"Then I have something to tell you. Something that will bring you great joy."

As soon as those words left her mouth, Diana wished she had never uttered them. Why? Why had she said that? How could she tell him she had lied to him for two years, that she had taken his trust and abused it? It would only hurt him. And herself, as well. Could she dissemble long enough to keep from telling him? No. With a slight smile, he was looking at her expectantly, waiting patiently for her to begin.

She cleared her throat and turned away from him - she couldn't bear to see his love for her die in his eyes. As she told him that the woman who still held his heart was alive, his patient smile froze then quickly faded as hope flared. Just as quickly, it died to be followed by a look of unutterable agony on that uniquely beautiful face that she loved so well.

Furtively, she glanced over her shoulder at him. He was - the word almost made her laugh hysterically - thunderstruck. She saw the hope blaze and grow in his eyes then die as he stared at her in shock and disbelief.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, his voice harsh with misery. "Is it not enough that my heart died once? That now you give me false hope and my heart dies again?"

Wildly, she shook her head. "No, Vincent, it's true. Believe me; she is alive and well."

"Alive and well," he repeated, his voice filled with longing. The wonder of it was almost more than he could bear, but then a terrible doubt forced its way into his thoughts. "If that is true then why isn't she here?"

"I'm the one that told her to hide, that she wasn't safe, that she'd endanger you and Jacob and the tunnels. " She forced her eyes up to his; she could see the cautious beginning of acceptance growing in them.

Her words slowly penetrated his befuddled brain, but he soon realized with a sinking heart that the woman he loved was still lost to him: alive, but as completely unobtainable as if she was dead. He wanted to roar out his pain and frustration. He wanted his love here beside him, helping him cope with the awful truths that were being told him.

Abruptly, he turned his back on her as if he couldn't stand the sight of her. "Why?" was the muffled question, and she knew he was asking for her reasons: why she had told Catherine to disappear.

"I loved you by then and wanted you for myself. I thought with her out of the picture you would turn to me and learn to love me."

"But I couldn't," he muttered.

"No," she agreed with a heavy heart. "I'm sorry, Vincent. Really I am."

The silence stretched on and on until she was ready to scream, and she did squeal a little when he whirled around to face her. His eyes were twin pools of blue ice. There was no recognition of her as a friend or as a Helper. She felt as if he saw her as an insect, needing to be stomped upon.

"You're sorry!" he hissed in disbelief. He took a menacing step toward her; she backed away involuntarily. She had never seen him as enraged as he was at this moment, not even the one time she had seen him lose himself. But strangely, he was in total control, the two sides of him working in concert. For once in his life, the man's rage equaled that of The Other. Fists clenched tightly, he was shaking from suppressed rage. She raised a hand and moved toward him.

"No," he snarled. "Don't come any closer; don't even touch me!" He towered over her, and for only the second time in her life, she was afraid of him. "If you were a man, you would be dead by now, and I would not be sorry that I had killed you," he growled contemptuously.

She backed away from the tangible force of his contempt. "What are you going to do?" she cried, afraid of what might happen, distracted as he was.

"What can I do, Diana?" He held his lethal hands open wide before her. "I am effectively neutralized. It's not as if I could go searching for her, is it?" he answered sarcastically.

"Please, Vincent, I did it because I love you," she tried to explain.

He looked at her incredulously. "You love me?" he questioned, his voice colored with disdain. Stalking back and forth as if the physical exertion could bleed away some of the magnitude of his anger, he turned on her. Oh god, along with the pain and rage, she saw pity in his eyes. He not only hated her, but he pitied her as well. "You don't know the meaning of love. If you did, you would never have subjected Catherine and me to two years of pain and loss and deprived my son - Catherine's son - of his mother's love."

"How do you know if she has suffered two years of pain and loss? Your bond with her is gone. She may have moved onto another love." She shouted, trying to vindicate herself and using what arguments she could.

"How do I know?" he parroted in a dangerously calm, even voice, his eyes glittering with suppressed fury. "How do you know you are alive, Diana? How do you know you are a living, breathing human being? How do you know that what you perceive as life isn't anything other then a dream?"

"I just know," she answered defensively. "Everything tells me it isn't a dream." She suddenly knew how he was going to answer, and it made her feel so small and useless, defeated.

"You've answered your own question. Everything I know, everything I feel about Catherine, everything I felt from Catherine . . . " He gestured in the direction of Jacob's room. "The child sleeping in the next chamber tells me she is suffering as much as I." The look on her face told him that she didn't understand what he was trying to explain to her. He knew then that Diana had never understood the destiny that had brought Catherine into his life. Living in the world above where love was at best a lifelong commitment and at its worst a fleeting encounter, she couldn't understand a love that was eternal and everlasting. She had tampered with fate and had come up against an immutable object. Nothing could alter the commitment and the love that he felt for Catherine or that she felt for him. The pain Diana now felt was of her own doing. But for once his natural empathy was gone, and he felt no compassion for her. Instead, all he felt was a return of the blinding rage, and it amazed him that she was still standing unharmed before him.

"What can I do to make up for what I've done?" she pleaded.

Vincent had never thought that he could ever hate anyone until now. The sight of Diana standing before him instead of his lovely Catherine almost made him physically ill. He could not look at her any longer and turned away from her.

"What can you do, Diana? I think you have done quite enough. Now I have to live with the knowledge that Catherine is alive, and I have no way to get to her."

Burying her face in her hands, Diana sobbed, brokenhearted.

Completely unmoved, cold as ice, Vincent's voice sliced through her heart like a Damascene blade. "Don't come back to the tunnels again. You are not welcome in my home. Leave me - NOW."

Flinching away from his tirade, blinded by tears, she felt her way into the outer tunnel where she fell into Father's arms. Vincent's tormented roar followed her and resounded throughout the tunnels. She heard the thud as he fell to his knees, gasping in pain.

"Diana! For heaven's sake, what is going on? What's wrong with Vincent?" Although he couldn't understand what had been said, he had heard the loud, angry words coming from his son's chamber and had made his way there only to hear Vincent order Diana to leave and to never come back.

Grabbing the heartbroken woman by the arm, he attempted to steer her back into Vincent's chamber. Suddenly, his son came flying out into the tunnel, stopped short when he saw Father struggling with an overwrought Diana, and said coldly, "Get her out of here, Father." Diana shrank from the frost in Vincent's eyes and weakly leaned against Father's chest.

"Vincent! What is going on?" Something monstrous had happened between these two friends, and he was determined to find out what it was. Diana was close to fainting, and it was obvious to the older man that his son didn't care. That in itself was something that he didn't understand. Vincent had always been very solicitous of his friends' welfare.

"Get her out of here or I'm taking Jacob and leaving."

"I don't understand. Tell me, Vincent."

"No, Father," Diana 's voice quavered with defeat, "let me leave."

"Please! Vincent, Diana, let me help make things right between you."

Vincent's words were as sharp as broken glass. "Nothing can make this right . . . can it, Diana?" He wheeled about and raced away. He had to get to his son. He needed the peace and serenity of holding Catherine's son in his arms until he could come to some kind of acceptance about the knowledge that she was alive but still lost to him.

Diana flinched when Vincent spoke her name with such repugnance and listlessly followed the tunnel leader when he urged solicitously, "Come along, child. I'll fix some tea and you can tell me what has happened."

What Diana really wanted was to go home and be miserable all by herself, but knew she owed this man an explanation. He guided her to the council table and settled her in one of the chairs there. She sat completely silent, barely breathing, lost in a misery of her own making. When he sat beside her and set a steaming cup in front of her, she jumped then took the hot cup in her hands, turning it around and around. Maybe some of the warmth of the tea would warm her cold, devastated heart. It was a futile wish.

"Now, tell me what has Vincent so worked up?"

She turned red-rimmed leaden eyes to him. He'd hate her just like Vincent. She didn't want to tell him. She shook her head in denial, hesitated, then in a small, faint voice, she said, "I told him a secret I have kept for two years."

"Well, it can't be all that bad," he tried to reassure her.

Nodding her head with abandon, she stumbled on, "Yes . . . oh yes . . . it . . . is."

"Can you tell me?" he gently asked, wondering what could have been so terrible to cause such a rift between them.

She inhaled deeply then blew the air out through pursed lips. "Catherine is alive," she mumbled.

Father straightened sharply. "I don't think I heard you properly? Did you say Catherine is alive?" He couldn't believe his own ears.

Shrinking in on herself, she nodded once. "Yes."

"What? She's alive?" He sagged back into his chair, afraid to believe.

She nodded miserably.

Anger, foreboding, shock, mistrust, all these emotions flooded through him as he thought of what this devastating knowledge would do to his son. But she must be mistaken. If not, why would she do this? "Catherine is dead. How could you tantalize him like this? I thought you loved him?"

"I do love him. That's why I did it. I love him and I wanted him for myself, and she stood in my way, and I had to find some way to get her out of the picture." The words tumbled out and even to her they sounded selfish and sordid. "And she's alive, Father. I told her that Gabriel's people would hunt her down to find the black book."

"Well, that's true," he agreed.

"No, it isn't. I painted the picture blacker than it really was. I convinced her to leave the country."

Curiosity won out over his warring emotions, and leaning forward intently, he asked, "Why did you tell him after all this time?"

"I asked him to marry me, and when he agreed, I was the happiest woman in the world until he said that Jacob needed a mother."

"Yes," he nodded, agreeing. "He would do anything for Jacob."

"Even going so far as to marry a woman he didn't love?"

"Yes," Father answered simply. He knew his son, and he knew what sacrifices he was capable of making to ensure Jacob's happiness and safety: although it was hard to think of marrying Diana as a sacrifice. But, then, he wasn't Vincent, and he wasn't bonded with Catherine.

"I realized then that he would never love me as I love him: so, I told him."

Shrewdly, the old man gauged her. "Possibly punishing him for not loving you?"

"Did I do that, Father?" She gazed at him in shocked amazement. This wise old man had seen the reason behind her actions that she had not been aware of, which she was only now beginning to realize. "I guess in a way I did. I wanted him to hurt as badly as I did. And I succeeded."

"Yes, my dear, you really have. I don't think any of us can know the depth of love that those two have for each other or the depth of pain that they suffer with the loss of their bond."

"I know I didn't," she concurred, tears wending their way down her pale cheeks.

"Well now, do you feel a little better?" At her reluctant nod, he continued, "Have you decided what you are going to do to rectify this situation?"

"Rectify?" she asked. She hadn't thought past her own pain. Silently, he observed her, giving her the time to come to her own conclusions.

"I guess it is up to me to find her; Vincent can't." With the back of her hand, she swiped at the tears that were slowly ebbing.

"That would be a step in the right direction."

"Father?" He waited for her to continue. "You don't hate me?"

"No, my child, I don't hate you. I've lived too long with that emotion, and when I finally gave it up, I felt as if I had been reborn. I hate what you did. I think you made a grievous error in judgment for all the wrong reasons."

She ducked her head, agreeing with him. The tears began to fall again, and he offered her his handkerchief, letting her cry until she was through. He could not comfort her. This was something she had to get through on her own. She had hurt too many people and not the least - him.

At last, the storm passed and she handed the soaked linen back to him. "I've got to go."

"Do you know what you're going to do?" In a way he felt sorry for her. She had lost more than her friendship with Vincent; she had lost the sanctuary of the tunnel world. There was no way he would force his son to accept her presence here. Looking at her, he could tell that she knew she could never return.

"I'm going to find Catherine," she declared, "and bring her here."

"I hope you can, Diana. It's been two years." The last thing he wanted was for Vincent to get his hopes up and then have them dashed to pieces.

"I'll find her," she swore. "I have to for Vincent and Jacob's sake."

"Yes, for both of them."

"I should leave before Vincent comes back. I've caused him enough pain already. He doesn't need any more." Despondently, she got to her feet, and when Father stood with her, she said, "I'll be all right."

"I know," he replied, "but I'm going to walk with you back to your threshold."

"You don't have to do that," she protested as she turned to leave.

"Don't argue with me, young lady; you won't win," he grumbled as he took her arm.

Giving him a ghost of a smile, she allowed him to slip his arm through hers and walk with her to the tunnel door of her building. Neither one had much to say.

When they reached the threshold, the tunnel patriarch asked, "Keep me informed, Diana? You know how. Call Peter Alcott."

"I will," she promised and impulsively hugged this kind old man, whom she thought she would never see again. Then she walked through the door, turned and looked searchingly at him as if to memorize his face and form. Closing the door, he returned to his chamber, waiting through the night for a son who didn't return.

Early the following morning Vincent returned. Peering into every nook and cranny of the large book-lined chamber, he eased into the room.

"Yes, she's gone," Father informed him over the top of the medical journal he had picked up to read while he waited for his shaken son to return. He lowered the book to his desk and leaned back waiting for Vincent to begin. There was no doubt in his mind that they needed to talk about what had happened this night.

"Good," Vincent growled, dropping heavily into a nearby chair.

"This is unlike you, my son," Father commented, noting the unhappy light in the man's eyes, sitting so morosely by him. The news he had been given tonight would have elated any other man, but in his unique circumstances, the very nature of that good news was enough to bring him to tears.

"What?" he cried. "Am I to accept this betrayal . . . no, it's more than betrayal . . . I haven't a word for what I feel . . . accept this . . . bah!" he shouted, leaping from his chair, unable to sit still a moment longer from all the emotions flooding through him. "Accept this from a woman I trusted and cared for?" He paced to the other side of the chamber, stopped, and turned back to his father. "I even thought to marry her," he muttered. In a trice, he was pacing again, going from one side to the other.

"For all the wrong reasons," Father interjected.

"Yes," he agreed. He stopped, thought to say something, shook his head then proceeded to pace around the room once again.

"If you didn't know, your relationship with Diana would have continued," was the comment.

"It would have died. It was a false relationship based on a lie. Friends don't do that to friends."

"And you feel betrayed."

Father's comment brought him to a halt. "Yes, but it isn't only me, Father. Think of Catherine living for two years in worry and fear, denied the safety and comfort of our world. And Jacob . . . being deprived of his mother's touch for those important first years of his life. It is not to be borne." He began his pacing again full of energy that he couldn't rid himself off.

"I know you will never forget but you could, at least, forgive her." His eyes followed his son as he traversed the room.

"Why should I?" the agitated young man barked.

"For yourself, my son."

"I can't; I won't," was the terse answer. "There is no forgiveness in me for what she has done."

"You can't live with hatred without being changed," Father charged.

"Right now, I'm too numb to even hate her. That will come later."

"Will it help if you know that Diana . . . ," At his son's angry glare, he said, ". . . I will use her name . . . that Diana has left to find Catherine?"

With the sound of his beloved's name, a flash of joy followed by an agonizing wave of pain blazed through him. "Does she think that will negate what she has done? It does not. There are two lost years to account for. Catherine would never have done this. She knew the true meaning of love."

"Yes, I believe she did," Father agreed. "But she also knew the true meaning of forgiveness. I believe she would want you to at least try to understand why Diana did what she did and to eventually be able to pardon her for her frailties." He rose, walked over to his unhappy son and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We all make mistakes, Vincent. Some are worse than others. Her mistake was in not being truthful with you or Catherine but she did tell you the truth eventually."

"Yes," he growled, "when I can do nothing about it. I must wait here, hoping that Catherine will come home someday. All I can see, Father, is the wasted years stretching in front of me." With raised clenched fists, he cried, "If only we were still connected. I am so lost without her heart beating next to mine."

Father pulled him into to his arms. "Have faith, my son. She will come home. I'm sure of that."

The dawn light filtering through her skylights found Diana curled into a ball of misery, her legs drawn up tightly under her chin, cowering against the arm of her sofa. She didn't exactly remember how she had gotten back to her loft. There was only the faintest memory of Father walking beside her. She had seriously hurt the man she professed to love. Hurt him enough that he never wanted to see her again. Tears spilled once again down her already wet cheeks. She had cried enough tears for ten women tonight and was surprised that there were still more.

Bitterly, she recalled the lines of a Robert Frost poem, 'The Road Not Taken,' that she had studied in high school English lit. Poetry had never been her strong suit, and the meaning behind that poem had always eluded her - until now. The last lines went: 'I shall be telling this with a sigh/ Somewhere ages and ages hence:/ Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - / I took the one less traveled by/ And that had made all the difference.' She had taken a road she rarely traveled - one of lies and deception - and that had made all the difference in the lives of three people: Vincent, Catherine, and Jacob and had done irreparable harm to her own life. If she had done the honorable thing, Vincent would still be in her life, Catherine would probably be a good friend, and she would be an aunt to Jacob. She would still be accepted as a friend and helper in the world Below. She would find Catherine, if only to prove to Vincent that she was still his friend.

"All right, Bennett, it's time to get busy and do what you said you would." But she just couldn't move, and her thoughts went back to the day Catherine Chandler had awakened. It was Jacob's naming day, and Diana wondered now if that was the reason that the unconscious woman had awakened.

She had been invited Below by a grateful new father and had enjoyed all the accolades and friendly advances from the tunnel dwellers. When she left, she decided to check on Catherine who had been showing signs of coming out of the coma. Diana needed to be there when she did awaken if she was to put her plan into action.

As she sauntered through the antiseptically clean halls of NYU Downtown Hospital, she met a beaming Harry Crandall. As Catherine's doctor, he had taken a special interest in his comatose patient. "Hey, Bennett," he crowed, "she's finally awake."

Putting up a brave front, Diana's stomach lurched. The time had come. She had to be at her most persuasive. "How is she, Doctor? Have the drugs affected her in anyway?"

"Nope. She's compos mentis." Chuckling at his own joke, he fell in step with the fast-moving detective. "In fact, she is demanding that she is allowed to leave."

"Let me talk with her. I'll calm her down." Diana smiled nervously at him.

Before entering Catherine's room, Diana stopped at the door to listen to the argument going on in the room. A feisty, on edge Catherine, who was ready to go home, was arguing with the floor nurse. "I want my clothes and I want them now," she demanded.

"The doctor is not ready to release you yet." Diana could tell that the nurse was beginning to get angry, about to lose her professionalism.

"I don't care; I'm going home." Visualizing the determined woman's green eyes sparkling with determination, Diana slipped into the room. Suddenly, Catherine realized there was someone else in the room. She turned, flashing emerald eyes to the newcomer. "Who are you?" she asked, kindly.

Bracing herself mentally, Diana pasted what she hoped looked like a sincere smile on her face and replied, "I'm Diana Bennett. I was at your autopsy when the doctor discovered you were alive."

Catherine leaned back against the headboard, dazzling the policewoman with a brilliant smile. God, she was beautiful and Diana felt like an ugly duckling next to her. She was not a classic beauty but had a beauty all her own, one that shone from within.

"I understand you are the one that arranged for my care. I can never repay you for all you have done." Catherine reached out for Diana's hand and held it firmly, her grass green eyes glowing with appreciation. Her sincere gratitude almost caused Diana to change her plans, but then Vincent's blue eyes rose up unbidden before her eyes and all thought of changing her plans evaporated.

Oh yes, you can. Go away and leave Vincent to me! The thought flitted through Diana's mind. Instead, she said, "I'm glad we found out before it was too late."

"That close, huh?" Catherine shivered at the thought of how close she had come to really dying.

"Yeah." Diana sat in the chair next to Catherine's bed. She caught the nurse's eye, "Why don't you leave us alone for a while? We have some things we need to talk about," she said to the greatly relieved woman, who bustled out leaving the two women alone.

Catherine sensed that something was wrong. Oh god, maybe they had found her baby; she hurriedly asked, "Have you found my baby?" She hoped that Vincent had understood her message when he came to rescue her from Gabriel. With all her heart, she hoped that he had their son safely Below with him and gazed pleadingly at the other woman.

Diana knew she couldn't tell her that Jacob was with his father. Then she'd have to explain her relationship with Vincent, and it was of prime importance that Catherine didn't know that she knew him. So she lied, "No, we never found him. We found a nursery but the baby was gone."

Horrified with the thought that Gabriel was raising her child, the distraught mother asked, "Do you know if he is with that . . . that man?"

Well, Diana could give her one piece of good news, anyway. "No, he's not with Gabriel. We don't know where he is. Gabriel is dead; I shot him."

Catherine turned away and dropped her head into her hands. Gabriel was dead, the baby was missing, she had to believe that Vincent had found him, and he was safe in his father's arms. Please, god, let it be so, she prayed. Try as she might, she couldn't keep the tears from falling. She wept quietly for a few minutes, relieved that her son was not with Gabriel. When she got home, she was sure that she would find him in the tunnels.

Diana cleared her throat, bringing Catherine back to the reality of being in a hospital when she wanted nothing more than to be in the cool darkness of the tunnel community, held tightly against Vincent's firm chest. She raised her eyes questioningly.

"I understand you want to leave the hospital," Diana began.

"Yes, I need to get home. There are people who need to know that I'm ok and alive."

Like Vincent, Diana thought. "I really don't think that would be a good idea just yet."

Astounded at her words, Catherine asked, "Why not? Gabriel is dead."

"Yes, he is, but there is still his organization. They still want that black book."

Shaken by the thought that she might still not be safe, the dazed woman moaned, "But I gave it to Elliot Burch. He can tell you where it is."

"Elliot Burch is dead," Diana stated flatly.

Catherine's eyes widened in shock. "Oh god, no." She inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. "Poor Elliot. All I ever did was cause him pain and now this." Silent for a few minutes, she thought of the man who had loved her and was now dead. "How did he die?" she asked softly.

"We believe he was killed when a freighter, the 'Compass Rose,' blew up."

"Oh god. How did it blow up?"

"We don't really know," Diana lied again.

Catherine couldn't let something like that to happen to Vincent. She would die if he did. "Then they still think I know where the book is?"

"Probably." Diana decided to let her weave her own web of deception.

"Then I need to hide," Catherine mused. "I know the perfect place." She smiled to herself as if she had the most wonderful secret in the world. She couldn't wait to get the tunnels and to Vincent.

Diana dashed her hopes with her next words. "You know of course, when you surface, you put everyone you love in danger. The Organization has spies everywhere and their fingers in every sector, department, and strata of society in this society. Wherever you go, you will bring danger with you."

Catherine's shoulders slumped. "You're right. Jenny, Joe, Peter . . ." She started to form Vincent's name but clamped her mouth shut.

"Even people you only know slightly," Diana added. Jenny was a nice enough she thought dismissively, Joe was her boss, but she didn't like Peter Alcott. She didn't like the disapproving way he scrutinized her when she was in Vincent's company. He knew what she wanted.

Catherine sat quietly in her bed, mulling over what the young detective had just said. Her heart rejected the idea of not going to the tunnels, but her mind had to admit that Diana was right. "I'm not safe anywhere in the City?" she asked.

Diana slowly shook her head - No.

"I've got to remain dead for a while." The words as she said them ripped her heart apart, but she knew this was something she had to do.

Diana slowly nodded her head - Yes. A little more nudging and Catherine would be convinced that she was the one that had decided she needed to leave the city. She was still a little confused from the effect of waking from a coma, and she could be more easily manipulated into thinking that what she was doing was in the best interests of herself and the people she loved.

Silently, Diana listened to her outline her plan--how she would flee the city unnoticed--and became a most willing accomplice.

Diana would never know of the tremendous struggle it was for Catherine not to break down and begin to rail at the fate that was keeping her from Vincent once again. Catherine had completed the plan for leaving the country by the time her unknown rival had left.

The next day Diana offered to give Catherine, who accepted with gratitude, enough money to get to Montreal, Canada and then to Bern, Switzerland. Many years ago, when there had been a run on the stock market, Charles Chandler had set up a bank account in a Bern banking institution. He had left it there to use if he ever needed it; he never had and it was there for his daughter to use as she saw fit.

Over Dr. Crandall objections, Diana was able to get an ambulance to take Catherine to a hospital in Canada. She traveled with the silent and withdrawn woman to a hospital in Montreal, deposited the money under an assumed name, rented a hotel room for her, and bought her a few clothes to wear when she was able to leave the hospital.

Then the two women set up a way for Catherine to contact Diana every six months Diana would send a letter to Catherine, when it was safe to come home, in care of general delivery at the main post office in Montreal, not that she seriously considered answering the message, for a no answer meant: don't return home.

With a big sigh of relief, Diana boarded an airplane for New York and settled back in her seat to enjoy a carefree trip back to the City. When she checked with the hospital a week later, Catherine had disappeared. Even the bank lost contact with her. At the time, she hadn't realized how ridiculously easy it had been to maneuver her rival into leaving the country without contacting Vincent.

Now, wrapped in her own misery, she felt what Catherine had felt and was feeling, and it shamed her. In her fear for Vincent's safety, Catherine would do anything, sacrifice everything, even her own happiness to protect Vincent and the tunnels. If Vincent should come to love another(fat chance, Diana thought), she would even willingly though unhappily steps aside. Diana had had two years to win Vincent's love and had failed. And had hurt him deeply by telling him that Catherine was alive but still lost to him. He was unable to search the world for the woman he loved(Diana cringed at the thought); therefore, it was up to her to find the woman.

The following morning she had waited, red-eyed, wan, and listless for Joe to arrive at work. He took one look at her and commented as he plunked down into his desk chair, waving her to the old leather couch in front of his desk, "Well, don't you look great. You look like something the cat drug in and the kittens refused. What's up?" He leaned back, hands laced behind his head, and propped his feet on the desk

His comment was so close to the truth that she wanted to weep once again, but she was so tired that she just blurted out her confession with no gentle lead-in. Joe's eyes widened and he sat forward with a thump as she narrated her story. At the end of her tale, his face held a look of undisguised bitter disbelief. "What're you trying to prove, Bennett? That I'm a total idiot? I was the one that found her, remember?" His voice crackled with anger.

She didn't even have the strength to be exasperated. No one believed her at first; so she repeated the salient points of her account. Slowly, she won Joe over.

Pacing the office, he stopped abruptly in front of her, "Why did you do it, and why are you telling me now?"

She ducked her head, "For selfish reasons, Joe."

He gave her a knowing look. "You know Vincent?" he asked. His tone implied that there was more to the relationship that just friendship.

"Yes," she answered uncomfortably.

Having expended his excess energy, Joe returned to his chair, swiveling around to face her. "If he loved her as she loved him, you didn't stand a chance." I didn't either, he thought.

"I've found that out," she managed to say through a tear-choked throat.

With little emotion, he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Give me a year's leave of absence," she answered, "I've got that much time coming."

"Why?"

"I've got to find her for Vincent?"

"Yeah, for some reason he can't do it, right?" Irritation flared in his eyes, the words rife with exasperation.

Slowly, she shook her head. "No, he can't. He would if he could," she whispered.

"Yeah, sure," he said, unimpressed. "It's been two years, Bennett. You've got your work out for you."

"I know. That's why I need the year off."

"Ok. You got it and I'll help all I can."

"I hoped you would."

"Before you start anything, I think you need to go home and get some sleep," he ordered, thoughtfully.

"I'll sleep on the plane." Her faint smile thanked him for his concern.

"Where's your starting point?"

"Montreal. I left her in a hospital there."

"Alone?" he asked, shocked that Diana would do such a cold-hearted thing.

Ashamed, she dropped her eyes and nodded, unable to look him in the eye.

"Well, I hope you find her and get the absolution you seem so desperately to need. Keep me posted, ok?" He ushered the troubled woman from his office. "Good bye and good luck, Diana."

"Bye, Joe." She disappeared through the office door, and he wouldn't see her for a year. She checked in occasionally, letting him know her progress.

Following Catherine's path from one world capital to another was an investigator's nightmare. Her trail began in Montreal and led to Bern as Diana expected. Once there Catherine had taken money from the family account, returned the borrowed money to Diana, and promptly disappeared. Diana discovered much to her dismay that at first Catherine moved rapidly from one city to another, never staying longer than a week, sometimes only a day or two. It was as if she was afraid she would be found if she lingered too long in one place. After several months she began to spend more time wherever she stopped. She stayed in Paris for several weeks and Diana never really found out why.

As Catherine traveled the world, she changed the color of her eyes with contacts and dyed her hair, changed her makeup and her style of dress, altered her hairstyle. She learned to walk differently and even modified her posture. Whereas once she, more or less, charged through life, now she glided from moment to moment, and instead of her private school carriage, she softened her stance, slouching ever so slightly. Her light, educated voice was toned down into a breathy, mellow alto. All this was done so none of her friends or loved ones would be in danger. She changed her name so often that sometimes she became confused as to whom she was this day, week, or month. Finally, she settled on one name when she thought she had distanced herself far enough from that other life.

Mourning her separation from Vincent became a way of life and was deeply ingrained in her. Even though she laughed often and enjoyed her travels, there was always an ineffable sadness about her that nothing could dispel. During the first few months after she had left New York, the sight of a blue-eyed baby boy would move her to tears. As time passed, she was able to control her emotions, but always . . . always . . . her heart and thoughts were with Vincent and their child. She could only hope that he had understood her words and had searched for and found their son. The thought of him being raised by Gabriel was too hideous to contemplate, and the only way she could sleep at night was to imagine him sleeping in a cradle in his father's chamber. The knowledge that she was keeping them safe was the only thing that kept her going.

Catherine spent most of her time in small villages or in the countryside. Everywhere she went, she made deep and abiding friendships, which made her friends very protective toward her. What was it about Catherine, Diana wondered, that her love for Vincent brought out the best in her, while she admitted to herself that her love for Vincent had made her selfish and covetous? She wished she understood.

From Bern Diana traced her to Edinburgh, then to the highlands. In a small village Catherine had endeared herself to the local gentry, being a friend to all. She had picked this particular village because one of her ancestors had been born here. It helped to know that her line was a long and varied one, and she hoped it would continue long after her through her son. Then, she moved onto Copenhagen; from there she went to Bonn, Madrid, and next to Rome. Diana finally traced her to her latest destination: Greece and the island of Rhodes.

Sydney Templeton, Catherine's last incarnation, wondered why Homer had called the Aegean a wine-dark sea. Today it was as blue as the sky it reflected, as blue as the eyes of the man she loved. The voices of children playing on the white sand beach of Rhodes had lured her from her hotel room onto the terrace. Leaning against the railing, she watched through tear-dimmed eyes as they played in the surf under the watchful eyes of their very young mother. The little girl was about five, while the little boy was about two, still a little wobbly on his feet, and he sat down rather unceremoniously several times in the incoming waves. Laughing up at his mother, he splashed playfully in the waves. Sydney's eyes kept returning to the yellow-haired boy. His golden curls seemed to drink in the sunlight and glow ever brighter. She wondered if her child had golden hair, then pushed the thought aside. For some reason, today it hurt too much to think of him. She had seen him only once, but that one time was enough to imprint him on her heart forever.

The chiming of the mantle clock in her room reminded her that it was time to dress for dinner. "Be happy, children," she whispered to the boy and girl playing happily on the beach. "Be loved."

While watching the children, she had come to a decision. It had been three long years with no message saying she could come home. She was tired of running; it was time. She would go home. She'd tell the Hamiltons, her dinner companions and her good friends, tonight at dinner.

Wherever Sydney went, she turned heads. Short cropped, black hair closely hugged her head, deep brown expressive eyes and alabaster skin combined with a natural grace and an attractive face made her a beautiful woman. Not tall, she had an athletically trim body, which seemed to make her taller than she actually was. And the fact that she was independently wealthy made her even more attractive. It was no different this night than any other night.

In the hotel cocktail lounge, Jim and Sheila Hamilton shrugged their shoulders and watched with amusement as Sydney unashamedly led on each of her would-be suitors. "They deserve it," she whispered to Sheila who laughed heartily and leaned over to tell her husband. He winked at Sydney then led his wife onto the dance floor. Finally, the young woman had had enough, and after saying good night and goodbye to the Hamiltons, she returned to her rooms to pack. Tomorrow, she was going home.

As fate would have it, Sydney Templeton left on the same boat that had brought Diana Bennett to the lovely island of Rhodes. The two women passed within ten feet of one another, neither one interested in those around them, intent on their individual missions. Sydney stood in the stern of the ship watching the sea-blue harbor of Rhodes fade into the distance. She would catch a flight from Athens to Paris and then to Atlanta, from there she would take the Amtrak to New York The thought of returning to the City in the fall when the park was bright with the autumn colors of red, orange, and yellow made her doubly anxious to return. Then she'd be home for winter when the park was pristine in its snow-covered mantle. And then the riotous colors of spring - oh my, she could see the gaudy hues in her mind's eye - would cover the gardens and lighten everyone's hearts after the cold and icy winter. She needed to see her city, hear the native New York accent to reinvigorate her soul.

Diana checked into the small white stone hotel that Sydney had stayed in while on the island. It was a pretty little place, only twenty rooms, fronting the beach and the Aegean Sea, and Diana was fortunate that one room had become available. The management was gracious and helpful. She showed them a picture of Catherine but no one recognized her. At dinner that night she met the Hamiltons. They were obviously very much in love, and Diana bemoaned that fact that wherever she went true love stared her in the face. She showed them the picture of Catherine who was vaguely familiar to them but Sheila commented, "Oh heavens, no, Sydney has short black hair and brown eyes."

"Thanks," Diana said, downcast. She was tired, and she was ready for the search to be over, but she owed it to Vincent to continue.

Taking pity on her, they asked her to have dinner with them. It was the most enjoyable evening she had had since she left New York. When she returned to her room, she used her PC to alter Catherine's picture to what she thought Sydney would look like.

The Hamiltons were nowhere to be found the next morning, and the hotel concierge informed her that they weren't expected until in the late afternoon. Diana spent that day resting and reading in her room. She placed a call to Peter Alcott, asking him to contact Father and give him her latest report. Dr. Alcott had not been her first choice as a contact, but he was Father's choice; so, she agreed. His smug voice and patronizing manner let her know in no uncertain terms that he knew what had happened between Vincent and her.

She had kept her promise to Father, faithfully reporting to him the first of every month. At first Father related to Vincent all that Diana had learned but stopped when he saw how upset he became. Vincent was simply afraid to hope or dream, afraid that he would be hurt again, afraid he wouldn't survive another wound like the one he had received from Diana. He lived in a state of limbo, dark and dreary, hoping but afraid to hope that Catherine would come home. It was agony to know that she was alive somewhere but that he could not hold her in his arms.

The sound of children playing outside drew Diana onto the balcony of her room. A little girl and boy, along with their mother, were playing on the shore. The golden-haired boy reminded her so much of Jacob, and tears pricked her eyelids when she thought of how she might never see him again. She loved him almost as much as his father, and she began to sob. When the tears were done, the boy and girl with their mother were gone. Disconsolately, she went into her room and fell onto the bed. Thankfully, she slipped into a light slumber and slept the afternoon away.

At dinner that night, Diana showed Jim and Sheila the retouched photograph. "That's Sydney, all right," Jim stated. At last, she was getting closer.

"Do you know where she is?" she asked hopefully.

"Why she left the day you arrived. On the same boat, as a matter of fact," Sheila told her.

"She didn't happen to say where she was going? It's important. I'm trying to find her for the man who loves her."

"Our Sydney is quite the mystery girl. We never asked and she never volunteered." Sheila smiled smugly at her husband.

"Could she have gone home?" Diana asked, thinking oh please, please say yes. "I've got to find her."

"Possibly. I know she talked about the States a lot," Jim answered.

"Thanks. You've been a great deal of help. I think I'll turn in. Good Night."

The next day Diana was gone.

Arriving in New York, Sydney took a suite that was more like an apartment in the same hotel that Devin had stayed in when he worked in the District Attorney's Office. The first thing she did on entering the room, after putting her things away, was to walk out on the balcony that faced the Park. She spent an hour or so lost in dreams of the past and the future, dreaming of the way things could be, of the way she wanted them to be. She fantasized about holding her son in her arms. From her one glimpse of him, she knew he would be beautiful, and she longed to hold him, her arms had been empty long enough. That night in her sleep, she dreamt of the meeting to come with Vincent. She awoke felling better than she had in many months.

Early the following morning, she was seated in a carrel in the New York Public Library, reading the back copies of all the New York papers, learning about what had happened to Gabriel and his organization and of her betrayal by the woman she had trusted. She could go home in safety, but she was a little hesitant, a little afraid that - maybe - he had changed toward her. She thought that she would know if he had, but without the bond, she couldn't be sure. After all, he believed her to be dead; he may have moved on with his life. She couldn't bear the thought of returning to find him with someone else.

As soon as she had read the last article and had returned the papers to the librarian, she went to the Park in the hope of seeing her son. She didn't worry about knowing who he was; she would recognize him anywhere.

Seated on a park bench near the entrance to the tunnel world, Sydney watched a group of children tumbling, running, and playing on the grass. Impatiently, she had waited for two hours, eagerly scanning the faces of all the children she saw. She was beginning to lose hope when she heard a child's complaining voice. Looking up, there he was pulling anxiously on the hand of a teenage Samantha. "Cummon, Sammie, I wanna swing."

Sydney knew it was her son. She would recognize those sky blue eyes and golden hair anywhere, and she even saw traces of herself in him: his willfulness and stubbornness matched the determined, square jaw that he had inherited from her. He was beautiful, and her heart thumped wildly with the desire to scoop him into her arms and hug him until he squealed.

Exasperated, Samantha said, "All right, all right, Jacob, go play on the swings and the monkey bars." Laughing happily, he ran to the playground. With an exaggerated sigh, the teenager settled on the opposite end of the bench that Sydney had appropriated.

The older woman smiled at her and said, "They can be quite a handful, can't they?"

Samantha appraised the older woman before answering, there was something about her that inspired trust. "Yeah, especially Jacob. He's always full of energy." The young girl stared covertly at the dark-haired woman.

"Is there something wrong?" Sydney asked, noticing the way the young girl secretly stared at her.

"No, not really. It's just that you remind me of someone I used to know," Samantha answered.

"I hope she was someone nice," Sydney was fishing for information. She wanted to know how the tunnel world felt about Catherine.

"Oh yes, she was wonderful. I want to be just like her when I'm older. Once I thought I wanted to be a dancer, but I've decided now that I want to be a lawyer just like her. I want to help people like she did."

"That's a laudable ambition and I'm sure she would be very proud to know that you wanted to emulate her."

"I still miss her; we all do."

"I'm sure she misses you too." Just then Jacob came barreling by and tripped over one of the legs of the bench, falling to the cement pathway and scraping his knee. Instinctively, Sydney pulled him into her lap, comforting him. "My, what a big boy you are. You're not even crying," she observed, as she examined his injured knee.

"Crying is for sissies," he stated.

"I bet your Daddy doesn't agree with you."

Jacob thought for a while then agreed, "Yeah, I've seen my Daddy cry. But I'm being brave just like my Daddy. He doesn't cry when he's hurt."

"He must be quite a Daddy," Sydney observed, her heart twisting with longing.

"Yeah."

Samantha was hovering around them, wailing, "Father will kill me; I just know it."

"Calm down . . . ?"

"Samantha," the worried teenager supplied.

"Calm down; I'm sure he won't. Now, let me see," Sydney said, "when I lived in Europe I always carried Band-Aids and Neosporin in my purse. I think they're still there." Rummaging through her large purse, she produced both and proceeded to clean and bandage Jacob's knee. During the time she did this, Jacob sat quietly in her lap, gazing at her intently. There was something familiar about her, and he felt drawn to her.

"Gee, lady, thanks," Samantha said. "I've never seen Jacob take to someone like he has to you."

Sydney smiled down at the child in her lap. "Hello, Jacob. My name's Sydney." He stared at her as she offered her hand. Solemnly, he shook her proffered hand. He liked this lady. She was pretty and she smelled good. Seeing that his little injury had not upset him, she asked, "Now, do you want to go and play some more, Jacob?"

He shook his head and leaned against her breast. Her arms came up around him, cuddling him in their embrace. Her heart was bursting with joy; one of her dreams had come true. She kissed the top of his head and squeezed her eyes shut to stop the tears that were beginning to form. It wouldn't do for them to see her cry.

Jacob seemed so content in the strange woman's arms that Samantha hated to say anything but she knew they had to go. "We've got to go, Sydney. It's getting late."

Jacob threw his arms around the woman's neck. Feeling her need for secrecy, he honored it, whispering, "Mama?" not really knowing why he called her that except that he instinctively felt that she was someone very important to him, and she reminded him of the lady in his dreams.

Sydney whispered for him alone, "Go along now, I'll see you again." Patting him on the back, she set him on his feet.

Taking Jacob's hand, Samantha asked, "Will we see you again?"

"I don't know. I hope to go home soon."

"Well, if we don't see you, I hope you get to go home. Thanks for taking care of Jacob."

"My pleasure," Sydney smiled though she felt like crying. She didn't know how soon she would be able to go home. This might be her only time with Jacob until she returned to the tunnels.

As they walked away, Jacob kept looking back her. Knowing that they couldn't go to the drainage tube while she watched them, she blew him a kiss and walked away, a warm glow in her heart. It was the beginning of a bond between her and her son that would only strengthen as time went by. Jacob refused to enter the drainage tube as long as he could see the lady of his dreams. His dreams had started about a week ago. He didn't understand them, but they were about a lady, much like Sydney, who was searching for someone. He didn't know if it was for him, his Daddy, or both of them. At last she was gone from his sight, and he followed Samantha into the culvert. He couldn't wait to tell his Daddy about the lady in the park.

Later that evening, as Vincent was giving Jacob a bath, the child babbled excitedly about the lady he had met in the park. A bolt of fear raced through Vincent at the thought of his son being held by a stranger from Above; one who could hurt him or steal him away. He looked into his son's animated face and found it aglow with happiness as he told his father of the pretty lady that had taken care of his scraped knee. He described her when Vincent hesitantly asked him what she looked like. The woman Jacob described wasn't Catherine, but in his entire short life, Jacob had never responded to any woman the way he had to this stranger.

After returning from the Park, Sydney was in the kitchen of the hotel suite preparing a cup of tea. She barely heard the timid taps on her apartment door. It seemed that the person who was knocking wasn't too sure they wanted to be there. "Just a minute," she called out. When she opened the door, she found an uncomfortable Diana Bennett standing in her doorway.

"Yes?" she asked coolly.

"May I come, Catherine? Please," she begged.

Sydney's eyes widened. No one had penetrated her disguise until this woman. "I'm sorry. You must have me mistaken for someone else." She was determined to maintain this pose until she went home, at last, and started to close the door.

Diana quickly stopped her by putting her hand on the door. "Come on, Catherine. I've trailed you over half the known world. I know it's you. The Hamilton's described you perfectly."

Thoughts, emotions, ideas whirled through Sydney's mind as she stepped aside, bidding the tired looking woman to enter. What had brought her to this apartment? "Would you like something to drink?" Sydney asked, her ingrained hospitality taking charge.

"Please. Coffee would be wonderful." Diana slowly lowered her weary body into the surprisingly comfortable couch. While Sydney was preparing the coffee, Diana gazed around the lovely room. It amazed her that a woman of such culture and class would be willing to give it all up for a man who lived in darkness in the tunnels below the City.

Sydney came back with a cup in each hand and set one in front of Diana on the glass-topped coffee table. Then, curling her legs beneath her, she sank gracefully into the opposite corner of the sofa. She looked at Diana, patiently waiting for her to begin. She had so many questions to ask, but would wait until Diana had given her enough convincing reasons to abandon her disguise.

Twisting her hands together, Diana started to speak then took a hasty drink of coffee. Finally, Sydney took the initiative. "Why have you come to see me? There have been no messages for three years."

"Catherine . . ."

The other woman raised her hand, "Sydney. That name belongs to another life."

"All right . . . Sydney. When I told Catherine to stay dead for her safety and the safety of her loved ones, I lied. I made it much worse than it really was."

"I know. I did my homework. I read all the newspapers for the last three years. Gabriel's organization was smashed and those involved were prosecuted. They found the black book in Elliot's safe deposit box. Why did you do it?"

Diana could not meet her eyes.

"I thought so," Sydney said, "You love him and wanted him for yourself." Bracing herself, she asked the most important question of her life. "What were you to Vincent?"

Diana flinched and looked away. "A friend, nothing more." Sadness and longing tinged her faint words, and Sydney had to strain to hear her.

"But you wanted more." Sydney's musical voice was suddenly colorless with no inflection, only an accusation.

"Yes. And I almost got it. I asked him to marry me and he agreed."

The other woman's eyes widened, surprised that he would agree. "He did," she commented, flatly.

"Yes, but only to give Jacob a mother."

An unexpected flash of anger shot through Sydney. How dare he give her son to another woman to raise, she thought? Then her good sense came to the fore, and she realized that he was only doing what he thought best for his son.

"Why didn't you accept him on that alone? If you had, Vincent would never have left you, and I would never have asked him to. You would have successfully kept us apart, achieving your goal. You would have had Vincent all to yourself."

"Yes, I would," Diana exploded. "His body - yes - but never his heart, and he would have hated me even more than he does now when you came back. It was a catch-22 situation." She stopped, shook her head. A look of perplexity came over her face. "I didn't expect him to react the way he did. I thought he would be so happy just to know that you were alive, but he turned on me. I wish I had never told him," she spat, clenching her fists.

"Why did you tell him?"

"Whether he believes it or not, I do love him and want him to be happy. I'm just sorry it's not me. Granted, I made a serious blunder, but . . ." She smiled a watery grin. ". . . all's fair in love and war, so they say. Only not in this case." Diana dissolved into a torrent of tears.

Feeling compassion for the distraught and unhappy woman, Sydney took her in her arms. There was nothing she could say to comfort her because what Diana wanted was out of her reach. In a little while, the tears stopped and she pulled back from Sydney's embrace. "Thank you, Ca . . . Sydney. I've needed to do that for a long time."

"A good cry helps any woman. I know. I've cried many tears during the last three years. Are you all right now?"

"As all right as I'll ever be," Diana chuckled, ruefully.

"He's hard not to love, isn't he?"

"You can say that again."

"He's hard . . ."

Sydney laughed lightly as Diana cut in, "Oh, please. No." The old joke brought a small smile to Diana's tear-stained face. "Aren't you angry with me?" she asked, wondering at the other woman's serenity in the face of her confession.

"Yes, but I understand why you did it. If our positions were reversed, I might have done the same thing. I would have before I met Vincent."

"I'm so sorry . . . Sydney. Can you forgive me?"

"I don't know. I really don't, but I will try."

Diana bowed her head. "Thanks, that's all I can hope for. I'll do anything I can to help."

"If you really want to help, tell me . . . of my son. I know that he is with his father. How did Vincent find him?"

"Uh . . . Vincent and . . . I," she hesitated, ". . . saved him." For the first time since she had entered the apartment, Diana really smiled and became animated. "He's so smart and such a cheerful child. He's such a joy to be around. Vincent has done a marvelous job with him. Tough but tender, loving him with all his heart."

"I knew Vincent would be the perfect father for Jacob." At Diana's questioning look, she continued, "Yes, I've seen him--in the Park--held him in my arms, felt his arms around my neck and his comforting weight in my lap. It was almost enough." But the look she gave her let the other woman know that it would never be enough until she was with Vincent.

"Father, Mary, Pascal and the others? Are they well? And Mouse. Dear, sweet Mouse, how is he?"

"Everyone is well. Father is waiting for news that I have found you."

Sydney's eyes sparkled with happy tears. "And Vincent?"

"I haven't seen him in a year, but I know he is well. I'm in contact with Father, and he would have told me if Vincent was ill or more unhappy than he usually is."

"My poor sweet love. I can imagine just how hard this has been on him."

"When are you going to him?"

"I wasn't going to see him until I could meet him as the woman he loved. I have seldom thought of myself as Catherine Chandler for the past three years. It will take time to become her again, but you've forced my hand and it will be soon. Please don't tell him; I want to do that myself."

"All right, and I won't tell Father; Vincent won't even speak to me."

"I'm sorry, Diana, but . . ."

"I know."

Several hours later, after spending the evening talking about Vincent, Jacob and the tunnels, and Sydney's sojourn in Europe, Diana left feeling more at peace with herself than she had for a long time. In her eyes she had redeemed herself by her selfless search for Catherine. The fact that she had returned before Diana found her didn't alter how she felt about herself. She had changed during her search for Catherine, and although sad that she would never be welcome to the tunnels again, she was happy with the person she had become. Vincent was the most forgiving person she knew, and she hoped that someday he would find it in his heart to forgive her, to welcome her back into his home. Sometimes loss taught a difficult lesson.

Sydney, or should she start to think of herself as Catherine again, closed the door behind Diana and leaned back against it. It had been quite a day. First, to hold her son again and then the long conversation with Diana. She straightened up, smiling to herself. The decision had been taken out of her hands and tonight at sundown she would be in the culvert. She grabbed her jacket from the coat closet and left her hotel suite for what she hoped would be last time. Nothing there really belonged to her, only to Sydney Templeton, and she was about to disappear forever.

As Sydney/Catherine locked the door to the suite for the final time, Vincent was tucking a very tired little boy into bed. While waiting for the child to fall asleep, he pondered Jacob's story about the lady in the Park. Never in his short life had his son been so taken with a topsider. Usually he kept his distance from them. When Vincent had asked Jacob to describe the woman, all he could say was that she was pretty and her smile was pretty, too, and that her name was Sydney. As a father he was angry with Samantha for allowing the stranger to get so close to his son, but she had said that there was something about Sydney that was trustworthy and that Jacob didn't want to leave her. He had decided to hide in the culvert the next time Jacob went for a romp in the Park. Maybe he could get a look at the woman, and if she posed a threat to his son - daylight or not - he would take him from her if she proved to be a danger to the only connection to Catherine that he still had left. An alert tapped on the pipes startled him from his deliberations. It had been a long time since he had had to answer this type of alert. On his way to the Central Park threshold, he passed Jamie who would watch Jacob for him. She had heard the alarm, also.

Vincent came out into the tunnel behind the unwelcome guest. His stride eating up the distance, he approached from the rear, and he could see that it was a woman. She was small and painfully thin with closely cropped black hair. It seemed to him that she knew where she was going. His heart skipped a beat - there was something familiar about her. Could it be? He was afraid to hope; he could not stand another disappointment. But whoever could it be? Granted from the back, it didn't look like Catherine, but she could have dyed her hair. He had to look into her eyes to be sure; he would know that look of love anywhere.

"Catherine?" he called softly from the shadows.

She continued to stride purposefully toward her destination.

"Catherine?" he called out, louder.

Hearing his beloved voice, she stumbled, hesitated and stopped, then swiftly turned to face him. She couldn't see him but she knew he was there, in the darkness, watching her.

With his excellent vision, he could see that she had brown eyes and his heart plummeted to his feet. Never again, he vowed, would he be lulled unto the hope that it was she, only to be plunged into the depths of despair. He stepped toward her, demanding, "Who are you? What do you want here?"

Sadly, she realized that he didn't recognize her, and she wished so much that they still had the bond that would tell him who she was. She held her arms out to him, her cheeks wet with tears. "Vincent?" she cried. "Help me, Vincent! I've lost myself and I don't know who I am any longer."

Rooted to the spot at the sound of her voice, a voice so like Catherine's yet different, he watched in amazement as she ran to him and flung her arms around his waist, burying her face in his vest. "Catherine, is it really you?" The hope he had been afraid to feel for so long welled up in his heart.

"Yes, I think so; I don't know. I've been another woman for so long. I'm so afraid that I'm not me anymore. Tell me who I am, Vincent. Please! Tell me I'm Catherine," she begged, holding on to him as if he was the rock her life depended upon.

With a gentle finger under her chin, he raised her eyes to his. He looked deeply into the small woman standing before him, past the brown eyes and short black hair, deep into her soul and found there the radiance that to him could not be disguised, that was the radiance of his beloved. Enclosing her in the warmth and comfort of his arms, he said, "I know who you are. Nothing could hide your light from me. You are my Catherine, the woman I love, the mother of my son." He crushed her to his breast, capturing her lips in a soul-deep kiss of reunion and as he did, the bond, the silver cord that bound them one to the other, flowered gloriously, and Vincent once again had the joy of feeling her heart beating next to him. "Oh, my love, I can't believe you are here. I thought you dead." He trembled as he repeated the words. "I thought you dead. So many times I wanted to join you on the other side but something held me here. Some remnant of our bond must have held me back."

"Thank god," she gasped, lowering the hood of his cloak. She needed to see that beloved face to convince herself that this was no dream, that she was really in his arms. "I would have died if you weren't here to welcome me back and to hold me in your arms. I'm so sorry, my love; I've missed you so much. Kiss me again, please?" She gazed up at him, all the love she felt for him shining in her eyes.

Slowly he lowered his mouth to hers, never taking his eyes from hers, watching her eyes darken with anticipation. Her heart was soaring with joy as she felt his love for her flood through their bond. It was stronger than ever, as if the trials they had suffered had increased its power, and she could feel her love's ecstasy at having her in his arms again. "Oh, Vincent, Vincent, I've been so lost without you. I was so afraid to contact you. Diana said I would put you in mortal danger. Forgive me for listening to her; I trusted her." She burrowed her nose deeply into his vest, inhaling the smell of candles, leather, and his own unique scent. She was home.

"Never speak that name in my presence again. She betrayed your trust and mine. I never want to see her again."

"I've never heard you so bitter, love. I understand why she did it; she loves you."

"It is a false love, based on lies and deception."

"You must try to forgive her, love. Until you do there will be a cloud over our love. You forgave Mitch for a much graver sin; surely, you can forgive her for a breach of trust. She really regrets what she did and has done everything in her power to correct it."

Slowly he shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"I know you can never forget it, but you can at least try to forgive," she pleaded, stroking his soft, golden hair.

Again, he shook his head. "No, I won't forgive or forget. Father said you would ask, but I cannot . . . not yet. The wound is too raw. This is a person I trusted and cared about deeply."

Suddenly she realized, "There's more to it than that. What is it, my love? What did she do that hurt you so badly?"

Silently, he gazed at her. She was his love, his life. What he would tell her, would it hurt her to realize how he had almost betrayed her and their love? He decided that she deserved the truth. "It is what I did, my heart. I agreed to marry her."

Both of them shuddered at the thought for it would have been an insurmountable obstacle as Catherine had told Diana that afternoon.

"I know. She came to my apartment today and told me everything. Why didn't you?" She needed to know his reasons.

"I agreed because I thought Jacob needed a mother, and I told her that, that it was not for me. I love you and only you. Then she told me that you were alive. The joy and pain that knowledge brought put all thought of marriage out of both of our minds." At the thought of how close they had come to never being able to be with each other again, he pulled her closer and kissed her passionately.

For several blissful minutes they stood locked in a tight embrace, reveling in the solid feel of each others body, knowing they would never be parted again. With a happy sigh, Catherine pulled back to smile radiantly at him, "Yes, alive, here in your arms, and in love with you. All the rest is in the past. Our dream starts anew . . . right here . . . right now. Take me home, love, I need to hold my son as his mother." Entwining her fingers with his, he took her hand, leading her home to her son and to the beginning of their happy life.