I don't want to go." The words were muffled by the soft fabric ofhis shirt; his arms tightened around her in response.

"I don't want you to go," he answered.

Water dripped steadily from a nearby pipe. The floor of the littlechamber was muddy from recent rains and the winter chill was easilyfelt this close to the surface.

She clung to him, absorbing his warmth, storing away the comfortof his presence for the time to come. Finally she mustered thestrength to step back. "Take care of Nicky for me," she whispered,searching his eyes.

"You know I will," he answered. "Take great care withyourself."

Her nod, laced with the dangers both knew she went to face, wasshaky. "I'll try."

He bent and kissed her gently.

She poised a moment, hovering between the need to go and thelonging to stay, and flung herself into his arms for one last ferventkiss, one final all-encompassing embrace. Then she tore herself away,facing the stark, haunted look in his eyes for only a moment beforewhirling to plunge through a narrow, ragged-edged opening in thebrick wall behind her.

She stumbled down a short, cramped passage and pushed past atangle of old crates and boxes, emerging abruptly into a dirty alley,stinking and slimy with rotting garbage and human waste.

Despite the stench, she stood for a long time in the mouth of thealley, nerving herself for the ordeal to come. The afternoon was grayand dismal, the air wet with a fine rain that dampened her face andbeaded her hair with tiny droplets.

She glanced back, as if by doing so she might catch a glimpse ofthe life she was leaving behind... Of her family.

As hard as it was to leave Vincent, leaving Nicholas was worse.They'd waited until this morning to tell him.

"No!" he'd shouted furiously, when she tried to explain. "Don'tgo!"

"I have to, Nicky," she'd said, choking back tears. "I wouldn't goif I didn't have to."

"Don't have to," he insisted. "You stay here." He caught her handand held on fiercely.

"Nicholas," Vincent said, kneeling beside him. "There's a man upthere. He hurts other people. He has to be stopped, and only yourmother can stop him. There's no other way."

"I don't care!" Nicholas cried. "Mommies are supposed to stayhere."

His plaintive wail wrenched at her heart and tested her resolve.When Nicholas finally went down for a nap, his expression troubledand his face tearstained, Vincent gathered her into his arms.

"It will be all right," he said, encouragingly. "He's young andadaptable."

"That's another way of saying that after a while, he'll forgetme," she said bitterly. They both knew what she was about to do couldtake months to resolve.

"He won't forget you, Catherine," Vincent said. "I won't allow it.He'll miss you greatly. So will I."

Nicholas had awakened in a foul mood and remained sulky anduncooperative through the afternoon. When she spoke to him, heanswered in monosyllables, if at all. When the time came to leave,she took his hand, needing even this small, reluctant contact beforethey were separated. He followed sullenly, resisting her efforts tocoax a positive response. When they entered Father's chamber, she letgo and he darted away. Vincent squeezed her other hand, sharing herpain.

At sight of them, Father rose from his chair. He didn't approve ofher going back, though whether that was because he feared theexposure of his world, worried for her safety, or was simplyconcerned that once again Vincent might be hurt, she wasn't sure.Vincent had described Father's vehement reaction when he heard thenews, but at least he was putting a better face on his disapprovalthan Nicholas was.

"Catherine," he said kindly, and kissed her cheek. "We will missyou."

"I know." Her voice was a thin thread of sound. "But I have togo."

Father glanced Vincent's way, his mouth tight. "So I'm told."

Vincent's response was mild. "You'll watch Nicholas, won't you,while I escort Catherine out?"

Father nodded. "Of course. Nicholas and I are becoming greatfriends."

"I know you are," Catherine said. It was hard to force the words,and her voice sounded wispy. "I'm glad."

Vincent turned to Nicholas, who was occupied in emptying a box ofplaythings Father kept especially for his younger visitors."Nicholas. Your mother's about to leave. Don't you want to saygoodbye?"

"No." He didn't bother to look up.

Vincent crossed the chamber to crouch beside the toybox. He spenta moment cajoling in a voice too low for Catherine to understand.Nicholas remained obdurate, intent on the toys. Vincent sighed,lifted Nicholas bodily, and brought him back.

Catherine reached for him, but Nicholas stiffened at her touch,and turned his face away when she tried to kiss him.

"Nicholas," Vincent chided, but she shook her head.

"Don't. Don't make him. It doesn't matter." It did, of course. Itmattered fiercely, but compelling Nicholas wouldn't make a differencein the way he felt.

Vincent searched her eyes for a moment, then gave a brief nod andput Nicholas down. He bent over their son, speaking quietly,explaining he was to remain with Father.

"Vincent used to do that," Father murmured, beside her. "Refuse tosay goodbye. When he was just that age."

"Nicky thinks I'm abandoning him."

"No," Father disagreed gently. "I rather think he's like Vincentin this; that he believes if he doesn't say goodbye, you won'tgo."

At the time, his words had given her hope, but no remembered wordscould fill the empty place now in her heart. But what she had toldNicholas was true; she had to do this. Blinking back bitter tears,she stepped out onto the sidewalk. Shoving her hands deep in thepockets of her long coat, she forced herself to stride along withpurpose so she would blend with others hurrying along the wetstreet.

The pain of parting outweighed even the fear, and she movedthrough the once familiar streets without flinching; sometimes sheeven forgot to scan oncoming faces for a look of recognition, acertain sly alertness that would spell danger.

She stopped across the street from a drab tan office building.Automatically she counted windows up to the fourteenth floor, thenacross to the window that had once been hers. Someone else must sitat that desk now; someone else gazed out at the street duringinfrequent respites from the legal tangles of criminalprosecution.

Careful inspection of the street and nearby cars satisfied herthat she hadn't been noticed and wasn't being watched. A nearbyrecessed doorway offered shelter from the rain while still permittingher to watch the glass doors of the main entrance of the CriminalJustice Building. She eased back into a corner of the doorway andsettled in to wait.

Nearly two hours passed. The gray daylight faded into a grayertwilight. The mist deepened, wrapping the streetlights in a mufflingblanket that made their glow almost useless. It was getting colder,too. Catherine, thoroughly damp and chilled, shivered and tried notto think of the hot coffeepot Natalie kept in her chamber.

Across the street, the door of the Criminal Justice buildingopened and her heart jumped as a dark-haired man emerged. She watchedhim turn right and stride into the darkness, then abandoned herdoorway, walking quickly to keep the man in sight.

His routine didn't appear to have changed much in the three and ahalf years since she'd seen him. His pace was rapid, his openraincoat flapping against his legs. After a few blocks, he went intoa small Greek restaurant.

She watched through the rain-smeared plate glass window as he wasshown to a booth. He peeled out of his wet coat and picked up hismenu.

Catherine took advantage of a gap in traffic to plunge across thestreet. At the entrance to the restaurant, she took a deep breath anda quick look around. No one seemed to be watching, so she pulled openthe door and stepped into the warm, dry restaurant.

"Good evening, miss," the hostess greeted. "Just one?"

"No. I mean, I'm meeting someone." She pretended to scan thesmall, sparsely occupied room. "There he is." She gave a smile ofthanks and crossed to Joe's booth. He was intent on his menu and itstartled him when she slid into the seat opposite.

"Sorry, this is my..." He stuttered to a stop, his mouth open inastonishment. "Cathy?"

"Hi, Joe," she said softly.

He dropped his menu and tried to rise, but she'd anticipated himand reached across the table to catch his hand.

"Please don't," she said, speaking quickly and as forcefully asshe dared. "Don't do anything that might draw attention to us. Tome."

He pulled against her for a moment, then abruptly yielded to thefierce pressure of her grip and subsided back into his seat, his eyesdarting across faces of other patrons before returning to her.

"It's all right," she told him. "I don't think you're beingwatched."

He let out a long, incredulous breath and twisted his hand aroundto take hers in a hard grip. "Cathy. It's really you? I'm notdreaming?"

"It's not a dream, Joe. I'm here." She offered her other hand andhe gripped it, too, leaning across the table.

The waitress approached and he waved her away. "My God, Radcliffe,I thought you were dead."

She nodded, her eyes misty. "I thought you might. I'm sorry."

"Where the hell were you, anyway? Why didn't you call? I mean, Ithought you were dead!" His voice was low but strident; thegrip of his fingers on hers was suddenly hard enough to hurt.

"I was kidnapped," she said bluntly, and his face changed as iregave way to distress.

"Yeah, I know. I mean, we figured, after we found your car in theparking garage. But that was almost four years ago. Are you tellingme you've been captive all that time?"

"No. Joe, I know how unsettling this must be for you..."

"Believe me, Cathy, unsettling isn't the word," he interjected,his expression grim. "Try shocking."

"I'm sorry. I didn't know how else to approach you. I'm trying tokeep us both safe."

"Safe from what?" He gave another wary look around. "You'retalking in circles."

"I'm sorry, Joe," she repeated. Not that an apology would changethe way he felt. "Maybe I'd better start at the beginning."

"That's a good idea. Why did these goons take you, anyway? Whatdid they want?"

"At first they questioned me about the book you gave me... theblack book."

He blanched. "Oh, no, Cathy..."

She went on as if he hadn't spoken. "Then they moved me to anotherbuilding and put me in a room, where I lived for the next sixmonths."

"Where? Why?"

"Here in the city. I can identify the building for you, though Idoubt there are any traces of me left there. Why? Because the man whoheld me captive wanted my baby."

Joe's mouth opened and closed like that of a fish out of water."Baby?" he managed, gasping.

She nodded and squeezed his hands. "I was pregnant, Joe."

He swallowed. "Pregnant," he repeated, and she could almost seethe wheels turning in his mind. "That guy. The one who was sick. Him,right?"

She had to think a moment before she remembered telling Joe, inhis office, about Vincent and about how ill he was. "Yes."

"He got better, then."

"Yes, he's fine now."

"What... what happened to the baby?"

"He's safe," she said tersely. "I escaped before he was born. Daysbefore."

"You should have come to me," he said. "I would have helpedyou."

"I know you would. I tried. I wasn't able to." She shrugged."Anyway, I was able to get out of the city and my son was born insafety. I've been able to protect him the past three years."

"And now you pop up, looking over your shoulder like you're scaredsomebody's still after you."

"I believe someone is," she said. "The man I thwarted isn't one totake defeat lightly. He'll never give up."

Joe withdrew his hands from hers and leaned back, rubbing at hiseyes. "This is incredible," he said. "Here you are, after all thistime, sitting across from me at the Olympiad Restaurant."

"Believe it," she said, and smiled.

He didn't smile back. "But why? I mean, why now? Especially ifyou're still afraid?"

"I am afraid," she admitted. "Afraid I'll never see my little boyagain. Never see his father. Afraid I'll die. But the man whoimprisoned me is still out there, Joe. Still wielding incrediblepower, still crushing anyone who gets in his way. He has to bestopped, and I think I might be the only one who can stop him."

"We never found the black book I gave you," Joe said. "We searchedyour desk at the office, your apartment. Even got a court order andaccessed your safe deposit box."

"It wasn't there," she said.

"Where was it?"

"I gave it to Elliot Burch."

Joe's face grew even grimmer. "Burch."

"Don't be like that," she chided. "I asked if he could help me. Heoffered to try."

"He's lost his empire, you know," Joe said.

She nodded. "His name was mentioned often enough in the media. Iwanted so badly to help him, but I couldn't. I could barely helpmyself."

"He's disappeared. No one knows where he is."

"He's made a powerful enemy, Joe."

"You're saying the guy who kidnapped you, the guy who wouldultimately be implicated by that book, is behind the fall of BurchEnterprises?"

She nodded. "I hope Elliot's gotten far away. And for his sake, Ihope he never comes back."

Joe snorted. "But if he had the black book, don't you think hecould have come forward with it? Mailed it to me anonymously orsomething? Without it, we were forced to abandon our investigation ofPatrick's allegations."

"It's possible he tried," Catherine said carefully. "But in anycase, you shouldn't have needed it."

"Why not?"

"Because before I gave the book to Elliot, I made a photocopy forJohn Moreno."

Joe would have exploded, she thought, if she hadn't again caughthis hands.

"Moreno?" he hissed, clearly furious. "You're accusingMoreno?"

She'd expected this, although she wasn't sure if his wrath wasdirected at Moreno for his betrayal, to her for making theaccusation, or a combination. "It gets worse," she said. "He set meup. Because I trusted him, I put my gun away."

Joe's face couldn't have gotten any whiter. "I'll kill the son ofa..."

She shook his hands, hard. "No, Joe. I want him prosecuted. That'swhy I've come back. I want to testify."

Joe made a couple of phone calls from a pay phone near therestrooms, and then whisked her out and into a cab.

Catherine folded her arms tightly and huddled into a corner of thecab's back seat, trying not to shake. Yielding control of her actionsto someone else was something she hadn't done in years. She trustedJoe implicitly, and she'd known, even before she contacted him, thatshe would literally have to place her life into his hands, but stillshe trembled.

"I talked to a buddy of mine with the U.S. Attorney's office," Joesaid, talking rapidly. "He's very interested in what you have to tellhim. Especially what you have on Moreno."

Catherine nodded; she'd known Moreno would be the prime focus atfirst. Only later, when she was able to delineate and defineGabriel's activities for them would he spring to prominence. Shelooked out the window at the darkened, rain-slick streets and huggedherself tighter.

"We're going now to talk with him," Joe went on.

Instinct made her alert. "Your friend? Where?"

"His office," Joe said, looking surprised.

"No. Not his office. It might be compromised."

"Cathy, it's a government building. Security, guards..."

"And I was kidnapped from a parking structure adjoining the policestation!" she hissed. "Don't you understand? If he has the DistrictAttorney of Manhattan in his pocket, he could have anyone! I'mrisking my life here, Joe. I know what I'm talking about."

He rubbed the back of his neck and looked uncomfortable. "Okay. Sowe don't meet at Jack's office. Where do we go?"

Catherine thought a minute. "I know," she said at last. "Tell thedriver to pull over."

Joe leaned forward and spoke to the driver, who grumbled somethingunintelligible in a heavy accent and pulled to the curb. Catherinegot out and stood nervously surveying passersby as Joe paid the cabbyand came around the idling cab to join her. "Now what?" he asked.

She felt better now that she was in control. She pointed to anearby pay phone. "Call your friend," she said. "Find out if he'smentioned your earlier call to anyone. If he hasn't, tell him to meetus at Frosty Jack's Diner. It's just off of Broadway..."

"I know where it is," Joe said. "I'll call."

Catherine stood, shivering as much from apprehension as from thedamp chill, while Joe made his phone call. "Come on," he said amoment later, hanging up the phone. "He thinks we're crazy, but he'llmeet us."

"Has he talked to anyone?"

"He says not."

Catherine burrowed more deeply into her coat and hoped Joe'sfriend had told the truth.

Jack was waiting when they reached the diner; Joe spotted him in abooth near the back and waved a greeting as they approached. "CathyChandler, I'd like you to meet Jack Butler..."

"A pleasure, Miss Chandler," Jack said, rising politely. "And aneven greater pleasure to learn you're safe."

"I'm alive, Jack," she corrected him gently. "I'm not safe."

His face changed in response to her remark, and she could see hewas prepared to take her very seriously.

Over the next two hours, and interminable cups of coffee,Catherine outlined for Jack Butler what had happened, who wasinvolved, what evidence she could produce. He interrupted withperiodic questions and took copious notes.

"Well," he said at last. "Once I get this typed up for yoursignature, we'll certainly be able to arrest Mr. Moreno. Your caseagainst this Gabriel is sketchier..."

"I know that," she answered. "I hoped I could get the black bookback..."

"Well, until we know where Burch is, that's out of the question,"Joe said. "But we have enough to do some heavy investigation, and whoknows what we'll turn up?"

"Right," Jack agreed. "Meanwhile, Cathy, you need to be someplacesafe."

She cleared her throat. "Actually, I have a safe place to go," sheventured.

"Okay. Where?"

"I can't tell you."

"Look, Cath, you can trust Jack," Joe said, squeezing herhand.

"You're an attorney, Cathy. You understand. You're my only link toall this. I can't lose you. Before I can justify the expense of thisinvestigation, risk people's lives, I have to know where you'll be,have to know you're safe, and have to be able to contact you."

She bent her head. It had been a slim hope at best, that she wouldbe allowed to arrange for them to get her a message when they neededher, so she could return to the tunnels. "I'm sorry," she whispered."The place I was thinking of isn't easy to contact. I'd be out oftouch."

"Then it can't work," Jack said kindly. "Listen, Cathy, I want toput you into a protective facility here in the city."

"A safe house?" She regarded him skeptically, unconvinced that theaverage apartment or townhouse could be adequately secured againstGabriel's efforts.

"Actually, it's more of a reverse prison," Jack said. "Designed tokeep people out, rather than in. More security than the White House,or so I'm told. For people - witnesses like you, mostly - who are inreal danger, and for whom ordinary safe houses might not beenough."

She studied his face. "I'm listening."

"It's the top floor of a government office building," he said."The building I work in, actually. It's utterly secure. The elevatoris controlled from the guard station on that floor, and there arevideo cameras at all access points. The guards are actually federalagents, specially trained for this type of work. No one living therehas ever been compromised."

She offered a shaky smile. "Sounds perfect," she quipped. "When dowe go?"

Continued in Chapter 10