Catherine didn't speak to him as she grasped the control. Newly bathed, she felt much more in control. She just didn't know what to say to him… or how to look at him, for that matter. Instead, she weighted the black box and took it to her mouth.

"Bennet?"

"What were you doing?"

"You don't expect me to answer that, do you?"

The screen was turned on; a creamy wall, it showed.

"Are you inside?"

"It's polite to come on time"

"You should have waited for me"

"How long?"

Catherine bit a harsh response. There was someone coming –a woman, with long nails and a fancy haircut-, her eyes looking straight at Diana.

"He'll see you right away"

The point of view rose and passed the woman. A minute later, Diana answered:

"See? He rewards punctuality."

Vincent's gaze was on Catherine –he must be close to her bedroom's door. Hard as she tried, she couldn't avoid to picture him, arms crossed, his back against the wall, and his eyes piercing blue into her soul. She tried to ignore his presence; but it itched all over, made her shiver with memories too new…

"Bennet?" she called, almost for help.

But Diana had arrived to Robins' study. From her –their- point of view, the scholarly environment was obvious in the tall bookshelves covering the walls, the sober desk covered with documents… there was little more. On the desk, there was the picture of a teenager, dressed in green. Diana neared it. Something looked familiar there.

"Detective?"

She turned to the voice. A gray-haired man was entering the room. He limped a bit, but there was something sensual in his lips as he smiled.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm working on a case, and it led me to Dr. Phoínikes. I understand that you worked with him."

"Yes."

The man walked slowly beside his desk, to stand before it.

"Did you ever know Caroline Chandler?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not allowed to talk about her."

"Why?"

"I'm sure you know the answer."

"You must keep your patient's confidentiality" she tested. "Yet, this patient's daughter is in danger now. I'm sure her mother would understand."

He shook his head.

"I'm sorry, but if that was the purpose of your visit, you lost your time."

Diana was taking the pictures out of her pocket.

"Do you recognize this woman, Mr?"

His expression showed he did. It revealed more: he wanted to keep the picture. He took the images in his hand and looked at each one of them before answering:

"I have never seen her."

"I need the truth."

He looked right into her eyes as he lied again:

"I have never seen her, detective. I know she is my patient's daughter; they are so alike… But why do you assume I have seen her before?"

"She has been attacked. Do you know why?"

He looked at her, then shook his head slowly.

"What was she being treated for?"

"I can't answer that."

He left the pictures on the desk, facing the wood.

"I'm not investigating her death, Mr."

"I didn't kill her." He smiled slightly, as if the mere thought was ridiculous to him.

Like mother, like daughter.

"You had an affair… how far did you go?"

Catherine flinched as the nurse straightened -a serious expression on his face.

"That question is simply offensive. I won't answer that."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Robins, but I need to get to the bottom of this. I don't really care about morality. Can you please answer the question?"

He looked at her, then said:

"It has been twenty years. Why would Caroline be under investigation?"

"Why do you call her by name?" Diana pointed out sweetly.

Whatever had been left of his smile disappeared.

"Am I being interrogated?" he asked quietly.

"It was just a remark."

"It sounded to me like an accusation,"

"Why would I accuse you?"

"Bennet, be careful!" Catherine said through the machine.

It was too late.

"I admitted you in my home, detective" he pointed out, his voice freezing "and you are being impolite, to say the least. Please, leave now."

She looked straight at his eyes as her lips tightened, until she asked:

"May I have the pictures."

"Sure."

His back was the last thing she saw of the study. She stepped resolutely towards the chilled night that awaited.

"You pressed too hard" Catherine scolded.

"That way, he gave me some answers he didn't want to."

"For example…?"

"Your mother wasn't completely insane."

"We never said…!"

"Her file was in the psychiatry department; that much we know."

Catherine swallowed.

"Think positive, Mrs. Burch: Mrs. Chandler might not be guilty."

"My mother did nothing…"

"… but to sleep with Mr. Robins"

Catherine opened her mouth, speechless as the screen turned blackish.

"How can you…?"

"I wonder…" Diana interrupted, as her gaze turned to her hands, where she still held Catherine's pictures. She glanced through them: a young Catherine smiling, Catherine in her wedding, Catherine on a horse… and one that Catherine didn't recognize at all. The girl in it looked like her, though.

"You can't just take that without an order…"

"Relax, lawyer" Diana mocked her, "It's not a proof I would present in court."

"You just stole…!"

Diana turned the picture. Someone had written something behind.

"Max" Diana read aloud, more for her than for her bossy charge on the other side of the line. "I wonder if she lives here."

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Catherine's indignation vanished.

"Come. Bring it. We'll take it to Edie…" she planned.

The screen's image shifted from one view to another, as if Bennet was looking around. Catherine closed her eyes, still feeling as if her head was moving out of control. Seasick.

"I guess I've got a best way to find out."

The screen showed walls again. It moved so fast that Catherine looked away.

"Couldn't you just… ask the secretary?"

"I trust my guts."

She was looking straight to a set of green curtains.

"There is light inside"

"There is no one."

Catherine had almost wanted her not to be right, but the screen wavered from one side to the other of an empty room.

"How were you sure?"

"I have a good ear."

The room was beautiful, painted in green but furnished in cream: a bed, a chest of drawers, a mirror, a cuddly bear…

"She doesn't stay here for long."

"No, it's too perfect" Catherine agreed. "As if it came straight from a movie"

I wonder if this girl does exist at all.

Bennet opened a drawer with a swift movement. Catherine bit her tongue, as the screen showed pants and bras. Bennet's hands hovered over them, not touching- she hadn't found anything remotely clue-like. At least, the detective was being careful.

"But these have been used."

"That doesn't tell us who the girl is."

"Anxious, now" Bennet said neutrally while closing that drawer. The image shifted again. "That does" the detective pointed out, as she approached a picture. Mrs. Robins and Max, dancing; over them, a cartel hung: "Father-daughter ball". It wasn't the only picture. Max kissed a boy in another one, and she received some kind of prize in a third one.

"There is no mother" Bennet said. The image shifted again.

Just then, Catherine felt his closeness, and the rest of the world disappeared.

He was beside her. He hasn't looked at the screen. She shivered, hoping he'd come closer, hoping he'd leave… not knowing what she would do if he did. When his voice came, she closed her eyes and swallowed.

"You were ashamed"

She pressed her thighs together, as the wave of memories came. His weight. His size. His voice. "I love you"

The completeness…

"Did our… lovemaking… cause you shame?"

"I have other things to do now, Vincent…"

"You sound helpless."

The control trembled in her hand, and she put it between her thighs. Never before she had been so aware of his dark nature.

"You keep closing our bond to me."

"Of course I do."

Everything stayed still. She thought he had moved, but with the bond so tightly closed what she could feel from him was very little. Her talent with it had never been great to begin with. She felt he was split: the part of him that was puzzled, and the serene part that mourned her shame. Nothing deeper.

"You have changed."

"So have you."

"You have darkened."

There was a silence, and then his answer:

"Of course I have."

She wanted to turn, to face his eyes, but she was scared. She would see it –the change- when she looked straight to the eyes of the only thing she hadn't wanted to change.

"Did you feel it… before?" he asked.

She didn't answer.

Of course you did…

"Is that the reason why you are ashamed?"

"No" she whispered. "Why would that shame me?"

She wetted her lips, but she couldn't keep them from trembling. There was still the question in his eyes, and she felt it –even though she didn't see them. She dropped her head.

"The right thing to do" she said slowly, "was what we did before… To leave each other… To relinquish our dream… I committed to another"

The sound grew from stifled to thundering growl. Something warm ran down her cheeks.

"I can't love him… but I owed him…" Her voice, in its quietness, overcame his and echoed as if in the silence, "I owed him to not meet love again. To not meet you…"

"How can you say this?"

"Mrs. Burch, are you there?" Bennet's voice came.

"Mrs. Burch, are you all right?" her men asked from the door.

Her title seemed to echo, mocking them.

"I am!"

"We heard…"

"… a movie" she cried her answer.

She was looking for their empathy. His internal deepness had turned it off, even though she had a feeling that… He was serene, once again. The growl had stopped. His shadow walked around her, quiet and dark as a predator. She turned her ear to him, almost afraid of losing her last sense of him.

"Your lips say that you belong to him" he didn't hesitate at the words "but your heart says otherwise…" His voice surrounded her as he did. "I know it… I feel it… I feel your love… for me…"

She looked down as she shrank, knees bending, arms coming slowly to hug herself. Yet, as much as she tried to keep him at her back… There was no way… There was no way to hide… from him…

"That's what shames you"

In that whisper, there was a roar of triumph.

You shouldn't be…

"I know" he answered, his voice now cool. "Your shame does not bring me pride nor pleasure. "Yet…"

Something warm touched her back where shoulder and neck met; she shivered, willing it to be a caress.

"I was afraid…" his voice purred, "of your rightness… If you were to send me away…"

The mere thought left him breathless, drowning, then… I can't… A languid thought of hers.

Her craving was fulfilled. A tender finger slid following the curve, and she exposed her neck slightly before noticing.

"What can't you do?"

She didn't answer. He neared her neck, his face just out of her vision field, but his warmth… There was nothing like his warmth, caressing her arms down her shoulder. Suddenly, the back of a hand slid her hair over her shoulder, freeing her nape.

"What can't you do?"

She breathed out. Dizziness was engulfing her; she didn't know if her eyes were open. She just knew of the tickling on her other shoulder, as he rubbed his nose against it. His fur was softer than she had ever thought.

"What… What are you doing…?"

"Rewarding you" he said with humor.

She shivered. His breath was caressing her nape, and it felt…

"Stop"

Please, don't stop…

He smiled, but didn't answer to any of her pleas. He had his own.

His arms slid around her waist and gently pulled her to him over the back of the sofa, until she sat there. His left hand rose, the wrist caressed her right breast through the sweated silky fabric and he let it slid –the peak caressing the palm- until there were his fingers.

She gasped, anticipating, but he simply caressed the covered skin with the back of his fingers. His mind was with his other hand, heading her nether places. She opened her thighs, then closed them tightly before he had gotten there.

"Do you want me to stop?"

His breath, from behind her left ear, melt her. She leaned back, and he came forth to support her.

"Stop"

"I nearly can't hear you, Catherine"

The edge of her dress was the only thing caressing her as he lifted it.

"You know you must stop"

But when he started kneading her nipple, she simply forgot his other hand… until it reached its goal, of course. His middle finger slid in thick cream between her nether lips. She gasped and breathed out slowly.

"Why?" he asked.

By then, Catherine had forgotten what they were talking about. And how to speak.

Vincent closed his eyes while he breathed out and let himself be carried by her storm.

His face neared her neck, and he let his lips slid over her skin, opening and closing them so the sensible wet mucosae inside would do the job. His right hand sank deeper, never letting the claw touch her; her thighs closed around. This time they seemed to be keeping him where he was. He stepped forth, wanting to feel all of her against him. Her hands moved for the first time, to hold his left hand to her breast. He had been teasing it; she wanted it to stop… and not to stop.

With a low growl, he took her to him and half turned her.

"Mrs. Burch…" the dark box called, with Diana's voice.

She noticed the pressure first, in her breast and straight down to her womb; then, the wetness there. It wasn't his hand. She reached up to grab his neck, to keep it just where it was.

"Mrs. Burch… are you looking at this?"

Her moans were driving him crazy. He needed her down, on the floor… on any horizontal surface, where he would love her.

"Mrs. Burch, your silence has been most welcome, but it has served its purpose. Now can you bring your Greek dictionary?"

He roared at the screen, releasing her breast. Catherine still held him tight. In a moment, her frustration would reach him through the empathy they shared… making his more difficult to bear. As he looked at her enthralled face, he was about to grasp the box himself and send Diana to…

And still, he knew he must stop. Catherine needed to be there, whatever Diana had found it would have something to do with her mother.

He felt her gather her control, even before opening her eyes. Thankfully. He didn't think he would have held back if her wide pupils had ordered otherwise. It was hard enough to bear her panting.

"Let me down" she whispered.

He was about to let her on the couch, when she fought.

"Not here"

The sofa Burch had bought for her… Don't want to soil it.

"Bennet?"

"Finally" the detective whispered. "I thought this might interest you"

Yellowish pages, covered by Greek characters, just like the ones Dr. Phoínikes had left back in the archives. In fact, they could easily have come from there.

Vincent was very silent. Diana's camera was focused on the papers, still. It hadn't taken so long for the scholar to read the previous files. Catherine wondered what was taking him that much time. She didn't dare ask.

In fact, she wondered childishly if they'd talk ever again. She was deeply ashamed, in two different levels. A particular image came to her mind and she blushed as she tried to blink it away. His innate sensuality, previously suspected but not to this extent, was making her lose control of her thoughts and partially of her actions, as she felt helpless and naïve, a bit like a virgin. And to think that I'm supposed to be the experienced one… Exciting as it was, she was well aware that these thoughts and practices were to be had only with her husband, and that she couldn't get herself to care enough.

"I have to go" he whispered.

"What did it read?"

He wasn't looking at her. Gathering his cloak seemed to require his full attention. His grace made her think back to the way he had moved, and her gaze wavered until she looked away. You seem like a teenager, for God's sake, she thought. She didn't like it. She didn't like being out of control. She didn't know what she had got herself into. Vincent, of all men… She no longer knew this man. Even though she loved him…

"I'll be back in an hour" he said. "Will you be all right?"

She nodded, and he was gone.

She breathed deeply. The room seemed enormous now. And safe. And unnerving.

"What… What do you think?"

"I don't know, Bennet" Catherine answered between clenched teeth. "I don't read Greek"

A heartbeat. Diana closed her eyes as relief washed over her. They aren't together.

"Could have told me so before. Maybe you should read this instead"

It was a cute pink folder.

"I found the papers here"

Diana opened it revealing pieces of paper folded letter-style. In the first one of them, in childish, big letters, she could read: "Mom"

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Preview:

Catherine straightened on her seat. In the record, Bennet was obviously watching the balcony. She didn't want her to do that. It was her secret place –Vincent's haven-, she didn't want a detective looking at there. Or in there. And Bennet had walked towards it. In Catherine's mind there was the image of herself, placing her hand against the cold glass, willing her body to slip through it.

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