"I don't want to be redundant so you first," she said, using a napkin to begin removing the make up. "What do you already know?"

"I know you're a mess," McCoy said gently. "Which is a perfectly normal reaction to what you've been through. There'd be cause for concern if shooting a person didn't have an effect on you. It complicates the healing process when other factors are thrown into the equation."

Prescott ran a napkin over her lips, thoughtfully removing the last trace of her nieces handiwork.

"You sound more like a Park Avenue shrink, than Hang 'Em High McCoy. Becky wore you down and got you to see your friend Dr. Olivet, didn't she?"

"Liz Olivet is a smart woman," he said grudgingly. "What she said made sense, whether I wanted to hear it or not."

Prescott nodded.

"Shrinks always make sense, Jack. I got the full treatment five years ago. "Delayed reactions to trauma can vary. Follow your normal routine as much as possible, don't insolate yourself, keep a journal of your thoughts and feelings.' The only difference this time is I pulled the trigger."

"There's a hell of a difference, Brooke."

"Let's talk about those 'other factors' you mentioned," she said hedging. "You're here, not at my office - so I assume you know I'm on leave. I had just finished reading my boss the riot act when you arrived, safe bet you know the leave isn't voluntary. Since I threw my brother out about the time you arrived, chances are you know I'm through being handled. In Andy's mind that means I'm one step away from a twelve step program. Did I leave anything out?"

"You tell me," he replied shrewdly. "I've talked to enough police officers who have had to discharge their weapons in the line of duty. Sure the mandatory leave, the wrongful death suit, your brother's well intentioned hovering - none of it is helping. But, we both know there's more going on."

"Gee Jack, maybe you should hang a shingle out. Forget about keeping a shrink on retainer for your office. You could kill two or three birds with one stone: Diagnose, testify, and prosecute! Think of the money you'll save the taxpayers."

"You're blaming yourself for something you had no control over," he said ignoring her cynicism. "Brooke, Samantha Weaver's death is the fault of no one but Samantha Weaver."

Prescott consumed a generous portion of her mint julep before standing.

"I've got to get this gel off of me before it gets all over the furniture," she said as she started towards the staircase. "Help yourself to another drink. I'm taking a shower. I assume you're not staying at your place? Are you going back to Manhattan tonight?"

"I've got a painter coming out to give me an estimate Sunday morning."

"I just had this place painted last year. Remind me when I come back down to give you the number-"

"You know were not done here?"

"Come on Jack, you have a job to go to Monday. Can't we just enjoy the time we have together, before you do go back to Manhattan? Maybe try to get through a meal without business coming before pleasure, when I come back down?"

"You can put me off as long as you like as far as sleeping with me, about anything else, and I'll gladly accept it,"he said bluntly." But not this. Where going to talk about this. There's no reason for you-"

"I can't discuss it with you Jack. There's a lawsuit involved remember? You're a witness. I won't put you in the position of perjuring yourself when they take your deposition or call you as a witness," she said as she started up the stairs.

"What makes you think I'd lie under oath,"he snapped back, following her up the stairs.

"It's no secret how close you ride the line when you think you're justified. I know about your visits to the discipline committee, among other things. Besides your credability is already questionable, at best. Her father's lawyer is going to tear apart both our lives-"

"For God's sake," he continued. "This is a civil matter. One that will be resolved once the police report is introduced. My testimony will be clear cut, if it even gets that far."

"Oh you can count on it getting further than that," she said adamantly as she opened the bedroom door. "We've both read the relevant reports. That night you told me yourself you thought of it while she held you captive."

McCoy stared at her watching as she grabbed a robe from the closet.

"What are you talking about?"

"Julia Veloso's statement. Jack you were in fear for your life. You told me one of the things you thought about while Weaver threatened you was what Veloso said during your interview with her. That Weaver didn't have the courage to pull the trigger. You kept her talking for an hour, Jack. She was hesitating, you know she was.."

"I was grasping at straws," he gasped shaking her shoulders. "Come on Brooke, there's no way you could have known…know way anyone could know what she was going to do. She killed Diana Hawthorne, whose to say she wouldn't have killed me?"

"Her father," she said forcefully as she went through the archway into the bathroom. "and he's right. If I had waited. If I had ...damn you, Jack. I'm an officer of the court, at least for now. I won't suborn perjury. Things are bad enough already."

McCoy followed her turning her to face him, as she turned the shower facets on.

"I know how to handle myself in a deposition," he said fervently. "and on the stand. That's the least of your worries. You have to talk about this."

Prescott looked up at him her eyes pleading.

"Life is to damn short for this Jack," she said quietly as she untied the bikini top, letting it fall to the floor.

McCoy met her gaze and slowly shook his head as she slipped his shirt away from his body. He turned to leave as she reached for his hand.

"Brooke any other time I wouldn't hesitate, but -"

Prescott silenced him with a kiss. She pressed her body against him as her hands ran over his shoulders and down passed his back, reaching around for his belt buckle. McCoy pressed her against the bathroom wall. One hand caressed a breast, the other holding the hand on his buckle. Momentarily thwarted her hands returned to his shoulders, pressing him to her.

Both of them found themselves breathingly heavily, their pulses racing. McCoy shifted uncomfortably, his body rebelling against any concerns his mind tried to throw at it. One hand alternately stroking each breast, McCoy slipped the other down her back and into the bikini bottom. As he brought his head down to her breasts, he kneaded her backside as he pulled her to him.

As his mouth found a breast he heard her called his name. A hand moved to the back of his head, pressing his mouth against her nipple. He involuntariy thrust himself against her as her other hand made another attempt to unbuckle his belt.

"God Brooke, I do want you … but I can't," he said stepping back breathlessly holding her hands away from him.

"I have evidence to the contrary," she said indicating the prominent bulge between his legs.

McCoy scooped her into his arms.

"I think we both need to cool off," he said swiftly placing her under the shower head and retreating before Prescott had a chance to change his mind.