Catherine woke to dim light flickering softly, to sheets softenedby many washings. Her fingers traced careful stitches where theblanket had been mended. The air carried the scent of candles anddamp earth. I'm dreaming, she thought with longing, and kepther eyes closed, wanting to linger in the dream. The muffled,rapid-fire metallic sound of tapping intruded and she sat boltupright in bed.

It wasn't a dream. Memory flooded back with a rush, of her franticflight from the west coast, of arriving last night and making herway, finally, to the tunnels. To safety.

To Vincent.

The bed beside her was empty, though the pillow still showed wherea head had rested. The chamber was eerily quiet. With a sudden,heart-thumping fear, Catherine scrambled out of bed and threw backthe curtain blocking off the little ell.

The cot there was empty, the blankets pushed back as if in haste.Nicholas was gone.

"Nick? Nicky?" In the nearly three years since he was born, therehad never been a single minute when she had not known precisely wherehe was. Not knowing, even in so safe a place as this, panickedher.

She found herself out in the passage with no memory of how she gotthere. There were so many places for a little boy to get lost downhere, she remembered. And she had no idea how long he'd been gone. Hecould be anywhere.

"Nicky!" Her scream, echoing off the rock walls and ceiling,sounded raw, edged with terror.

"Mommy?" His answering call was soft in contrast to her shrillone; she spun toward the sound.

There, rounding a corner, was Vincent. Nicholas perched securelyin one arm. At sight of her, he squirmed to get down and Vincent sethim on his feet. He barrelled toward her and she bent to catch himup, burying her face in the sweet soft hollow of his neck.

"Nicky. Nicky." She thought she might cry.

"It's okay, Mommy," she heard him say, close to her ear. His smallhand patted her back. "Don't be scared."

That, and the knowledge that Vincent was standing before them,watching, gave her the strength to relax her fierce hold on her sonand put him down. Now that she understood, her near-panic seemedfoolish.

"I'm sorry we frightened you, Catherine," Vincent apologized. "Youwere sleeping and Nicholas was hungry, so we went to breakfast. Ithought you would know he was with me."

"I would have. If I had stopped to think. But I didn't. I justpanicked." She folded her arms across her chest to hide thetrembling. "It's hard to stop being afraid," she admitted in awhisper.

"You don't have to be afraid any more," Nicholas advised, lookingserious. "My daddy will take care of us."

His somber assurance made her shy, and suddenly aware she wasstanding in a public passage in only her nightgown, the rough rockfloor harsh and cold to her bare feet. "I know he will," she said.She dared a swift glance at Vincent, but he was looking down at theirson.

"I'd... better get dressed," she said awkwardly. "Nicky, are yougoing to stay with me?"

He caught Vincent's hand. "I want to go with my daddy."

She looked at Vincent, who gave a brief nod of assent. "We'll bein my chamber," he said softly. "Join us when you're ready."

She dressed in jeans and sweatshirt from one of her nylon zipperedbags, washed her face and cleaned her teeth at the china basin beforepicking up her brush. She'd worn her hair in a dozen styles in thepast years, never keeping the same one very long, but not today.Almost defiantly, she combed it in the old way, parted on the sideand brushed smooth. Her hair didn't want to cooperate at first butshe persisted, until the face that stared back from the mirror lookedmore like "Vincent's Catherine." Someone she desperately wanted tobe.

Vincent's chamber wasn't far and she remembered the way. Shepaused in the entrance; Vincent, sitting on the floor with Nicholas,looked up.

"Come in," he invited, rising quickly to offer a chair. "Sitdown."

She did, smiling shyly. Nicholas was bent over something on therug and barely glanced her way.

"You haven't eaten," Vincent observed. "Wait here and I'll bringyou something."

Catherine realized she was hungry. "All right," she agreed. Onlyafter he left the chamber, moving with the same powerful grace sheremembered, did she turn her attention to her son.

"What do you have there, Nicky?" she asked.

"Animals," he said, showing her a carved wooden elephant, no morethan two inches high. "My daddy gave them to me."

The carvings were of common zoo animals: a giraffe, a rhinoceros,a bear, a gorilla, a lion, a zebra. They were simple rather thanintricate, the wood worn smooth from the touch of childishfingers.

"These were my daddy's when he was a little boy," Nicholasannounced, with authority.

"I see," Catherine said with proper respect. She couldn't helpnoticing the way Nicholas managed to work the phrase 'my daddy' intoalmost every sentence. It seemed he'd already developed a severe caseof hero-worship. Some of the men she'd known, like Rick Stearns, haddone what they could to fill the gap in Nicholas's life, but shehadn't stayed in any one place long enough for a true relationship toform. She'd known her son needed a father figure, but had beenhelpless to fulfill the need, until now.

And now, she thought, watching Nicholas's face light up as Vincentreturn with a tray, she had provided him with the best possiblefather. His own.

Vincent seemed similarly fascinated with his son. Catherine atethe breakfast he'd brought - steaming oatmeal sweetened with brownsugar, a sectioned orange, toast with strawberry jam, and a small potof scalding coffee - slowly. She was more interested in watchingVincent and Nicholas with the small carved animals.

"Are they mine now?" Nicholas asked.

"Yes, Nicholas."

"Where did they come from?"

"Someone made them for me. Long ago."

"Who?" Nicholas persisted. "What was his name?"

Vincent glanced up, catching her eye, and she grinned. It wasentertaining to see someone else pinned down by Nicholas's insatiablecuriosity. "His name was Robert," Vincent said. "He made them becauseI was sad."

"Why?"

"Because the other children had been to visit the zoo, and Icouldn't go."

"Why not?"

Again Vincent glanced up, this time uncertainly. Catherine gavehim a tiny nod of encouragement and he looked back at their son."Nicholas, look at me."

Nicholas put down the tiger and gazed into his father's face.Vincent held a hand up near his cheek, showing the thick fur, thealien claws. "This is why. I might frighten someone."

Nicholas contemplated the hand for a long, thoughtful moment."No," he said finally.

"No?"

"I'm not scared."

"It's not the same, Nick," Catherine intervened. "You heardstories about your daddy, ever since you were a baby. Someone whodidn't know what to expect might be a little bit scared."

Nicholas turned and regarded her with open disbelief. "Like who?"he challenged.

It was Catherine's turn to glance at Vincent. "Well, like me," shesuggested.

Nicholas's eyes opened wide. "You were scared of my daddy?"

"I startled her," Vincent said. "She wasn't frightened forlong."

Nicholas glanced at her for confirmation and she nodded. "Not longat all," she agreed.

"Well, I'm not scared," Nicholas repeated firmly, and turned backto the carved animals.

They would have made an interesting tableau to a casual observer,Catherine mused. Nicholas played with the animals, pausingoccasionally to ask a question. Vincent sat rapt, watching him. AndCatherine herself watched Vincent.

It was hard to keep a certain wistfulness from creeping in. No onewas gladder than she at the way Vincent and Nicholas had taken toeach other. And yet she felt, inexplicably, a little left out.Surely, after three years, Vincent could find a moment to look ather?

As if he sensed her thoughts, and, she remembered, quite possiblyhe had, he turned to look at her. His smile was tentative. He mustfeel as uncertain as she did. The thought calmed her.

"Mommy?"

She turned her attention to Nicholas. "Yes?"

"I need my truck." He meant his big yellow Tonka model.

"Your truck's in the car, Nick." In the trunk, to be precise.Along with other of their possessions she'd been unable to carry thenight before.

Nicholas stood up. "Let's go get it."

Catherine glanced at Vincent. "Not now, Nick."

Nicholas's lower lip trembled. "I need that truck, Mommy. I needit."

"I'm sure we can find a truck for you to play with, Nicholas,"Vincent intervened smoothly.

"Right now?" Nicholas asked, diverted.

Vincent glanced her way. "If your mother doesn't mind."

She shook her head. "Go on. I'll sit here and finish mybreakfast."

Hand in hand, father and son left the chamber. Catherine picked upher spoon and put it down again, pushing her breakfast awayhalf-eaten.

Nicholas had reminded her of her car, still sitting on the streetnear Madison Square Garden. Its trunk held more than Nicholas'struck. It contained a full box of his toys, a suitcase of theirclothing, and another box of household items. Nicholas's childrestraint was still buckled into the front seat. It had takenCatherine a long time to accumulate those things, and Nicholas wasfond of his toys.

And there was the car itself. If left unattended long enough, itwould draw attention. Its serial number could be traced back toMontana, where she'd bought it; it might conceivably be connectedwith her, with her frantic flight from Washington state only daysago. It might lead her hunters here, to New York.

She looked up when Vincent came back. Nicholas followed closely, alarge red dump truck clutched in his arms. "Look at my new truck," heurged.

"It isn't yours, Nicholas," Vincent said gently. "It belongs toLuke. He's allowing you to borrow it, but you'll have to return itwhen you've finished playing with it."

Nicholas's face fell. "But I want it," he whispered.

"You have your own toys, Nick," Catherine said persuasively."Remember how sometimes you would play with Jeremy's toys, andsometimes he would play with yours?"

Nicholas nodded.

"Well, this is just like that. Luke is letting you play with histruck because you don't have yours right now."

"Where's mine?"

"I told you. It's in the car."

"You better go get it," he decided, and crouched down to beginplacing the carved wooden animals in the back of Luke's redtruck.

Catherine looked at Vincent. "He's right, you know," she said. "Ineed to take care of my car."

For a moment, she thought he was going to protest. "Very well," hesaid finally. "Do you need help?"

Catherine balked at the thought of taking someone with her intodanger. But there were too many things to carry in one trip, and twotrips would be pressing her luck. She nodded.

Vincent went to the pipes outside his chamber door and tapped amessage. Moments later, a young man entered.

"This is Timothy," Vincent said.

Timothy was in his mid-twenties, slim and wiry, with a tough lookin his dark eyes. Catherine felt sure he must have heard all abouther since her unexpected arrival the previous night, but to hiscredit he didn't stare. He nodded politely in her direction andturned to Vincent.

"Catherine needs assistance," Vincent explained.

Timothy nodded. "Sure. What?"

"Catherine will explain." Without moving, Vincent seemed towithdraw himself from the conversation, leaving her to deal withTimothy alone.

"My car," she said, awkwardly. "Some things..."

"Sure," Timothy agreed. "Where are you parked?"

"I'll have to go with you," she said. "There are too many thingsfor one person."

"Zach'll go with me," Timothy offered.

Temptation was shockingly strong. To remain here, safe, whileothers went above, exposed themselves... "No," she said, faintly."I'll go."

She turned to Nicholas, who had stopped playing and was watchingher with a little pucker between his brows. "I need to go to the car,Nick," she said. "To get your truck, and the rest of our things."

He regarded her with suspicion. "I don't want to go."

She smiled. "No. You don't have to."

"I want to stay with my daddy," he insisted.

She glanced at Vincent. "That's a good idea. You stay with yourdaddy, and I'll be back soon. Okay?"

"Okay." He turned back to the animals and the truck.

With a backward glance for him, she started after Timothy, who'dalready left the chamber. Nicholas's voice stopped her. "Don't begone long, Mommy," he instructed.

She saw their son's plea echoed in Vincent's eyes, and mustered asmall smile. "Don't worry," she said to both. "I won't be."

The effort required to step into the sunlight shocked her. She'dexpected to be afraid, but this was powerful. Debilitating. Shepaused to gulp air, and Timothy turned.

"You okay?" he asked brusquely.

She nodded and pushed down the fear. "Fine."

Timothy had brought them out a different entrance than the oneshe'd used last night. On the street, he paused. "Where's yourcar?"

"This way." She pointed, and Timothy fell into easy step besideher. A half block from the spot where she'd left the car, shepaused.

Timothy stopped behind her. "What is it?"

She made a small, impatient motion with her hand. "Wait."

Thankfully, he didn't ask questions. Instead, he faded back into adoorway and folded his arms.

Catherine studied the car. It didn't appear to have been touchedsince she left it last night. She turned her attention to thesurroundings, surveying the street and the people on it. No oneseemed to be lingering. No one showed interest in either her or thecar. Windows of the surrounding buildings were empty of observers,though she knew how deceptive that could be. She dragged in a deep,steadying breath.

"Wait here," she murmured to Timothy. He nodded and remained wherehe was as she approached the car.

She missed the comfort of his presence behind her. She strolleddown the sidewalk, scanning street and buildings all the while, andpassed the car without pausing. Still no sign of watchers. After ahalf block, she turned back; no one seemed to notice or care. Thistime, when she reached the car, she stopped.

Her keys were already in her hand, and she unlocked the trunkbefore casting another look around. She'd identified herself now; ifthey were watching, they would come for her. But this time, shewouldn't allow herself to be taken. She glanced at the busy street.If they came, she would take her chances with the traffic. This timeof day, it moved swiftly; lunging into it would be risky. She mightbe killed. But that didn't matter anymore. Nicholas was safe now, andno one was taking her again. No one was going to drug her, or holdher prisoner.

She swallowed hard, nerving herself. There was still no sign thatanyone noticed her and after a moment, she reached into the trunk,lifted out a sturdy cardboard box, and set it on the sidewalk.Another box followed, and then a battered suitcase. She closed thetrunk and unlocked the driver's door. It would be easier to takeNicholas's child restraint from the passenger side, but that wouldput the car between her and the street. She couldn't chance it.Warily, she slid into the seat and unbuckled the restraint. With alittle effort, she dragged it out the driver's door and set it on thestreet beside the car. She stuck the key in the ignition and rolledthe driver's window down a few inches before closing the door.

Still no one seemed to be watching. With a breath for courage, shewaved to Timothy, who emerged from his doorway and loped down thesidewalk. She carried the child restraint around, laid it on top ofone of the boxes, and picked up the whole. Timothy lifted the otherbox and balanced it on one arm, freeing a hand for the suitcase.

"Ready?" he asked, and glanced at the car. "It's not locked."

"I know."

He peered inside. "The keys are in it."

"I know that, too." She smiled grimly and set off. After thebarest hesitation, Timothy followed.

They had scarcely reached the safety of the tunnels, when shedropped her box and turned to peer out. "Were we followed?" sheasked, her voice tight and anxious.

Timothy set down his own burden and gave the alley a long,measured look. "No," he said, closing the heavy metal door. "Notfollowed."

"You're sure?"

"Sure as I can be." He eyed her critically and nudged the suitcaseaside with his foot. "We can leave this stuff here," he said."Someone can get it later."

"I need Nicky's toys," Catherine said. She stopped, mortified bythe edge of hysteria she heard in her voice.

Timothy appeared not to notice. "I'll bring them," he said, andhefted the box in his arms before leading the way to Vincent'schamber.

Inside, Vincent had Nicholas in his lap, reading to him, andCatherine's heart gave an unaccustomed flutter at the sight of thetwo blond heads bent together over the book.

Vincent finished a page and closed the book; Nicholas scrambleddown and rushed across the chamber.

"You were gone a long time," he accused, as she swept him up.

"Not very long," she disagreed. "Did you miss me?"

He nodded. "But my daddy's reading me a story," he said.

"Good." She glanced at Vincent, whose gaze swept over her warmlybefore moving to Timothy, who stood stolidly by the door.

"She left her keys in the car," Timothy reported. "Wants it to bestolen, I think."

Vincent's gaze moved back, questioning, and Catherine nodded. "Iget rid of all my cars that way," she said lightly.

"She was scared the whole time we were up there," Timothy went on."Wouldn't let me go to the car with her at first. And worried aboutsomeone following us back."

Catherine pressed her lips together, annoyed and embarrassed byTimothy's factual recounting. He spoke as if she wasn't even in theroom.

Vincent said only, "Thank you, Timothy."

Timothy nodded and went out.

There was a short, awkward pause before Catherine bent to the boxTimothy had left on the floor. "Look, Nick," she said. "Yourtoys."

Nicholas made a joyful noise and began pulling old favorites outand setting them on the carpet. Catherine looked up, expecting to seeVincent smiling fondly at the sight. Instead, he had fixed her with agaze that was unreadable and somehow unsettling.

Filled with sudden trepidation that was in some ways worse thanthe fear that accompanied the physical danger she'd just faced, shestepped toward him. He retreated, drawing her away from Nicholas, andpaused out of the boy's earshot.

"Were you in danger?" he asked, quietly.

Catherine tried to make her shrug noncommittal. "I don't know.Probably not."

"But it is possible."

"Possible," she conceded.

"Timothy is an astute observer," Vincent said. "He would not sayyou were frightened if he wasn't certain."

She gave a reluctant nod. "I was more scared than I'd expected,"she admitted.

"And yet you would not permit Timothy to accompany you to thecar."

"They don't know about him," she said.

"Who?"

"Them. The ones who are after me. Him."

"Gabriel." He spat the name. "And his followers."

She nodded agreement and tried to remember what she'd told himlast night, when she'd first arrived. Pathetically little, shefeared.

His expression was grim. "You should not have gone."

Affronted, she lifted her chin. "I had to."

"You could have left the car. It made no difference. Youendangered yourself..."

"It did make a difference," she interrupted, aware her voice wasrising but unable to stop it.

Across the room, Nicholas stopped stroking a threadbare stuffeddog and looked their way.

Vincent subsided visibly, but Catherine could see what it cost himin effort. "How?" he asked, with deceptive quietness.

Nicholas went back to the box.

"Even though I used a false name and paid cash, it's possible thecar could be traced to me," she said. "They could find me, Vincent.Even here."

"You wish the car to be far away when it's found," he saidslowly.

She nodded. "It blurs my trail."

He studied her for a moment, his expression inscrutable, and thendropped his gaze. "Forgive me," he murmured.

"For what?" Catherine asked, in genuine bewilderment.

"For presuming to tell you what you may and may not do. I forgetthat we are not what we once were to one another. It is not myplace..."

She reached out swiftly and touched his hand. "Yes, it is," shesaid softly. "I know things have changed, Vincent. I know how muchtime has passed, and how much we've each gone through, separately. Iknow we can never go back to what we were. But whatever we are toeach other now, whatever we become, you're Nicky's father. You haveevery right to wonder why his mother deliberately courteddanger."

His glance went to Nicholas, who had moved to the bed and wastucking a row of stuffed animals under a faded quilt. "Perhaps."

"Anyway," she went on, wanting to relieve his fears, "you don'thave to worry. I won't be going back up there. Not for a long time."She paused, visualizing it. Her voice softened. "Perhaps never."

His startled glance came back to her. "You love that world,Catherine. You always have."

She shook her head. "Not any more," she whispered. "It frightensme now."

He regarded her solemnly. "You're safe here," he reminded her."You're welcome here, for as long as you wish to stay."

She mustered a smile for his benefit. "I know."

His glance returned to Nicholas. "There are many waiting towelcome you back," he said. "Father wondered if an informal gatheringin his chamber this evening might not be the simplest way toproceed."

Catherine considered it. The thought of facing so manywell-wishers all at once was daunting, but it would be worse to dragit out and have to repeat her story a dozen times a day as sheencountered different people. "All right," she agreed. "Will Petercome?"

"I believe Father sent him a message this morning," Vincentanswered. "I'm sure he'll be here."

"Which entrance will he use?"

Vincent paused. "I'm not certain. Does it matter?"

"It might. He's a connection to me."

"Peter has been here many times since you left us. No harm hascome of it." Vincent's voice was gentle, but his puzzlement showedclearly.

Catherine looked down. "It's different now."

"How?"

"Because I'm here." The thought of Gabriel finding his way intothe tunnels was chilling.

Nicholas looked up from his toys. "Don't be scared, Mommy," hesaid. "My daddy will take care of us."

With an effort, she damped the fear. "I know he will, Nicky," shesaid, forcing a smile.

Vincent's glance went to Nicholas. "He knows," he said,surprised.

"Yes."

"You are... connected?"

She shook her head. "No. Not as you and I were. This is different.More tenuous, I think. But if I'm near, he knows. He's your son,after all." She managed a small laugh. "It's a struggle, sometimes,not to frighten him with what I'm feeling."

He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time. "It has beendoubly difficult for you," he observed. "This life you've led."

She gave a reluctant nod of acquiescence. "Sometimes."

"But not just because of Nicholas."

"No," she agreed sadly. "And the fear doesn't end, even now.Because I can't help thinking, what if Peter was followed? If Gabrielever found this place..."

"He won't," Vincent promised. "We will not allow it."

"You don't know him, Vincent. You don't know what he's like. He'llstop at nothing to get what he wants." Her gaze went to Nicholas,playing on the floor.

Vincent followed her look and touched her hand. "We will protecthim, Catherine. He's safe now."

We.

Of course. She wasn't alone anymore. It was all right, now, torelax her guard. There were others willing to shoulder some of theresponsibility. Her throat tightened and tears of relief prickledbehind her eyes as she struggled to assimilate the idea thatNicholas's safety was no longer solely her concern.

Continued in Chapter 2