Hawke glanced up from his book at the clock; it was five minutes after the last time he checked and still just after one in the morning. The living room was cast in a cosy glow with only one small lamp by Hawke's side lighting the room. He was slouched on the sofa; legs stretched in front of him, a book in one hand. He could have passed as a picture of relaxed contentment if not for the fingers of his free hand which drummed the side of the sofa in an angry rhythm. His head suddenly cocked to one side; the hum of a car engine; Caitlin was finally home. He put the book down and stood up. His eyes met hers accusingly when she walked in the door.

Caitlin froze at the sight of Hawke; she'd worked with him, been his friend long enough to see the anger bubbling under the impassive surface. She slowly closed the door and slipped her jacket off her shoulders to hang it up; grateful she'd had the foresight to change out of the revealing waitress outfit and into her usual garb of jeans and shirt.

'I didn't think you'd still be up.' She said keeping her voice low and turning back to him. 'Le asleep?'

'He's with Dom.' Hawke said in a polite tone that had her tensing. 'Where've you been?'

Caitlin folded her arms over her chest. She considered his still expression. 'I get the feeling you already know.'

'Dammit, Cait.' Hawke snapped. 'I told you to keep out of it.'

'And I told you that I could be useful,' she shot back, 'only you ignored me, like always.'

'This isn't a game, Caitlin.' Hawke began angrily taking a couple of steps toward her.

'You think I don't know that?' Caitlin said moving into the room to stand directly in front of him. They were toe to toe. 'Darrow's a creep, I get it. It's a dangerous, risky op. Guess what? I get that too.'

'You went there alone and without back-up. You could have been killed.' Hawke's voice was low but his eyes flashed at her. 'What the hell were you thinking?'

They stared furiously at each other and the room filled with an uneasy tension, part anger and part something else that had Caitlin suddenly lowering her gaze.

She sighed, the anger draining out of her. 'I wasn't. Thinking, that is.' She admitted and stepped around him to slump tiredly onto the sofa. She closed her eyes and massaged her temples in a futile effort to shift a headache.

Hawke looked down at her pale, strained face and felt his own fury melt away; leaving only the worry that had prompted it. He sat down beside her.

'You just made me so mad relegating me to the background checks.' Caitlin muttered before she opened her eyes and turned her head to look at him. 'You always seem to forget that I used to be a pretty decent cop before I met you.'

Hawke sighed; he wasn't quite sure how to respond. He leaned back and met her reproachful gaze. 'I tend to forget that you had a life at all before you joined the team.' He admitted ruefully.

His comment raised a small smile from her. She shifted to face him fully. 'I'm sorry I worried you.'

Hawke nodded. 'You look wiped out.'

She caught her breath at the concern shining from his eyes. 'I am.' She smiled. 'I'd forgotten what hard work being a waitress is.'

'You eaten?'

'Not really.'

'Come on.' Hawke stood up and offered her a hand. 'I'll make you some soup.'

She allowed him to pull her to her feet. 'I think I'll take you up on that offer.'

It didn't take Hawke long to put together the soup and set the table. He waited until she'd ploughed through half of the food before he asked her whether she'd learned anything at the Dancing Lounge.

She stirred the soup thoughtfully. 'Honestly, not much.' Caitlin fiddled with the spoon and set it aside. 'I did overhear a conversation that Darrow had with two men who visited with him. I think they were talking about the auction but I didn't have much of a chance to listen.' She slumped back in her chair and tried to remember exactly what had been said. 'One of them said the buyers were ready. Darrow wanted to wait.' Her eyes widened and she sat forward. 'The second guy, he said the warehouse was getting some heat.'

'Warehouse?' Hawke mused and went to get the folder Michael had given him. He flipped through the paperwork and handed her a sheet which listed all the property that Darrow owned. He pointed out a section on the paper. 'Darrow owns three warehouses down by the old docks.'

'Two are empty.' Caitlin pointed out. 'One is leased to a textile company…there's a note here from Meryl…she followed up. There should be a sheet on a Farrick Textiles?'

Hawke rifled through the disordered folder and plucked out a piece of paper. He frowned. 'Farrick Textiles…owned by a guy called Matt Sterling. Sterling is on the FBI watch-list for organised crime.'

'Darrow's partner?' Caitlin mused.

'Maybe.' Hawke rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'According to this Sterling is the big league. Darrow's a pretty small fish in comparison. It seems unlikely that they would be working together.'

'Maybe…' Caitlin tapped the folder, 'maybe Darrow's slave trade is providing a cover for Sterling doing something else.'

'What do you mean?'

'Misdirection.' Caitlin explained. 'It's the oldest trick in the magician's handbook. Darrow provides the distraction and Sterling gets to pull something else off under everyone's noses.' She concluded. 'He must be paying Darrow really well to get him to take that kind of risk.'

'Or maybe Darrow doesn't even realise it.' Hawke said. 'Michael's going to want in on this.' His eyes flickered to the shadows under Caitlin's eyes. 'But it can wait till morning. You head up, get some sleep. I'll clear up.'

Caitlin nodded and Hawke watched her walk up the stairs. He sighed at the sound of her bedroom door closing. It had been a tense evening. He'd realised what she'd done almost immediately after he'd arrived home with Le and Dom and found the house was empty. Dom had taken one look at his face and offered to take Half-pint for the night. Hawke had left the house twice to go to the Dancing Lounge and get her. He'd even gotten as far as the end of the street the second time before he'd stopped realising that if he stormed into the bar he would blow whatever cover she might have constructed. He had mentally given her until two o'clock…and worried the whole time about whether the decision would cost Caitlin her life.

Hawke pushed a hand through his hair and stood up, gathered the dishes and headed to the kitchen. He'd been so relieved to hear her car, to see her walk through the door; if anything had happened to her…his hands shook. He put the bowl he was washing on the drainer and braced himself against the sink, took a deep breath. She thought he kept her out of it because he underestimated her abilities; he wondered what she would say if he told her it was because he was bone scared he would lose her one day like he'd lost so many people in his life already. He shook himself. He was tired. Too tired if he was thinking about…he dried his hands and headed up the stairs.