The prospect of going back out to the car was terrifying, but itwent without incident. Nevertheless, Catherine didn't draw a longbreath until they arrived back at the protective facility.

Once again, Jenny waited for them.

Catherine, who'd been feeling increasingly brittle during thesilent ride back from the courthouse, was grateful her friend wentfirst to Joe. She edged toward her own door, half-hoping to getinside before Jenny could turn.

"Cathy?"

She stopped in the doorway. "I'm okay, Jen." She answered Jenny'sunasked question without turning.

"I don't know how you can be," Jenny said, practical as ever."After all you've been through."

Catherine leaned her forehead against the cool metal of thedoorframe. "It's okay," she repeated. "I'm going to be okay."

Jenny came up behind her. "It's all right, Cath," she said gently."You don't have to be strong now. We're here, both of us, and we careabout you."

Catherine jerked herself upright. "I'm fine," she insisted, andthrust herself through the doorway and into her room.

Jenny followed. "No, you're not."

That brought her around. "Yes," she said, more sharply than she'dintended. "I am."

"You didn't say three words in the car on the way back." Joe stoodframed in the doorway. "That's not like you."

"I'm tired, Joe, okay?"

"It's been a long day," Jenny sympathized. "Want me to get yousome dinner?"

"No," Catherine snapped, then thought better of it. "Yes. I don'tknow!" Feeling as if she might shatter at any moment, she sank downon her bed.

"Well?" Jenny asked, very gently, sitting beside her. "Which isit?"

"I'm not hungry," Catherine whispered. "But I know I should eat. Ijust feel... I don't know what I feel."

"Joe, go get Cathy something to eat, okay?" Jenny said. After heleft, she got up to close the door. "Talk to me, Cathy," she urgedwhen she came back. "Don't keep it all in."

Catherine shook her head. There were no words for the chaos ofwhat she was feeling.

"Joe told me what happened this morning."

"This morning. Was it only this morning?"

"Is that what's upsetting you?"

Catherine shrugged. "Yes. But that's not all of it."

"What happened in court, too," Jenny guessed. "Vandt."

"I'm not afraid of him anymore, Jenny," she said. "I was, but I'mnot anymore."

"That's good, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I don't know." The words came out in a rush,leaving her breathless.

"Why? What is it, Cathy? What's wrong?"

Catherine closed her eyes. "It's what I feel now. In place of thefear."

"What?"

"I hate him, Jenny."

"That's not surprising. So do I, and I've never even met theman."

Catherine shook her head. "Not like this. Not this fiercely. Thisintensely. It's consuming me. I sat on that stand this afternoon, andall I could think was how much he took from me. All the lives he'sruined." She bent her head. "Vengeance isn't pretty, Jenny.Especially when it's as vivid as it is in my imagination rightnow."

"You don't want to know what I'd like to do to him," Jenny saidgrimly. "After what he's put us all through. Go ahead and hate him,Cathy. Be angry with him. Be furious with him. He cost you nearlyfive years of your life. He tried to have you killed."

"But," Catherine asked faintly, "what does it say about me, that Ican hate another human being this much?"

Jenny's arms went around her shoulders. "I think it means you'rehuman, too," she said gently.

Catherine began to cry. Not a gentle weeping, but furious tearsmade up of all the frustration and deprivation of the past fiveyears. Through it all, Jenny held her.

Finally the storm abated. Catherine sat up and wiped at her eyeswith trembling fingers; Jenny plucked a handful of tissues andoffered them instead.

"Thanks, Jen," she said. "For being with me. Forunderstanding."

"You had to let it out, Cathy," Jenny said softly. "It was eatingaway at you."

"I think it would have destroyed me."

"You don't hate him anymore?"

Catherine had to think. "I think I do," she admitted finally. "I'mstill angry. He took so much from me. My freedom. My trust. My faithin myself. But I think now I can deal with the hate. Learn to livewith it." She gave a shaky laugh. "I'd like to think that maybesomeday I'll be able to let go of it."

"He doesn't deserve your forgiveness," Jenny said harshly. "He'san evil man who's guilty of vile things. And you have to go backtomorrow and face him again."

That was a sobering thought. "Yes," she agreed faintly. "Ido."

Catherine skipped her workout the next morning. Somehow, thetension-relieving effects didn't seem as necessary now. She dressedfor the courtroom, then sat on her bed and waited. Jenny waitedsilently beside her.

After a while, Catherine glanced at the clock. It was pasteight-thirty, and she was supposed to be in court at nine. "Joe'slate," she commented. "He's supposed to be here, isn't he?" She knewJoe had spent the night in Jenny's room; he'd left around seven,intent on some errand or other.

"He said he'd be back in time to go with you," Jenny said, andlooked worried. "You don't suppose..."

"Nothing's happened to him, Jen," Catherine said with moreconfidence than she felt. Yesterday morning was still vividlyimprinted in her mind, and the massive bruise across her ribsthrobbed an incessant reminder. "The attorneys must be expecting awrangle over some legal point before the jury hears any moretestimony. Probably over what I said yesterday. Joe may be there now,in the thick of things."

"You're probably right," Jenny conceded, but the little puckercreasing her forehead didn't go away.

Catherine got up and paced for a few minutes, but her shoesweren't suited to the restless, jerky way she moved, so she sat downagain. Vincent's rose was tucked into the pocket of her suit jacket,and she fingered the pouch, then kicked off her shoes and began topace once more. After a few minutes, Jenny got up and joined her.

Nine o'clock came.

"We could ask the guards," Jenny suggested.

"If they knew anything, they'd tell us," Catherine answered.

Nine-thirty. The interminable waiting was eating away atCatherine's composure. The worry Jenny tried to hide didn't help.They both jumped when the door to the room swung open.

"Joe!"

Jenny dropped the book she'd been staring at and rushed across theroom, into his arms.

"Hey," he said, in surprise, cradling her against his chest. Fromthe softly muffled sounds, Jenny must be crying.

"We were worried for you when you didn't come," Catherineexplained. She was close to tears of relief, herself.

Joe patted Jenny's back and stroked her hair. "I'm sorry, babe,"he said. "Things have been happening. I should have called."

"Yes," Jenny agreed forcefully, pulling away and wiping her eyes."You should have."

"What's going on, Joe?" Catherine asked. "Why is court so late inconvening this morning? I was supposed to be there to testify atnine..."

"Gabriel's dead."

"Dead?" She repeated it dumbly, unable to take in the meaning.

"They found him this morning. Coroner says it looks likepoison."

Catherine was too stunned to do more than stare.

"Suicide?" Jenny asked.

"He didn't leave a note," Joe said. "If it was, I think it'sbecause he saw the jury's faces after Cathy testified yesterday. Andknew that even if his attorneys could get some of her last remarksstricken, it was too late. The jury'd heard her. Worse for him, thejury believed her. With all the testimony still to come - the doctor,the nurse, a couple of goons - he must have known he didn't have achance of being acquitted.

"But the Feds are also investigating the possibility that it wasdone from the outside."

"Murder?" Catherine stared in disbelief. "Why?"

Joe spread his hands. "There's evidence Vandt was a member of somesort of world-wide cartel. The experts say it's possible the othermembers came to see him as a liability."

"And killed one of their own? That doesn't make sense, Joe." Thatwas Jenny, sounding puzzled.

"Not unless you realize that Vandt had gone off the deep end," Joeagreed. "He was pursuing a personal vendetta instead of keeping thebest interests of the cartel in mind."

"Personal vendetta...?" Catherine began, confused.

"The attack on you yesterday," Joe explained. "It was too late tochange the verdict. He wanted you dead because you'd defied him.Because you'd destroyed him."

Catherine managed a shaky smile. "I wish I could believethat."

"Whether you believe it or not, it's true," Joe told her. "Youbrought down his empire practically singlehanded, Radcliffe. None ofit would have happened without you."

"What happens now, Joe?" Jenny asked.

Catherine looked up. She was still locked into a little circle ofthought that ran from testifying to Gabriel's death and backagain.

Joe grinned. "We go home."

Home. When Catherine thought of it now, it was as a tantalizingplace doomed to always dangle just out of reach.

"All of us?" Jenny persisted.

"Of course," Joe said. "All of us." He squeezed Catherine's handsand released them to sit back. "Come on, Radcliffe. I have a cardownstairs."

"I have to pack," she said, feeling rather stupid. She glancedaround the room, now crowded with treasured mementos sent one at atime in Vincent's parcels. "Don't I?"

"Grab the things that are really important," Joe advised. "Someonecan box up the rest and send it on later." He grinned. "Unless, ofcourse, you really want to waste half a day doing it yourself."

"No. Home." She said it aloud, and for the first time, it seemedreal. "I'm going home." The word swelled in her and for a moment, shethought her heart might burst with joy. Home.

Vincent's rose was already in her pocket. She snatched up herparents' pictures and took her journal, with all the letters she'dwritten to Vincent, from a drawer. Joe was right. Everything elsecould be sent later.

There were no formalities to go through on the thirty-fifth floor.They were simply ushered through to the other elevator, which tookthem to a waiting car in the basement parking garage.

"Thanks, Tony," Joe told the driver. "I'll take it from here."

"Sure, Mr. Maxwell," Tony said. "See you later."

Joe slid into the driver's seat; Jenny climbed in the passengerdoor and slid over, making room for Catherine beside her.

Being outside after long confinement was strange, and they hadn'tgone far when Catherine began to shake. "Jenny," she said, and hervoice sounded choked.

Jenny glanced her way. Something in her face must have alarmedher, and she reached for Catherine's hand. "What is it, Cathy?"

"I don't know." She held out her free hand so Jenny could see howit trembled. "It's all happening so fast. I'm supposed to be in acourtroom right now."

"Be glad you're not."

"I am. I think I am. I know I ought to be." She managed an awkwardsmile. "I don't think I've dealt with it yet. All of it."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Joe interjected, glancing herway.

"That it's over. Am I really free, Joe? Can I really walk intothat shop over there," she pointed to one at random, "and not berisking my life?"

He reached across Jenny and laid his hand over their joined ones."He's dead, Cathy. I saw his body myself, before they took him away.He can't hurt you any more. And no one else has reason to."

It seemed too much to believe, but Joe seemed very sure. She gavea wavery smile. Jenny kept her hand, squeezing it for comfort as Joedrove up Central Park West.

"Where to?" Joe asked as they neared her old apartment.

Catherine did a rapid mental run-down on all nearby tunnelentrances. "Central Park," she decided. "Near the Ramble."

Joe cocked an incredulous eye in her direction, even as he turnedinto a park drive-through. "You get sprung after nearly a year inprotective custody, and the first thing you want to do is walk in thepark?" he asked.

Jenny, who must have had her own set of suspicions, shushed him."Let her do what she needs to, Joe."

Catherine squeezed Jenny's hand gratefully. "Pull up over here,"she directed. "It's close enough."

"Close enough to where?" Joe demanded. "There's nothing here buttrees, some picnic benches. That big storm drain at the bottom of thehill. Unless you're planning to join the kids playing Frisbee overthere."

Jenny gave his arm a little shake. "Don't ask too many questions,Joe." She turned to Catherine. "Will we see you again?"

Catherine had been gazing eagerly down the hillside, toward themassive pipe that Joe spoke of so disparagingly. She turned quickly."Of course you will," she promised. "I'll get word to you soon."

"Good," Jenny said. "Because I want to meet Nicholas." Her voicedropped. "Vincent, too, if it's possible."

"I think it will be," Catherine said. She glanced from one face toanother. She hugged Jenny, then leaned across to embrace Joe. "Thankyou for everything."

She slipped from the car. A wide expanse of grass loomed betweenher and the storm drain and she hesitated. The open space wasintimidating; out of habit, her eye picked out a dozen places where asniper could be hiding.

But Joe had promised it was safe. And Vincent would bewaiting.

Knees wobbly with anticipation as much as apprehension, shehurried down the little hill. Behind her, she heard the car start,but it hadn't moved when she reached the concrete pad in front of thebig culvert. She stopped and looked back up the hill. Jenny waved.Catherine lifted her hand in response and waited until the car pulledaway from the curb and wound around a curve and out of sight. A quickglance in the other direction confirmed that a line of shrubbery hidthe storm drain from the teenagers playing Frisbee. No one waswatching.

She plunged into the mouth of the pipe, suddenly frantic withhaste.

Vincent was waiting, as she'd known he would be, and she hurledherself into his arms. He responded with restraint, cradling hergently. "You're hurt," he murmured. "How?"

"Yesterday." She pressed her head hard against his chest. "Youmust have felt yesterday?"

He nodded grimly. "I read the newspaper accounts this morning.They said you were not injured."

"I was wearing a bullet-proof vest. One of the shots hit me in theside. Glanced off, really. I'm bruised but not really wounded. Here."She pressed the appropriate place on his side.

His arms tightened, carefully avoiding the bruised area, and shefelt his lips in her hair. She turned her face up for a kiss thataroused hunger in both of them; after a moment he tore his mouth awayand pressed his cheek against her forehead. "I can't believe you'rehere."

"I can't believe it either," she said, and pulled back to look athim. "Where's Nicky?"

"He is well," Vincent assured her, wrapping his arm around hershoulders. He pulled open the grate for her to pass through and kepther close beside him as they began the journey below. "I didn't tellhim you were coming. I didn't want to raise his hopes and then havesomething happen to prevent you."

"I hope he's speaking to me." She shivered at the thought that hemight turn away.

Vincent's arm tightened. "Catherine. Our son has missed his mothervery much. He will be overjoyed to see you."

She managed a smile for his benefit, but he must have sensed hercontinued unease, because he stopped in the middle of the passage andturned her to face him. His hands gripped her shoulders.

"Our son loves you," he said firmly. "I know his heart nearly aswell as I know yours. You must trust me on this."

"I do trust you. Only..."

His calm gaze prompted her to continue.

"Only I know how much you want this to be right between us, so Idon't know how objective you are."

After a moment he smiled. "You may be right," he conceded. "But Ibelieve I am. Shall we go on?"

"In a minute. First, I want to give you something."

He looked on with curiosity as she delved into her coatpocket.

"Here."

He took the little volume she offered. "The journal I sent." Heglanced up. "Didn't you like it?"

It was her turn to smile. "I wrote in it nearly every day."

"These are your private thoughts and feelings, Catherine. There isno need to share them with me."

"No, you don't understand. It's for you, Vincent. I wrote it allfor you. All the letters I couldn't send are here. I want you to havethem."

He ran his fingers across the smooth leather cover. "I will readthem," he promised. He tucked the book away in his cloak.

"And there's something else." She pulled the pouch out of her suitpocket.

"My rose."

He bent his head so she could slip the drawstring over and aroundhis neck. His hand went to the little bag, cupping it the way she'dseen him do before. "I missed having it here," he admitted.

"Thank you for lending it," she said. "It helped."

"I'm glad."

In some strange way, giving him the book of letters and returningthe rose made her feel better able to face whatever was to happen nowwith Nicholas. She took his arm and they set off again.

He led her toward the community chambers, then veered off into apassage she didn't recall having used before. The high-pitched shoutsof children at play could be heard long before the tunnel terminatedabruptly into a spacious chamber capriciously lighted by slantingrays of sunlight pouring through a fissure in the ceiling.

The floor of the chamber was covered with several inches of sand.In the center stood a climbing gym constructed out of what lookedlike PVC pipe and scrap lumber. A half-dozen of the smaller childrenswarmed up ladders or ramps, swung on ropes, or scurried acrossplatforms to fling themselves down polished wooden slides.

Catherine scanned the children anxiously, wondering if she wouldeven know Nicholas after all this time. Then she spotted a boyscrambling across the top of the gym.

Something inside clenched and twisted; she ached to run her handover the long, fair hair tied at the nape of his neck. She wanted totouch his cheek and look into his eyes and see the trusting love thathad always shone there.

"I'll call him," Vincent murmured.

She clutched at his arm. "No. Not yet. Just give me aminute..."

A minute to watch him. To savor the sight of him, unselfconsciousand carefree as he played. He moved with an assurance he hadn'tpossessed a year ago, stretching easily to grasp a handhold and pullhimself across a gap that made her cringe inside. He called somethingto one of the other children and then let himself down onto one ofthe high wooden platforms of the gym.

One of the children spotted Vincent and called a greeting.

Nicholas turned his head. "Daddy!" he shouted. "Watch me!" Hereached for a rope that hung nearby - then froze for an instantbefore turning once again to look their way.

Catherine stopped breathing.

Nicholas poised on the platform, staring. His face told hernothing.

Other children played noisily; Vincent stood behind her, lendinghis strength. Catherine's awareness narrowed and focused until onlythe two of them existed - she and Nicholas.

He was motionless for so long that she began to wonder if he evenrecognized her. She'd been gone for nearly a quarter of his shortlife, after all, and she knew she no longer looked like the woman inKristopher's portrait. Time and suffering had indelibly markedher.

Or perhaps he was only choosing whether or not to open himself topossible further hurt by letting her back into his heart.

She wished he would do something. Anything would be better thanhis dreadful, impassive stare.

He turned away, and Catherine's heart began to break.

With a deliberation that had been absent from his movements whenhe'd thought himself unobserved, Nicholas moved to the far side ofthe platform and onto a ladder. He climbed down slowly and stopped atthe ladder's foot. He was scowling.

A year ago, that would have meant he was rebelling againstsomething unpleasant.

She put out her hands. "Nicky," she said, pleading.

She never knew if it was the anguish in her voice, or merely thesound of it, but before the echo of his name had died away, the scowldisappeared and he'd flung himself forward, running. He stumbled inthe deep sand, but caught himself with his hands and was up againbefore she could do more than flinch.

She dropped to her knees just in time.

"Mommy!" Nicholas shouted joyfully, and threw himself into herarms.

The End