Cal Lightman had too much paper work to do. It made him resentful and short-tempered. Usually Foster, his colleague and business partner, took care of that. He just liked being in the field, analyzing people, pissing them off. Foster was the one who took care of the worldly stuff—paper work, relating to victims and witnesses, smoothing over the edges with the rest of his staff.

Lately, though, something was off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but she'd been so irritable. He felt bad pushing her. It wasn't like he totally took advantage of her good will the rest of the time, but lately she looked she wanted to bite his head off every time he asked her for anything even remotely extra. So he was holding off. And analyzing her, though he knew he wasn't supposed to. That was a line they'd set a long time ago, when they'd first become colleagues. First and foremost, they had to respect each other's privacy. Otherwise they'd go crazy trying to figure out what the other was hiding, and shielding themselves from being caught.

In this peevish mood, he wasn't at all elated when the knock came at his door. Half-hoping it would be Foster (she had a habit of poking her way into his office just to talk sometimes, and he missed it), his heart sank a little when he saw it was Loker. The poor bastard used to be the fair-haired boy around here, until Cal caught him in a lie. More than a lie, a breach of security. Since then he'd been demoted to unpaid intern status, and considerably fallen in Cal's list of favorites.

"Yes, what do you want?" he demanded shortly, not even looking up from the report he was typing.

"Um, Dr. Lightman, can I come in?"

The request wasn't unusual, but the tone it was made in was. He sounded… insecure. Loker never sounded insecure. Even when he made a mistake. That had been his downfall.

"It's about Dr. Foster."

That caught Cal's attention. He looked up briefly. "Come in."

Loker went in and sat across the desk from him. Cal gave him a quick perusal. He seemed awkward, uncomfortable. Tense. Uncertain. Whether it was about what was going on with Foster or just being in the room with him, the boss who currently despised him, he could not tell.

"I think something's going on with her."

Cal could barely keep from snorting his derision. He knew his subtle look of contempt wouldn't be lost on Loker. Whatever his faults, he was good at his job. It was obvious something was going on with Foster. Just like it was obvious she hadn't confided in him either, by the sound of things.

"I think it may have something to do with this case we're working on. The Ackerman case."

Walter Ackerman. They'd been assigned to it for a month or so. Foster and Loker mostly, though Cal had sat through some of the preliminaries. Walter Ackerman was a high-end business man who had decided to blow the whistle on his corporation. The corporation claimed what he said wasn't true. The FBI's investigation yielded nothing. The US attorney couldn't prosecute unless they had evidence, and so far none was forthcoming. They'd actually begun to doubt Ackerman's sincerity. So they'd hired the Lightman Group to help them decide who was lying—Ackerman, or his corporation. To see if they should pursue the investigation.

"What about it?"

To his knowledge, there was nothing out of the ordinary about the Ackerman case. Straightfoward interviews, trying to decide who lied, who didn't. He hadn't been briefed on it lately, but his overall impression was that it was going okay. Then again, it had been about a month since Foster's mood change. The time frame fit.

Loker hesitated, as if searching for the right words. "I think she's having a hard time with Ackerman's lawyer."

A small trickle of apprehension ran down Cal's back. "Explain yourself."

Loker was obviously discomfited. "I think he may be harassing her."

The trickle widened into a stream. "Sexually?"

Loker looked at his feet. "Yeah."

"Based on?"

There was another pause as Loker tried to piece his thoughts together. "She's been increasingly cranky since we started, looks edgy when we have interviews with them, and lately she's looked disgusted. Twice I walked in on them, and he was standing too close, invading her space."

Cal felt slightly nauseous. It sounded like the kid might be on to something. "Have you asked her about it?"

"I did once. She shut me down hard."

It was just like Foster. If she didn't want to discuss it, she wouldn't. But it was weird that she wouldn't want to talk about something. She was usually so open about everything. Except family. The guy must really be under her skin for her to be so tight-lipped about it. Either that, or they had some history she didn't want them to find out about.

"We've taped the interviews," Loker went on. Only then did Cal notice he was holding some videotapes in his hands. Three of them, to be exact. "There's some telltale stuff on them."

"Leave them here," Cal ordered. "I'll look at them as soon as I'm finished. You can go."

He felt bad being so short with the kid, especially since he was trying to help. But discussing Foster behind her back, especially with coworkers, wasn't something he would do any longer than he absolutely had to. He knew Loker had Foster's best interest at heart, and appreciated that. It must not have been easy, questioning her about this—her being his superior and all. And it wouldn't be easy for Cal. He'd rather do it with a whole bunch of research to back it up.

He popped the tapes into his VCR. And by the time he'd finished viewing them, felt definitely sick. Something was evidently going on. It wasn't obvious to the naked eye, but to the trained eye of the Lightman group, it stuck out plain as day. During the first few interviews, Foster was her usual composed self. During the third one, something changed. Her voice was more clipped, harder. At times, Ackerman's lawyer, Stanton, seemed to be leering. Though Foster tried to hide it, the micro expressions for contempt and disgust were there. They came up more and more often as the interviews went on. And on the last interview, there was shame. Only for the briefest second, as Stanton was saying good bye to her, but it was there. And it froze Cal's heart.

Why shame? What did she have to be ashamed of?

It made him want to beat the crap out of Stanton. But he couldn't get ahead of himself. He had to check with her first.

It wasn't a conversation he was looking forward to.

She had already gone home for the day. And much as Cal hated bothering her at home, he knew she would be more likely to open up there than at the work place. At least it was someplace where she felt in control, and where others wouldn't be barging in unannounced.

He decided not to call ahead. She was too smart—she'd figure out he was on to something and find a way to escape. No, even if ill-timed, he'd be better off just showing up. Preferably with food. He could soften her up by appealing to her sweet tooth. It had always worked in the past when he'd had to make himself especially obnoxious.

She was surprised, though not totally unhappy to see him. It was obvious by her attire that he'd come in at an inconvenient time—she was wearing a fuzzy bathrobe and slippers, and her cheeks were flushed as if she'd just come out of the shower. Cal had to really control himself to keep from glancing down her robe. Was she naked underneath? Get it together, Lightman. That's not what you came here for.

She invited him to her couch, poured him a drink. Took none for herself, he noticed. Just tea. She didn't seem tense. Not yet anyway.

"So… you mind telling me why you're here?"

There it was, straight to the point. Good ol' Gillian. He took a deep breath.

"You've been distant lately," he began. "Cranky. I'm not the only one who's noticed. Loker and Torres have mentioned it too."

Foster's arms went around herself. Defensiveness. "How do you know I'm not just on my period?"

Her obvious intent at deflecting fell flat. He knew it was something she'd never joke about on a regular basis. No woman he knew—including his own teenage daughter—would ever use their hormones as an excuse, resenting even the idea of their feelings being minimized that way.

"For an entire month, luv?" he asked, looking into her eyes.

She dropped hers. Shame. Bad sign.

He pushed on, hating himself a little but knowing he had to get to the bottom of the matter. "Loker seems to think it has something to do with Stanton, Ackerman's lawyer. That he's being inappropriate. Is that true?"

She still wouldn't meet his eyes, and the pause that followed was pregnant with emotion. Cal felt crappy. She obviously didn't want to talk about it, but couldn't lie to him or he'd know.

Subtly she pulled the edges of her robe tighter around herself—another protective gesture that wasn't lost on him. And determinedly met his gaze. "Yeah. Yes, it's true."

Cal felt a pang of anguish. Until she confirmed it, there were only suspicions—suspicions he was almost convinced were true, but hoped they weren't. Now that she'd confirmed it, there was no going back.

They stared at each other for a couple of seconds, a myriad of unwanted emotions crossing Foster's face—shame, anger, disgust. Cal knew much of the same must be crossing his also. They were open books to each other.

Finally, as gently as he could, he asked, "What's he done?"

She played with the hems of her robe. "Nothing at first. Just stared. But… lots of men do that."

Cal felt guilty. He had managed to stay away from her cleavage, but hadn't been able to help a few peeks at her well-toned legs.

"Knock it off, Cal," she broke in suddenly. "It's not creepy when you do it."

He composed himself. They were on a serious subject matter. "Loker said he invaded your space. Has he touched you?"

She shuddered. "Yeah."

Suddenly Cal felt like his head was going to explode. The man had put his hands on his colleague right there in their very own building? Without anyone noticing or stopping him? "Why the hell didn't you say anything?"

She seemed taken aback by his anger. "I… thought I could handle it myself. It's not the first man's unwanted attentions I've had to ward off, you know."

She was angry too. And ashamed. Cal could see it—loud and clear. She was ashamed—of not speaking out? Of letting it go on as long as she had? Of what he'd done to her? He couldn't be sure. All he knew was, the idea of that man being so brazen as to do anything against her will made him furious.

"What's he done?"

Unexpectedly her eyes welled up. "I don't want to talk about it."

Cal felt bile rising in his throat. It took all his courage to ask the next question. "Has he… done more than touch you?"

Shocked, she met his eye and actually pushed him away. "No! God, Cal." She swiped a hand at the angry tears that were spilling down her cheeks. "Don't you understand how utterly embarrassing this is? I'm a grown woman. I shouldn't be reduced to a whimpering little girl because of this. He's just a man. I should've been able to handle it better. I should have been able to stop it. At least, I shouldn't be so bothered by it."

He gave her time to pull herself together, sick in his heart but also slightly relieved by her words. For a minute there, he'd actually thought there was more to it—something he couldn't bear to face. Not if it happened to her. Not to his Foster. But he should have known better.

"He leered and made insinuations," she finally went on. "And kept on going even after I cut him short. It's like he couldn't take no for an answer. Once…" she gulped. "He touched my leg under the table during an interview. I wanted to kill him. And I think Loker noticed, because he asked me about it afterwards, but I told him to go to hell." More shame. "And once… he ran into me on the street. Tried to get me to join him for a drink. I wouldn't, and he got touchy feely with me."

"Touchy feely?" Cal was enraged.

"Got really close, tried to kiss me, touched my breast. I smacked him."

"Good for you." Tiny smile from Foster, though she was clearly not enjoying this. The robe was pulled so tight it went practically up to her chin. "When was this?"

"Last week."

Just before the last interview, where she'd shown shame. It made sense. And just before that day she'd snapped his head off for no reason.

Dumb son of a bitch. Cal was not a physical man, but he would have loved to kick his worthless ass. This was his best friend they were talking about. Where did Stanton get off thinking he could treat her like that?

"Alec know?" Alec Foster, Foster's husband. There was another sorry son of a bitch if Cal ever saw one, not deserving of her either. But… against all odds, she loved him.

"Of course not. It has nothing to do with him."

But it has to do with me? Cal felt slightly honored, then remembered what they were talking about and felt repulsed all over again. Besides, you asked. She wouldn't have told you if you hadn't asked.

"So… what's your take on Ackerman in general?"

She seemed startled by his change of subject, but answered without losing a beat. "I think he's telling the truth. The corporation's lying."

That made it harder. If he'd been lying, they could dump all this on the FBI and forget it ever happened. As it was, there would probably be more interviews, more reports, more debriefings—and all this in the presence of Ackerman's attorney. The thought of it made him sick.

"We can report this, you know."

"To whom, Cal?" She was impatient now, angry, bitter. "It's not like I work with the man. It's not harassment in the workplace. It's not inappropriate behavior from a person in authority. It's not sexual assault. I got nothing."

"It is sexual assault," countered Cal. "If he touched you."

"Oh yeah, and how do I prove it? He just copped a feel on the street, for God's sake. It's not like he tore my clothes off or anything."

She was too graphic. Cal pictured the event in his mind and winced. Stanton would come to a slow, painful death if that ever happened.

"He's escalating," reasoned Cal. "He has to be stopped. If not by the authorities, then at least by us. Let me take over the Ackerman case. I'll join Loker. We'll handle it from here."

"No." Stubborn. "I can't be handing over stuff just because someone makes me uncomfortable. I have to be able to handle it. As much as I hate being in the room with the bastard… running away from him is worse. It means he's won."

And she was right. She usually was. Cal felt deflated, saddened, shamed himself for not noticing something was going on—shamed for proposing she back off without a fight. He was thinking of her safety and completely disregarding her ability to fend for herself. Though to be fair it hadn't worked too well this far. The protective macho in him wanted to step up on his white horse and slay the offender, save the fair maiden. But he knew it was not his place. He'd have to quietly observe from the sidelines and let the "fair maiden" take care of business.

"I'm sorry," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"It's okay." Short pause. "I actually feel better after telling you. This had been preying on my mind for so long. Thanks… for coming over."

She took his hand. And, despite all that was going on, Cal's heart warmed over because of it.