Catherine was just out of the shower when she heard a noise. Quickly she put on her evening robe and opened the glass terrace doors. A dark silhouette came towards her. Strong, warm arms wrapped around her and she buried her face in layers of thick, woolen clothing that smelled of sandalwood and candle wax.
"Catherine," Vincent whispered in her hair. "Are you alright?"
She sighed against his chest.
"I can't believe I just saw Joe get stabbed. It feels like a horrible dream."
"How is he?"
She loosened her embrace and bent backward a little, so she could see his face.
"The doctors wouldn't let me see him. He's in critical condition …"
Tears welled up in her eyes.
"I've been trying to remember his case files," she said in a soft, shaky voice, "trying to think of who may have done this."
"You can look through the files in the morning," Vincent suggested. "It's important to get some rest."
She moaned in protest.
"How can I rest? Joe is fighting for his life. He's my friend, Vincent."
"I know ..."
His voice sounded calm and reasonable.
"… but Joe needs you to be sharp and alert."
She took a deep breath.
"You are right," she admitted. "I have to take Denise to meet her aunt in the morning too."
"She would understand if you rather postponed it," Vincent said.
Catherine shook her head. Shiny strands of gold danced in her silky brown hair.
"I promised. Besides, it might make me feel less helpless."
"You will find who did this," Vincent instilled her. "Of that there is no doubt in my mind."
She forced a bleak smile and rested her cheek on his shoulder.