A courtroom was a familiar place. She sought the bench and kepther gaze there as she moved toward the waiting witness stand. It wasfederal court, so she had never appeared before the judge or even methim, but his smile looked kind, and she found reassurance inthat.

Another bailiff produced a Bible and held it out to her. Shepromised solemnly to tell the truth, and took her seat.

Her gaze went now to the prosecutor's table. Malcolm Harris stoodbeside it, shuffling some papers. Diandra Shaw met Catherine's lookand smiled. Jack Butler, whom she hadn't seen since the night shecame above, occupied a third chair at the prosecution table. When shecaught his eye, he winked.

Catherine tried to smile, but her face felt stiff andexpressionless. She settled for a tiny nod of her head.

Malcolm stopped ruffling his papers and stepped to the lectern."Would you state your name, please?"

Catherine's mouth was dry; she swallowed once to try to moisten itand leaned toward the microphone in front of her. "CatherineChandler." Even to herself, her voice sounded weak and quavery. Aglass of water was beside her, and she picked it up and sipped. Ithelped, but only a little.

Malcolm smiled. "Good morning, Miss Chandler. It is Miss, isn'tit?"

"Yes." She nodded affirmation and was pleased to find her voicewas stronger.

"What is your employment, Miss Chandler, what do you do?"

"I'm an attorney. I'm not employed at the present time."

"And how long has it been since you practiced law?"

"About four years."

"Where did you last work as an attorney?"

"In the Manhattan District Attorney's office."

"Under District Attorney John Moreno."

"Under John Moreno, yes." She could say his name without flinchingnow.

"How long had you been with the D.A.'s office when you left?"

"About two years."

"During those two years, did you have occasion to meet DistrictAttorney Moreno?"

"Yes. A number of times."

"Under what circumstances?"

"Briefings, strategy meetings. Sometimes even at the coffeemachine."

Malcolm smiled. "So you were familiar with Mr. Moreno'sappearance. You could recognize him?"

She smiled faintly back. "We were on a first-name basis."

The defense attorney made a routine objection, and Catherine wasinstructed to answer the question she had been asked.

"Yes, I knew him. I could recognize him."

"And how did you feel about District Attorney Moreno?"

"I thought he was a good, aggressive prosecutor. He was sometimesa bit more conservative than I'd have liked."

"But you liked him?"

She paused. Even after their encounter earlier in the day, it washard to make this admission. "Yes, I liked him. Respected him." Sheswallowed hard. "Trusted him."

"Thank you, Miss Chandler. Now, on the night of June 21, 1989, didyou receive a phone call?"

"Yes, I did."

"And about what time did that call come in?"

"It was close to midnight. It may even have been a little pastmidnight - the morning of the twenty-second."

"Do you recall who the call was from?"

She nodded. "It was from someone in the emergency room at LangHospital. I don't recall her name. She said Joe Maxwell had beenbrought in, and was asking for me."

"And who is Joe Maxwell?"

"He was a deputy district attorney - my immediate boss at theD.A.'s office."

"And was he a patient in the emergency room?"

"Yes. He'd been caught in some kind of explosion. He was badlyinjured."

"What did you do then?"

"I got dressed and hurried over to the hospital."

"And what happened there?"

She talked about the interminable wait for news, of donating bloodwhile she waited, of finally getting in to see Joe. "He seemed veryweak; he could barely talk. I thought he should try to save hisstrength, but he insisted on telling me about a black book in hisjacket. I thought it must be important, so I asked an orderly if Icould look through Joe's things. I found a small black leather-boundnotebook."

"Did you read what was in the notebook?"

"I glanced at it. It seemed to be some sort of code or personalshorthand made up of initials and abbreviations. I didn't examine itclosely at that time."

"And then what happened?"

"As I was leaving, I met one of the nurses who'd been on dutydownstairs, when I'd donated blood for Joe."

"And what did she say?"

The defense attorney objected to the relevance of thequestion.

"Mr. Harris?" the judge asked.

"The relevance of this line of questioning will become clear in amoment, your honor."

The judge pondered a moment, then nodded. "The witness mayanswer."

Malcolm looked at Catherine. "Miss Chandler? What did the nursetell you?"

"She told me I shouldn't have donated."

"Did she say why?"

The shock and disbelief of that moment came back to her vividly.She nodded. "Yes. She said I was pregnant."

Malcolm nodded approval. The motives for both her initialkidnapping and her later long imprisonment had been established.

Malcolm's careful questions led her through a narration of theevents leading to her abduction, taking care to put emphasis on theblack book, and the copy she'd given to John Moreno. Then he took herthrough the abduction itself. "What did you do, once you were on theelevator?"

"I took my gun out of my purse and aimed it at the doors. I wantedto be ready."

"And what happened when the doors opened?"

"John Moreno was standing there. I was relieved to see him, andlowered the gun. And then two armed men stepped out of hiding."

"When these men accosted you, did District Attorney Moreno try tocome to your aid?"

"No."

"Did he shout?"

"No."

"Run for help?"

"No."

"He was your boss for two years. You've told the court that he wassomeone you trusted."

"Yes," she agreed. "I never would have put down the gunotherwise."

"Yet when you were abducted before his eyes by two armed men, whatdid he do?"

"Nothing. He turned and walked away."

The judge recessed for lunch. Catherine was escorted to theladies' room and then returned to the witness room. Joe bounced tohis feet when she came in.

"How's it going?"

She kicked off her shoes and flexed cramped toes. "Okay, I guess.It's hard to tell."

"You're cool, though, right? Steady?" They both knew too muchfidgeting on the stand could discredit a witness in a jury'seyes.

Catherine paced the width of the cramped room in stocking feet,burning up nervous energy. "Yeah," she answered. "I'm cool."

A bailiff appeared, asking what he could get them to eat.

"I don't know," Joe answered. "Cathy? What do you want?"

She shrugged. "I'm not hungry. Whatever you want is fine."

He peered at her closely. "Okay, but I'm getting some for you,too. You have to eat."

She shrugged again. "Whatever."

Lunch, when it came, was take-out Chinese. Joe thrust a styrofoamcup of Egg Drop Soup under her nose. "Here," he commanded. "Don't putit down until you've finished it."

She had to smile. "I see Jenny's wearing off on you," shecommented as she accepted the cup.

"Yeah," he said, looking sheepish. "Maybe so. You eat that soup,now, and when you're done, I want you to have some of this otherstuff."

The first spoonful of soup did seem to help the fluttering in herstomach. "It's good," she acknowledged, and eyed the row of whitecartons with a bit more interest. "What do you have there?"

"Let's see. I didn't know what you liked, so I got a bunch ofstuff." He started opening cartons to peek inside. "Sweet and SourPork. Moo Goo Gai Pan. Broccoli Beef. Kung Pao Chicken."

"What, no shrimp dishes?"

For a moment, he actually thought she was serious. "Cathy, I..."Then he caught on, and threatened her with an eggroll.

When she was finally called back to the courtroom, she left himpicking at what was left of the excellent and spicy Kung PaoChicken.

She resumed the witness stand with a touch more confidence andwent on to tell of the early days of her imprisonment; the drugs, thelights, the constant interrogation about the whereabouts of the blackbook. Malcolm's expert questioning enabled her to give answers thatpainted a vivid picture. Then it was time to implicate Gabriel,insofar as she could.

"And then they moved me. I'm not sure why; I was drugged at thetime. In the new place, I was locked in a small room with a bed and awindow."

"You say locked. Were you unable to leave?"

"The door was locked from the outside," she explained. "I had nokey."

"Did you ask to be released?"

"Many times. But it was no use. No one would listen."

He spent a little time having her recount individual attempts,both verbal and physical, to free herself, before moving on. "Whathappened to you after you were moved to this new facility? Did theinterrogations continue?"

"No. They stopped asking about the black book and stopped thedrugs. I started receiving regular meals and medical attention."

"What sort of medical attention?" Malcolm asked, leading her alongthe line they'd previously discussed.

"I was pregnant," she reminded. "I believe it was prenatalcare."

"Standard prenatal care?"

"I can't be certain. This was my first child. My first pregnancy.None of the procedures was ever explained. I never saw any of theresults."

"You're telling us they performed medical procedures on youwithout your consent, and then withheld the results?"

"Yes."

"Can you identify any of the individuals who were involved indetaining you?"

"Yes," she answered. "I remember their faces."

"And are any of the individuals you observed while you wereincarcerated present now, in this courtroom?"

This was the moment she dreaded. She had been careful, ever sinceentering the room, not to look toward the defense table, even whenone of the battery of defense attorneys was speaking. But now shewould have to.

Her knuckles were white, she noticed, where she gripped the woodenrailing in front of her. Slowly she raised her head and scanned thefaces on the defense's side of the room.

He stared back at her, his eyes as cold as she remembered, and shesuddenly knew why sometimes victims refuse to testify. She had toswallow twice before she could answer.

"Yes."

Malcolm nodded. "Can you point this individual out to us?"

Her hand trembled when she lifted it. "There," she said, pointing."The defendant."

Gabriel's cold, merciless gaze never wavered; it was she wholooked away.

Establishing his knowledge of her imprisonment was really all shecould do. She believed utterly that he was the one giving the orders,but he had never given any in her presence; indeed, she had nevereven heard him speak. Still, there were a number of other questionsthat needed to be asked and answered in order to add credence to thetestimony Moreno had already provided. She was wrung out andexhausted when court recessed for the day.

Despite her fatigue, she wished she didn't have to wait to facethe defense's cross-examination. She wanted to get it over with.Instead, she was escorted back to the witness room.

Joe waited with her body armor and helped strap it on, and thetaciturn bailiff led them to a door different than the one they'dused that morning.

Agent Mulgrew was there. He keyed a walkie-talkie when he saw themcoming and the armored limousine pulled up to the curb just as theystepped outside; Mulgrew hustled them across the sidewalk and intothe car with scarcely a pause.

The ride back to the protective facility was silent. Jenny waitedimpatiently, looking as if she'd spent the day pacing the length ofthe hallway between their rooms.

"How was it?" she demanded when Catherine and Joe rounded thecorner.

"Pretty awful," Catherine admitted. "But no worse than I'dexpected."

"Good." Jenny would have followed her into her room if Joe hadn'tintervened.

"Come on," he said. "Cathy's had a rough day. Let's give her sometime."

Catherine could have hugged him. Instead, she watched as Joe tookJenny's arm and steered her away.

Inside the haven of her own room, behind her securely locked door,she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed. It felt goodto close her eyes.

Except when she did, Gabriel's eyes stared back.

She snapped her eyes open and rose to change clothes.

Again her sleep was scattered and troubled. She got up in themorning knowing it was adrenaline that kept her going. She hoped herbody had laid in a considerable supply.

A half hour's exercise took the edge off, though, and made herfeel more alert. She breakfasted simply with Jenny, allowed herselfto be strapped into the confining body armor, and followed Joeout.

This morning, there was no confrontation at the elevator to takeher mind off what was to come. She occupied herself by trying toanticipate questions the defense might bring up in cross-examinationand compose suitable answers.

As before, both Agent Mulgrew and the armored car were waiting inthe parking garage. The car sped off as soon as she and Joe wereinside.

They were delivered to yet another entrance of the FederalCourthouse. Agent Mulgrew emerged from the car first, then waved forCatherine and Joe to follow. They were halfway across the broadsidewalk when Catherine's heel caught in a crack and she stumbledsideways. At the same instant, something struck a hard blow high onher left side, driving the breath from her lungs and throwing her tothe pavement.

She heard a high, sharp crack.

Around her, men were shouting. She struggled to get up andrealized something - someone - was holding her down.

Panicked, she fought the restraint.

"Cathy! Cathy!"

It was Joe's voice. He was on top of her. Protecting her, sherealized, with his own body.

And then he was up, tugging on her arm, dragging her to her feet."Come on!" he shouted, and propelled her toward the building.

She stumbled forward, then caught his urgency and lunged towardthe door. Someone crouched in the opening, using the glass-sideddoorjamb as an inadequate shield. It was a woman holding an automaticpistol at the ready as she scanned a nearby rooftop. Catherinechecked her forward motion for an instant, only to be shoved hard byJoe, who was behind her and still yelling. Galvanized, she plungedpast the female agent and into the comparative safety of thebuilding.

Inside, she stumbled up against a wall, hugging her throbbing sideand gasping. Terror stalked her, making every sensitive nerve standon end. She pressed her face into the smooth oak panelling and closedher eyes.

Vincent would come. He would feel this, and he would come, and shecouldn't allow that to happen. There were too many agents, all armedand on edge, and if he came, he would die. She took a breath,ignoring the hot pain in her side, and forced herself to reach forcalm. "I'm all right," she whispered, as much for Vincent as forherself. "It's over now, and I'm all right."

Gradually her own sense of urgency eased and she remembered Joe.He sagged against the wall beside her, panting shallowly for breathand wincing. His jacket was stained and his trousers torn at theknee. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Undid a few days of healing, I think," he gasped, bending alittle to one side. "I'll be okay. How about you? They didn't getyou?"

"I don't know. Something hit me. It felt like a baseball bat."

"You've never been hit with a baseball bat," he accused, butalready he was bending to look.

"I have a good imagination," she retorted.

He tugged at the arm she had clamped to her side. "Let mesee."

For a moment she hesitated, fearful that easing the pressure wouldincrease the pain.

"Cathy!" he insisted. "Let me see!"

Wincing, she eased her arm away from her side.

Joe stared in horror at the blackened slit in the side of herjacket and the matching crease in the body armor beneath it.

"You were hit," he said, blanching.

"I'm okay, Joe. I'm not bleeding."

By now, the hallway was teeming with armed agents shouting orders.A handful cordoned off the end of the hallway; the rest plungedoutside, joining the agents already in place.

"They were shooting at me," she said, voice trembling asrealization hit her.

Joe nodded grimly. "Yeah."

She swallowed. "Was anyone else hurt?"

Joe didn't answer. Alarmed, she pushed past him, back toward thedoor.

"Cathy! Cathy, don't!" he shouted, but it was too late.

She froze in the opening. Outside, Agent Mulgrew sprawled on thesidewalk in a growing pool of blood.

"I didn't like him much," she said later, as a paramedic tendedher palms and knees. Both had been badly abraded when she was thrownto the sidewalk. An icepack covered the spreading bruise on her side."But I'm sorry he's dead."

"Yeah," Joe agreed. His ribs were being retaped by anotherparamedic. She'd tried to urge him to go to the hospital and bechecked by a doctor, but she refused to go herself and he refused toleave her.

An FBI agent earlier identified as Parker put down a phone on theother side of the room. "We've located the building where the shotswere fired," he said. "It's about a half-mile from here and highenough to give a good view of the area. The sniper got away." Heshook his head. "Guy must have been a hell of a shot to hope to hit aselected target at that range."

"Must have been," Joe agreed bitterly. "Damn near killed her. Ithought you people were supposed to protect her!"

"All the nearby buildings were covered, Mr. Maxwell," Parker said,a bit stiffly. "No one thought they'd try from so far away."

"Yeah," Joe said. "Especially Agent Mulgrew."

The door to the room opened; Joe and Parker both spun to face it.A bailiff, oblivious to the automatic pistol suddenly gleaming inParker's hand, leaned in and addressed Catherine primly. "The judgehas postponed your testimony until this afternoon."

Joe made an abortive attempt to rise. "What? She's not testifyingtoday. An attempt was just made on her life. A man was killed."

The bailiff looked doubtful. "I can tell the judge you said that,"he began.

"No."

Both Joe and the bailiff looked at her in surprise.

"I'll testify."

"Cathy, you've had a shock. You're hurt. Give yourselftime..."

"Time for him to make another attempt?" she snapped. "Time foranother man to die in my place?"

"Mulgrew knew the risks," Joe argued. "It was part of thejob."

"I know that," she answered. "But if I delay, if I let it go on...it might happen again. Surprisingly, I find it's easier tocontemplate my own death than to inadvertently be the cause ofsomeone else's."

"Cathy..." Joe pleaded.

"No, Joe. I have to do this. And I have to do it today." Shelooked at the bailiff. "My clothes are torn. Dirty..."

"We can send for more clothing," the bailiff agreed. "Will someoneat the protective facility know what to pack for you?"

Catherine looked at Joe. "Jenny..."

"Yeah," he sighed, and flexed a shoulder, testing the newstrapping across his ribcage. "She'll have to know. It'll be in thenews anyway. She might as well hear it from me."

Catherine made a list, and Joe made his phone call. Three hourslater, newly clad in the fresh clothing Jenny had sent, she enteredthe courtroom.

At Joe's insistence, a doctor had been brought in to examine herside; his diagnosis was bruised but not broken ribs and a severecontusion. She'd refused painkillers and was conscious now of thedull ache as she took her place in the witness stand.

Gabriel stared, but this time, she met his gaze defiantly. Herhands trembled in her lap and she clasped them tightly together; shewould not permit him the satisfaction of seeing her react.

Then she realized his stare was tinged with horror. He hadn'texpected to see her here today. Or ever again.

No one had told him the attempt on her life had failed.

She gave him a smile of grim satisfaction, and this time it wasGabriel who looked away.

"The witness is reminded she is still under oath," the judgepronounced, and the ordeal of cross-examination began.

As she'd expected, the defense attorney proceeded as if themorning's assault had not taken place. He progressed chronologically,establishing that she had no personal knowledge to link either theblack book or her abduction to his client. Then he moved on to thesubject of her imprisonment.

"You say you were held in a building at 1900 Sixth Avenue for anumber of months."

The memory of the terror of that place, that time, gripped her,but this time she didn't cower away from it. Instead, there was asurge of resentment at things taken from her there. Her freedom. Herpeace of mind. Again, in her mind's eye, she saw the still form ofAgent Mulgrew outside. "That's right," she answered crisply.

"And this was not the same place where you say you were druggedand interrogated."

"No."

"Were you mistreated during your stay there? Starved? Beaten?"

Her temper flared. "That depends on your definition ofmistreatment, counselor. I was held there against my will."

"Your honor, please instruct the witness to answer thequestion."

The judge peered at her over the side of the bench. "You've been atrial attorney, Miss Chandler," he admonished. "You know better thanthat."

"Of course," she acknowledged. She swallowed hard and checked herrising wrath. "Would you repeat the question, please?"

The judge instructed the court reporter to read the question asasked.

"Were you mistreated during your stay there. Starved. Beaten," thereporter read in a monotone.

"I was neither starved nor beaten," Catherine said clearly.

"And you tell us you received medical care for yourpregnancy."

"Yes."

"Was it good care, Miss Chandler?"

"How would I know that?" she snapped. "I'm not a doctor."

"Miss Chandler," the judge said, warningly. "Counsel will rephrasethe question, please."

The attorney rustled some papers. "You appear to no longer bepregnant," he said.

"No." She couldn't help it; her voice was faintly mocking.

"I assume, then, that you did eventually give birth to thischild?"

"Yes."

"Was it a girl or a boy?"

She glared at him, but Peter Alcott had already told her that thetest they'd done with a needle through her abdomen was unlikely tohave been anything but an amniocentesis; she would be giving awaynothing in answering this. "A boy."

The attorney nodded. "Congratulations. And is he healthy?"

"Yes."

"So the medical procedures you say were forced upon you did notharm your child."

Even though she understood what the attorney was trying to do, hisquestions rankled. She fought to appear calm. "They don't appear tohave, no."

"And you made a good recovery from the birth?"

"Yes."

He nodded sagely and shuffled his papers. "Miss Chandler, you'vetold the court that you suspect the reason you were held prisoner andgiven such exemplary medical care is because of your child. Becausesomeone wanted your child."

"That's correct."

"I'm a bit confused about that. I mean, holding you in thisfacility, a private doctor, a nurse. All this must have beenexpensive. I'm sure there are a number of women who would be glad toact as a surrogate mother in exchange for payment." He glanced ather. "What was so special about your child?"

She knew the answer to that, but it wasn't anything she could sayin court. "I don't know. Except, perhaps, that they already had me.That I was a liability to them because of what I knew about JohnMoreno. My child was a plus they hadn't counted on. They tookadvantage of it."

She glanced Gabriel's way. He returned the look, acknowledgingwhat they both knew. She was sure, though, that he didn't plan tooffer any evidence about her child's father. If he intended toproduce the videotapes she'd seen of Vincent in full fury, he wouldhave done so already. Perhaps he had considered, as she had, whatHollywood was doing with special effects these days, and knew hisevidence would not be believed. Or perhaps he just wanted to keep theknowledge to himself.

"Perhaps," the defense attorney continued, "there is somethingspecial about this child?"

"He's an ordinary little boy," she said sharply.

"A boy you will not produce for this court."

"No."

"Why is that, Miss Chandler? If he is, as you say, ordinary."

She sat a little straighter. "I have already testified," she said,her voice cold, "that the defendant wanted my son for his ownpurposes, whatever those might be. But he's a child, a human being.Not a commodity. I will not produce him because to do so would exposehim to danger."

"What sort of danger would he face in this courtroom?" theattorney asked. "Aren't you safe here?"

She couldn't believe he'd asked the question, giving her theopening. She saw the horrified realization of what he'd done crosshis face as soon as he'd finished speaking.

"In the courtroom, perhaps," she answered quickly, before he couldretract the question. "It's travelling here and back that'sdangerous. You must be aware that an attempt on my life was made justthis morning, outside this building. A man died protecting me."

Pandemonium broke out among the jurors and spectators. The judgebanged his gavel with vigor. "That's enough," he barked. "I will haveorder in my courtroom."

Gabriel was half on his feet, his malevolent eye turned on thehapless attorney who'd erred. Catherine felt a flicker of compassionfor the man who'd just made a dangerous enemy.

A bailiff and another attorney on the defense team returnedGabriel to his chair. His outburst hadn't gone unnoticed by the jury,however, some of whom were staring at him in apprehension.

"Order!" the judge shouted one more time, and the noise diedaway.

"One more outburst like that and I will have this courtroomcleared," he told the spectators. He turned a steely eye onCatherine. "Miss Chandler. You will refrain from making inflammatorystatements. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, your honor." It didn't matter now. The damage had beendone.

The judge glanced at the clock on the wall over the jury box."It's almost four o'clock," he noted. "Does counsel for the defensehave further questions for this witness?"

The attorney who'd been performing the cross-examination looked upuncertainly. "Uh, actually, your honor, in light of Ms. Chandler'sextraordinary statement, we'd like a little time..."

"Very well. We'll end today's session now. Court is recessed untilnine o'clock tomorrow morning. Questioning of this witness willresume then."

The jury was escorted from the courtroom. They were beingsequestered, Catherine knew. They were also under stringentprotection.

She stepped down from the witness stand, but lingered a moment.She felt a vindictive sense of triumph as Gabriel Vandt washandcuffed. He seemed to know she was there, and turned to give her along look before he was escorted away.

She didn't avert her gaze until after the door closed behindhim.

Joe waited in the narrow corridor. "They let me stand in the backfor a while," he said as she emerged. "You were great, kiddo."

"Was I?" she asked tonelessly. Her supply of adrenaline had justbeen exhausted, and she felt wrung out and empty.

"Sure you were. I mean, Moreno was a good witness. Dates, names,places, he had it all. But he was testifying in exchange forimmunity, and you know as well as I do that it makes a difference toa jury. They wonder if he might not be stretching things a little,padding the truth. But you. You said it all, and you were absolutelybelievable. And then the recess. The timing on that couldn't havebeen better. I think it was a mistake for the defense not to jump inright away, defuse what you said there at the end," he confided.

"I'm not sure they knew what to say to defuse it," she said.

"That poor guy who asked the question. I can't believe he gave youthat opening."

"Neither can he, Joe," she said tiredly. "I only hope he's allowedto live to regret it."