"Authorities are trying to unravel a mystery surrounding the death of reclusive multi-billionaire Gabriel Konkani. Konkani was found dead of a single gunshot wound when police attempted to bring him in for questioning regarding the unsolved deaths of District Attorney John Moreno and Assistant District Attorney Catherine Chandler. Authorities aren't saying how the cases are connected, but it is believed that Konkani may have been involved with organized crime."
As the television news reporter, a perky, dark-haired woman, continued her report, a picture of Gabriel's estate flashed behind her left shoulder.
"Police have learned that Konkani, who apparently had multiple aliases, was wanted in three countries on charges of arms trading, drug trafficking, and money laundering. A large cache of illegal arms has already been discovered in a buried concrete bunker on the massive estate, which is still being searched tonight."
Joe shook his head, muted the sound, and got up from the couch. He needed a beer and a vacation, though not necessarily in that order. True to her word, Diana had somehow made the evidence of Vincent's existence disappear, but Moreno's involvement with Konkani would keep the newshounds busy for days. And now, because of the international angle, the feds were nosing around as well.
The only silver lining in the whole ugly mess was that people seemed to think he was doing a decent job. So far, at least.
He grabbed a beer from the fridge, closed the door with a shove of his hip, and turned back to the living room. As he crossed the carpet, he noticed an envelope on the floor near the door. He bent to pick it up. The paper was thick and creamy white, the kind of heavyweight stationary he remembered his grandmother using, and his name was written across the front in neat, rounded script.
Puzzled, he tore a narrow strip from the top edge of the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper.
J
I need to see you. Tuesday night. And I'd love to see Jenny.
C
Joe shook his head. Jenny would be thrilled to learn that Cathy was alive—and furious when she discovered he'd kept the information from her. He took a long drink of his beer and contemplated the telephone. Then, with a shrug, he reached for the handset. At least he'd finally have somebody he could talk to about this crazy, mixed-up case.
xXx
xXx
Vincent leaned against the railing, watching Catherine. She was sitting in one of Father's chairs with the baby cradled in her arms while Mary and Lena and half a dozen other women crowded around her. She looked radiant. Her eyes sparkled and her smiles came easily. He felt it in their bond, as well. She was at peace now, no longer plagued by her fears or by the terrible nightmares.
"Vincent."
He straightened and turned as Peter Alcott came down the steps.
"Peter." He shook the doctor's hand. "Welcome."
Peter looked over at Catherine. "I heard you'd found him."
Vincent nodded. "Yesterday."
"And everyone's okay?" Peter glanced pointedly at Vincent's bandaged hands.
"This—" Vincent lifted his hands for a moment and then dropped them again as his gaze went back to Catherine and the baby. "It's nothing."
"Worth it, I guess," Peter said, "to have them back."
"Yes."
Across the room, Catherine laughed at something, and Vincent thought it was easily the loveliest sound he'd ever heard. She was wearing jeans today, and a sweater the color of her eyes, and she held the baby close, as though she was still a little worried that somebody might try to take him from her. But nobody would. Vincent would make certain of that with his last breath.
"Is there someplace we can talk?" Peter asked.
The will, Vincent remembered. Peter wanted to know what to do about it. "Of course." He eased his way through the group of well-wishers gathered around Catherine and knelt by her side.
"Catherine, Peter is here. He wishes to speak with us."
Catherine looked across to where Peter still stood beside the steps. He tipped his hat in a courtly, old-style gesture, and she smiled a welcome. "Mary?" she asked, turning back. "Would you mind looking after the baby for a few minutes? There's something I need to take care of."
"Certainly, Catherine." Mary smiled warmly as she accepted him from Catherine's arms. "I'll be happy to."
They went to Vincent's chamber, and Catherine sat on the bed while Vincent lit more candles.
"I can't tell you how happy I am for you," Peter said. "For both of you."
Vincent finished with the candles and sat down beside Catherine, leaving the big chair for Peter. "A great burden has been lifted."
"Yes," said Peter. "And it's about time." The depth of feeling in his voice warmed Vincent's heart. Peter looked at Catherine. "Have you decided what you want to do?"
She stood and crossed to the sculpture that stood by the chamber entrance. "I've thought about it a lot." She spoke softly, and her fingers traced the Scales of Justice as if she sought grains of wisdom in the ancient stone balance.
They'd avoided talking about the will, but Vincent knew that whatever decision she'd made had been one she'd considered carefully. Her choice in this would be her own.
"A part of me," she said, turning away from Lady Justice, "wanted to let the world Above go on believing I was dead. I was afraid. I thought that if someone found out I was still alive, they would come looking for me."
Vincent started to speak, to remind her that she was safe, but she shook her head, and he subsided, realizing that her concerns had been less for her own safety, and more for the safety of the ones she loved.
"When Gabriel was alive, I truly believed it was too dangerous for anybody to learn the truth." She returned to Vincent's side and sat down. "But he's gone, now."
"Cathy," Peter said, "I've been listening to the news. Gabriel Konkani had a whole network of people working for him. And you can identify some of them."
Catherine nodded. "And if any of them are arrested, I'll gladly testify about what I know."
"Are you sure you understand the risk you're taking? These are powerful people—"
Vincent laid his hand on top of hers, trying to communicate his belief in her through touch alone. She rewarded him with a quick smile before turning back to Peter. "I can't let them control my decisions, Peter. I can't let them affect the way I lead my life."
"So you'll be coming back up then? Back to your work with the D.A.'s office?"
She shook her head. "This is my home, now. My family is here. My life is here."
Peter's concern was clear in his voice and in his eyes. "If you plan to stay Below anyway, wouldn't it be safer to let the rest of the world continue to think you're dead?"
"It would be dishonest," Catherine said. "And it wouldn't be fair to my friends to ask them to believe a lie."
Peter sighed. "I can respect that, even if it scares me to death."
"Please don't worry," Catherine said. "I'll be safe here."
Peter's gaze flickered between them, and he smiled. "Yes," he said, "I imagine you will."
Catherine glanced at Vincent, and then back to Peter. "I need to ask you a favor."
"Certainly. Tell me what I can do."
"I need you to set up a meeting. You, me, my lawyer, and my accountant. I need to take care of a few things."
"When?"
"As soon as possible."
Peter nodded. "I'll see what I can do. Give me a couple of days."
"Thank you." Catherine glanced at Vincent. "There's . . . one other thing."
"What's that?"
Vincent and Catherine were adults, and the forgotten baby blanket at the end of his bed was a mute reminder of the importance of the question that Catherine was about to ask. Still, Vincent had to stifle a twinge of embarrassment as he anticipated Peter's reaction.
Catherine spoke quietly, her eyes on the open chamber entrance. "Birth control."
Vincent wasn't sure what he'd expected. Shock maybe? Dismay? But Peter only nodded.
"That's a good idea," he said. "Do you have anything specific in mind?"
"No," said Catherine. "But nothing permanent."
Peter considered that, and then nodded. "I think you should consider an IUD. It's simple, effective, and we wouldn't have to worry too much about side effects. I'd need to see you a couple of times to get it fitted properly, and then again if you decide you want another child, but it's an easy procedure."
Vincent had heard of the device Peter spoke of, but he knew very little about it, never having thought he would have a use for such information. Now, he had only one concern. "Is it safe?"
"Quite safe. A few women do have trouble, but as long as Catherine comes in for regular checkups, I see no reason why there should be any problems." He looked at Catherine. "How about if we schedule an appointment for the day you come up to meet with your attorney?"
"Sounds good." Catherine stood and crossed the room to hug him. "You're a good friend, Peter."
"Take care of yourself, Cathy." He kissed the top of her head and pulled back to look down at her. "And take care of that handsome son of yours."
"I will."
"I'll expect an invitation to the naming ceremony."
"How about Sunday night?" Catherine tucked her hand into the crook of Vincent's arm—a proprietary gesture that was simultaneously both strange and miraculous. "About eight o'clock?"
"I'll be there," Peter said with a warm smile.
He left, and Catherine touched the thick bandages on Vincent's hand. "Do they hurt much?"
"No," he said, resting his other hand over hers, sandwiching her delicate fingers between the layers of gauze. "They will heal quickly."
"Good."
He brushed a kiss against her forehead, and even that slight contact was enough to stir a bright spark of desire. "Perhaps we should retrieve our son."
Catherine laughed, but he saw a hint of regret in her eyes as she stood up. "You're assuming Mary will give him up."
Amused, and a little amazed that they should be having this conversation, he guided her from the chamber. "Maybe," he suggested, "we should promise her Saturday nights?"
xXx
xXx
"She's alive?" Jenny asked in stunned disbelief. "Where?"
"Actually," Joe said, "I'm not really sure where she is."
"Then how do you know—?"
"She came to see me a few days ago."
She stared at him, hurt and anger in her eyes. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Jenny . . . I'm sorry. She asked me not to."
Jenny sat down heavily on the couch. "I don't believe this."
"I know. I didn't believe it either at first."
"And she's coming here?"
Joe glanced at his watch. "She should be here any minute, in fact."
As if on cue, there was a soft knock at the door. Joe gave Jenny an 'I told you so' glance and went to open it.
"Hello, Joe." She was wearing the cloak again, but she no longer had the wan, terrified look she'd had when he'd last seen her.
"Punctual as ever, I see." He let her in and checked the hallway before closing and locking the door. When he turned back, she was pushing back the hood.
"Cathy!" Jenny hurried over. "Oh my God, Cathy! We thought you were dead!" She was laughing and crying at the same time.
"Jenny!"
The two women hugged, and it was several seconds before they separated and accepted tissues from the box Joe offered.
"You two are gonna flood the joint if you don't cut that out."
Catherine gave him a watery smile. "You're such a romantic."
Jenny dropped onto the couch and patted the seat beside her. "Sit down, Cathy. Tell us everything."
"Actually," Catherine said, as she set her cloak aside, "there isn't a lot I can tell you. I just . . . wanted you to know I was all right."
"But you're coming back now, right? I mean, they said on the news that the guy who kidnapped you was dead."
"He is."
"Then it's all over, isn't it?"
"Not really."
Joe saw her glance at him, but he folded his arms and watched her without comment. He'd wait until after Jenny left to confront her with what he knew.
"Gabriel was a powerful man," Cathy said, returning her attention to Jenny. "He had a lot of people working for him—people who might get nervous if they found out I was back."
"So what are you going to do?"
"I'm going away, Jenny."
"Where?"
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that."
"Is it someplace safe?"
Catherine nodded, her gaze soft and distant. "Yes," she said, "it's safe."
With Vincent, Joe knew. But where? How was it possible for somebody like Vincent to live in New York without being seen?
Jenny's concerns were more immediate. "Will I ever see you again?"
"I hope so," Catherine said. "Can you do me a favor?"
"Anything, Cathy. You know that."
"Can you talk to Nancy for me? Let her know I'm okay?"
Jenny tilted her head, confused. "Can't you talk to her yourself?"
Cathy shook her head. "It's best if I'm not seen right now."
"I understand. Sure, I'll talk to her. Is there something specific you want me to tell her?"
"No, just give her my love."
"Cathy," Jenny glanced at Joe, whose arms were still folded as he leaned against the couch. "Are you sure everything's okay?"
"I'm sure," Catherine said, and the look on her face left no room for doubt. She wasn't just okay. She was happy.
A few minutes later Jenny left, closing the door behind her with a quiet click. Joe locked it again and turned back to Cathy.
"You've been keeping secrets," he said, not quite able to keep the hurt out of his voice. Why hadn't she trusted him?
"Joe—"
"Tell me about this guy Vincent." The words were brusque. Clipped.
Catherine looked away. "I can't."
"Can't? Or won't." Disappointment and anger combined to make his voice sharper than he'd intended.
"Both, I guess. Vincent is . . . special."
"Yeah. I gathered that." Joe crossed the room and sat down across from her. "I've seen him, Cath. This guy Konkani . . . He had video tapes."
"Oh, my God." Catherine's eyes went wide with fear, and Joe found he couldn't torment her with it. No matter how angry he was with her, he still considered her a friend. She'd been there for him, believing in him at a time when it had seemed as though the entire world had allied against him. The least he could do was return the favor.
"Don't worry," he said. "Diana took care of it."
"Diana Bennett?"
"Uh huh. And she made a mess of pictures disappear too, but don't ask me how she did it. I don't know, and I don't want to know."
"Vincent's a good man, Joe."
"A man? Are you sure about that? Because he didn't exactly look human to me."
"He was born the way he is. Nobody knows why."
"And yet you're sure he's human."
Her nod was emphatic and a little defensive. "He's more human than most people I know."
He'd known Cathy long enough to know she would never lie to him, but what he'd seen sure hadn't looked human. "How long have you been seeing this guy?"
"Remember when I was attacked a couple of years ago?"
"Just before you came to work in the D.A.'s office?"
She nodded.
"Yeah, I remember."
"It was Vincent who saved me," she said. "He found me in the park, and he took me someplace safe, and he watched over me while I healed."
"And he's been saving your life ever since."
"How do you mean?"
"Diana put it together for me. I didn't want to see it, but now that I know who he is, it's kind of hard to ignore the evidence. All those cases—"
"Joe, you have to understand. He was protecting me."
"Funny," Joe said, "that's what Diana says, too." He watched her for a long, tense moment. "I've got a dilemma here, Radcliffe. You see, technically you're an accomplice to a crime. To a lot of crimes."
"Charges weren't filed in any of those cases."
"Because we didn't know who to file them against! Now we do."
"Joe, you can't do this!" Desperation rose in her voice.
But he could, and they both knew it. In fact, he had a legal obligation to report what he knew. "There's no statute of limitations on murder," he reminded her.
"You've seen his picture." She touched his arm, waiting for him to meet her eyes. "They'll destroy him!"
"He's dangerous! Did you see what he did at the Konkani place?"
"No, he isn't. He isn't dangerous at all. He's the kindest, gentlest man I've ever known."
The irony of that remark wasn't lost on either of them, and Joe stared at her, shaking his head. "I can't let this go on, Cathy. You know that."
"It won't. It'll stop now."
Joe folded his arms, eyebrows raised. "You know that for a fact."
"Yes."
He got to his feet and crossed to the kitchen. He took two glasses out of the cabinet and turned back to her, not surprised to find that she'd followed him. He reached into the freezer for an ice tray. "How can you be so sure?"
"Because I won't be in danger any more."
"And you know that because—" He added ice to the glasses, filled them with cold tap water, and offered one to her.
She accepted the drink with a nod of thanks. "Because I'll be with him."
"And that's supposed to magically make things better?" He drained his glass and set it on the counter beside him, wishing it'd held something stronger.
"You don't understand what this means to him. To us. We're a family, Joe. Vincent isn't going to do anything that would put that at risk."
"You're going to marry him?" He tried to wrap his mind around the idea, but it was all too new, too strange.
She dropped her eyes, and ice cubes clinked in her glass as she rolled it between her palms. "He hasn't asked."
"Cathy . . . You have a kid. Surely he's at least considered it."
Surprised, she looked up from her drink. "You know about my son?"
Joe shrugged that off. "Pictures, remember?"
Catherine sighed. "It's . . . complicated."
"Obviously." He took her glass and set it in the sink before leading the way back to the living room.
"Look, Joe. I can't expect you to understand. I'm not even sure I understand sometimes. But I'm asking you to believe me when I tell you the killings will end now."
He couldn't believe he was going to let her get away with this. And yet he knew that if the public ever found out about Vincent, they'd either kill him or study him to death. Besides, there was a world of difference between killing for the sake of killing, and killing to protect a loved one.
"If they don't, Cathy, I'm going to have to act. I can't let some rogue vigilante terrorize the city."
"I know." She rested her hand on the back of the couch. "We're going to disappear, Joe. You won't hear from us again."
"Cathy—" The worn cushions gave beneath Joe's weight as he sat down. She'd forced him to choose between their friendship and his job, and though he didn't regret his decision, it didn't rest easy on his conscience, either. Still . . . "I don't want that."
"It's for the best. You know it is." She sat down beside him, her voice intense. "It's my turn to keep him safe, now. And we've got a child to raise—a little boy who deserves to know both of his parents." She touched his arm. "You're right, Joe. The killings have to stop. Not just because they're wrong, or because you'd have to act, but because every time he kills . . . I think it destroys a little bit of his soul."
His soul? Joe tilted his head to one side. "You lead an interesting life, Radcliffe."
She laughed a little. "I guess I do."
"You're sure this is what you want?" He remembered what he thought when he'd first met her—that she was a flighty do-gooder who would disappear the minute things got tough. Boy, had he been wrong.
"I'm sure."
"There's nothing I can do to talk you out of it."
She looked almost amused at the prospect of his trying. "I'm afraid not."
"Where will you go?"
"You know I can't tell you that."
He sighed. "No, I imagine you can't. Is there anything you need? Anything I can help you with?"
"There is one thing."
"What?"
"The death certificate."
"You want it rescinded?"
"Can you do it?"
He nodded. "Jenny can witness, so it shouldn't be a problem."
"I can't appear."
"I know. I'm pretty sure I can take care of it without you, especially under the circumstances."
"Thanks, Joe."
"Anything else?"
"No." She glanced at her watch and got to her feet, reaching for her cloak. "I should go. Vincent's waiting."
Joe stood, too. "Tell Vincent I said he'd better treat you right."
She smiled at that. "I'll tell him, but I don't think you need to worry."
He pulled her into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, huh?"
"I will. And Joe—" Her eyes were bright when she pulled out of his arms. "If you need me to testify, leave a message with Peter Alcott. He'll know where to find me."
"You sure? These are dangerous guys." If it were any other witness, he'd be doing everything he could to make sure she testified. But this was Cathy, and he felt honor bound to give her one more chance to change her mind.
"I know. And if I can do something to help get them off the streets, I will."
"All right, then." He reached to help her adjust the cloak across her shoulders. "I'll let you know."
She pulled the hood up over her hair, and he realized he might never see her again. For a moment, he wanted to grab her arm and keep her from leaving, force her into some kind of understanding of the insanity of it all, and yet he knew his arguments would fall on deaf ears. She'd made up her mind, and once committed to a course of action, Cathy was nothing if not single-minded.
A few seconds later the door closed behind her, and he leaned his forehead against it with a sigh.
"Take care, kiddo. Stay safe."
xXx
xXx
Vincent found Diana on her balcony. It was a clear and moonless evening. She had a telescope set up, and she seemed intent upon her work. He hated to disturb her, but the message he brought was an important one.
"Diana."
She straightened from the eyepiece, startled. "Vincent."
"Have you been well?"
"Fine. You?"
"I owe you my thanks." He stepped closer and reached out a hand to the gleaming black telescope. "I owe you my life."
She shook her head. "I was just doing my job."
"Catherine tells me you did more than your job."
"The pictures."
He nodded. "And the tapes."
"They would have destroyed you," Diana said. "I couldn't let that happen."
Vincent was quiet for a moment, looking out over the city. "What will you do now?"
"They've offered me other cases," Diana said, "but I turned them down."
He turned to her, surprised. "Why?"
"I'm leaving New York. I've been offered a job in Portland."
"Oregon?" A horn blared in the street below, and instinctively Vincent moved back from the wall.
Diana was shaking her head. "Maine."
He considered that for a moment. "Such a small city." Had her decision to help him hurt her career?
"Compared to New York, every city's small."
"Is this your choice?"
She nodded. "I requested it." She leaned against the railing beside him. "This job . . . it's eating me alive. I spend my life in other people's heads, watching them do terrible things to each other." She pushed to her feet and moved away. "I can't do it anymore. I need something different. And—" she looked up at the night sky. "I'd like to live someplace where I can see the stars."
Vincent watched her carefully. Diana was a good woman, and she'd been a friend to him when he'd needed one most. He would miss her. "When do you leave?"
"Next week."
There was time, then, to show her some of his world. "Before you go, there is one more thing I would ask of you."
"What's that?"
"When a child is born Below, we have a special ceremony to welcome him to our community. We give him a name, and we give him gifts. It is a special time in our world. Catherine and I would like you to join us for our son's naming."
"When is it?" she asked, and he could tell by her expression that she was flattered by his request.
"Sunday night. Eight o'clock. Afterward there will be a small celebration."
"Where should I meet you?"
"At the Central Park entrance."
Diana nodded. "Can I bring anything?"
"Just yourself."
Her eyes sought and held his, the pupils wide in the darkness. "Afterward . . . will I ever see you again?"
Vincent nodded. "You know where to find me," he said. "You will always be welcome."
Diana turned away then, her gaze going to the city skyline. "I keep thinking that it's all been some kind of bizarre dream, and pretty soon I'll wake up and find I imagined it all. You, Catherine, Gabriel . . ." She lifted her hands, shrugged, and dropped them again. "Silly, huh?"
"No," Vincent said. "Not silly. And not a dream."
Her laugh was soft. Rueful. "You're right," she said. "I never could've imagined you."
Once, such words might have caused him pain.
Now, he only smiled.
