"Dad," Rebecca McCoy repeated, this time with a slightly more urgency.

McCoy turned away from the window and back to the expectant face across from him.

"I'm sorry honey," he said startled back to the reality of the bustling Starbucks across the street from his daughter's third floor walk up. "What did you say?"

"I said, 'how about more coffee'?"

McCoy shook his head and began to reply when Rebecca stood, grabbing the brown leather jacket off the back of her chair.

"Okay, then let's take a walk."

McCoy followed her out of the shop towards the park.

"Spill it."

McCoy shook his head, once again startled by his daughters words.

"I don't know what-"

"Dad, something's on your mind," the young woman said flatly. "I noticed it last night. Even though you drove five hours, you were wired when you got here. I think we'd still be playing poker if I hadn't called it quits at two thirty."

"I think you're just sorry you quit before you had a chance to try to win back some of your money."

"I think you're trying to avoid telling me what's going on with you."

"Are you saying something's wrong because the old man didn't drink his warm milk and put the lights out at dusk?"

Rebecca motioned towards an empty bench as she snickered.

"When your night cap goes from scotch to milk - that's when I'll be in a panic. Actually, it's not so much that something's wrong, just on your mind. I didn't hear you get up last night - you seem to be sleeping much better than when I saw you last. That's a sign to me that you're more relaxed. Which is good-"

"I seem to have been a bundle of nerves ," he teased. "You're the second person to say that."

"Who was the first?"

"Connie. Yesterday. If I'm so 'relaxed', what makes you think something's on my mind? "

Becky laughed at her father's quizzical expression.

"You keep checking your watch and you didn't hear half of what I said at breakfast. It's like….,"she started, pausing as she tried to find the right words to verbalize what she was feeling. "It's like you're waiting for something…or someone. That's it - you're waiting to hear from Brooke aren't you?"

"Actually, I am," he replied amused. "Looks like you have more of your Grandfather in you than I imaged. All that money wasted on law school, when it's clear your real calling is police officier. Better yet, detective."

"All right, wise guy, I'll cut to the chase and just ask you: Does some of this have to do with taking your relationship with Brooke to the next level? "

"Meaning?"

"Are things still good between you two, now that you're sleeping with her?"

McCoy's head snapped towards his daughter as the ball a group of children had been playing four square with landed at his feet. Rebecca reached passed her stunned father and threw it back to the group of children, fighting the urge to laugh at the perplexed look on his face.

"Dad - it wasn't hard to figure out," she said gently. "I was surprised she wasn't with you when you arrived last night."

"She said it was too soon," he admitted as he tried to regain his composure. " She wanted to give you and me some time alone. What exactly do you mean 'it wasn't hard to figure out'?"

"When you didn't call Thursday night…well, I mean Dad ..Gee, she'd been staying with you and it was obvious when I met her that there was something going on between you two. When you didn't make your nightly call, I figured…anyway, why don't you just call her now?"

"She's meeting with Ben Stone this morning."

Rebecca shot her father a look. Ben Stone. That was a name she hadn't heard in a long time.

"Why?"

As McCoy explained, Rebecca could see her father struggling to maintain his nonchalant facade.

Even though she'd been in her mid teens then, she remembered Claire Kincaid's funeral. She had insisted on going, in spite of her mother's concerns. Becky had become attached to the young woman who helped bridge the gap between herself and her parents. Because her father was almost incoherent with grief, her mother reluctantly took her. They had sat with her father who was too distraught to do more than stare unbelievingly at the casket the whole time.

The only time that stare had wavered was during Ben Stone's part of the eulogy. She remembered looking up at her father as Stone spoke of the 'sudden and needless death of a young woman full of promise. Someone who had touched so many lives, so many hearts, that fate had needlessly cheated out of the happy life she had deserve to have' and seeing the unwavering glare exchanged by the two men.

Although her father prided himself on keeping his emotions in check especially around his daughter - as part of his desire to never become anyone even remotely like his own father - Rebecca McCoy had occasionally seen her father's temper during the divorce. Claire Kincaid's funeral was the only time she saw the look that was exchanged by her father with Ben Stone. It was a look of utter defeat, the look of a man who had been broken, with no excuse to give, no way to make things right.

Rebecca knew Ben Stone was the only person who could elicit such a response from her father.

"I suppose that means you'll be dealing with Mr. Stone, as well," she asked carefully.

" It's Professor Stone now. If this gets to trial, I assume I'll be on the witness list for both the plaintiff and defense. Ben may prepare me to testify."

"And you're all right with that?"

McCoy shrugged his shoulders.

"I'll deal with it," he said standing. "Right now I'm more concerned with doing whatever will help Brooke to get through that deposition with out verbally shooting herself in the foot."

Rebecca walked beside her father as he headed back to the path that led towards the lake.

"Why? I mean she's an ADA, Dad. She knows how this stuff works. Besides, she's in the right. She saw this woman point gun at you…"

"Brooke is in better shape than she was. But she still isn't convinced she did the right thing. If her doubts come out in the deposition it's going to be like blood in the water for a shark like Neal Gorton."

Rebecca stopped suddenly and looked up at her father expectantly.

"Maybe you should talk to Brooke about seeing Dr. Olivet. That seemed to help you after the shooting."

"She's determined not to talk about it. She was adamant. No way is she talking to anyone about this - including a psychologist. She barely spoke to me about it. Doesn't want anything on the record that can be used at trial. Which would make sense if she wasn't so ready to incriminate herself. The few times she slipped and said something to me… if I were in Gorton's shoes I'd use her guilt to twist her words - to crucify her on the stand. I've used less when I was in the courtroom."

"But Dad, what she says to Dr. Olivet falls under privileged communication."

"Becky, you have no idea how stubborn that woman can be when she sets her mind to something," McCoy said as he thought about the events of Thursday night. "She doesn't take 'no ' for an answer. I'd count on her being equally inflexible when she doesn't want to do something."

Rebecca studied her fathers face carefully smiling to herself at his amused expression.

"You really like this one, don't you Dad?"

"'This one'? " McCoy sputtered.

"You know what I mean."

McCoy looked down at his shoes shaking his head.

"I thought we agreed not to discuss each others private lives after my last marriage."

Rebecca made a face.

"The wicked witch is dead - or at least out of our lives," she countered. "Besides, Brooke isn't Denise. At least step- mommy number two saved your life. That's gives her some brownie points-"

"'Step- mommy number two'? Aren't we getting ahead of ourselves young lady? One more failed marriage and there won't be much left for you to inherit from the old man, much less any pension left for me to live on in a few years."

Rebecca sat down on a patch of grass a few feet from the shore of the man-made lake. She waited for her father to join her before responding.

"So what are you two planning to do," she asked doing her best 'indignant father' imitation. "Just going to shack up, are you?"

"Rebecca Eileen McCoy," he said sternly." That's no way to talk to your father!"

McCoy stared out at the water, watching the dock area as the first few sailboats began to fill the water. After a silence that seemed to last several minutes, he looked over at his daughter, who wore an equally indifferent expression.

"Yes, I like this one a lot," he said at last as he returned to his daughter's original question. His daughter turned to him, her expression softening as she returned her father's sly smile. "I'm just not sure how long this one's going to put up with me. Believe it or not daughter, some people find me hard to tolerate. They stop talking to me for years because I'm so 'rigid and unforgiving'. I believe those were the words you used."

"That only happens with willful brats that are too young to know better," she said as she squeezed her father's hand. "I suspect Brooke is well passed that stage in her life. Just don't …well, Dad you have this way of pushing people away when they start to get close. Don't use Ben Stone's involvement as a way to put up walls between you two."