Catherine woke with a start in the wee hours of the morning,drenched with sweat. She'd been dreaming of Nicholas and over theharsh sound of her own breathing, she could still hear hishigh-pitched screams as the small bones in his fingers were broken,one by one.

Too shaken to return to sleep, she got up and wandered to thewindow, where slanting bars of moonlight came in through thehalf-open blinds. Beyond the wide pane of bullet-resistant glass wasthe city, brilliant with light even at this late hour. She pulled theblinds aside and leaned her cheek against the cool glass.

Malek's tale had reminded her of the horrors waiting on the otherside of that glass, and the dream had merely reinforced what she'dalready known; Nicholas must never be allowed to fall into Gabriel'shands.

He might not want to cause Nicholas actual physical harm, but whathe might do to Nicholas's quick mind and bright spirit could easilybe worse.

The case against Gabriel Vandt had dragged along for nearly threemonths; now, with John Moreno's testimony, a grand jury quickly foundenough evidence to bring him to trial. Catherine was glad there wasmovement in the case, even while she was dispirited that she hadn'tbeen called to testify. She understood her role as a minor witness,but inaction was frustrating.

The trial date set was five months away. The time loomed beforeher as a vast, empty space she would have to work hard to fill. Shewondered if the ordeal would ever end.

Time passed slowly, but it did pass. Catherine clung doggedly toher routine and after six months in the facility, felt sure it wasonly the routine and the letters from home that kept her sane.

She returned from the library one afternoon to find a small,rectangular package propped against her door. She recognized theshape instantly from her months working in Rick Stearns' video storein Washington. A videotape. But who would send her one, and why?

Her name on the outside was in a hand that might have beenfamiliar, but which surely wasn't Vincent's. The tape inside thebrown paper wrapping was unlabeled. Trepidation rose, but she pushedit firmly away. What could possibly be in a video tape that couldharm her?

Still, she hefted it in her hand for a long minute before finallystuffing it into the slot on the VCR and turning on the TV.

Lines of snow and static filled the screen, then vanished as abobbing, wavery picture popped up. Someone's living room, shethought, noting the furniture in the background. Someone's child.

The child lifted his head. "Look, Daddy," he said clearly, andCatherine's heart skipped a beat. Nicholas! Taller, as everyone hadtold her, with shaggy hair to his shoulders. His face was thinner,too, his cheekbones more defined. He looked beautiful.

"Look, Daddy," he said again. "Look at me."

Look at me. How often had she heard him demand that of her?His request now was more polite, but still bore a trace ofimperiousness that expected to be obeyed.

"I'm watching, Nicholas." The voice came from off-camera, slightlydistorted by the camera's microphone, but still beautifullyrecognizable.

Nicholas had something in his hands; he held it up, but shecouldn't make out what it was. "Look," he said yet again, andreleased whatever he was holding. It spun violently in his hands andmade a rude-sounding noise. He laughed.

Some kind of wind-up toy, she thought. He'd found out that if hereleased the key while holding the toy, rather than putting it downso the mechanism had resistance, it would unwind with a delightfulracket.

"Before you wind it again, Nicholas," Vincent's voice said,sounding unruffled and wonderfully patient, "perhaps you could singthe song you've just learned."

Nicholas's expression brightened with the suggestion and thecamera's operator - Peter Alcott, she guessed, having recognized thebackground as his Gramercy Park townhouse's living room - zoomed inso that Nicholas's head and shoulders filled the screen.

Nicholas pulled himself up in an exaggerated display of goodposture and took a deep breath. "'Twinkle, twinkle, little star,'" hesang, with more enthusiasm than melody. "'How I wonder what youare,'"

Her eyes filled as he spent the next ten minutes showing offhappily for the camera. For her. He was so beautiful, and he'dchanged so much. Not just his appearance. His speech was clearer, andhe used words he hadn't known before and put them into more complexsentences. He was more graceful when he moved. His eyes, she notedthrough a haze of tears, were bluer than ever.

"Nicholas." Vincent's voice sounded suddenly solemn. "Can you sayhello to the camera?"

Nicholas glanced toward the lens. "Hello," he repeated dutifully,and his gaze strayed to the right of the screen. "Why am I saying'hello'?" he asked, suddenly curious. "Why is Peter taking mypicture?"

"It's a present," Vincent said.

"Oh." Nicholas frowned. "My picture is a present?"

"Yes," Vincent told him. "For someone who loves you verymuch."

An odd expression flitted across Nicholas's face. "I'm tired,Daddy," he said. "I don't want to do this anymore." He turned awayfrom the lens.

"Nicholas..." That was Peter's voice, pleading. "Pleasedon't..."

"It's no use, Peter," Vincent, still off-camera, said gently. Thepicture went black.

Though it tore at her heart to do so, Catherine watched the tapeover and over, until she'd memorized everything about the way theplanes of Nicholas's face changed when he moved his head, and the waythe light shone on his hair. She learned the inflection of his voiceand the cadence of his speech. Then she watched again and listened toher son's father, absorbing every nuance of meaning inherent in therich voice.

The fleeting expression on Nicholas's face near the end remainedunreadable, but she suspected he'd figured out the tape was for her.His reaction saddened her, but it didn't keep her from rewinding thetape to watch it yet again.

Finally, when she thought the tape might well be close to wearingout from the number of times she'd played it, she pushed themachine's 'record' button, and sat with tears running down her cheeksas she erased the precious footage.

Her voice was still choked from crying when she picked up thephone and dialled.

"Hi, Joe," she said, when he answered. "It's me."

"Are you okay?" he asked, alarmed.

"Yeah. Kind of."

"You need me to come over?" he offered. "I can be there in twentyminutes."

"Thanks, Joe, but no," she told him. "I really am okay. But I needto get a message to someone."

Bless him, he understood immediately. "Sure. What is it?"

"Tell him I got the tape... and ask him not to send any more."

"Got the tape... don't send any more. Got it." There was a smallpause. "Why? What was wrong with it?"

"Nothing. I watched it over and over. But it's too dangerous. Whatif it fell into the wrong hands? They might learn what he lookslike..."

"Oh," Joe said, sounding stupefied. "Of course. We never thoughtof that."

"'We'?" she asked. "You were in on it?"

"My brother's video camera," Joe said. "Our mutual friend" - thatmust be Peter - "asked if I thought you'd like a tape of your littleboy. I never thought..."

"Don't apologize, Joe," she said quickly. "I'm so glad I saw it.He's changed so much, I hardly knew him. But we can't risk itagain."

"You're right," he agreed. "I'll tell them. Goodbye." He wascareful, she noticed gratefully, not to use her name.

"Goodbye."

The tape roused all her fears; for herself, for Nicholas, even forthe peaceful world that lay beneath the city. She was protected here,but they were so vulnerable. Safety for them lay in secrecy, and evenso innocuous a thing as a videotape, a voice, might give them away.Even the letters she received were risky.

Her sleep that night was restless, filled with wild, anxiousdreams. She rose early the next morning, glad to leave the terrors ofsleep behind. Taut nerves and insufficient rest made her irritableand twitchy, and she was tempted to abandon her usual routine. Buteven back in the days with the D.A., she'd known exercise was a goodrelease for stress.

Mike was late getting to the gym. She waited, stretching and doingsome light aerobics work, but finally she went out to look forhim.

"Hey, Doug," she called as she neared the guard station near theelevator.

"Morning, Cathy," the burly guard greeted. "You needsomething?"

"Mike," she answered succinctly. "It's past time for ourworkout."

The change in Doug's expression was subtle, but she picked up onit instantly.

"What?" she demanded. "What is it?"

"Mike's been transferred," he said.

"Transferred?" she asked, a bit wildly. "Where? Why?"

"I don't know. Just transferred."

Dread gripped her. "There's more. Isn't there?"

"Look, Cathy, you should be talking to someone else about this.Not me."

"There is something else," she breathed. "Is he dead?"

"Not that I know of," Doug answered quickly. "I really can't sayanything."

"I want to talk to Arlen."

"You bet," Doug said, looking relieved and reaching for the phone."I'll get her."

Despite its being Saturday, Arlen arrived promptly. Catherineturned from pacing the length of the hallway to confront her.

"Where's Mike?" she demanded.

"He's fine," Arlen assured her. "Let's go sit down somewhere,shall we?"

Catherine didn't like the sound of that, but Arlen's expression,firm and impassive, clearly indicated she wasn't saying more untilthey'd followed her suggestion. Reluctantly Catherine led the way toher room and closed the door behind them.

Arlen pulled out the desk chair. Catherine perched uneasily on theside of the bed and waited.

"Mike was approached," Arlen said flatly, with no preamble. "Youwere the target."

The back of her neck went cold. "Dear God."

"It's all right," Arlen said. "Mike reported the incident lastnight; he's already been removed to a safe place."

"Oh, no," Catherine murmured, her concern for herself overshadowedby what was happening to Mike. "What about his family?"

"He has none," Arlen said, looking surprised. "None of the guardshere do. It's safer."

Catherine's gaze flicked to the dried flower arrangement on herdesk. She could still hear the smile in Mike's voice as he presentedit to her. "My mom made it," he'd said clearly.

"His mother..." Catherine faltered.

"Mike's mother died a little over a year ago," Arlen said. "That'swhen he became qualified to work on this level. People without closeattachments are harder to suborn; no leverage."

Catherine understood that instantly; it was the basis of her owndeepseated dread that never went away. "What will happen to Mikenow?"

"He'll be relocated."

"New identity?"

Arlen nodded.

The weight of Mike's sacrifice bore down on her. "Can I write tohim?" she asked. "Before he's placed somewhere?"

Arlen looked surprised. "Of course," she agreed. "But why?"

"Because he was my friend," Catherine whispered. "And because I'msorry."

Arlen stood up. "I'll be glad to take a letter for you, Cathy,"she said gently. "I'm sure Mike values your friendship, too. But Iwant you to know it isn't your fault. Mike knew the risks when heaccepted this assignment, and if anyone's to blame, it's the peoplewho approached him. Remember that."

"I'll try."

Arlen pressed her hand and left; Catherine had started to swingthe door closed when Malek came out of his room.

"Arlen wasn't here to deliver mail," he said. "Something'swrong."

Catherine didn't bother to wonder how he knew; the facilitygrapevine was notorious. She nodded. "It's Mike. He's beentransferred."

Something in her face must have shown her distress; his expressionsoftened. "I am sorry. I know he was your friend. I cared for him,too."

She tried to smile. "I know. We all did." The smile faltered andshe fought back tears.

Malek's compassion turned to alarm. He took her arm and helped herinside, settling her on the edge of the bed and bending over hersolicitously. "Shall I get you some tea?"

She caught at his arm. "No. Please, Malek, don't go. Just staywith me."

He looked faintly surprised, but acquiesced quickly. "Of course."He reached for the single chair.

"Wait. First... could you lock the door?"

The surprise was unmistakable this time, but he crossed the roomwithout question and secured the door before coming back and takinghis place across from her. "I am here," he announced.

Haltingly, fighting tears, she told him the whole story behindMike's transfer. "I'm so scared," she finished. "What if it happensagain? What if, next time, the guard doesn't know me as well as Mikedid? Isn't my friend?"

"And accepts the bribe?" Malek asked.

She nodded and held out her hands. "Look. I'm shaking."

"A brush with death is not a pleasant thing," Malek observed."What would be odd is if you did not react in this way."

"I feel so badly about Mike, too," she confessed. "So guilty. Eventhough Arlen told me not to."

"Arlen is right," Malek said. "Mike knew the risks. He understood,and still he wished to become a guard. For him, there was a choice.He is less a victim than you or I."

She looked at him. "I didn't think of it that way."

"They'll find a safe place for him, Cathy. Doing work he enjoys.We will miss him, but he will find new friends. He will be happy inhis new life."

She smiled faintly. "I suppose."

"I am right," Malek said, with conviction.

She laughed, sadly. "You're good at this," she said. "You shouldhave Arlen's job."

He shook his head. "I will not be here long enough."

"You...?"

"My cousin's trial. It begins next week, and I am told I will becalled to testify very quickly."

"Oh, Malek. Are you worried?"

"I do not look forward to facing my cousin," he said. "I do notwish to be in the same room with that man ever again, unless it isjust he and I. Then I will kill him."

"You're a gentle man," she objected.

"I am a gentle man," he agreed, "who cannot forget what happenedto my son. An innocent child."

"I know. But the courts will take care of him for you."

"I know this. I will do my part to make it happen the way itshould."

"It will," she promised. "I'm sure of it." She tried to smile."Then what happens? Where will you go?"

"To my own country," he answered. "I will see my father, mybrothers. My wife and my daughters will be there."

"Will it be safe?" she asked, worried despite herself.

He smiled faintly. "Possibly not. But my father will do what hecan to make it safe for a few days. Then I and my wife and daughterswill disappear."

"Will your father know where you are?"

"It is he who is making the arrangements. Since I am leaving theU.S., the government here will not be responsible for me, althoughthey have offered some assistance."

She nodded understanding. "I'm glad for you," she said. "I knowhow much you miss them." She forced a small laugh. "But you keep mesane in this place. What will I do when you're gone?"

He nodded toward his room across the hall. "You will befriend thepoor soul who comes after me, as I was befriended by the man who hadthis room before you."

"Kind of a tradition, huh?"

He smiled. "One that benefits both parties."

"I'll try to be worthy of you, Malek," she promised. "I'll try tobe as good a friend as you've been."

"You will, Cathy. I know you will."

Malek spent four days testifying. Catherine watched for his returneach night. He was always too agitated to talk much, but having hernearby seemed to soothe him, so she made a point of slipping into hisroom to listen to his music, or to read while he paced the floor orscribbled brief, cryptic notes to himself.

And then, suddenly, it was over and Malek was gone. As she'dexpected, things seemed emptier without him, and she avoided the opendoor to what was once his room.

"Cathy?"

The voice outside her locked door was Kelly Freemont's, andCatherine hurried to let her in.

Kelly had a dark leather garment bag slung over one shoulder. Witha start, Catherine recognized it as her own. From before.

"Diandra said you had to have something to wear when the trialstarts," Kelly announced. "I think Joe Maxwell took care of gettingthese for you."

Catherine carried the bag to the closet and unzipped it. Insidewere a number of outfits - all her own. Suits, dresses, some skirtsand blouses. In the bottom were shoes and purses, in the pockets wereslips and pantyhose. Even some underwear. All hers. She unpacked thethings slowly, wondering at the selections taken from her extensivewardrobe. Who'd have ever thought Joe had such a fine sense offashion?

And then she came upon a note pinned to the lapel of a darkjacket.

My God, Cathy, it said, in handwriting she recognizedinstantly. I couldn't believe it when Joe told me. He says you'reokay. That's true, isn't it? You are okay? And he says you can'tanswer me, either, so I don't know why I'm asking, except that I'vebeen so worried about you! You've been in so many of my dreams, andyou were always scared.

This is the best news I've heard in ages. I want to laugh andcry. I want to hug you and at the same time, I want to shake you forletting me worry so much.

Don't be mad at Joe for telling me. He didn't mean to. But whenhe asked me if I knew what boxes your clothes were stored in, I knewsomething was up. You knew Peter and I closed up your apartment? Butall your things are safe. We made sure of that. Anyway, I could seeright away he was sorry he'd mentioned it, and I badgered him untilhe told me everything. I went and got the clothes myself.

Joe says you're going to testify against that Vandt guy I'vebeen reading about in the papers, and that you're the reason JohnMoreno resigned and was arrested. I can't believe it, except that ifJoe says it, I know it's true.

He said I can't go to court to see you, either, because itwould endanger us both. Endanger him, too. I want to come, Cathy. Iwant to see you. I guess I want to see for myself that you're okay.But I won't do anything foolish. I'll wait until it's all over, okay?And then you'll have to tell me everything about where you've beenand what you've done.

And you'll have to tell me all about that terrific little boyI've been hearing about. You with a child and me married. Thingschange quickly, don't they? I can't wait to see you. Until then, becareful.

The note was signed, Love, Jenny.

So Jenny knew. Reading the note, Catherine had to suppress thesudden longing to call her just to hear her voice. But it was badenough she'd endangered Joe that way. She wouldn't allow the dangerto spread to Jenny.

She missed Malek even more than she'd expected, and that he leftso soon after Mike made it worse. The loneliness of living alone onthe west end of the building was oppressive; she had to work hard tokeep her spirits up.

She read whatever the library had to offer, books, plays, andpoetry. She wrote letters she couldn't send. She worked out everymorning by herself. For a while, she went on a movie binge, borrowingvideotapes from the library and watching them one after another.

But filling empty hours was demanding work, and there were timeswhen the processed air of the sealed high-rise building threatened tostifle her. One night, the confinement of her room became more thanshe could bear. She needed movement, an outlet for the anxiety thatplucked at her nerves.

She prowled the hallways with a reckless energy, peering intodarkened doorways, pausing at the sound of guards and altering hercourse to avoid them.

It was a voice from behind that finally halted her restlesspattern.

"Hey, Cathy."

She wasn't in the mood for interruptions, but she couldn't bringherself to be rude. She turned reluctantly to face Morris.

"How's it going?" he asked.

She lifted her hands in a small, helpless gesture. "Not so goodright now," she admitted.

"Yeah. I've seen you go down this hall a half-dozen times thisevening. Looking for something?"

"Peace of mind?" she suggested, only half kidding.

"Ah. Restless, huh?"

"Yes." She admitted it with reluctance. "I feel like I'll explodeif I don't get a breath of fresh air."

"I know that feeling," he confirmed. "Makes you crazy?"

"That's one way of putting it." She bounced a little on hertoes.

"I can fix that," he said.

She settled onto her heels in surprise. "You what?"

"I can get you outside." Her expression must have been vastlyamusing, because he grinned.

"You can?" She had a vision of him smuggling her down in theelevator, though how he'd get her through the warren of offices andhallways to the other elevator on the thirty-fifth floor defied herimagination.

Morris's confident grin didn't falter. "You bet. Come withme."

Curious, she fell into step beside him.

At the guard station, he paused to snag a lined jacket from behindthe desk. "You'll need this," he said. "It's chilly out."

She put the jacket over her arm, still wondering what heplanned.

He took her to a heavily reinforced doorway. A monitor inset intothe wall showed a small area at the base of a flight of steepconcrete steps; it was empty. Morris punched a code on the numberedkeypad above the door handle, waited for a confirming beep, andpushed the door open.

"Wait here," he said, and went through the opening. The doorclosed heavily behind him and she could hear the solid thunk of itslocking mechanism slamming home.

She could see him now on the monitor as it scanned the area rightoutside the door, but the camera didn't follow as he climbed thestairs. Just before he disappeared from view, she noticed the gun inhis hand.

Five minutes later he was back. The gun was holstered and hiscautious air was gone. He paused outside, gave a cocky grin to thecamera for her benefit, and let himself back in. "All clear," hesaid.

"What's clear?" She couldn't help the suspicion in her voice.

"The roof. Come on."

The roof. Fresh air, cold on her skin. The night sky. Thestars.

She followed him eagerly. "We don't allow this often," he told heras they climbed the stairs. "We've never had funding to secure theroof properly. I mean, we can pretty much stop people from gettingin, at least long enough to evacuate the floor, but there are nocameras up here. No motion sensors, no alarms."

That was all right with Catherine. She didn't relish the idea ofbeing observed while she enjoyed a moment's freedom.

The narrow stairwell opened abruptly onto a tar and gravel roof,crowded with housings for heating and cooling systems, air vents,elevator shafts. A high parapet enclosed it on all four sides.

"Snipers can't see you," Morris pointed out. "A grenade launcherprobably could get an explosive device up here, but first they'd haveto have some way of knowing you were here. So we figure it's prettysafe, as long as we don't overdo it."

Catherine was too overcome with exhilaration to care. The eveningwas cool, as Morris had warned, and she shrugged into his jacket.Mingled scents of his aftershave and something that smelled likepeppermint tickled her nose.

"I'll leave you," Morris said. "Come down and beat on the doorwhen you're done. I'll let you in."

She nodded an absent acknowledgement.

"Don't be too long." He clattered down the stairs and she heardthe thump as the door closed behind him.

She walked towards the edge. The parapet was too high to see over,but she had a view of the street from her window, anyway. She didn'tneed to see it now. What she needed was the night air, blowing dampand brisk against her face and smelling of rain. What she needed werethe stars that peeked through the clouds.

Perhaps Vincent was out tonight, too. Maybe, even now, he stood ona nearby rooftop watching the same stars, feeling the same breezeruffling his hair. If she shouted his name, she wondered if he mighthear her.

She moved in a slow circle, absorbing the night, concentrating onappreciating the small measure of freedom, and trying not to long formore.

"Catherine."

She closed her eyes against the sudden tears. He was so close inthis moment, she could imagine she heard his voice, calling hername.

"Catherine."

It was clearer this time, more tangible as it cut across the sharpbreeze. She whirled.

He stood silently in the shadow of the parapet, his dark cloakmaking him all but invisible in the dim light.

"Vincent?" she whispered, hardly daring to believe he wasthere.

He pushed back his hood; starlight glinted on his hair. "Yes."

An instant later she was in his arms and he was crushing her tohim as though he'd never stop. She never wanted him to stop.

"You're here," she gasped against his chest. "You're real."

"As real as you are," he agreed, and set her away from him toexamine her face. "You look tired." He touched her cheek with thefingers of one hand.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the caress."Sometimes," she admitted. "Mostly I'm just lonely."

"I know. You try not to be."

Her eyes flew open in surprise. "You know that?"

"I can tell. It is a battle I must fight, as well."

"But you're here now." She clutched at his arm. "How's Nicky?"

"He is well. Kipper is with him."

"The tape you sent... he's getting so big."

"Yes. Mary and Sarah have a difficult time keeping him inclothes."

"He's done that to me, too. Grown out of things practicallyovernight." She sobered. "Is he still angry with me?"

If she hadn't known him so very well, she'd have missed the gleamof unease in his eyes. "He loves you, Catherine. You're hismother."

"But is he angry, Vincent? Please. I need to know."

He looked away. "He still refuses to speak your name. He told..."He broke off abruptly.

"What?" She pulled at his arm.

He hesitated for so long that she feared he wasn't going toanswer.

"Please, Vincent."

He sighed and freed his arm to wrap it around her shoulders,bringing her close. "There is a new family below," he began, hisvoice half muffled in her hair. "Their son is Nicholas's age. I heardNicholas telling Mark..." He stopped again. "Catherine, I don't thinkit will benefit you to hear this."

"Vincent, please! I have to know."

His arm around her tightened. "He told Mark he didn't have amother. That there was only me."

His words seared through her like fire. "No," she heard herselfsay, very quietly, against his chest. "No."

"Catherine, he doesn't mean it. He's only a little boy, and he'supset. He misses you."

She shook her head. "It's been seven months, Vincent. That's aneternity to a child his age." She laughed softly, bitterly. "It's aneternity to me."

"And to me," he said quietly, into her hair.

"I miss him so much, Vincent. I love him so much. It hurts to knowhe doesn't understand."

"That is why I tried to keep it from you," he said.

"I know. To protect me. But you can't, Vincent. I've learned thathere. I have to do it myself. Even if it..." she stopped suddenly,appalled at what she'd been about to say.

"What? What is it?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. A dumb saying."

"A saying that frightens you. What is it?"

She closed her eyes. "I was going to say... even if it kills me."She shivered. "And it might, Vincent. It might. Did you know therewas an attempt on my life?"

He stiffened. "No. When?"

"A few weeks ago. One of the guards... he was my friend, Vincent.He was approached. He reported it, and he's been transferred to aplace where he'll be safe, but it frightens me. I keep thinking, whatif there's a next time?" She clutched at his vest. "I'm so tired,Vincent. Of being scared. Of being lonely. I want to come home."

He put his hands on her shoulders and moved her away from him tolook into her eyes. "Yes," he said simply, and lifted his hand tostroke an errant wisp of hair from her eyes.

A wave of wanting swept her.

"Catherine." His voice, suffused with longing, still managed tochide her, just a little.

"I know. Not the place, or the time. I'm sorry, Vincent. I can'thelp it."

"Don't be sorry," he said, and bent to kiss her lightly. "You keepme awake some nights when you feel like this."

Nights when she thought about him. "I keep myself awake," shemurmured in reply.

He pulled her against him. She was aware of it all; the hardlength of his body pressed to hers, the rough stubble of his beardagainst her temple, the ragged pace of his breathing.

He stroked her back in a gesture that probably soothed him as muchas it did her, and she could feel him kissing her hair. "Catherine,"he said at last. She could hear the effort it took for him to keephis voice steady.

In the stairwell, the door opened with a thump. Vincent went rigidand poised to flee. Catherine caught his sleeve and hung on.

"Cathy? You up there?"

Her heart, which had leaped violently at the sound of the door,eased out of her throat. She tightened her grip on Vincent's arm."I'm fine, Morris," she called back. "Just a few more minutes,okay?"

"Okay," he said, sounding reluctant. "But then you've got to comein."

"All right."

The door closed solidly, but Vincent's arm remained rigid. Hebowed his head. "I must go. This rooftop is not safe for either ofus."

"I know," she admitted. "But not yet. I'm not ready yet. Justanother minute."

"Another minute," he agreed. "But no longer, Catherine. Thesestolen moments are not worth the risk."

"They are to me. But I know," she added quickly, forestalling him."They wouldn't be to Nicky. Not if he lost both parents."

"No," he agreed softly.

"But tell me something before you go."

"Of course. Anything."

"You've said, in your letters, that sometimes you sit on a nearbyrooftop."

"Yes."

"Could you tell me which one? Maybe I could look for you..."

He glanced toward the parapet, but it was too high, and there wereno breaks where he could show her. "It's across Sixth and a littlenorth," he said. "The modern building with the gray facade."

"I know that one! I can see it easily from my window."

"I don't know which window is yours."

"The one farthest south, I think. On the west side."

He smiled. "Now I know where to look. Even if I cannot see in." Heraised his hood, settling it over his hair so that it shadowed hisface. His eyes gleamed from its depths. "And now I must go."

She stilled her instinctive protest and bit her lip.

He took her hands in his, cradling them against his chest. "Closeyour eyes."

She searched his face, but his gaze was calm and steady. "Allright," she whispered, but another moment passed before she couldbring herself to do so.

She felt his breath on her cheek and lifted her face to receivehis kiss. It was warm and tender and much too brief. He lifted herhands, kissing the fingers of one, then the other. The pressure ofhis fingers on hers increased for just a second, and then his handsslipped from her grasp.

The hum of city traffic, punctuated by an occasional car horn,rose from the street far below, but on the rooftop, all was silent.When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

Loneliness, like the damp breeze, swept over her, but she foughtit down. He'd come. He'd been here, even if only for a few moments.She'd had that much.

She tipped her head back and smiled. "Go with care, Vincent," shewhispered. "I love you."

Back inside, though, unexpected tears sprang to her eyes. Sheducked her head, but Morris noticed, and slung a sympathetic armaround her shoulders. "I know," he said. "It affects most people likethat. Like a touch of freedom you can't have, or something."

"Or something," Catherine agreed, smiling through the tears. "Butit was worth it, Morris. Every moment."

I told Nicholas I had seen you, Vincent wrote in his nextletter. I gave him your love and told him you were well. He didn'tacknowledge it, but he listened.

Seeing you was like a double edged blade, Catherine. I amgrateful for the stolen moments, relieved beyond words to have seenwith my own eyes that you are well. But somehow, it makes the lossall the keener. I miss you...

"I miss you, too," she murmured, and touched the letter to herlips before folding it and adding it to the others in her drawer.