A/N: So sorry this took so long. I promise to try and do better! Thanks again to all who shared their love for this story!

Chapter 7: New Threats

JT had no idea why he was doing this. He'd raised his hand to knock three times, but just couldn't bring himself to do it. What was he supposed to say? "I was in the neighborhood," was so overplayed. But he just wanted to check up on her – not that that was an acceptable answer either.

Before he could make up his mind, the door opened and a man with a boyish face and long dark hair nearly ran into him.

"Whoa… can I help you," the guy asked, staring at him in confusion.

"Um, uh, is… is Heather home," JT asked, feeling his face go red.

"She's inside. I'm sorry, who are you?"

He was just considering how best to answer that question when Heather came bustling into the kitchen. "Josh? I thought you were leaving for work?"

"There's some guy at the door asking for you," Josh explained, eyeing JT with a look of annoyance.

Heather ran up beside Josh, and the sight of her took his breath away. The clothing was simple, but she had such a radiance about her that was only magnified by her bubbly personality.

"JT! What are you doing here," she asked, smiling warmly.

"I was, you know, in the neighborhood. I knew Catherine was out of town, so I thought I'd come check on you. You know, make sure you were doing okay. Not that you need checking up on or anything. I just…"

He was babbling, but he felt so foolish standing there in front of her and her boyfriend, who had obviously spent the night.

"That was really sweet. Why don't you come in? I made some coffee."

"Babe, I'm about to head off to work," Josh complained. "I don't want you here alone with some guy–"

"Ugh, will you just go. I'll be fine."

Josh looked over JT one more time before kissing Heather on the cheek and shoving past him. Something in JT's lungs released as the door swung shut behind him and he was officially alone with Heather.

"Did Cat put you up to this," Heather asked, pouring out two mugs of coffee.

"Cat? Oh, no. No, she didn't ."

"Really? Cause this feels like something she'd do. She's been awfully paranoid lately."

"I'm sure it's just her line of work. Dealing with homicides and missing persons all day, it's bound to take its toll," he reasoned, not that he'd ever bothered to ask Catherine about her job – unless it involved Vincent.

"Well, in that case, this is super sweet of you."

Heather sat the coffee mug on the island where JT took a seat, careful not to disturb the hundreds of pictures she had scattered all over the place.

"What's all this," he asked, picking up one of her and Catherine together.

"It's all the pictures from my dad's engagement party. I'm working on a collage for the reception."

"That's a lot of pictures. Won't it be more of a mural?"

He wasn't sure how she'd take his jokes, but to his delight, she laughed.

"That's the hard part. I've been begging Josh to help me, but he swears he's no good at it. Cat's always so busy. It's literally taking forever."

"If you need help…" JT paused to check her expression. "I wouldn't mind."

"You'd help me with all these pictures? Why?"

"Well, I… I don't have any plans. I mean, why not?"

Heather considered him for a moment before breaking into a grateful smile. "Thank you."

Her cell phone started ringing from her bedroom and she jumped up to answer it, leaving him alone to stare at the enormous job he'd just signed up for. But at least the company was good.

He sorted through smiling face after smiling face while he waited on her to return, but as he picked up one of two men laughing together, he froze.

"Sorry about that. It was just my soon to be stepmom calling about wedding stuff," she explained, taking up her seat beside him again.

"Who's this," he asked, keeping his voice quiet so it wouldn't shake.

"Oh, the tall one's my dad and that guy is some friend from college or something. He was only there for like thirty minutes. I almost didn't get a picture."

"A friend from college? What college?"

"Princeton. I think he does something for the government. I personally suspect he's some sort of secret agent. He barely spoke to anyone."

JT almost didn't catch the rest of her sentence, because standing there, smiling beside her dad, was Silverfox.

~BATB~

Catherine had to admit it was the coldest shower she'd ever taken, not that she didn't need it. Her thoughts of Vincent were heated enough.

It wasn't that the water wasn't warm, but apparently the fire had died from last night and the snow coating the windows seemed to suck the heat from the cabin. She had no idea how she'd even slept through the night when it was this cold.

Stepping out of the shower, she dried off as quickly as possible and threw her clothes on, making sure her shirt was loose enough so the wound could breathe. As she adjusted the sleeves, she noticed her wrists, which were a light, grayish color. Certainly not as bad as she'd expected. She quickly re-fixed the brace on her arm and started making her way to the kitchen.

Her stomach did little flips as she thought of greeting Vincent this morning. What if he kissed her again? What if he didn't? She still wasn't sure starting a relationship was a good idea, what with Muirfield to watch out for and the fact that their entire life would be lived inside his bedroom.

That last thought stuck in her head and she had to admit, it didn't sound bad. She was certain she could spend the rest of her life in bed with Vincent and never stop craving him. That was what it was – an addiction. After last night, she couldn't stop thinking about his lips on hers and his hands everywhere else.

As she stepped foot in the kitchen, she was surprised to find it empty. The fire had died, just as she'd expected. She checked the spare bedroom, expecting to find him sleeping, but the sheets looked as if they'd never been touched.

Running back into the living room, she checked the couch to see if he'd slept there instead, but it was also empty.

Then it hit her; he must have gone out to get more firewood.

She moved back into the kitchen, starting up a pot of coffee and checking their supplies for breakfast, but something about his disappearance bothered her. This was Vincent after all and there were about a million different things that could have gone wrong.

Donning her jacket and boots, she stepped out into the lightly, packed snow, stopping at the tree line.

"Vincent," she called.

She wasn't sure calling his name out into the open like this was a good idea, but when no answer came, she called again. The wood pile was beside the house so he shouldn't have had to go far. The car was empty.

This was starting to look really bad and she was just considering running back inside for her gun, when a crumpled figure lying just through a think fringe of trees caught her eye. She ran for it, praying it wasn't a bear, but recognized Vincent's hair matted across his scared face.

"Vincent?! Vincent, wake up! Vincent," she called, collapsing beside him and feeling the side of his face. He wore no jacket and his skin was freezing, but he was still breathing. Any normal person would have probably died of hypothermia.

"Vincent, can you hear me?" Still nothing.

She slipped her arms up under his and tried to pull him back towards the house, but he was too solid. She'd never make it out of the trees, especially with the strain it was putting on her stitches.

"Vincent, please, you have to wake up. Vincent!"

Finally, she heard a groan escape his lips and managed to roll him over on his back, pushing the snow from his face.

"Vincent, are you okay? Can you hear me?"

"Ca… Catherine?"

"I'm right here."

His eyes opened slowly and found hers before gazing around in confusion. He seemed just as surprised as she did to find himself out in the snow.

"What happened," he asked, pulling himself up into a sitting position.

"That's what I was about to ask you. You weren't in the house when I woke up and I found you laying out here in the snow."

"I, uh… I don't remember."

She was about to question him further, but his lips were starting to turn blue.

"We need to get you inside. Come on."

She helped him up, holding him as close as possible and hoping that some of her body heat transferred to him. It was a treacherous walk back for both of them but they finally made it in the door and she helped him to the couch, rushing back outside to grab logs for the fire.

"You really don't know how you ended up out there," she asked as she started the fire, rubbing her sore abdomen.

"I remember cleaning up the coffee mug. My head started hurting." As she watched him rub his head at the memory, she couldn't help but notice that his lips still had a bluish tinge to them and he was shaking. Running to the closet, she grabbed a thick blanket, draping it over him and taking a seat on the couch with him.

"Has this ever happened before?"

"No, never. Do… do you think I could have hurt someone? What if I covered more ground than just the woods out there?"

She didn't know how to answer that. What if he had? "I think what we need to worry about right now is why it happened. Maybe you're sick. Maybe you react differently to viruses now… or something. Maybe–"

"Catherine, I haven't gotten sick once since they did this to me. It has to be something else. Maybe I'm losing my mind."

"No! Don't say stuff like that. You're not crazy! Okay? You're not. We'll figure this out."

He was still shaking, so she jumped up and made him a cup of coffee, hoping it would help warm him up.

"We need to call JT," Vincent suggested, staring down at the mug.

"Okay, we'll call him."

Catherine retrieved her phone and quickly called JT, unsurprised when he answered after one ring.

"You are not supposed to be calling me," JT protested immediately. "What if those CIA guys – who are probably in with Operation Muirfield – tap into my phone records? How am I supposed to explain a call from a cop I supposedly barely know?"

"JT, I'm sorry. I didn't think about that. Listen, we have a situation."

"Funny, I was just about to call Vincent with a situation. Not 'ha ha' funny. I mean, 'our lives are royally screwed' funny. But you go first; what happened now?"

"Last night, Vincent blacked out," Catherine explained, seeing the scowl increase on Vincent's face.

"Blacked out? What do you mean blacked out?"

"I found him lying in the woods this morning and he has no memory of how he got there or what he was doing for the past ten hours."

"Is he hurt?"

"No, he was cold, but he's fine now. JT, what's going on? I've never heard of this happening before."

"Gee, I don't know. Let me consult my Muirfield handbook and I'll get back to you."

Catherine rolled her eyes.

"When he blacked out… does he know if he… you know, turned into his other self," JT asked.

"No, he doesn't remember anything."

Vincent let out a deep sigh, bringing them back to his worry about hurting people, and she reached out to take his hand. To her surprise, his body temperature was already back to normal.

"I would tell you to get back here now so I can keep an eye on him, but I'm still waiting for the suits to make their move."

"Still no sign of them?"

"Not that I've seen, though I'm sure they could search the warehouse without leaving a trace. I've been staying there as little as possible."

"I don't think it was a good idea to leave him there like that," Vincent muttered, eyes searching the grooves in the floor. "What if they take him while we're out here?"

"We did this to throw them off his trail. If he hasn't heard from them, it's probably working," she assured him, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

"Unfortunately, that's not our only problem," JT explained. "I was with Heather earlier and–"

"With Heather? Why were you with Heather?"

"I was, um… I just wanted to check up on her and make sure she was okay. With everything going on, I just didn't like that she was there by herself. Not that she was there by herself."

Catherine caught herself smiling as she listened to JT babble and even Vincent had some humor back in his eyes.

"Look, that's not the point," JT continued. "While I was there, she had all these pictures spread out from your dad's engagement party. In one of them, your dad was talking to some old college friend. You know who that friend was? Silverfox."

"What," Catherine gasped, and Vincent's head shot up.

"Yeah, apparently they have history."

"W-what did she say about him?"

"She didn't really know anything about him. Said he was only there for like thirty minutes, and I'm betting he left so fast to avoid running into you."

"Maybe that's really all they are. College friends," Vincent suggested.

"They have matching rings and he was at my dad's engagement party? That's a pretty big coincidence," Catherine noted.

"Um, hello," JT called. "Are you two having a conversation without me? Cause I'd like to join in."

Catherine hit the speaker phone with another roll of her eyes. "Sorry. I just said I think it's too much of a coincidence."

"One of us needs to get on that. I volunteer the daughter who also happens to be a cop," JT suggested.

"How am I supposed to look into anything when I'm up here for the week?"

JT sighed. "Good point. Maybe if I spend enough time with Heather I can get invited over to your dad's."

Now Vincent broke into an actual smile. "I say go for it."

"Yeah, but just be careful," Catherine insisted. "I don't want my sister mixed up in this."

"Don't worry. I'll keep her safe. As for the black outs… just do the wait-and-see approach. Maybe it won't happen again."

"Thanks JT," Vincent called before Catherine ended the call.

"Wow," she breathed, falling back against the back of the couch and trying to take it all in.

"How's your stitches," Vincent asked, his hand twitching towards her shirt. "You overexerted yourself when you half carried me in here."

"They're fine. Just a little sore."

"Can I see?" That one tiny question bore so many implications. After last night, just the thought of him touching her bare skin built up such anticipation, she thought it would drive her insane. Not to mention the fact that if her heart started jack-hammering in her chest, he was bound to hear it.

But instead of denying him, she raised her shirt just high enough to expose the bandage on her abdomen. So carefully that she barely felt it, his expert hands lifted the bandage and he bent his head to examine her stitches. Just as she expected, the feel of his warm hands on her stomach sent little thrills through her, causing her to focus suddenly on the perfect curve of his lips or the way a muscle in his neck flexed as he concentrated.

"What's the verdict, Doc? Will I live," she teased, bringing a smile back to his face.

"It looks fine. But you should probably take it easy for the rest of the day."

He fixed her bandage back into place and pulled her shirt back down.

"How about some breakfast. I think we both need to eat something," she suggested, taking her jacket off and tossing it aside.

She was about to stand when his hand on her arm brought her back down. He was suddenly angry, so angry he was shaking as he stared down at her hand. Following his gaze, she realized her jacket must have hiked up her shirt sleeve, revealing the light bruise on her wrist.

"Vincent, its fine. I'm fine."

"It's not fine! I did that. I–"

"It was an accident. Please stop worrying about it," she begged, but she could see the self-hatred in his eyes.

All she wanted to do was take his mind off her bruises and as the idea came to her, she wondered why she hadn't thought of it yet.

Taking his face in her hands, she laid a gentle kiss to his lips. Or… at least it started out that way. His lips were intoxicating and she found her hands wrapping around the back of his neck, pulling him closer. His weight shifted and she suddenly found her back pressed into the cushions while he hovered over her, practically devouring her as he ran kisses from her lips, down her jaw, to her neck and back again.

She was still panting when those marvelous lips found hers again and she had a sudden urge to be as close to him as physically possible… and the clothing was hindering that. Her hands found the hem of his shirt, starting to lift it up when his hand clamped down on them and he started chuckling against her lips.

"Wasn't it you who wanted to take things slow," he asked, still only inches from her face.

"Oh, that was my stupid idea? Can't we pretend I didn't say that?"

He laughed and brought his lips back to hers again, and again, and finally pulled away, helping her up as well.

"Don't we have enough problems without worrying about you jumping my bones without warning," he joked, earning him an elbow to the stomach.

But she couldn't stop blushing as he made breakfast, hoping the wait wouldn't be the death of her.

A/N: I know the "stalker guy" – as someone put it – wasn't revealed yet, but he'll make an appearance next chapter and throw another interesting set of obstacles their way. Let me know what you think!