the Catherine of Above, again. Like her soap, and her shampoo. And yet, her recent time Below was in her scent, too; not to mention the hours she’d spent with him, intimately. Woman of Both Worlds. How I love you. There was peace in his soul, thanks to their reunion.

We are only now just starting out. Words he’d given her months ago came back to him, and made him smile. “It felt like forever ago,” he added.

She had left his bed early that morning, promising she would meet him here, tonight. He hadn’t doubted her word, but he’d mistrusted her ability to escape from those who would detain her, Above. He knew those who loved her would not be happy about her decision not to remain in their world of light. He’d paced the threshold Below, wishing time would move faster, so he could finally reach his love, and assuage his deepening sense of disquiet…

Before Elliot had left the world Below, he had made his promises not to reveal what he knew of Vincent’s world, and so far, he’d kept his word. But Vincent hadn’t been happy to allow Catherine to go Above without his protection. But he had been given no choice… he could not be with her, in the daylight.

“I think I willed the sun to set,” he whispered into the shell of her ear.

“I think I did, too,” she replied. “I know you were afraid. I could feel it with every step I took away from you. But we both know I had to go.”

“That is not a thing I wanted you to sense, from me,” he replied. He did not want to send ‘fear’ through their Bond. He wanted to send her only love and understanding.

Her look was ever soft. “I didn’t need our Bond to know that. After what we’ve endured… and what we found, with each other… who could blame you?”

“I may be… protective of you… of us, for a time,” he admitted. “How can I not?”

“I had to go. But I came back to you…” Catherine drew back to look up at him, sensing the largeness of his fears. “As you can see, I am here, and in one piece. There’s no-one left to hurt me.”

“Yes…” Vincent whispered, taking in the warmth and beauty of her. “But still, I worried…”

“I know. You worried I wouldn’t be able to come home to you. You imagined a thousand scenarios.” Catherine shook her head. “Don’t you know by now, Vincent, that you could never lose me, forever? I would always make my way back to you. Somehow. I love you so much.”

“As I love you.” Vincent’s expression eased his deep concern. “I promised you I would say it every day.”

“I could get used to it…” Catherine teased softly, her eyes taking in the whole of him. “There is somewhere I would like to take you, right now…”

“Fifth Avenue, for ice cream…?” Vincent teased, leaning down to kiss her.

Catherine returned his kiss eagerly, before drawing fractionally away. “Somewhere better. Somewhere better than anywhere else in the whole world.”

“And just where is that, my love…?” His warm breath brushed her cheek.

“Come with me…” Catherine threaded her fingers through his, drawing him after her.

She walked slowly towards her open door, leading him to the gauzy curtains which gave access to her bedroom. She stepped down into the room.

“You wish to go inside?” Vincent halted, with his boots just touching the sill.

Catherine knew that her apartment no longer felt like ‘home,’ to her. But that didn’t mean the two of them couldn’t make it a ‘home away from home,’ for them. The balcony had always been a place between her world and his. It had been the place they’d begun, in a way, the place where he’d first confessed they had a Bond.

She knew what his home, was to her. It was sanctuary. It was wondrous.  Perhaps it was time to find out if her used-to-be-home could become something more, for him. “There’s more privacy here…” Catherine tugged his hand gently, but he didn’t move.

“We can stay…and watch the sun rise and set… and we don’t have to do a thing, except love each other…” Warm color crept into her cheeks. “Over and over again. You could… watch the sun rise. With me. Even… be together, in the light. If it’s what you want, Vincent…”

The dream they’d shared when she’d been with Elliot started to make more and more sense, to him. We are more than the sum of our limits. We are how we choose to overcome those, as well. The “Alone” place inside of him never felt more distant.

“I can think of nothing more intoxicating than to love you thoroughly and well, in the sunshine, Catherine.” Vincent’s blue eyes caressed her with a fire that made her gasp. Privacy. It was a thing there was only so much of, Below. He now realized how appealing a thing that was, here. To love you. With the sky in the windows, and moonlight… then sunlight, in your hair, on your skin… is all the light ours, Catherine? All of it? Will it always be? Suddenly, it felt like it was.

“This can be our bridge between our two worlds.” Catherine kissed the back of his unique hand.

“If you wish it…” He looked down at his feet, and then up into the shadowed room. The new and varied colors of their shared bond urged him forward, telling him everything was as it had always been, and yet, different.

He took the first step, then the second, and was suddenly standing in a room he had rarely entered before, and had never imagined to be possible to enter, with the intention of staying into the daylight hours, and beyond.

“Now, that wasn’t too hard, was it?” Catherine chided him lovingly. “I was going to turn on the lamp, but… candlelight felt more fitting.”

He eyed the cluster of candles that would have been right at home on his side table. “All the light is ours,” he replied, meaning it in so many ways.

“Welcome to my… our world, Vincent.” She smiled. “Here, tonight, we can be all we were truly meant to be…”

She hugged him, feeling his great arms close tight around her. “I told you once that what we have is all that matters… it’s worth everything…”

“Everything…” Vincent agreed, kissing her lingeringly. We have everything. We are everything. All the light. All the shadows. All the possibilities, and all the wonders. Everything. Eternally.  “I understand that now, my Beloved…”

“I do so love you…” Leaving him briefly, Catherine shut and locked the window doors, closing the world outside, and them inside, for as long as they needed to re-kindle every aspect and strand of their mutual bond. The one that bound them, each to the other, until the end of time, and beyond…

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“Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another. No more walls…”

Anaïs Nin

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All digital graphics lovingly created by Judi (Of course)

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No matter where you are when you run for home, I wish you love...

C.J. LaBelle