The door tinkered while opening. She didn't lift her gaze from her ice-cream –a wonder of flavor, fruits and cream, or so the commercial said -, trusting her men to meet the intruder. Whoever hadn't read the "CLOSED" note outside the parlor… though if it was a child… No, she couldn't risk it anyway…

"Cathy!"

It was her father's voice, and his eyes were the ones she met when she looked up.

"Da…"

"I didn't know you still came here."

"I own it" she said dazedly as she stood.

The wall's colors didn't help her headache. Red, blue and green… for God's sake, how could children bear such a rainbow on walls? And still she herself used to love it. I'm getting old.

"May I sit down?" he pointed towards the chair in front of her.

She nodded and let her body fall on her own chair.

"Do you want something?" she offered.

"Beef?"

She choked, and he reached forth to pat her back, laughing.

"It was a joke! I know they serve only sweet things here. And you know I don't have a sweet tooth."

"Old."

His strokes went a little rougher.

"All right, dad; you don't have to make me spit my lungs" she swallowed and coughed again, just once.

"Roger."

He watched her men.

"You are more guarded that the local prison."

"I feel like a prisoner"

The bodyguards didn't as much as blink.

Her teaspoon sank into the upper ball –strawberry- and pierced it twice.

"You haven't touched it" he pointed.

"I have eaten five already. Do you want some?" she pushed the dish towards him.

"You're a little old for making me eat what you don't want."

She smiled at him. His father was older than she had last seen him –more wrinkles, more white hairs-. Her stomach turned upside down. The same girl that in tears begged him never to die –the same one that had just lost her mother- was still inside of her.

"Back then what I left was what you liked…"

"I can't believe that you exchanged your beef for my dessert" he chuckled.

"I can't believe you allowed me to" She saw him shake his head, and the comparison with the Dad she had just remembered hit her. "I guess you just humored me… after my mother's…"

The smile vanished as he looked down, shifting his feet uncomfortably.

"Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

Now it was she who looked down. Family gestures.

"It just came to my mind."

Silence stretched, an unwelcome guest staying for too long.

"I guess you didn't come to taste my ice-cream" she smiled at him. "Tell me."

"You should tell me" he said. "Why did you send for me?"

Her frown was the first signal of trouble.

"I didn't…"

He eyed her, frowning himself as he felt his pockets and extracted the paper. A look at it and he handled it to her.

"Here."

It was brief: "We're down the corner, at the parlor. If you want to, come meet us. Cathy"

"It's your handwriting."

"I see" she said. "But I must have written it years ago…"

And yet, the paper wasn't even yellow. She felt its softness; it was of good quality. There had been a time when she wouldn't have known the difference. As she turned the note, she read the other side: "You promised!"

"I found it on my desk, Cathy; not at the attic."

Something cracked as it fit in Catherine's mind.

"Could this be from the assailant?"

As soon as she muttered it, the paper became a snake about to bite. Or it would as well have, by the way her dad snatched it away, tearing it apart as he did, while her men grasped their guns. A ghost enemy Catherine thought.

I must have shown it to Bennet.

"Can I have it?"

"Oh, no, Cath" he said, staring at the piece still in his sweating fist, which further ruined it. "I don't want it close to you"

"Fine. Ray, do you have a plastic bag?" At his nod, she ordered: "Put the pieces there, please, and carry it to the lab. I want fingerprints, DNA, whatever."

Charles offered his hands to the man, for him to collect the stuck paper. His gaze never left his daughter.

"I didn't know you had specialized resources…"

"I'm not supposed to have them, but… Elliot got me a permission to use some very expensive government facilities" she shrugged. "He calls them playthings."

"He obviously can afford it…"

Catherine wondered why he was smiling, and a flash of her wedding came to her mind. The answer was the same: money matters.

"I want you to remember that the attacker might as well be after Elliot" she growled softly. I am in danger because of him, she meant; a lawyer's mind would catch it if he wanted to. He didn't.

However, how on Earth would that help?

A knock at the door broke the mood.

"We are closed" one of her bodyguards announced.

The door still opened, and a kid entered. His awkward smile vanished when three guns aimed at him.

"It's a message for you, sir" the boy extended a hand to the older man, while looking at the others. His pale face seemed a pin-pong ball, gaze jumping from one gunman to the other. As soon as the paper was out of his hand, he turned around and ran. Catherine caught a movement in a corner of her visual field, and Ray was gone too.

"What does it say?" she asked.

His father's face was paling visibly.

"Nothing."

Not likely.

"Would it have something to do with this case?"

He hesitated before answering –frozen smile. That was as good as words.

"Ray, you can come in."

The poor child almost fainted into the man's deadly embrace. His legs didn't even touch the floor. Her soul bled for him; but if she touched him, if she just neared him enough for him to endanger her, he would be dead. Those men wouldn't risk Elliot's rage, much worse than the police's. The child was collateral damage.

"What's your name?" she wondered -gaze fixed in the child's one, gentlest voice, all the tricks she had learned with the DA.

"Tom, ma'am" he said.

"You're in serious danger, Tom. If you approach me, you'll die" The boy gasped, looking at the two men around her, whose gazes held no gentleness. By announcing his possible death, she had become a threat too. Even if she just wanted to help. "I'm saying it clearly, for you to understand, Tom. But you can move freely…" A signal to Ray, and he hesitantly lowered the boy, but still grasped his shoulders. The guns were aiming at him again. "I would want you to share an ice-cream with me, and tell me everything you know about whoever wrote this note".

He paled further, if that was even possible.

"I did, ma'am"

Distress. It wasn't good.

"Don't move" she hurried.

Things froze around her.

"Why would you come handling a letter?" she asked slowly.

"Someone paid me for it, ma'am" he answered. "For writing it, and delivering it as well."

You got tricked, she thought. Whoever sent you, didn't really care if you died.

"All right, Tom. Can you please tell me whatever you remember about that someone?"

"He seemed to be Chinese, ma'am. He dressed funny, as Chinese do. He smiled at me and told me to give his friend a note."

The child hadn't breathed during the speech; no wonder he ended up gasping. Poor, frightened boy…

"That's all right, Tom. Can you describe him for us to draw him" His hesitation was palpable. "I don't want you to make up a description; if you can't remember, we'll understand."

No one seemed understanding in the room. Still, he shook his head, gaze fixed in hers as if he knew death was coming and couldn't watch it.

"Good. Now I need a way to get in touch with you. You'll give your address to Jorge, there" she pointed to the gentlest bodyguard; thank God he had had sense enough to put his weapon away. "We won't disturb you unless we need you. And I promise –I do" she insisted, looking into the child's eyes "that we won't threat you. Now… Do you know anything else that would help us?"

The boy shook his head again, swallowing. The poor thing was sweating heavily.

"Look… if you tell us now, we won't have to call you later" she said. "You have nothing to fear, Tom."

Hard to believe, when two very large men with huge firepower faced him.

"Do you want some ice-cream?"

"I don't have any money for it, ma'am."

"I'm inviting you."

"I'm not hungry."

No wonder.

"Good-bye then, Tom. Please, forgive our behavior. Ray, guide him outside and give him five."

The boy kicked all the way outside, then his screams quieted all of a sudden.

"Five?"

"Five hundred in cash" she shrugged. "We scared the hell out of him; it will be easier to forget if he writes it down as business. I'd give him more if I thought he could handle it. I don't want him to be traumatized." The ice-cream was melting on the spoon. "Now… can you show me the message?"

"Please, don't ask that of me."

She flinched and looked at him.

"Dad, if that note would help…"

"It's just trouble, trust me."

"Dad…"

"Please, respect my criteria in this."

She held his gaze.

"I know you wouldn't endanger me because of a secret, dad" she said slowly. "You know you must show me that."

He looked straight into her eyes. In his there was a shade of guilt.

"That important, ah?" she frowned.

Her men ringed them as wolves.

"Tell me this couldn't help me" she asked.

She couldn't use her men's strength against her father, could she?

"Tell me, dad" she begged.

"This has nothing to do with bullets" he said slowly "and it reveals a part of my past that I myself would want to forget. You must respect your father's wishes regarding this."

And still, both of them held their breath –both, victims of protection- until she sighed.

"All right, dad."

But something was broken.

"See you later?" he tested.

"I'll be at my apartment."

"I know" Again her gaze asked. "Elliot told me" he added.

Men's alliance.

"Bye, dad"

She didn't see him leave, but her men followed him closely.

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Fifteen minutes she had stood in front of the apartment. The hand holding the key trembled when it neared the lock. Her men were close, but just then, Ray asked:

"Do you want us to check the place for you again?"

The detonator.

"No! Thank you, Ray."

"Do you have any reason to suspect there is some danger inside?"

"No, I'm sure there isn't."

Had they noticed the crack in her voice?

"In fact, I would rather not have you check on me each minute. I'll call you boys at midnight, for you to know I'm all right."

"By then you could be dead, madam. Please, let us…"

"No. I'm serious. I'll come back to you in half an hour. Under no circumstance you can come in."

Ray pressed his lips together. His gaze, full of suspicion, waved between her and the flat. But it wasn't his job to question her, and she had no reason to want to be murdered –or that he thought.

"We'll wait, madam."

At last, the key fit and turned.

Her place was dark, dark enough for her to see just the balcony; there was a full moon tonight. The breeze gently moved the curtains. She smelled no dust; her employees had done their work.

"Half an hour, madam" the man reminded her.

She closed the door behind her and placed her forehead against it, as well as a hand, at head's height, but sliding downwards. Her back was completely exposed.

"I love you" his voice said.

She flinched, turning, as her key fell from her hand.

"Are you all right?" Ray asked beyond the door, having heard the sound.

She turned quickly and answered before facing him again.

He was kneeling on a corner. She felt it, though no physical sense provided her with the info.

"Must I leave?" he asked quietly.

"Don't, please!"

"You are scared of me."

She swallowed hard. How to deny it? How to agree with it, without shattering her memories of them?

"You don't have to say anything. I won't try to… harm you… assault you" his voice did crack, "or anything…"

Ghostly fangs pierced her right breast. Funny, how she hadn't noticed the pain before.

"Would you let me heal it?"

"Vincent" it was a breathless, whispered scold.

"Let me…" he plead.

She never saw his hand until it touched her.

"Let me…"

"You just promised…"

"Am I hurting you?" He had stopped abruptly.

"You know what you're doing."

A heartbeat of silence.

"I'm seducing you" he replied quietly.

His voice didn't reveal any guilt at all. She gasped.

"Don't you think that's dishonest?"

"I don't" he answered; his breath barely touching her nape now. He was circling her. "You belong to me."

"I don't" she spoke; even as his low growl warned her: "In the eyes of the law…"

"To this city's laws, I don't exist" he pointed. "Is that true?"

She turned around, never finding his gaze.

"Don't I exist for you?"

"Vincent!" she called. "How can you say such a thing?"

"You are saying it" he indicated quietly.

She could hear his heart breaking, under all this growling and power. She reached for him; something must have guided her, for his arm was just where she sought it. Her soul reached for him as well. In the deep silence that followed, she could almost hear him purr.

He moved too fast for her to notice: his arms pushed her back against his warmth. She tightened, bracing herself for a fight she couldn't possibly win; but he stayed still.

"Let me take care of you."

"Would you do it without my consent?"

"Is that what you want?"

She didn't answer.

"Do you want me to ignore your words… to attend to the feelings that throb along with mine yet belong to you? Are you too shy to decide? Where is your courage, that you can't face yourself?"

His breath was warm against her ear. She looked through the balcony doors, never hearing her own trembling sigh.

"What happened to you?"

The coldness shook her. He wasn't close anymore, she could say it.

"Are you still here?"

Her voice echoed in the room. There was no answer. Then, all of a sudden, his voice returned, making her cringe.

"The moon has never looked white, ever since you left" He sounded casual. "Blue. I don't know why I never saw it before."

She spied through the balcony doors. He was right: the moon was a scary blue, like a disremembered ghost.

"And the stars… they are cold, haven't you noticed? But I can't bear the sunlight…"

"Have you tried…?"

Her eyes opened wider as he barred her mouth with a finger. But it wasn't as bad as she thought, since he answered:

"I have. Even Below, there are places… places where no Abover looks… holes in this floor, in that ceiling… But sunlight burns as Hell's fires"

"Vincent…"

She stepped towards the voice, then felt he had moved.

"I love you, and I want you" his voice darkened as he spoke. "I never told you before, did I?"

"No."

She turned around, but she met just darkness.

"Nothing would keep me away from you… but your rejection."

She turned to the balcony too late; the curtain was wavering one last time. There was no way to say if he had gone. Only her instinct. Yet, she was certain of it.

"Madam"

Ray's voice.

"I'm here."

"You haven't turned on the lights. Are you all right?"

With trembling hands, she did what he expected her to. A swift look around assured her that there was no one else.

"I am. Thank you, Ray. I'll sleep now."

Another push to the switch, and the apartment was dark again. Some part of her hoped Vincent had returned as well; other part didn't. The silence was oppressive.

"I should call Bennet" she said to herself.

The detective didn't answer; a machine did.

"Bennet, Burch here" she was brief. "My father received a note…"

"Catherine?"

Her name in the woman's voice startled her.

"What on Earth were you thinking to leave a message? Do you have any idea of how hunted you are?"

"I'm…" About to apologize, she stopped. "You should have reached the phone quicker!"

"I'm off-duty, at home"

Catherine stretched her ears. Bennet is gasping she noticed. The thought made her tremble: she counted on Bennet implicitly; she hadn't thought the detective would be… Sick? Human? Catherine shook her head, knowing that she was unfair. You were in the DA, and yet entitled to be sick. But it was hard to be in the victim's place… and it was hard to relate to Bennet. She felt… betrayed. And scared. Mostly scared.

"So? What did the note say?"

"The first one had my handwriting; it invited him to meet me. The second one was for him, and he didn't let me see it."

"Your father."

"Yes."

"Why wouldn't he let you see something that important?"

"I insisted. Apparently there is a secret in his past, and he thinks it has nothing to do with… shooting."

"Mrs. Burch, we know all this have little to do with shooting."

Her formal way of calling her put her back in her zone of comfort. She wondered why the detective –professional as she was- had called her by name. It wasn't comfortable anymore. And Catherine didn't like Bennet enough for making an exception.

"The first note… your handwriting?"

"I could have written it… but it would have been years ago…"

"Do you remember it?" Diana insisted.

"I remember lots of similar notes, nothing specific"

"Can I see the paper?"

"It's being examined as we speak." Catherine assured.

"Your facilities…?"

There was a silence.

"You knew."

"I know everything about you."

Not everything, Catherine thought as she looked to her balcony, and the moon she now knew was blue. Her heart sank to her stomach. I hope.

"Do you remember what it said… textually?"

Catherine squeezed her memories.

"No, but it wasn't long. It said that we were at the parlor down the corner, and invited him in. The other side said 'you promised'"

"We, in plural" Bennet checked.

"Yes."

"Can you think about the other part of the 'we'? Would that be Jenny, or Nancy?"

Catherine flinched.

"How do you…?"

"I know everything. Answer."

It's refreshing to be on the receiving end of orders once again, Catherine thought sarcastically.

"I don't think so… we met in college…"

"So the note may be older." Diana conjectured.

"I hadn't come into the parlor in quite a long time."

"How long?"

You guess. Don't you know everything? Catherine breathed deep.

"Early teens, I think."

"Did you have any friend back then?"

"Not the kind my father would meet." Catherine muttered.

"So we are talking about a time when: A) your father had time to meet you at the parlor –or you thought so- and B) you weren't afraid that he and your date would not get along."

"I guess that summons it."

"Now I need a name."

But as hard as Catherine thought, she found no one.

"Let's go to the second note. Your father said it was a secret."

"He said it was a part of his past…"

"A lover…"

"No!" Catherine cried.

Through the phone she could almost hear Bennet's eyebrows raising.

"No, I'm sure. He was devoted to my mother's sickness. Even after her death, it was years before he dated anyone."

"How can you be so positive?"

"I know my father."

"Do you know what secret he was talking about?"

Catherine bit her lips.

"However, a vengeance over your father would be a possibility… and a fresh angle from where we hadn't studied it… we would find something. I'll pay extra attention to your father's enemies."

"Not a woman" Catherine insisted stubbornly.

"Lawyers make lots of enemies."

Bennet sounded delighted.

"This time you got the messenger, didn't you?"

"It was a child. I have the address, but I really don't think he'll know anything else."

"I would want to check."

"Trust me in this" Catherine said. "I used to investigate, too. He spoke of a kind Chinese man, traditionally dressed. There were three guns aiming at him, and still he said he couldn't draw the man or describe it further. He was paid to write the letter…"

"Then he might know what it held."

Catherine would have hit her head against the wall.

"See?" Bennet said amenably. "We have to seek that boy and ask him."

"He fears me."

"Give me the address and I'll follow this clue"

"No!"

"Mrs. Burch" In Bennet's voice there was iron now "I'm investigating this, which means it's my responsibility to keep you alive. Don't you want to be alive?"

Catherine bit her lips.

"Mrs. Burch, are you there?"

"I might have an idea"

"Do you?"

There was some disappointment in the detective's voice. With that, Catherine could deal. Her feeble idea would be worth trying.

"I'll make a pair of phone calls. Could you meet me tomorrow –first hour?"

"I would prefer tonight."

"Dangerous address."

"We can't afford the child to forget anything."

Catherine sighed.

"Let's make it…" she checked on the clock. "Nine thirty?"

Bennet weighted it for a minute.

"Your place?"

"Yes."

"You better have something good."

The call ended abruptly with a tone.

"I will, Bennet. I will."

She steadied the receiver between ear and shoulder as she used that hand to make the call. The other found the phone number.

"Ralph… yes, I know it's late, but… No, it's not broken… in fact I'm not calling about the screen-phone… At my apartment. Could you come for a minute? I need to discuss something."

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Catherine smiled from a corner, watching as Bennet opened her arms cross-like so Ralph would cover her with wires. The detective seemed pale, and as much as she tried to mask it, she was quite obviously scared. And impressed. Mostly, scared.

"Be careful!" Bennet protested. Turning her gaze to the bodyguards, she scolded: "Don't you dare film!"

"They don't have cameras, Bennet" Catherine informed casually.

"I hope."

That wasn't exactly the most dignified position for being watched. Of course, that couldn't be helped; while the expensive devices must be placed under the lady's supervision, there were at least two possible threats for this one in the room, so her bodyguards wouldn't allow it… unless they were present too, keeping her in sight. Which summed five persons to make Bennet feel as a freak.

"Spread your legs, please" Ralph ordered in his very French accent.

Catherine still smiled while facing the very pissed off woman that was already more than half bound. You did need a lesson she thought, no longer ashamed of herself. You had it coming. Vengeance felt oh, so good. And cleaned up her system.

And however, there was no way Catherine would leave all the emotion to Bennet; she had to be there when the plot was revealed… even if virtually. A headcam, microphones and earphones would take care of that. Expensively but effectively too. They had taken the smallest devices they had found with so little time in advance –Japanese ones-; Bennet could carry them. And Catherine could afford it.

"Turn on the screen, please."

The display reflected itself, Ray just disappearing from the image –having fulfilled the request–. Bennet was quiet, perhaps too awestruck. And it was impressing. To watch television was a part of daily life; to make it as one walked, a live broadcast for other person to see it, was quite a different thing. Screen-phones were at an entire new level –even when one got accustomed to it. And Ralph –despite the French accent- was an artist.

"Let's test the microphone" this one suggested.

The women looked to one another –with some disgust.

"I'll go to my bedroom" Catherine offered. "The detective here is chained…"

"No… I could use some practice in moving"

To be fair, Bennet walked more gracefully than Catherine had thought she would.

Ralph closed the door behind her, and handed Catherine something. It was a heavy box, very much like a walkie-talkie.

"What do you want to know?" Bennet asked from it.

Cathy found the button to speak. A red one.

"All right, it works from this part. Yours?"

"Yyy! Trying to turn the volume down."

"That button allows her to hear you" Ralph confirmed, "and the blue one is for you to hear her." Catherine tested them. "You have both controls."

Catherine weighted the box.

"Can't I interact with the display in the same way?"

"Yes, but your voice wouldn't be transmitted…"

"That would prove not to be required."

"Humor me, Bennet."

"I'm doing so."

Catherine grinned. She knew –they both did- that the detective wouldn't have allowed this, if Catherine hadn't been the one with the witness' address. An interchange. So far, it had been satisfactory -to her.

Ralph took the box from her hand.

"She can come back" he said, adjusting something in it.

"So…" Catherine watched her walk, somewhat stiff. "The plan is…"

"There is no plan, Mrs. Burch" Bennet said tiredly. "It's an interrogatory –a pretty informal one, to a child. In fact, it doesn't deserve that name…"

Catherine's gaze could have killed.

"Then why were you worried…?"

"I'm just used to free motion" Bennet defied her with a gaze "and to have such a thing is vital in fieldwork –not to mention New York Streets at night. You should know that…"

Her satisfaction triggered something ugly in Catherine, but she never got to answer.

"All right" Ralph fingered Bennet earphone. "I lowered the volume"

"Must we test again…?"

"Getting late. I'm going now" Bennet headed to the door, retrieving a piece of paper from the nearest table. "The boy's address, isn't it?"

"Go" Catherine assented.

The lady's hungry gaze followed the detective until the door closed. No one interrupted the silence –and no bodyguard left- until she sighed and turned to Ralph. The walkie was on the table, its light turned off –as the device itself, Catherine guessed-; what he handed her now was the control of the screen.

"The monitor is recording everything…"

"I thought I couldn't talk through it…"

"And you can't" Ralph wasn't known for his patience "You can rewind the record or fast-forward it, just like the screen-calls. It overwrites every thirty-six hours" Wow "You didn't give me time to get best resources."

"Do we need more hours?"

"It depends on what you use it for" he reminded her; not that he cared, but she hadn't given him much data. "Do you have any question?"

Catherine watched the control.

"I think I can manage"

"You have me on the other side of the phone"

He took his coat and left.

The screen showed the windshield. Bennet was driving faster than she should. A chess bishop wavered between her and the road.

"You need both hands on the wheel" Catherine said to the box.

Bennet didn't answer, which must mean that it was turned off. The blond found the switch.

"Do you hear me?"

"Mrs. Burch" she answered. The speedometer's needle moved slightly right.

"Don't break that equipment"

Catherine's heart beat faster. She was back. Through other person's eyes, but she was back.

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A/N: You probably don't need this info as I'm sure you have grasped it yourselves, but from now on, words coming from the walkie will be in italics, signifying distortion. So they come from whoever is afar.

Of course sometimes words in italics would signify imaginings or thoughts or… but I'm sure you'll be able to tell depending upon context.

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Preview:

Pride filled her lungs as she looked at him in silence. Pride and certainty. Deeply ingrained from the times when his presence meant everything would be all right. Part of her knew this was her putting him on a pedestal; but it wasn't as if he didn't deserve it. The other part –the part that knew how good he was- was sure. Whatever it was, they would find it.

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