Shield Of Justice

Chapter One

Dr. Catherine Rawlings pushed the last patient file aside with a sigh and glanced at the clock. Nine-twenty pm. Her days seemed to be getting longer despite her frequent resolutions to reduce her evening office hours. Since she taught full-time at the medical school, she had limited time for private patients, and yet she constantly found herself making "one more" exception and adding another patient to her already crowded schedule. She ran a slender hand through her shoulder-length auburn hair and tried to shake the fatigue out of her neck and back muscles. She looked forward to a hot bath and a cold drink.

She was half-way to the door when the intercom on her desk buzzed. With a frown of surprise, she turned at the sound. At this time of night, with her office hours over, her secretary, Joyce, rarely put a call through. Puzzled, she leaned across the wide teak desk to push the return button.

"Yes?" Catherine asked.

"Theres a Detective Sergeant Frye here to see you, Doctor," Joyce replied in the voice she reserved for professional exchanges. Catherine noted the serious tone and replied immediately, "Show him in, Joyce."

Catherine sat down behind her desk, wondering what had prompted a visit from the police. She occasionally did consultation work for the police, but it was never on an emergent basis. She looked up as Joyce pushed the heavy mahogany door open. Joyces face revealed her curiosity, but she had no time to speak before a figure moved from behind her and strode into the room. Catherine was used to revealing little of her inner feelings by the expressions on her face, and she was glad of that now. For she would not have liked her surprise, and chagrin, to be displayed to the woman who approached her.

Catherine noted the gold shield clipped to the waistband of the detectives grey gabardine trousers and the tailored fit of her navy-blue blazer.Vikingwas a term that flashed through Catherines mind, and it certainly seemed appropriate. The woman was tall, blond-haired, blue-eyed, and moved with a degree of assuredness that suggested she was rarely intimidated. She was slender, but there was power in the sleek lines of her shoulders and narrow hips. Altogether, Detective Frye presented a most imposing and attractive figure.

Catherine rose to accept the detectives outstretched hand.

"Dr. Rawlings, Im Detective Sergeant Rebecca Frye. Im sorry to disturb you, but I need to ask you a few questions." Her voice was as cool as Catherine expected it to be, totally professional, revealing nothing. Catherine nodded, settling into her high-backed leather chair, waiting expectantly.

Rebecca chose her opening words carefully. She was a relentless interrogator when she needed information, and she desperately needed it now. However, she was also experienced, and this was a situation in which professional issues were cloudy. She studied the psychiatrist seated across from her, trying to get a fix on the best way to proceed.

She saw a woman in her late thirties, classically attractive, composed, not appearing anxious or hostile, regarding her expectantly. Rebecca found her unreadable. She decided on the straight-forward approach. She pulled a small black notebook from the inside of her jacket, flipped it open and glanced at it cursorily.Maybe a little surprise will soften her up.

"Dr. Rawlings, do you have a patient by the name of Janet Ryan?" she asked. Rebecca had hoped to catch her off guard, but the grey-green eyes that regarded her were calm, almost gentle.

"Detective," Catherine said softly, leaning forward over her desk, "surely you know that I cant answer that question."

Oh, fuck, not this again!Rebeccas irritation was intense, but she fought to contain it. God, how she hated dealing with these ethically rigorous types, when all she needed was a little assistance. These were the very people who kept saying that the special crimes unitreadsexcrimes unitwasnt responsive enough to the needs of the community. It was damn hard to be effective when no one wanted to tell you anything, including the victims themselves sometimes. But Rebeccawaseffective, precisely because she wouldnt allow the resistance of professionals or the fear of victims to deter her. She could be persistent to the point of belligerence, but she never harassed the victim. With them she was infinitely patient, explaining as many times as necessary how she could help if given the chance. Most of the time her sincerity and compassion won their cooperation, and she was able to bring an offender to trial who might otherwise have gone free. This time the stakes were so high that her usual imperturbation was taxed to the limit.

"Believe me, Doctor, I wouldnt be here if this werent serious. I understand that you have to protect your patients privacy, but this is official police business."

"I believe you, but police business or not, that does not supersede my responsibility to my patients," Catherine replied quietly, lacing her fingers together. "Perhaps if you could tell me what this is about?"

"I presume youve heard of the recent attacks along the River Side Drive?"

Catherines face grew tense as she nodded.

Good, that got some reaction!

"We have reason to believe that Janet Ryan witnessed the third attack by the same perpetrator around six oclock tonight. I need to find out what she saw."

"Why dont you ask her?"

"Because shes in the intensive care unit at University Central. Shes got some pretty nasty bruises; shes nearly incoherent; and the best weve been able to ascertain is that she cant remember anything about what happened. Your business card was in her purse."

Oh, lord, Janet!Catherine stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the downtown skyline. After a moments deliberation, she turned her gaze on the detective who sat silently watching her.

"Would you mind stepping into the waiting room for a few moments? I need to make a phone call."

Rebecca rose immediately, sensing that the psychiatrist was trying to meet her half way. Before she broke eye contact, Rebecca said vehemently, "I want this bastard, Doctor. I want him off the streets before he touches one more woman." She thought she saw a flicker of rage that matched her own in the green eyes that held hers. "Right now, I can use any help you can give me."

Chapter Two

As soon as the door closed behind Rebecca, Catherine reached for a file from her bottom drawer. Turning to the personal intake form, she jotted down a number. She dialed quickly, praying she wouldnt get one of those infernal answering machines. To her relief, a human voice answered after only two rings.

"Hello?"

Sensitive to the slightest nuance of tone or expression, Catherine heard the anxiety and fear in the young womans voice, and began gently.

"Barbara? This is Dr. Rawlings"

"Its Janet, isnt it?" Barbara interrupted tremulously. "She should have been home hours ago, and she always calls if shes going to be late. What is it? Whats happened?"

"I dont know all the details, but I know that Janet is in the hospital. Shes alive and in no immediate danger. Do you understand that, Barbara? Janet is injured, but she was able to speak with the police a little."

"Oh, god! Where is she?"

"University Central. I was afraid you hadnt been notified." Catherine cursed the system that ignored the most important relationship in a persons life when it mattered most. "I know you want to be there, Barbara, but theres something I need to discuss with you first. The police are here at my office. They believe that Janet may have witnessed a crime. They need some information. Id like to help them as much as I can if youll trust me to protect Janets confidences." She hated to do this to Barbara now; her anxiety was practically palpable over the phone, but she couldnt discuss Janet Ryan with the police without the consent of Janets designated medical power of attorney. She was stretching the definition as it was, but she knew Janet well, and made the judgement that Janet would have given her permission herself had she been able.

"Yes, of coursewe both trust you. Do what you think is best. Please, I need to go now!"

"Do you have someone to drive you there?"

"Ill call Carol--shell go with me. Thank you for calling me--"

Catherine was left with a dial tone sounding in her ear. She replaced the phone gently in its cradle and walked to the door. Pulling it open she found Detective Frye slumped in a chair, her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle. For the first time Catherine noted the deep circles under her eyes and the lines of fatigue that marred her otherwise flawless face. The well-tailored clothes were also rumpled from hours of wear.She looks like she hasnt been to bed for days.

"Detective," she called softly.

Rebecca Frye jolted upright, her eyes snapping open. She focused instantly on Catherine. "Yes?"

"Come in, please."

When they were once again seated, Catherine spoke. "Janet Ryanismy patient. Im not sure how I can help you, however."

"I dont know either," Rebecca responded in obvious frustration. "We need a statement from her as to what happened tonight, but sheclaimsshe doesnt remember anything that happened. Is she likely to lie to us?"

"I doubt it," Catherine answered with certainty, "but it would help if you could tell me what the circumstances are."

"A twenty-year old woman was savagely beaten and sexually assaulted around six pm tonight. We found your patient wandering around not far from the site just before seven pm. The rape victim is in a coma, Dr. Rawlings. Shes one of the lucky ones. The first two victims are dead. We need a break--and your client may be that break."

"Surely youve had the psychiatrist on call see her?"

Rebecca nodded and consulted her notes. "A Dr. Raymond Bauer."

"I know Ray," Catherine remarked. "What did he say?"

"That it could be traumatic amnesia--shock induced by whatever she may have seen."

Catherine nodded in agreement. "Very possibly."

"Is Janet Ryan a stable person?"

"What do you mean?"

Rebecca was too tired to hide her annoyance. Why did these people insist on answering one question with another one? "Imean, Doctor, is Janet Ryan likely to fake this amnesia thing-- for attention, or a thrill, or to fuck with the police?"

Catherine regarded Rebecca silently for a moment. She would have been irritated if she hadnt recognized the frustration and fatigue in the womans face. This case obviously affected her strongly.

"Janet Ryan is a very reliable young woman, and I would be very surprised if she didnt do everything in her power to assist you."

Rebecca started to point out that people were capable of all types of subterfuge, given the right motivation, but she was interrupted by the sound of her pager. Grimacing at the intrusion, she flicked it off with her thumb and pointed to the phone.

"May I?"

"Of course," Catherine replied. She watched Rebecca as she dialed, appreciating again the tension that radiated from her body. She had leaned one hip against the edge of the desk and was facing toward the windows, her profile to Catherine. If she was aware of Catherines scrutiny, she didnt show it. Her eyes were fixed on the streets below, but Catherine doubted that she actually saw the life passing outside. She seemed impervious to distractions. Catherine wondered what price that kind of focus and control exacted from the self-contained woman before her.

"Frye here," Rebecca said as the dispatcher picked up. She raised an eyebrow as she listened, "When?--Yes, Im there now--All right, fifteen minutes." She replaced the receiver and turned to Catherine. "Janet Ryan is asking for you."

Catherine rose quickly. "Ill go now."

Rebecca reached the door first, pulling it open. "Ill drive you."

Catherine understood that this was not a request, and lengthened her stride to match that of the taller womans beside her. It was clear that Rebecca Frye was not used to giving up until she got what she wanted.

Chapter Three

Jeffrey Cruz found Rebecca in the patient waiting area on the fifth floor of University Central, feeding nickels into the coffee machine. He banged her lightly on the shoulder as he stepped up beside her.

"Hey, Reb--hows it hanging?"

She looked at her partner, noting the sallow color of his normally tanned skin, and shrugged tiredly. "Better than yours. You get anything?"

"Not much--same perp--blood type O, semen matches, and he did her up the as--uh, sodomy, just like the first two."

Rebecca took a deep swallow of her coffee, wincing at the cardboard aftertaste. "Yeah, well, the rest of it fits, too. A jogger again, same time of day--early evening, not yet dark. No pattern to the location though--nothing suspicious in the area either. Theres miles of park along the river; we cant possibly cover it all."

Jeff slumped into the plastic seat beside her, shaking his head. "Somethings funny, Reb. The park isalwayscrowded--kids on bikes, runners, not to mention cops--and nobody sees nothing. Nobody notices anyone just hanging around, or in a hurry to get somewhere--he just comes and goes without a trace." He laughed sourly at his own joke.

Rebecca shook her head, as frustrated as her partner. "Theres a lot of brush along those trails, Jeff. Once he grabs someone, he can just pull them off into the scrub. Then theyre invisible." She had been to her Captain twice since the first assault, pleading for extra patrols to stake out the River Drives. His answer had been the same each time--yes, this was a nasty crime; yes, he cared about catching the son of a bitch; and, no, he couldnt spare the people to beef up surveillance. They had to do the best they could with what they had, and Rebecca was haunted by the knowledge that it wasnt enough.

"Well,hesstill got to get out," Jeff observed. "He has to leave on foot, or maybe on a bicycle.

"Maybe somebodydidsee something--maybe Janet Ryan did."

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes. "Maybe."

"Theres something were missing, Jeff, I agree with you," Rebecca mused aloud, not even sure if Jeff was awake. "Serial criminals--rapists, murderers--they follow some pattern. At least a pattern that makes sense to them. We just have to find it."

"Youre probably right," Jeff answered, his eyes still closed. "But whatever it is, it isnt simple. Different days of the week, no set time interval, no physical resemblance between the victims, and nothing symbolic left behind. Did you get anything out of the shrink?"

"Still waiting. Shes in there with the witness now."

"Whos the other one?" Jeff asked, craning his neck to see through the small windows in the double doors marked "Hospital Personnel Only". "Blond, early twenties, nice body?"

"The roommate, I think. I havent had a chance to talk with her yet." Rebecca didnt add that she hadnt had the heart to question the girl earlier. The young woman with Janet Ryan was clearly distraught and probably didnt know anything anyway. Thered be time enough to talk to her once shed had a chance to see her girlfriend.

Jeff looked at his watch and groaned. "Shit, its almost eleven. Shelleys gonna have my balls if I dont get home before midnight again tonight."

Rebecca stood and stretched. "Why dont you go ahead. I want to see what the shrink gets anyhow. You can write up what weve got so far in the morning--deal?"

Jeff grinned happily, all vestiges of fatigue gone. He rose beside her, wishing for the thousandth time that he was as tall as his good looking partner. He didnt let on that it bothered him that she was half a head taller, but he couldnt help noticing the admiring glances she got, from menandwomen. She never seemed to notice, though. Oh, well, his wife thought his body was spectacular, so what the hell. He thumped her affectionately on the arm and sprinted for the elevator.

"I got the best part of this deal!" he called over his shoulder.

Rebecca didnt doubt it. There was no one waiting for her at home, and there hadnt been for a long time. She had forgotten what it felt like to open her door on anything other than the cold emptiness of her apartment, and she didnt want to remember now. She closed her eyes on the thought, adjusting her long frame into a more comfortable position for the wait ahead of her.

Chapter Four

Catherine wearily pushed the doors of the intensive care unit open and stepped out into the quiet corridor. It took her a moment to adjust to the dimness after the bright lights inside, and when she could see again, she noted Rebecca asleep down the hall. Even in repose, she didnt appear relaxed. Her right hand twitched slightly as it rested against her thigh. Her jacket lay abandoned on the chair beside her, and the silk shirt she wore stretched over the tight muscles of her arms and outlined her firm breasts. Catherines pulse quickened as her eyes wandered from Rebeccas face down the sensuous planes of her body. She smiled slightly at the unbidden response and reminded herself why they were both there.

"Detective," she called gently as she approached.

Rebecca sat up immediately, rubbing her face briskly with both hands. She looked up at the psychiatrist who somehow managed to look fresh despite the hour. Rebecca grinned a little sheepishly, taken off guard by the welcoming softness in Catherines eyes.

"Sorry," Rebecca said, "I tend to fall asleep wherever I can."

Catherine laughed. "I know what you mean. When I was a resident, we had a saying`See a chair, sit in it; see a bed, lie in it; see food, eat it!"

Rebecca stood, stretching to her full six feet. "Im sorry," she said, "I have to talk with you. I know its late. If theres someone you need to call"

"No, there isnt," Catherine replied. "But I have no intention of saying one more word to you unless Im fed first. Can you wait that long?"

Rebecca regarded the elegant, composed woman before her, sensing the smile in her voice, and felt suddenly energized.

"Im on my own time now, anyhow," Rebecca offered. "Theres a diner up the street"

"Arnies? Not at this hour! My digestive system would never survive," Catherine exclaimed in mock horror. "My apartment isnt far. Could we finish up there? It will just take me a minute to fix something."

Rebecca was momentarily surprised, and then realized she would like nothing better than to have a late dinner with Catherine Rawlings.

"Sounds fine. I cant take one more burger anyhow."

**********

The address Catherine directed her to was in an old brownstone, recently renovated, in a gentrified part of the city that bordered the sprawling university area. Catherines was a large ground floor apartment that opened onto a private rear garden. Rebecca couldnt see much of the patio through the sliding glass kitchen doors, but the rest of the apartment was decorated in warm earth tones that Rebecca found soothing. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming, and Rebecca finally began to unwind. She decided she liked the doctors style. She wandered into the large living room and perused the titles on the floor-to-ceiling bookcases that lined one wall. Many of the titles were recent novels and biographies. Rebecca noted several she had been meaning to read but kept putting off. Something usually came up at the station that devoured what little spare time she had. She reminded herself she still had work to do as Catherine came through the archway from the kitchen with a bottle in one hand.

"Glass of wine?" she asked.

"Just seltzer and lime, if you have it," Rebecca replied.

Catherine had changed into a loose white cotton blouse over black brushed silk trousers. Rebecca was suddenly aware of what a beautiful woman she was. Her angular face, framed by wavy, richly highlighted auburn hair and accentuated by prominent cheekbones, was just short of perfect. Her wide-set green eyes and generous mouth bestowed a human quality to her beauty that made her even more attractive. Rebecca found herself really appreciating another woman for the first time in months. She realized she was staring when Catherines full lips parted in a soft playful smile.

"No drinking on duty?"

"No drinking for me any time--at least not for the last four years," Rebecca said evenly.Four years, three months, and two days.

Catherine heard the tension in her voice and asked, "Will it bother you if I drink?"

Rebecca smiled then herself. "Most of the world still drinks--and honestly, it rarely bothers me now. It would be harder if you didnt drink because of me."

"Well, then, come into the dining room so I can feed you," Catherine said.

**********

Rebecca pushed back her chair with a sigh. She had forgotten how pleasant it was to sit down at a table and enjoy a meal. And to enjoy the company of a warm, intelligent woman.

"Thank you," she said, "it was wonderful."

Catherine smiled at her, unaccountably pleased by the compliment. She felt almost rewarded by Rebeccas pleasure.

"I take it you dont cook much."

Rebecca shrugged ruefully. "Never did. Its worse when you live alone. I just dont think about eating as something to enjoy any more." She stopped, suddenly embarrassed.Christ, Frye, why dont you tell her all your problems!"At any rate, it was great."

Catherine sensed Rebeccas discomfort. It was apparent that her charming guest felt awkward discussing herself. Catherine was not surprised. She found people in Rebeccas line of work reluctant to reveal intimate details and slow to trust. She wasnt sure if it was the work that made them that way, or if those pre-existing traits were what made them so good at their jobs. It was something that suddenly interested her very much. Rebecca interested her. Catherine wondered what lay beneath that cool, controlled exteriorfor she was certain that there were depths to Rebecca that the woman herself was unaware of. She remembered the barely contained rage in Rebeccas voice when she described the rapists last attack and her passionate declaration to stop him. Oh, yes, there was much more to this woman than she revealed to the world.

Catherine knew intuitively that Rebecca would not confide anything easily, and she sensitively changed the subject. "What do you need to know, Detective?" she asked. She poured the last of the wine into her glass and leaned back, waiting.

"Probably more than you can tell me. Does Janet Ryan have any memory for the last eight hours?"

"Not much. She remembers pulling into a drive-off on the River Drive about five forty-five. There was a regatta and she stopped to watch. She left her car and headed toward the water. The next thing she remembers is waking up in the ICU."

Rebecca frowned. "Does she recall any one else around? Anything out of the ordinary?"

"I dont know. I didnt specifically ask her. She was pretty disoriented, and frightened. I was trying to establish the extent of her amnesia and get her calmed down."

"Of course," Rebecca said tersely. She couldnt expect a psychiatrist to think like a cop. Shed planned to interview the girl in the morning anyhow. "Anything else? Anything at all?"

"Im sorry--her amnesia is total for the time in question."

"And you have no doubt that shes telling the truth?"

"None at all."

"How long will it last?"

"I dont know," Catherine said regretfully. "I wish I did."

Rebecca stood up, her jaw set with determination. "I cant wait for her to remember. The time between attacks is getting shorter. Ive got to find some other way to get to him." She thanked Catherine absently, her mind already planning her next move.

Catherine watched her as she walked to the door, thinking it would be a long time before Rebecca Frye let herself rest again.

Chapter Five

Rebecca let herself into her apartment and tripped over a gym bag she had left lying on the floor several days earlier. The air had the musty, close smell of an unoccupied house. She pushed a window open and stood looking out. The night air held just the hint of a breeze, and she leaned against the window ledge, hoping to wash away the depression that had settled over her the moment she got home. The empty apartment was too clear a reminder of her own empty life, an aching emptiness she tried hard to ignore. Usually she was successful. The demands of her work left her little time for reflection, and when she did have a spare moment, she spent it at the gym, lifting weights until the fatigue in her body blocked out any other thought. The interlude with Catherine Rawlings had unsettled her. The quiet intimacy of the doctors apartment, the shared meal, the soft, but insistent strength she sensed in the woman, touched some chord in Rebecca. She didnt want to think about it, but she couldnt ignore the loneliness she had felt as Catherines door closed gently behind her.

She looked at her watch. ThreeA.M. She was tired, but too restless to sleep. It was one of those times she longed for a drink. Or, as had been the case, more than one. She fought the urge, as she usually did, by turning her mind to the River Drive case. There was something there, she knew, that she just couldnt connect with. Something she had heard, or seen, that would give her a handle on him. Whatever it was, it eluded her now.

Unconsciously her thoughts returned to Catherine Rawlings. Her integrity and compassion were obvious when she spoke of her patients, and her desire to put an end to this mad mans rampage was obvious, too. But it was more than just her intensity that drew Rebeccas attention back to her. Catherine Rawlings had touched some chord in her, some long-buried yearning for the company and solace of a woman. Or had she merely imagined the warmth in the doctors green eyes when she looked at Rebecca, or the welcoming smile as she approached?It doesnt matter, and it sure isnt going to help me solve this case

Rebecca shook off her memories with an irritated shrug. She tossed her jacket on a chair and pulled off her shoulder holster before stretching out on the worn couch. She rarely slept in her bed--the empty space beside her only made sleep more elusive. What she couldnt know as she finally closed her eyes was that across town Catherine Rawlings turned in her sleep and smiled at the image of a tall, blond woman with lonely eyes.

**********

It was not yet seven when Rebecca pulled her red Corvette into the police lot beside the police cruisers and vans. She knew Jeff would be there before her, typing out their report of last nights events. She smiled to herself at the thought of Jeffs face as he labored over the typewriter.

She found him hunched over his rickety metal desk in the tiny vice squad room, slowly two-finger typing a report in triplicate.

"Hi, Reb," he said without glancing up. "Anything from the shrink?"

"About what youd expect," Rebecca answered, shedding her jacket to the back of her chair. "Want some more coffee?"

"Yeah," he said, looking up with a lecherous grin. "Shelly was still awake when I got home last night."

"Nice to know someones making out," she grumbled good-naturedly as she headed for the table at the back of the room. She threaded her way between dilapidated chairs and dented desks haphazardly crowded together, and filled two Styrofoam cups to the brim with the evil looking black liquid that passed as coffee. She carried them at arms length back to the desk that faced Jeffs and pushed a stack of files to one side with her elbow. She settled herself into her chair, steeling herself for the first taste of the bitter brew.

"Ah," she murmured after her first swallow, "nectar of the gods."

"You must still be asleep if you think that swill is good," Jeff said, reaching for his own cup.

She shrugged and reached for the first page of his report. As usual it was neat and complete.

"Nothing new, I take it," she said, skimming the brief review of the latest rape.

Jeff stretched out his legs and pushed his chair back from the cramped table. "I ran a background check on the shrink."

Rebecca looked up in surprise. "Why? Shes not a suspect."

"Yeah, I know--but shes tied in with our only witness to date--and she may be the one to open that particular box for us. It never hurts to have a little leverage."

Rebecca had to agree. If they were going to get anything from Janet Ryan, she suspected they would need Catherine Rawlings help.

"So, what did you find?" she asked, careful not to reveal her interest. Jeff might be her closest friend, but even with him she rarely disclosed anything personal. She certainly wasnt about to tell him of the disturbing effect Catherine Rawlings had had on her.

"Well, it seems the lady is quite a mystery. I talked with a couple of the docs I know, and they all say the same thing. Professionally above reproachmedical degree from University, residency at University Central. From there she accepted a teaching position at the medical school and is now a" he paused to check his notes, "clinical professor of psychiatry."

Rebecca listened intently. She wasnt surprised. It fit with the impeccable professional image she had gotten of Catherine the night before.

"So--whats the mystery?"

"No personal info available--lives alone, apparently always has. Everyone is happy to tell you about her professional accomplishments, but nobody will say squat about the rest of her life."

"Maybe there isnt anything to say," Rebecca countered, just a hint of irritation in her voice. "Some women are pretty consumed by their work, you know."

Jeff looked at her thoughtfully, thinking if anyone should know about that, it was his solitary partner.

"Yeah--well, that may be. But I did dig up something interesting. Her private practice--she specializes in rape and incest cases. Shes even done some work with us on that kind of thing."

Rebecca whistled, thinking of Janet Ryan and her amnesia.

"And thats not all," Jeff continued, "a lot of her private patients are dyk--uh, lesbians."

Rebecca slowly raised her eyes to his. He looked away.

"Might be useful information," she said nonchalantly. She felt anything but nonchalant, her mind racing with questions about Catherine Rawlings. She forced herself to consider the information Jeff had gathered.

"Maybe I should have another talk with Dr. Rawlings."

"Thought you might want to," Jeff replied dryly.

**********

Catherine was nearly finished with morning rounds when her pager went off. She excused herself and left the group of residents and students discussing the latest drug therapy for depression. She picked up a wall phone and dialed the extension registered on her beeper.

"Dr. Rawlings," she said as the call was picked up.

"Rebecca Frye, Doctor. I wonder if we could talk?"

Catherine glanced at her watch. She had an outpatient clinic to supervise in an hour. "Im in-between right now. How about joining me in the cafeteria?"

"Fine."

"Its on the second floor."

"Ill find it," Rebecca replied.

Catherine picked up a chefs salad and seltzer and glanced around the cafeteria. She saw Rebecca at once, looking slightly out of place in her grey jacket and black trousers amidst a sea of white coats. She made her way across the room to join her at a small table near the windows.

Rebecca watched her approach, thinking she looked at home in her knee-length white lab coat. The coat did nothing to detract from her trim figure. Rebecca tried not to notice the shapely legs or the hint of full breasts under the pale green suit she wore. Rebecca waited until Catherine was seated before speaking.

"I have a few more questions, Doctor."

"I gathered that, Detective Frye," Catherine commented dryly, studying Rebeccas face. She was glad to see that the circles under her clear blue eyes had diminished and some of the tension had left her face. She was also simply glad to see her.

"Is it true that you specialize in rape and incest cases?"

Catherine was a little taken aback--not with the directness of Rebeccas approach, she expected that of the forthright detective, but with the rapidity with which she gathered information. She had known that this, among other things, might come up. She just hadnt expected it so soon.

"Not exactly specialize--but it is a particular interest of mine."

"Dont give me double talk, Doctor. Im not the enemy," Rebecca said quietly.

Catherine sighed and pushed aside her unwanted salad. She met Rebeccas penetrating gaze.

"Yes, its true that the majority of my practice involves sexual abuse survivors."

"Why didnt you tell me this last night?"

Catherine looked genuinely surprised. "I didnt think it was relevant."

"You didnt think it wasrelevant?" Rebecca asked incredulously. "We finally have a witness, wehope, to a brutal rapeaseriesof rapes we cant get a single lead on, and our only witness suddenly has amnesia. You happen to be an expert in such crimes, and you didnt think it wasrelevant." Rebecca didnt raise her voice, but her anger was evident.God, save me from dealing with civilians!

"Detective Frye, I am not an expert on thecrimes. I am an expert, if you will, on theeffectsof the crimes. Thats a very big difference."

"And what about Janet Ryan--is she a victim of the crime?"

"Dont ask me questions you know I cant answer," Catherine said quietly, her eyes holding Rebeccas.

Rebecca sighed slightly. "I have to try."

Catherine leaned forward, her face intent. "Rebecca, I will do anything I possibly can to assist in this case, but I cannot, and Iwillnot, disclose client confidences. Please try to understand."

The use of her first name did not escape Rebecca. She tried to ignore the quickening of her heartbeat, reminding herself she was in the middle of a hospital cafeteria, and in the middle of an investigation.

"I do understand. I appreciate your desire to protect your patients, and I respect you for it. Im just grasping at straws here. I cant get a handle on this guy, and its driving me nuts!"

It was an uncharacteristic outburst for her. Catherines heart filled with compassion as she watched the torment play across Rebeccas fine features. In that moment she felt every shred of Rebeccas frustration and helplessness.

"Im seeing Janet at three this afternoon. She requested that I take over from Ray Bauer. Perhaps shell remember more."

Catherines caring showed in her voice, and Rebecca met her gaze gratefully. For an instant the room retreated from view as she surrendered to the understanding and comfort in those green eyes. It felt like a caress. She flushed and looked away.

"Id like a report either way."

Catherine accepted Rebeccas withdrawal reluctantly, acutely aware of the fleeting connection and the equally sudden distance between them. She pushed her chair back, replying formally, "Of course. You can call me around six tonight. I should be done here by then."

"Fine," Rebecca replied. Impulsively she added, "Why dont I pick you up--we can talk over dinner. And you wont have to cook."

Catherine nodded with pleasure. She would like nothing better than spending more time with this intriguing woman.

Chapter Six

Rebecca pulled into the No Parking zone in front of University Central Hospital at five forty-five pm. She took out the notes she had made at the crime scene that afternoon. She and Cruz had decided to do another walk-through of the area, hoping to find something that might have been overlooked by the lab crew. The assault had occurred in a copse of trees bordering the water on River Drive. A narrow path separated the trees from the road fifty yards away. The ground between was a thicket of low shrubs and grass. Although the park was frequented day and night by bicyclists and runners, this section of the trail was unpaved and poorly maintained, which tended to discourage all but the most serious joggers. The isolated location was similar to that of the previous two rapes. The most recent victim had been found by a middle-aged man chasing his errant golden retriever. It was probably a coincidence that saved her life. Trampled shrubbery suggested she had struggled. That was the only difference from the first two incidents, in which there was little sign of resistance. Jeff theorized that their assailant knocked them unconscious before pulling them off the trail and assaulting them. The evidence supported that, but Rebecca found it hard to believe that the women hadnt been warned of his approach. Even if he had been well-hidden, he would have had to reveal himself to get close enough to subdue them. No weapon had been found, and the injuries sustained by the victims only indicated that some kind of blunt object had been used. The details of the crime continued to elude them.

Rebecca had surveyed the scene, distancing herself from the mental images she constructed of the events. If she allowed herself to hear their cries, feel their fear, experience their helplessness, her own anger and revulsion would paralyze her--she would never be able to do her job. It was a lesson she had learned early in her career, and the emotional detachment came naturally to her now. The price she paid was the gradual, almost unnoticeable, inability to bridge that emotional chasm in the rest of her life. The very people she wanted to reach most found her cold and uncaring. Her frustration, and theirs, led finally to an isolation she almost welcomed. Her life was simpler even though her most human needs lay buried and ignored.

"Jeff," she mused, "how about this--our guy waits in the trees until a lone jogger comes along. He pulls her off the trail, knocks her out, then rapes her. He has to go from here up to his car, or maybe he has a bike?"

"Could be--we didnt find a rock, or a club of any kind. He must take the weapon with him. I guess a guy with a baseball bat wouldnt seem that unusual. Still though, youd think someone would have seen something. Its been in all the papers. No one has even come forward with abadtip!"

Rebecca nodded. It was too hard to believe that no one had seen or heard anything--but then, perhaps someone finally had. Which brought them right back to Janet Ryan.

"Did you get a report yet on the tissue under Janet Ryans fingernails?" she asked.

"Due later today," Jeff replied, pushing aside the shrubs that edged up to the water. There was a narrow strip of sand along the river bank and then the bottom fell steeply away. He could make out the shapes of the boathouses a few hundred yards down the river. There was nothing unusual about the place.

Rebecca led the way back to the path. "I bet you find that the tissue type matches the semen analysis we have. Janet Ryan must have seen the rape in progress, or she heard something and went to investigate. My guess is that she tried to fight the guy off. She has scratches on her arms and legs as if she got tangled up in the brush. He probably leaves her for dead, or just panics and runs."

"Could have gone down like that," Jeff agreed. "That makes Ryan one gutsy lady, or a crazy one. Most people would have run for help, dont you think?"

Rebecca shrugged. "Who knows--maybe she didnt even think about it. She sees whats happening and just reacts."

"Then we really need to know what Janet Ryan saw," Jeff said with finality.

**********

When Catherine spied Rebecca waiting in the car across the street, frowning over her notes, she felt a welcoming surge of pleasure. The convertible top was down and Rebecca looked attractively windblown. She had shed her jacket in the car, and the thin leather strap that circled her shoulders, holding her holster against her side, was obvious. Catherine had no particular fondness for firearms, and the sight of the gun under Rebeccas arm reminded her forcefully of the kind of life Rebecca led. Her response was a mixture of admiration and fear. She was drawn to Rebeccas strength, but it was the hint of vulnerability within that truly captivated her. The complexity of the contrasts made Rebecca all the more appealing.

She approached the passenger side slowly, reminding herself that Rebecca was here on business. Still, she couldnt quite dismiss the excitement Rebeccas presence stirred in her.

"Hi," she said.

Rebecca looked up, and in a rare unguarded moment welcomed Catherine with a blazing smile. "Hi."

Lord, shes stunningFor a moment Catherine stood motionless, transfixed.

Rebecca leaned over to push the passenger door open. "Youre very prompt."

Catherine laughed as she settled into the contoured leather seats. "Dont be fooled. It doesnt happen often." She waited until Rebecca maneuvered into the dense traffic crowding the road in front of the hospital before speaking.

"Have you made any progress with the case?" Catherine asked.

"Not much," Rebecca replied, frowning. "I have a hunch your patient interrupted him, possibly physically intervened. That means she saw him. She might give us a description--" She gave Catherine a questioning, hopeful look.

Catherine shook her head. "Not yet. Shes heavily sedated and has only slim recall of last nights events. It could be a few days--perhaps a week."

"Can I speak to her?"

"She spoke with the officer who brought her to the hospital."

"I know that," Rebecca responded. "But that was just a preliminary. I need to go over things in detail, and I know what to ask."

Catherine thought about Janets fragile emotional state and tried not to consider her ever increasing desire to assist Rebecca Frye. Janet must remain her primary concern.

"I have an hour scheduled with her tomorrow afternoon. If shes ready, Ill let you know. Id like to be present when you question her. Do you mind?"

"Not at all," Rebecca said quickly. "In fact, Id prefer it."

"Well, then--it seems we dont have much to discuss over dinner," Catherine remarked with regret. She realized then just how much she had been looking forward to this time with Rebecca.

"I still want to take you to dinner," Rebecca replied, turning her eyes from the road to glance at Catherine expectantly. She didnt want to think about what it meant, she only knew she didnt want to say good night to Catherine Rawlings quite so soon.

"Good," Catherine answered softly. "I was hoping youd say that."

Chapter Seven

Rebecca drove to a small restaurant on the mainline known for its excellent food and quiet intimate decor. The owner greeted Rebecca by name and seated them personally at a secluded table that offered them a view of the sweeping lawns and luxurious gardens. He left them to ponder the eclectic selections artistically displayed on fine parchment menus.

"Do you come here often?" Catherine asked, curious about the special service they were receiving. They had been seated immediately despite several parties waiting before them.

Rebecca shrugged uncomfortably. "Not for a long time. But whenever I do, Anthony insists on waiting on me himself."

Shes embarrassed, Catherine thought. She waited, knowing there was more.

"I found his daughter for him a few years ago," Rebecca continued in a low voice, remembering the run down rooming house and the frightened young girls inside. When she looked at Catherine, she couldnt quite disguise the pain of the memory. After so many girls in so many squalid squats, the sorrow had become a dark ache in her eyes. "She was fifteen years old, working on her back for a pimp who had promised her the excitement a girl her age longs for. What he gave her was a needle in the arm and a beating if she didnt earn enough." She didnt know how to describe the rest of ithow she felt when she found Anthonys youngest daughter strung out on smack and turning tricks for twenty dollars a pop. Her anger so intense that she almost forgot she was a cop. Her overwhelming need to stop the waste and the abuse. If Jeff hadnt interceded, she would have beaten the young pimp with her bare hands. She was grateful Jeff stopped her, but the rage still seethed, fueled by the daily destruction of lives and dreams she witnessed everywhere around her. She remained silent, alone with her anguish.

Rebecca didnt know that the feelings she had forgotten how to share were clearly displayed in the sweeping planes of her face and the ever changing depths of her dark blue eyes. Catherine, so sensitive to the sounds of silence, caught glimpses of Rebeccas secret tears. She ached for Rebeccas pain, and she stood in awe of the strength it required to face such horrors every day.

"To him it must seem like lifes greatest gift-- the return of his child. Hes trying to thank you without making you uncomfortable," Catherine said softly. Rebecca winced, and Catherine continued lightly. "Youll just have to bear it. I dont imagine hes going to stop."

Rebecca heard the gentle mocking in Catherines voice and caught the glimmer of a smile on her full lips. The knot of anger in her chest began to loosen, and she felt herself relaxing. She broke into a grin that brought a flash of brilliance to her eyes and a youthful energy to her face.

"If thats your professional opinion."

"It is," Catherine responded, rewarded by the light in Rebeccas eyes.Shes so beautifulNever could she remember being moved so deeply by anyone, and the force of her response was a little frightening.I hardly know herwhy do I feel like Ive been waiting for her?

Rebecca startled her from her reverie with the words, "Then itsmyprofessional opinion that we should enjoy dinner and have no more talk of business."

Catherine agreed happily, and after following Rebeccas suggestion to try the house special, settled back contentedly with a glass of wine. Over the course of the delicious meal she found herself telling Rebecca about her life. Rebecca learned that Catherine was the only child of a college professor and his wife, also a psychiatrist. She was close to her parents, but saw them only rarely. They were both still active in their professions and otherwise involved with joint pursuits. Catherine had grown up in a loving and supportive environment, but her parents had always maintained an emotional closeness with each other that sometimes made Catherine feel excluded. As a result, although this was something she didnt share with Rebecca, Catherine was reserved in her own personal life. Unconsciously she was searching for the same depth of commitment she had observed between her parents. Rebecca was a good listener, and she watched Catherine intently as she talked. Somehow she knew that these were things Catherine rarely spoke of.

"What do you do for entertainment?" Rebecca asked at one point.

"I love to read and take long bike rides. Im a sucker for old movies, too," Catherine answered. "How about you?"

Rebecca laughed. "Im afraid Im one of those obsessive workers. When Im not working, Im working out."

"How did you decide on law enforcement?"

"I didnt decide. I was born into it, like a lot of cops. My father was a beat cop for forty years, just like his father. I always knew I would be a cop, too. I took a slight detour and went to college first, but there was never any question I would be a street cop."

Rebeccas pride and satisfaction were evident in her voice. Catherine thought she looked more relaxed than she had ever seen her, and she was glad. Rebeccas charm and quick humor surfaced as she grew more comfortable. Catherine found her even more enchanting as the evening passed.

They lingered long after the other diners had gone and only left when neither of them could hide her weariness. They drove in companionable silence through the now quiet streets. For the first time in weeks, Rebecca didnt think about work. When she pulled up in front of Catherines brownstone, she realized suddenly that she didnt want the evening to end.

"Catherine, I" Rebecca stopped, unused to putting her feelings into words. She wanted to tell her how wonderful the evening had been, and how much she wanted to see her again. Old habits, old fears, held her back.When are you going to learn, Frye.What inhell do you have to offer a woman like this?

Catherines eyes were warm and welcoming as she gazed at Rebecca, waiting for her to go on. Rebecca flushed and looked away, her jaw tightening. She sensed Catherine waiting, but still painful disappointments haunted her, holding her a silent hostage.

Catherine touched her arm gently, speaking instinctively, without her usual restraint. "Rebecca, I am a lesbian. If you didnt already know that, Im sure you would soon. I also find you incredibly attractive. Regardless of how you feel about meor women in generalthat fact remains. However, I can assure you that I have no intention of doing anything to make you uncomfortable."

Rebecca turned to her, stunned by her honesty, her pulse racing at Catherines words. She grinned, unable to hide the lightness in her heart.

"Catherine, there isnothingabout you that makes me uncomfortable."

Catherine grinned back as she slipped from the car. "That, Detective Frye, is very good news!" She was still smiling as she watched Rebecca drive out of sight.

Chapter Eight

At seven forty-five the next morning, Rebecca walked into the squad room to face a routine day. She had a court appearance at noon to give evidence in a racketeering trial. She planned to spend the morning finishing reports on cases headed for the dead filescold trails abandoned after fruitless weeks of searching for witnesses who were willing to appear in court. She hated to abandon cases she knew she could get convictions on, but too often people refused to cooperate, either from fear of exposure or retaliation. It was another frustrating part of working vice she had learned to live with.

Jeff joined her a few minutes later, carrying a cardboard cup of coffee precariously by the rim. He scowled at the mountain of paper work piled on his desk, muttering, "I cant face this today."

"Give me some," Rebecca said amiably, reaching out a hand. "Im almost done here."

Jeff raised an eyebrow and took a good look at his partner. She was dressed as usual in well-fitting linen trousers and a tailored cotton shirt, but something about her was different. There was an aura of freshness and energy about her that he hadnt noticed in months.

"Something happen?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Rebecca said absently, tossing a finished folder to one side.

"You look like something good happened. Something break on the River Drive case?"

Rebecca blushed. After dropping Catherine off the night before, shed found herself more restless than usual. Her normal antidotes hadnt seemed to work. Shed driven around, stopped at the gym for a late workout, even contemplated cleaning her apartment. Finally she stripped down to a tank top and pulled on a pair of loose boxers, deciding to attempt sleep. She stretched out on the bed, something she hadnt done since her lover left. Amazingly, it wasnt the case she thought about, but Catherine. The astonishing warmth in her eyes, the gentle tone of her voice, her quick laughter. Rebecca remembered too the light scent of her perfume and the outline of her breasts against the silk blouse she had worn. Without intending it, Rebecca found herself imagining the soft weight of Catherines breasts in her palm, the nipples stiffening under her fingers, and the heat of Catherines skin under her lips. She brushed her hand under the thin cotton of her shirt, gasping at the quick contraction of her nipples. She squeezed them lightly, her legs parting as she began to swell. She continued to stroke her breasts and belly, teasing herself, as she trailed one hand up her inner thigh, slipping her fingers under the edge of the loose shorts. She was breathing faster, no longer thinking, concentrating on the increasing pressure between her legs. She remembered moaning softly as she spread her wetness over her hard clit, circling it, pressing the shaft from side to side, feeling it become impossibly larger. Her legs twisted in the sheets as she clenched her teeth, denying herself as long as she could. When the distention became almost painful, she bore down harder with her fingertips, working her twitching clit back and forth roughly, pushing herself to the edge. She was whimpering as she tugged at the engorged base, arching her back as every muscle tensed for the explosion. She shouted when it hit, grabbing herself with her whole hand, squeezing out the last spasm as she jack-knifed on the bed from the force of the orgasm.

Something had happened all right, but she wasnt about to tell Jeff that she woke, still wet from the night before, with Catherine Rawlings on her mind. She didnt want to admit to herself just how good it felt to be with her. She knew only too well how devastating it could be to need a woman, only to find barriers in her own soul she couldnt surmount.

"Nothing new. Im going to interview Janet Ryan this afternoon though. If Catherine gives us the green light."

Jeff didnt miss the first name reference, but he let it pass. They were as close as two partners could be, and he considered Rebecca his friend, but he knew better than to ask for details. He respected the distance Rebecca demanded in their relationship.

"Sounds good to me. Want me along?" he asked.

Rebecca thought about it for a moment, then shook her head. "Not this time. She might talk easier to me alone. Then again, she might not talk at all."

Jeff loosened his tie a fraction of an inch, which was his only concession to the stifling heat in the room. "I agreethe two of us could put her off. Ive got a meet with our contact guy on the Zamora undercover deal anyhow. Lets hope you get something from the girl."

**********

Rebecca stepped off the elevator onto the inpatient psychiatry floor shortly after fourP.M. Catherine was leaning against the counter at the nurses station, studying a chart. Rebecca observed her unaware, noting the easy way she stood, her figure-hugging skirt outlining shapely legs. Even the slight frown of concentration couldnt diminish the delicate allure of her features. Rebecca knew what she was feeling as she looked at Catherine Rawlings, and it frightened her. She didntwantto be stirred by her, but she was, physically and emotionally. To make matters worse, she was in the middle of the ugliest case shed ever been involved in. The last thing she needed was a personal complication. Rebecca was still standing there, awash with conflicting reactions when Catherine looked up.

"Hi," Catherine called, as she pushed the chart aside. She didnt try to hide her obvious pleasure at seeing Rebecca. Catherine surveyed Rebeccas tall figure with appreciation and smiled a welcome.

Rebecca forced herself to ignore the warmth spreading through her body at the sound of Catherines voice.Its probably all in my mind, she chided herself, but it was hard to overlook the tension between them. She deliberately kept her face impassive as she approached.

Catherine waited where she was, sensing something of Rebeccas uncertainty. Detective Sergeant Rebecca Frye might know exactly who she was in the world, but it was plain to Catherine that the woman behind the badge was much less certain of what she wanted, or needed. Catherine was struggling to control her growing attraction to Rebecca, but every time she saw her, her desire intensified.Go slowly.She doesnt trust you yetor herself.

"Ive just finished speaking with Janet," Catherine said as Rebecca joined her.

"Good. Does she know Im coming?" Rebecca asked, her attention now focused on the task before her.

"YesI thought it best to prepare her."

"How is she?"

Catherine shrugged, a small frown puckering the fine skin between her elegant brows. "Shes still quite disoriented, and badly shaken. She knows there are things she cant remember, and the dread of what they might be is terrifying. She wants to remember and is scared to death at the same time. Shes very frightened, Rebecca."

Rebecca recognized the cautionary tone in Catherines voice and responded defensively. "Im not going to interrogate her, Catherine." She immediately regretted her flash of temper when she saw the surprise in Catherines eyes.God, Im too sensitive around her. She placed her hand on Catherines arm, leaning toward her slightly.

"Im sorry. I just want to find out how much she can remember. I wont push her, I promise."

Catherine covered Rebeccas hand lightly with her own, very conscious of the pressure of Rebeccas fingers. Even that innocent touch sent her pulse racing.

"I trust you, Rebecca. If I didnt, I wouldnt let you see her." She pressed Rebeccas hand again and stepped away. "Come on, Ill take you to her."

**********

Janet lay propped up on several pillows. The blinds were drawn against the afternoon sun. The television, perched on the wall opposite the bed, was tuned to a TV talk show. The hostess raced up and down the aisles, thrusting her microphone at the members of the audience. There was no sound.

The left side of the young womans face was swollen and discolored. Her eye on that side was a mere slit, the lashes caked together with dried blood. Fine black sutures closed a series of lacerations on her forehead. She clutched the covers up to her breasts, despite the July heat. Her hands were covered with scratches. Looking at her, Rebecca thought she had put up a hell of a fight.

Catherine went to the bed and took Janets hand.

"Detective Frye is here, Janet."

Janets head nodded slightly. "Please stay with me."

"Of course," Catherine said, pulling a chair up to the left side of the bed.

Rebecca dragged a similar worn plastic chair to the opposite side and sat down, opening her notebook as she did so. She leaned forward so Janet could see her face.

"Janet, Im Rebecca Frye.Im a police officer. Im trying to find out what happened the night you were injured." She watched Janet carefully, looking for any unspoken reactions to her questions. "Can you tell me what you did that day- -Tuesday-- three days ago?"

Janet glanced at Catherine, who nodded encouragement. Then she began to speak in a slow halting whisper. "I was late for workI missed the train. So, I drove to work."

"Where is that?" Rebecca asked.

"Compton BuildingIm a data programmer." She halted uncertainly, her grip on Catherines hand tightening.

"Go on," Rebecca urged.

"Barb called at lunchI told her Id be home around seven."

A single tear slipped from between her lashes and dampened her cheek. Rebecca reached for a tissue and pressed it into Janets free hand. She waited a moment, then asked, "What did you do after work?"

"It was beautiful outside. -- I decided to go home on the Drive, even though the traffic is slower" She stopped again, a slight tremor noticeable in her hands.

"I remember," Rebecca said softly, "it was cool, there had been a shower"

"Yes! It had been so sticky all weekend! I stopped -- oh, its all so confusing! I cant remember where I stopped!"

Her anxiety was more pronounced now.

"Thats okay, Janet, youre doing great," Rebecca soothed. "You dont have to get everything straightened out now. Just tell me anything you can remember, even if it doesnt make sense."

Catherine gave Rebecca a startled look but remained silent.Maybe I should take her on rounds with me. Shes better at this than some of my residents. Rebecca continued to surprise, and intrigue, her.

"Thats just it! I cant make sense of what Icanremember. There are so many colors!"

"What colors, Janet?" Rebecca asked quickly, writing the word on her pad and circling it.

"I dont know!"

"Do you remember a man? Did you see a man, or a woman and a man?"

"No."

"Did you hear a woman scream?"

"No." She looked at Catherine, her face pale. "Im sorryI cant remember!"

"I believe you. Its all right," Catherine soothed. "Close your eyes for a minute, and tell me anything you seeany image, any picture in your mind at all."

"Just the number"

Rebecca sat up straight in her chair, her face tense. "What number?"

"Ninety-seven."

"Ninety-seven what? Were there letters with the number?"

"I cant rememberplease, I cant remember!"

"Thats all right, Janet," Catherine interrupted. "Youve been wonderful. Well talk again when youre a little stronger."

Rebecca forced down a protest. SheknewJanet had seen somethingshe could feel it. She also knew it would be futile to try to prolong the interview. Clearly Catherine felt the young woman had had enough. Rebecca pocketed her notebook and stood up, her anger surfacing as she surveyed the battered, terrorized woman before her. She intended to put an end to this reign of terror.

Chapter Nine

Catherine joined Rebecca in the hall outside Janets room. She didnt miss the hard stillness of Rebeccas face.

"Not much help?" Catherine asked.

Rebecca passed a hand across her face and sighed. "Not much. Theres something there, thoughIm sure of it."

"Im almost positive Janet walked up on the rape," Catherine said as they began to walk. "That might explain Janets extreme reaction, and the symptoms shes displaying now."

"Can you press her on the numberand try to find out more about the colors?"

"Not now," Catherine replied. "Shes blocking because shes not psychologically prepared to cope with what she witnessed."

Rebecca suppressed her impatience. She had no doubt Catherine was right, but sheneededthis girl to remember! Her powerlessness was eating her up inside.

"Will you let me know when I can talk to her again? I really need her, Catherine."

"I know, Rebeccaof course."

Rebecca stopped in front of the elevator, at a loss for words. She didnt want to say good-bye, and she didnt know how to move forward. The bell rang, announcing that the elevator had arrived. Catherine was so close to her she could smell her subtle perfume. Catherines hand was on her arm, her fingers softly caressing. Her green eyes held Rebeccas with a tenderness she could drown in.

"I want to see you again," Rebecca said hastily, "not about the case. Can I call you?"

Catherine realized she had been holding her breath. She let it out with a soft sigh as the elevator doors slid open. It took all her will power to step back from Rebeccas body when all her desires urged her closer.

"Oh, yes. Ill be waiting."

**********

Rebecca drove back to the station with her thoughts divided between Janets scanty recollections and the exchange with Catherine at the elevator. Catherine touched off a physical response so intense it was actually painful. She was wet again, and throbbing. It was all she could do to keep her mind on the traffic.

Her pager went off just as she pulled into the parking lot. She pushed open the heavy double doors and took the stairs to the third floor two at a time. Leaning over the counter at the intake desk, she called, "Frye, here. Whats up?"

The frazzled dispatcher, sweating profusely in her blue uniform, turned to her from the computer console.

"Jeff Cruz is not responding to his calls. The Captain wants to see you pronto."

Rebecca swore under her breath as she hurried to the glass enclosed office at the end of the hall. She rapped at the door marked "Captain John Henry" in peeling black letters. The black man behind the desk was fiftyish, fit and big. His iron grey hair was cut short, and his demeanor authoritative. The white shirt he wore was stiff with starch, and his tie was tightly knotted, even in the ninety degree heat.

"Wheres your partner?" he barked without preamble as Rebecca entered his office.

"I dont know," Rebecca said with a worried frown. "He had a meet with Ronnie Carmichael, the undercover guy working the Zamora case. Hes the one we think is running the kiddy porn business in the tenderloin."

"Yeah, I read the file. Where was the meet?"

"They change locations every time. It was just a routine check-in, Captain. Carmichael hadnt come up with much, at least not that we knew about."

Captain Henry didnt comment. Cruz and Frye were his best team, and he gave them a lot of slack to run their own cases. It wasnt unusual for them to be involved with other divisions, particularly narcotics, on cooperative investigations. They werent careless. If Cruz was in trouble, he had walked into something he hadnt expected.

Rebecca was thinking the same thing. Something felt wrong.

"I dont like it, Captain. Somethings gone down. We need to find himfast."

"Weve got an all points out on him and his car. Well get a fix on him soon."

"What about the contactCarmichael?"

Henry fanned his hands out over his desk. "No word. Theyre both out there loose somewhere."

Rebecca turned abruptly and headed toward the door. She had to find Jeff, and she knew him better than anyone. It could take all night for a cruiser to spot his car. She wasnt going to leave him out there alone.

"Frye!" Henry called. "I want you here, coordinating the search, until we have something definite."

"Let Rogers do it," she said, whirling to face him, her jaw set stubbornly.

"I wantyouon it, Frye." He stared back at her. His expression changed slightly, and he lowered his voice. "Weve got two missing cops already. I dont want you out there alone."

"But Jeff"

"Thats an order, Frye."

She gritted her teeth, and nodded. "Yes, sir."

**********

When Rebecca entered the squad room, the noise level suddenly dropped. Feet shuffled, someone cleared his throat, a few people looked away. Everyone knew what she must be feelingher anger, her helplessnessand none of them quite knew what to say. So they handled it the way they always did, by doing the job, by carrying on. Someone put a lukewarm cup of coffee in her hand.

She sat at her desk, fists clenched in her pockets, and watched the clock. The men from the day shift stayed, even though many of them had been on duty for close to eighteen hours by then. Gina Simmons, a young rookie, came in silently and piled boxes of pizza on the littered coffee table. Rebecca shook her head when someone offered her a slice. They stood around in groups eating, spilling bits of oil and cheese on the floor.

The call finally came in at ten-thirty. A cruiser had spotted Jeffs car on a deserted pier at the waterfront. Rebecca was on her feet and halfway to the door when a hand on her arm restrained her.

"Ill ride with you, Frye."

Rebecca turned toward the stocky man beside her, struggling to control her temper. She had never liked William Watts. He was a lonera cynical, caustic cop who didnt seem to give a damn about his job. She couldnt figure out why he was a cop, and she didnt want to deal with him now.

"Not tonight, Watts," she said tersely, brushing off his hand.

He jerked his head toward the hallway, his face impassive. "Captains orders."

She turned on heel, heading toward the stairs. She didnt have time to waste on this. Watts hurried after her.

Rebecca gunned the MG out of the lot and slapped the red light onto her roof. When the traffic ahead didnt yield fast enough, she veered around them into the oncoming lanes. They were the first to reach the scene. There were cruisers pulled off the four-lane highway at odd angles, and men with dogs were combing the waterfront.

Rebecca climbed out and surveyed the area. Jeffs car was parked under an overpass, the only civilian vehicle in sight. To her right a huge crane stood like a lonely sentinel over the abandoned site of someones waterfront dream. To her left, facing the water, were a cluster of darkened buildingsthe maritime museum, an attached souvenir shop, and a curb-side hotdog stand.

She headed toward the buildings, Watts close behind her. She neither spoke to him nor acknowledged his presence.

"Why not the crane?" he asked, out of breath from the pace Rebecca had set.

"Too obvious during the daythere wouldnt have been enough people around for cover," she answered tersely, still not looking at him.

"Yeah, but the way I see it"

She turned so fast he collided with her, his bulky form bouncing back a step off her surprisingly hard body.

"Look, Watts," she seethed. "I dont give a rats asswhatyou think. Iknowmy partner. So just keep out of my way, or better yet, get lost."

Watts held both hands up in the air in front of him. "Okay, Frye, okay. Ill just tag along like a good little boy."

Wordlessly, she walked away. If Jeff had met his contact in the late afternoon, there wouldnt have been much activity anywhere except at the museum. They never spent much time at a meet. He hadnt left voluntarily; he would have taken his car. Something went wrong, and it happened here. She tried not to think about what might have happened, focusing on her search.

She walked around the maritime museum, looking for an alley way, or a loading docksome secluded area. She reasoned that no one would have tried to move two men very far in daylight, which meant they would have needed an isolated location nearby. But for what purpose? It was unlikely that anyone would hold two cops hostage, or try to extort information. She didnt want to think about the most likely reasonthat someone was sending them a message to stay clear of Zamora and his bosses.

There was nowhere to hide two men anywhere around the building. She shined her flashlight on the beer and burger stand, closed and shuttered for the night. There was a large green commercial dumpster behind it. Rebecca approached it slowly, sweeping the ground around it with her light. She held her 9mm automatic in the other hand. She illuminated bits of refuse, a soggy cardboard box, a dented milk cratenothing unusual. She looked at the dumpster, a knot of tension burning in her gut. She slipped her weapon into her shoulder holster and pushed the top up. Taking a deep breath, she played her light over its contents. It was half full of crushed boxes, rotting vegetables, and broken bottles. That was all.

"Uh, Frye" Watts said hesitantly from the spot where he had been standing in the shadows.

"What?"

"Theres a shipping platform just north of the marina. Its below ground levelthey used to use it to tie the tugs up to. Cant really see it from the pier unless you know its there."

"Show me."

He led her along the edge of the pier, the water ten feet below them, rolling against the huge wooden pilings and concrete walls. Fifty feet from the marina was a narrow set of stairs barricaded by a length of chain. They would be easy to miss unless you were looking for them. The chains were rusted from years of disuse and exposure. Rebecca could make out moss-covered stone stairs and some kind of platform anchored against the pier, floating on the water. Carefully, she stepped over the chain and started down.

They were lying side by side no apparent sign of a struggle. Both men had been shot once in the back of the head. Rebecca noticed that Jeffs tie was neatly knotted under the button down collar of his light blue oxford shirt. His gun was still in its holster. She reached down and closed his eyes.

Standing at the edge of the dock she looked out across the water at their sister city. The shoreline sparkled in the moonlight. The river churned two feet below her, and the cold wind off the water whipped her light jacket around her. She didnt notice the cold, or that she was shivering. It was so quiet.

"Frye?" Watts called from above. "You find anything?"

"Yes," she answered hollowly.

"You want an ambulance?"

"No."

Chapter Ten

Rebecca drove to a run-down bar where she wasnt likely to meet anyone she knew. It was three in the morning. She had just left Shelly Cruz. There hadnt been any way to make it easy. She had held Jeffs wife, rocking her through the worst of it. Even as she murmured meaningless words of comfort, she felt her own heart grow cold. She couldnt let the pain throughif she did, shed fall apart. She was a coppeople die on the streets every dayneedlessly, senselessly. This time it was her partner, her best friend. Shed handle it like Jeff would have if it had been herlike a cop. But first she needed to forget, just for a little while. Then shed be ready to carry on.

The bar was nearly deserted, as she expected it to be. No one who had anywhere to go, or anyone to go to, was still about. Like her, the few people slumped in the shadowy bar sought no company. The bartender looked up disinterestedly from the girlie magazine lying on the long counter in front of him. Nothing surprised him anymore, not even the appearance of a good-looking woman in a dive like this. Besides, this one didnt look like she wanted anything but a drink, fast.

"Whatll you have?"

"Scotch, doublestraight up."

He poured it neatly, slid it in front of her and moved away. Rebecca stared at the glass for a moment, then reached for it with a steady hand.

**********

Catherine awoke instantly at the first buzz of the doorbell. Her ability to move from deep sleep to instant alertness was ingrained in her from years of medical training. She sat up, glancing at the digital clock beside her bed. It read four fifty-three am. She reached for the pale blue robe that lay across the foot of the bed, swinging her long legs to the floor. She had been naked under the covers. Hastily she tied the sash as she hurried through the living room, snapping on a table lamp as she passed.

As she fumbled with the deadbolt, she asked, "Who is it?"

"Rebecca Frye."

Catherine hesitated with surprise and then hurriedly pulled the door open. Rebecca was slouched against the doorjamb. She looked terrible. She was in the same clothes she had worn the day before, and her usually impeccable suit was grimy and wrinkled. Her face was white, and there was a frightening vacancy in her normally vibrant blue eyes. Her short, thick blond hair was disheveled, as if she had run her hands through it countless times. Catherine grasped her arm and pulled her inside.

"What is it?" she asked, leading Rebecca to the sofa.

Rebecca sank heavily into the plush cushions, her head dropping back wearily. She took a deep shuddering breath, turning her face slightly toward Catherine, who was sitting close beside her.

"My partner, Jeff Cruz, was murdered tonight--him and another cop," she said flatly, her pain-filled eyes not registering Catherines shock. She didnt feel Catherine move closer, nor the protective arm she slipped around her shoulders.

"God, Rebecca, Im so sorry!"

"He was twenty-nine years old. Hed only been married a year. He was a good cop." She thought of the six years that she and Jeff had been partners and knew that no one would ever be able to fill his place in her life.

"He must have been very important to you," Catherine said gently, her hand resting softly on Rebeccas rigid back.

Rebecca shrugged. "We were copshe looked after my skin, and I looked after his." Her voice broke on the next words. "Until today."

So much pain! If only you would let someone share it!Catherine remained still, resisting the urge to gather Rebecca to her and comfort her.Just talk to me; let me help!

Eventually Rebecca began to speak, quietly, as if she were talking to herself.

"He took a chance for me a few years ago. My life was a mess. My lover had left me--she said I was never there for her--and even when I was around, it wasnt enough. She was tired of being a "cops wife." Rebecca laughed bitterly. "She was right. I wasnt taking very good care of her. After that, I drifted in and out of affairs--none of them worked out. My drinking got much worse. I was drinking during the day--on duty--and Jeff knew it. I was a hazard--to him, to myself -- to everyone." She stopped then, and looked at Catherine, expecting to find rejection, or disgust. That was certainly the way she felt about herself. Instead she found the same tender acceptance that welcomed her each time they met.

Taking a grateful breath, she continued, her tone stronger. "He came to me one night after a shift. He said he knew I was drinking on the job--that he didnt want to turn me in, but that he couldnt afford to have a lush for a partner. I was pissed. I told him to turn me in if thats what he wanted--I didnt care anymore."

She laughed softly at the memory. "Jeff is a good head shorter than me, and slim for a guy. He grabbed my jacket and slammed me into the wall. His face was in my face, and he was yelling. `Listen, you stupid fuck-up--youre my partner, and Icare. So your old lady ditched you! Big deal! You think that hasnt happened to a hundred other cops? You think youre special cause youre a dyke? Well, youre not. Youre just a cop, just like the rest of us. So you either get it together fast, or Im through with you! He shook me around a little--he was pretty hot. I just stared at him. Hed never let on he knew about me and Diane. Finally, he just stomped away."

Catherine smiled sadly at the image, thinking what a good man Jeff Cruz must have been.This must be killing her!

"What did you do?" Catherine questioned softly.

"I drove to an AA meeting that night. That was four years ago--we never talked about it again."

"He trusted you, Rebecca--and you didnt let him down." She felt some of the tension in Rebeccas tight muscles dissipate. "Where have you been all night?"

"I told Jeffs wife. Then I went to a bar."

"Did you drink?" Catherine asked evenly.

Rebecca laughed harshly. "I sat there with it in my hand for a long time."

"What stopped you?"

Rebecca met Catherines gaze, her defenses shattered. "I thought about you."

Catherines fingertips stroked Rebeccas cheek, pushing the hair back from her forehead. She hadnt meant to touch her, but her own heart was breaking in the face of Rebeccas anguish. As she leaned slowly forward, she whispered, "Im so glad you did."

At the touch of Catherines hand, the fiber of Rebeccas resistance snapped like a straw in the wind. The tenderness pierced her armor like the pain could not, clouding her awareness until there was no reality except the hazy green of Catherines eyes, the heady aroma of her scent. She needed the surcease of Catherines body more than she needed air to breath. Rebecca sought her lips, bruising them unintentionally with the force of her kiss. She plundered her mouth with her urgency to lose herself in Catherines flesh. Pushing Catherine back against the couch, Rebeccas hands fumbled with the sash of her robe, her tongue demanding entrance. She groaned as Catherines tongue met hers with the same intensity. Rebecca pulled away only to press her lips to the rich ripeness of full breasts, leaving Catherine gasping. Catherine cried out, holding Rebeccas face to her, forcing her nipple into Rebeccas seeking mouth. Rebecca, her long-buried passion unleashed, was burning, the very breath in her lungs evaporating from the heat. She knew only the yielding warmth of Catherines flesh, the rightness of Catherines embrace. She was beyond conscious thought, aching with the force of the blood rushing through her pelvis, thrusting against Catherine with a rhythm she could not control. Catherines arms were around her, pulling her close, urging her to let go. Rebecca moaned, consumed by the agonizing pleasure of Catherines body beneath hers, her clit ready to burst. Her hunger, her need, triggered an explosion as her hips pumped in a frenzy of excitement. She heard Catherine murmuring her name even as she began to convulse against her, crying out with the wrenching spasms that overpowered her. Head flung back, arms rigid, she arched above Catherine, groaning with each internal pulsation, gasping for breath, until finally she collapsed into Catherines arms. Through a haze she felt the gentle caresses of Catherines fingers in her hair, her cheek pressed to Catherines breast. She drifted in Catherines strong embrace, savoring a peace she had long forgotten.

Chapter Eleven

The sun streaming through the bay windows woke her. As consciousness returned, so did a flood of emotions. The pain of Jeffs death twisted like a knife in her heart, an unrelenting ache she would carry with her for a long time. The sight of her jacket neatly folded over the arm of the easy chair jolted her with memories of the night before. Her face burned with a conflicting mixture of dismay and renewed desire. She remembered her loss of control with embarrassment. God, what must Catherine think of her? Even as she struggled with the thought, she yearned for Catherines touch. She wanted her so powerfully it left her shaking. She wasnt sure she had the courage to face her. What if Catherine had only responded out of kindness? Rebecca hadnt given her much choice, after all. You must have been out of your mind, Frye! Christ, you came all over her like a kid on his first date!

She pushed herself reluctantly to a sitting position, noticing her shoes and belt beside the sofa.God, where is my gun?She looked about frantically, relaxing slightly when she saw the shoulder holster hanging on the knob of the closet door. She couldnt believe she hadnt noticed Catherine removing that. It was like a part of her. She looked up to find Catherine in the doorway, watching her, a faint smile on her lips. She looked more beautiful than Rebecca remembered. Her wavy hair shown with reddish highlights, and her graceful figure was accentuated by the folds of the silk dressing gown she wore. The look of desire in Catherines eyes sent a bolt of arousal directly between her legs. She was wet instantly.

"Catherine, I--" she began tentatively, searching for words.

"Shh--" Catherine commanded as she drew near, her smile deepening. Rebecca stared up at her, captivated by the power of her gaze. Catherine leaned down, curling the fingers of one hand in Rebeccas hair. Catherine kissed her, a deep, probing, demanding kiss that left them both gasping. When she pulled her head back, she said teasingly, "Does that answer any questions for you?"

Rebecca took a long, shuddering breath. "Im sorry about last nightI mean, the way Ithe way it"I didnt mean to come like that. I couldnt stop it, you made me so crazy.

"Dont be sorry. You were beautiful, and believe me, I have never enjoyed anything more. Being wanted that much is very exciting. Dont you know how much Ive been wantingyou?"

Rebecca rose and pulled Catherine into her arms, trembling. She kissed her mouth, the soft skin of her eyelids, the smooth slope of her neck. She felt Catherines pulse quicken under her lips as their bodies yearned for closer contact. Catherines hands were under Rebeccas shirt, cupping her breasts, stroking the firm planes of her abdomen. Rebecca hissed in a breath as Catherines fingers found her nipples, twisting them lightly. Rebecca reached under the hem of Catherines gown and found the smooth flesh of her thighs. She slipped upward, into the waiting wetness, finding Catherines clitoris, distended and sensitive. She stroked her, sliding the slick bundle between her fingers.

"Oh, god, Rebecca!" Catherine cried, clinging to her, her legs weak. "Thats so good!"

Just as Rebecca began to pull her down onto the sofa, the beeper in the pocket of her jacket went off. She stiffened at the sound.

Catherine leaned back in Rebeccas arms, her face flushed, her green eyes cloudy with passion. "Oh my god, tell me it isnt true."

"I have to answer that," Rebecca said huskily, her hands moving to Catherines hips, still caressing her. "Im sorry."

"Its not your fault," Catherine murmured, pressing her forehead hard against Rebeccas shoulder, trying desperately to steady herself. Shaking still, she stepped back reluctantly. "Go. Answer it. Ill get us some coffee."

When Catherine returned with two steaming mugs, Rebecca was standing with her back to the room, looking out onto the street. Catherine knew that the last twenty-four hours had shaken Rebecca to the core, and now she was a part of that. She wanted her with a consuming desire she had never known before, but she also knew that Rebeccas emotional state was precarious. Too many demands right now could destroy her. Catherine was determined to let Rebecca come to her in her own time. She wanted her, but most of all she wanted her to survive.

"What is it?" she asked, handing Rebecca one of the cups.

"Internal Affairs. They need me to go over our cases with them, to see if we can turn up anything on Jeffs killing."

"Today?" Catherine asked, wondering what kind of people would put Rebecca through that less than twelve hours after her partners death.

Rebecca laughed grimly. "Try two hours ago." She set her cup down on the window ledge and turned to Catherine. "I wish I could staybeing with you is so good." She stopped, afraid to go on, afraid to let herself admit what she felt.

"You can always come back, Rebecca. Ill be here, and Iwantyou to come back. Whenever you can, whenever you want."

Rebecca nodded. "I will." She straightened her clothes and strapped on her holster. As she pulled her jacket on at the door, she turned to face Catherine one last time. "Thank you for last nightall of it."

Come back soon, Rebeccaand safely, Catherine thought as the door closed behind her.

**********

An hour later, freshly showered, in a crisp white shirt and navy suit, Rebecca entered the squad room. Men looked at her and nodded as they went about the business of the day in a subdued fashion. She walked to her desk impassively and stared at the figure across from her.

"What the hell are you doing in Cruzs chair?" she said, her voice like granite.

Watts looked at the expression on her face and then glanced around the squad room for support. No one offered any.

"Just getting acquainted with the caseload. The Captain told me you and I are going to be partnered up."

She stared down at him coldly, then turned on her heel and stalked away. By the time she reached Captain Henrys door she was boiling. She pushed the door open without knocking and stormed toward his desk.

"What do you mean by telling Watts we were going to work together?" she demanded, not even registering the amazed look on Henrys face. "Hes a lazy sleaze, and I wont have him for a partner!"

Henry rose in one fluid motion, his arms braced on the desk as he leaned toward her.

"Frye, you get the hell out of my office! If I tell you to work with Joey the Clown, you do it! And you smile about it, too!" He bit off each word, his face a thundercloud of anger.

She met his angry gaze evenly, her fists clenched at her sides.

"Listen, Captain" she began, trying unsuccessfully to lower her voice.

"No,youlisten! You just lost your partner. Its toughI appreciate thatbut youve still got a dozen open files, including the River Drive thing. You cant do it alone, and Watts is available. If hes an asshole, learn to live with it. I dont care how you do it, just do it!"

"Whats he got? Friends in high places?" she asked, her blue eyes dark with scorn.

Henrys neck muscles tightened, and a flush rose to darken his features. His voice was deadly cold as he spoke. "Im going to pretend I didnt hear that, Fryejust this oncebecause Cruz was a good cop. IAD wants to see you. Take care of that, and then get back to work."

She didnt replythere was nothing she could do. He watched her turn and walk away, wondering if he was making a mistake leaving her on the streets. She was one of his best. He thought she would crack if he put her behind a desk, so he had argued with his superiors against it. He hoped he was right.

**********

Catherine knocked and entered Janet Ryans room. Barbara Elliot was sitting close to the bed, her fingers entwined with Janets.

"Hello, Dr. Rawlings," Barbara said tiredly.

"Hello, Barbarahi, Janet. How are you feeling?" Catherine asked.

Janet looked better. The bruises still disfigured her normally attractive face, but the swelling had begun to subside. Both eyes were open now. Their expression was bright.

"Im much better, thanks. Ive been up walking a little, and Im not taking the pain medication." She glanced at her lover fondly. "When can I go home?"

Catherine grinned. "I can see youre feeling better. Id like to keep you a few more days, just for routine observation. How are the flashbacks?"

Janet grimaced. "Im still getting them, especially at night. Just pieces of images from my pastof my brother when I was small." She took a deep, quavering breath. "I never realized it had gone on for so long."

Catherine nodded sympathetically. "They may get worse as you recover from this attack, Janet. I may want to try you on a mild sedativenothing too strong. Lets think about going home in a few days, all right?"

Janet looked at Barbara questioningly.

"I really want Janet at home, Dr. Rawlings. Everyone is nice to us here, but its still so impersonal. But I dont want her to come home until shes ready. Whatever you decide is fine."

Catherine spoke with them a few more moments, and then left to complete her inpatient rounds. When she stepped out into the hall, a neatly dressed young man moved hurriedly to intercept her.

"Dr. Rawlings? Is it true that Janet Ryan witnessed the rape on River Drive earlier this week? Has she been able to describe the assailant?"

Catherine stepped back a pace, nonplussed. "Who are you?" she asked.

"Mark TylerDaily News. What about it, Doctor?Didshe witness the rape?"

Catherine was furious. "Mr. Tyler, you have no business being here. If you want information, I suggest you speak to the police. I have nothing to say to you. And if I find you here again, Ill have security remove you!"

"Oh, come now, Doctor, surely you want this maniac caught," he persisted, blocking her path with his body.

She maneuvered around him, saying, "Indeed, I do, Mr. Tyler. Which is why I have nothing to say to you!"

At last she was able to escape, wondering as she ducked into the stairwell how he had found out about Janet. The police had warned them to keep the circumstances of her admission quiet, and she thought they had succeeded. She should have known there were no secrets in a hospital. The police presence alone, no matter how understated, was enough to start rumors. Her first impulse was to call Rebecca, but then she thought better of it. After all, she hadnt told him anything.

**********

Watts saw Rebecca heading for the stairs directly upon finishing her interview with the officers from IAD. He hurried after her.

"Where you going?" he called just as she reached the door.

She turned, aware that he was right behind her.

"Look, Watts, Im going out. Okay? Now go back to your paperwork."

He grabbed her arm. "Out where?"

Rebecca stared at the beefy hand on her arm and slowly raised her eyes to his. He hastily let his hand drop, but he still stood firmly in her path.

"Watts" she said menacingly, struggling to keep her temper under control.

"Look, Frye -- Im not any happier about this than you are, but thats the way it is. So its a bitch -- theres nothing we can do about it." He waited for some reaction, but Rebecca stared past him at some small spot on the opposite wall. Watts shook a cigarette out of a crumpled pack, lit it, and leaned against the wall, content to stay there all afternoon. A muscle in Rebeccas face twitched.

"Im going over to homicide -- the Zamora case was ours. Maybe I can help," she said reluctantly.

Watts blew a perfect smoke ring, considering her words.

"Homicide can handle the case, Frye. Theyre not going to screw up when its one of our own. Why not let them do their jobs -- weve got plenty on our plates right here."

"I didnt ask for your opinion, Watts," Rebecca said heatedly, shouldering him aside.

"Oh, the hell with it," Watts muttered as he listened to her footsteps echo in the stairwell.

He was right, and Rebecca knew it. Still, she had to see for herself that everything possible was being done to find Jeffs killer. She had to do something!

She finally tracked down the investigating officers, who were painstakingly sweeping the area of the killings for witnesses. Apparently, no one had seen or heard anything.

Rebecca found the two officers in charge of the case standing beside a chalk outline on the small loading dock where she had found Jeff and Ronnie Carmichael. She stared at the spot, envisioning Jeffs body contained within the impersonal white lines. At length she turned to the two men who were regarding her uncomfortably.

"Turn up anything?" Rebecca asked, breaking the silence.

"Not much," the larger of the two replied disgruntledly. They had been questioning vendors and museum workers since first light and had little to show for it. "We assume Cruz met Carmichael sometime around four. This place is still pretty busy then. Nobody would notice two men in a crowd. Most of the people who were here are probably miles away -- tourists."

"Perfect spot for a hit," Rebecca said flatly. Anyone could have approached the two men, flashed some fire power, and walked them down to this isolated dock without attracting attention. Often the easiest crimes to pull off are those carried out in broad daylight. Obviously, this time it had worked.

"What about the people Carmichaels been associating with? He must have gotten onto something a lot heavier than we expected. He made somebody nervous."

"We havent had a chance to go through all his reports. He was pretty sketchy with his sources," the younger detective said. "Theres probably a dozen possibles."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow, clearly irritated that they hadnt gotten to Carmichaels notes yet. Her reaction did not go unnoticed.

"Listen, Frye --" the senior officer said tersely, "weve been out here since twoA.M. Well get to the reports. Well roust anybody we have to, even without due cause. Well find out whats behind this."

Rebeccas shoulders sagged slightly. She was tired. She knew these guys had been busting their balls all night trying to get a jump on the case before the slim trail went cold. But this was Jeff, and she wanted more!

"Right," she said, straightening her back and heading toward the narrow stairs that led up to the pier.

"Well keep you informed, Frye," the younger of the two called out. "And well get the bastard."

Chapter Twelve

Rebecca found herself parked in front of University Hospital, wondering what she was doing there. She had driven directly from the pier, never questioning her destination. Now that she was here, she couldnt decide whether to go in or to leave. She wasnt thinking very clearly. The combination of emotional shock and exhaustion had taken its toll. The normally self-possessed, controlled police detective was on the verge of collapse. She knew vaguely she had come because Catherine Rawlings represented the only sane point in her life -- a solidity and haven she sorely needed. Even in the depths of her despair, however, she resisted. She hated herself for needing this womans comfort, and for wanting the solace of her embrace. As much as she detested her own weakness, she feared the need even more. If she let herself feel it, what would she do if she were wrong? What would she do if Catherine Rawlingsdidntwant her.God, whats wrong with me? Im a cop -- this is all part of the job. I cant fall apart just because things are a little rough. Ive got to get myself together!

Her thoughts were interrupted by a tap on her car window. She looked up to find Catherine standing beside her, studying her quizzically. Rebecca rolled down her window and smiled hesitantly.

"Hi," Rebecca said.

"I saw you as I was going over to the outpatient clinic. What are you doing here?"

"I dont know," Rebecca answered quietly.

Catherine took a close look at her and pulled the drivers door open.

"Move over--Im driving."

Amazingly, Rebecca did as she asked, too tired to protest. Catherine rested one hand protectively on Rebeccas thigh as they drove. Rebecca stared at it, thinking how delicate Catherines long fingers were. She was surprised when Catherine pulled up in front of her brownstone. She allowed Catherine to lead the way up the wide stone stairs and waited silently while Catherine opened the door. The living room was bathed in muted greys and soft maroons as the late afternoon sun streamed through shear drapes.

Catherine slipped out of the light silk jacket she wore and tossed it aside. She turned to Rebecca, who was standing just inside the door, a faintly confused look on her face. Catherine tugged Rebeccas jacket off her arms. She folded it neatly and laid it over the back of a chair. She fumbled slightly with the shoulder harness, but managed to slip it off Rebeccas body. Reaching down, she pulled the pager off Rebeccas belt and placed it with Rebeccas gun on the chair. She kissed her lightly on the lips as she took her hand.

"Youre off duty now, Detective Frye," she whispered as she led Rebecca into her bedroom.

The sheets were cool against Rebeccas skin. She felt Catherine unbuttoning her shirt, and loosening her trousers. She roused herself enough to help remove the rest of her clothes. When Catherine lay down beside her, Rebecca pressed her face against the lush fullness of her breasts, sighing.

"God, you feel good," Rebecca murmured. She moved just enough to nuzzle a nipple with her lips.

Catherine laughed softly and wrapped her arms around Rebeccas strong back.

"Theres plenty of time for that--youre going to get some sleep now. Doctors orders."

Catherine stroked the tight muscles beneath her fingers, feeling them gradually relax as Rebeccas breathing shifted to the steady cadence of sleep. Catherine closed her eyes with contentment, satisfied to have Rebecca safe in her arms.

**********

It was dark when Rebecca opened her eyes, uncertain for an instant in the still room. Then she felt Catherine beside her. Catherines arm lay across Rebeccas breasts, softly encircling her body. Rebecca lay motionless, savoring the sensation of Catherines skin against hers, memorizing the image of Catherine in repose. As her fingers began a slow exploration of Catherines body, Catherine pressed closer, murmuring softly in half-sleep. Rebecca gasped sharply as Catherine slipped one leg between hers and rolled over onto her with a throaty laugh

"Hello, darling," Catherine whispered, bracing herself above the length of Rebeccas firm body as she teasingly rocked against her pelvis. She was rewarded by Rebeccas groan of pleasure. A cry caught in her throat when Rebeccas hands found her breasts. She continued her rhythmic motion until they were both wet, their damp pubic hair tangling together. Suddenly she straddled Rebeccas body, entwining her fingers in the wet curls between Rebeccas legs, tugging gently, pulling the thick hood back to expose Rebeccas erect clitoris. Rebecca groaned as the skin tightened around the shaft. She reached between Catherines legs.

Catherine thought she would come when Rebeccas hand slid into her, completing the circle, but she managed to hold back the tidal wave of surging heat, wanting to prolong their union. They moved in perfect synchrony, stroking the fires of their passion, trembling on the edge of consummation, until at last Rebecca groaned, "Oh Icanthold it" Catherine exulted as Rebecca arched against her, and the sight of her beautiful lovers orgasm pushed her beyond her limits. She convulsed with the force of her own release, collapsing into Rebeccas waiting arms.

**********

When Rebecca stirred again it was after midnight. She attempted to extricate herself from Catherines embrace without disturbing her.

"Im awake," Catherine said softly in the darkness, stroking the length of Rebeccas long form. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

"I know how beautiful you make me feel," came the soft reply.

"Where are you going?" Catherine asked, knowing instinctively that after such intimacy, Rebecca would withdraw. She wondered when, if ever, Rebecca would begin to trust what was growing between them.

"Its late--there are things I should have done earlier," Rebecca replied evasively. She was as content in Catherines arms as she had ever been, but as her strength returned, so did the pull of the streets. How could she explain her restless need to immerse herself in the pulsing, other-world of the night. It was her domain, the reminder of who and what she was.

Catherine sat up, saddened at the distance between them. Her body still throbbed with the aftermath of their lovemaking, and she wanted only to hold Rebecca until the morning. She would not have that tonight, perhaps not any night. It was a possibility she was not ready to face. Rebecca moved her too deeply, aroused desires too powerful, to think about turning back. Her heart, her soul, had been marked forever by the searing intensity of Rebeccas presence.

"What will you do?" she asked quietly.

Rebecca swung her legs over the side of the bed, instantly aware of the absence of Catherines touch. "Check with homicide about Jeff--talk with some sources who might know something. Cruise through the tenderloin.Ive got contacts there."

Catherine tried to absorb the realities of Rebeccas life, wondering if she would ever truly be able to understand it. Who but another cop could appreciate the soul-numbing inhumanity that was an everyday occurrence in the world Rebecca inhabited. She would try, and she was determined not to allow Rebecca to shut her out.

Catherine started to rise. "Let me get you some coffee."

Rebecca restrained her, pushing her gently down. "I dont want you to get up. I want you to stay here, so I can think of you like this until I see you again."

Catherine wrapped her arms around Rebeccas neck, kissing her tenderly. "All right," she replied huskily.

She lay in the dark, listening to Rebecca move about in the other room. She didnt sleep again until long after the outer door clicked shut.

Chapter Thirteen

Rebecca cruised slowly through the tenderloin, that part of town frequented by prostitutes and the men who sought their company, drug dealers, street people, and others society had cast out or forgotten. The prostitutes in their crotch high skirts and revealing tops leaned against buildings or strolled languidly through the litter-strewn streets. Many she recognized by sight, more than a few by name. Arresting them was not her goal--they were no more criminals than the hungry who stole for food. When citizens of the surrounding gentrified areas complained that the undesirable activity was encroaching on their neighborhoods, the cops would round up some of the girls, knowing full well they would be back on the streets in hours. All the participants knew it was a futile gesture. Rebecca chose instead to keep an eye out for new faces, especially the very young, hoping to get to a few before the streets became a way of life. Occasionally she succeeded.

She pulled over in front of a bar which sported a flashing neon sign reading, `GirlsLive Nude Girls. She wondered absently if anyone besides her found that sign absurd. It wasnt the bar she was interested in, but the thin blond woman in front of it. She was about five-five, heavily made up, with an expanse of leg showing that left little to the imagination. Her hair was bleached, in a punk cut, and she kept one eye on the cars cruising by as she talked with several other women. When she saw Rebecca climb out of her car, her face twisted into a frown.

"Hiya, Sandy," Rebecca said softly as she approached. The others in the group began to drift quickly away.

"Jesus, Frye," the girl hissed, looking quickly over her shoulder. "What are you trying to do to me? Ill be poison to every john on the street tonight!"

"So you can get a good nights sleep then," Rebecca said, turning so her back was to the bar, keeping a watchful eye on the street. She was alone, and it was no secret she was a cop. "I need to talk to you."

"Is that all?" Sandy said with contempt. Shed had too much experience with cops who wanted more than just information to trust any of them.

Rebecca met her angry gaze evenly. "Thats all right now."

"I dont have much choice, do I?"

"No, you dont."

"Can we talk inside? Youre killing my business out here."

Rebecca nodded and followed the girl into the dark bar, taking a table well away from the small platform where a woman did a tired bump and grind for the few patrons. Sandy signaled for a drink. Rebecca put a twenty on the table.

"So, what do you need, `Officer," Sandy asked in a bored voice.

"Two cops were killed the day before yesterday. What do you hear about it?"

Sandy sipped her drink and regarded Rebecca coolly. She didnt actually dislike the big cop; in fact, Rebecca was one of the few cops who didnt harass the working girls. Shed even let Sandy out of the police van one night after a raid rather than bring her downtown for the empty charade of booking. Still, Sandy didnt want her to get the idea she was some kind of stoolie. And it didnt help her reputation any to appear too chummy with the cops. There was something different about the tall, blond detective tonight, though. She seemed almost human, like she had feelings.Youre losing it, girl -- cops with feelings!

"Theres nothing going down that Ive heard," she said finally, which was pretty much true. Theyd all heard about it, of course. Usually when something like that happened it brought the whole force down on them, like they were the source of all the citys problems. Maybe this cop was just the first of many.

"What about the chicken trade? Any new faces in town?"

Sandy snorted in disgust. She hated the child procurers and pornographers as much as she hated the pushers. Like most of her friends, she stayed clear of them.

"Since that big bust six months ago, its been quiet. I heard there might be a new house open somewhere in a very ritzy location, but it isnt down here."

"Whos running it?" Rebecca asked nonchalantly, hiding her surprise at the information. She had been instrumental in cleaning out half a dozen establishments supplying children for all types of amusement in the city-wide crackdown Sandy referred to. If they were up and running again, there had to be big money behind it. Could that have been what Carmichael was on to?

"No one knows, and thats the truth. Theres more than a few people whod like to find out."

"Yeah," Rebecca muttered. "Where theres kids, theres money." She looked at the young woman before her, already cynical and hardened against life. There was nothing Rebecca could do to change her future, but maybe she could make a difference with a few of the really young ones. She pushed back her chair, leaving another twenty with the change on the table. "Thanks, Sandy. Keep your ears open--Ill be back."

"Hey, Frye," Sandy called. "Who were the cops who got it?"

"Just cops."

Chapter Fourteen

Rebecca was still in the car as the sun came up. She stopped at an all-night diner for breakfast before a quick detour to her apartment to shower and change clothes. The traffic was light, and her mind wandered, returning unbidden to memories of the previous night. Just recalling the sound of Catherines voice brought heat to her blood. Images of Catherine, wanton and passionate, threatened to unhinge her. Being with Catherine was at once the most comfortable and exciting experience shed ever had. It was more than she had ever dreamed, and easily the most frightening. Rebecca was relieved when the station house appeared, and she pulled into the lot on squealing tires. Work was just what she needed to put Catherine Rawlings in perspective.

It was too early for the day shift to arrive, and she walked unnoticed through the quiet halls. When she pushed open the ready room door she was astonished to see Watts at his desk with a half-eaten pizza in front of him. She wasnt certain, but she thought he was wearing the same suit as the day before. He was the only one in the room.

He glanced her way, grunting a greeting as he reached for another slice of the now congealed pizza.

"I was just going to call you, Frye," he said around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

"Whats so important at five-thirty in the morning?" Rebecca commented, not really caring what Watts had to say. She couldnt stand to see him sitting in Jeffs chair. She noticed a stack of folders beside the desk -- their open case files. Could Watts actually be working?

"Thought you might like to read the morning paper," he said, tossing the early bird edition onto her desk. He went back to eating, munching the cold crust, his face expressionless.

"What the hell!" Rebecca exploded as she glanced at the headlines. "Riverside Rape Witness Found!" She stared at him in astonishment, and he shook his head grimly.

"Read it. Its very interesting."

She began to read aloud, her voice tight and angry. "Sources reveal that a witness to the brutal rape of a college student on the River Drive last week may have been found." What followed was a sensationalized review of the previous two assaults, but it was the last paragraph which caused Rebecca to clench her fists in frustration. "Dr. Catherine Rawlings, a noted psychiatrist at University declined comment, but unnamed sources confirm her involvement with a patient who witnessed the most recent attack. The patients name has not yet been released, nor has a description of the assailant been made public." The article finished with an indictment of the police for failing to keep the public informed.

"Jesus Christ," Rebecca cursed, tossing the paper aside. "I cantbelievethe asshole put Catherines name in the paper! He might as well have put Janet Ryans in, too. Well need to tighten security down there today. Catherine didnt want us to put a guard on the girl, but well have to now."

This kind of media reporting only made their jobs more difficult. It engendered public distrust, and in this case could very well endanger the investigation. It might prompt the rapist to change his pattern, or stop temporarily, leaving them in the void. He might move to another city altogether. It was even possible he might try to silence Janet Ryan, now that he knew where she was.

"Looks like somebody talked," Watts remarked with disgust. "Probably the shrink."

"It wasnt her," Rebecca stated flatly, knowing that Catherine would never endanger Janet Ryan.

"She knows almost as much as we do," Watts continued unperturbed, fingering the reports in front of him. "Shes been present every time youve talked to the Ryan kid"

"I told you, Watts -- it wasnt her. Now let it drop!" Rebecca barked. Her patience was exhausted, and she felt fatigue settle around her like a cloak. "Go find the little twerp from the Daily and shake it out of him after morning report," she said, slowly standing up. "Im going home."

Watts wasnt convinced, but he knew better than to provoke her further. He didnt ask her anything else.

Chapter Fifteen

Catherine finished her second cup of coffee and glanced up at the cafeteria clock. It was 7:15. Residents and students were beginning to gather in tired clumps to discuss the nights events and the days demands over breakfast. She was one of the few staff present at such an hour. The real business of the hospital wouldnt begin until the outpatient clinics began at 8:30. Catherine had come early for one specific reason -- to intercept Hazel Holcomb before the Chief of Psychiatrys busy schedule made her inaccessible for the day. Catherine saw the familiar figure moving through the coffee line at precisely 7:30, carrying a coffee and danish as she had each morning for the fifteen years that Catherine had known her. She was nearing sixty, and her age showed only in the grey of her hair and a slight thickening of her body. Her brisk step and quick piercing gaze were as youthful as ever.

Hazel Holcombs face registered faint surprise when she saw Catherine beckoning to her from across the room. As she settled into the chair across from her colleague, she said, "I dont suppose this is just a pleasant coincidence, is it?"

Catherine flushed in embarrassment. She always meant to call Hazel just to chat, or perhaps have dinner, but her schedule never seemed to leave time for it. Hazel had been her supervisor when she was a resident, and they had since become friends. Perhaps more than anyone else she knew, Catherine valued Hazels opinion. She had the ability to provide insight without judgment, and the wisdom to hold her counsel until the patient --or friend -- was ready to accept it.

"No, it isnt," Catherine responded. "I have a professional problem I wanted to discuss with you. Do you mind me interrupting your breakfast time?" Catherine knew that this was probably one of the few private moments Hazel would have all day.

"Your company is always a pleasure, Catherine," the chief of psychiatry replied. "Tell me about your problem."

Catherine relayed the details of Janet Ryans involvement with the recent assaults and the amnesia that followed.

"Im not sure how hard I should be trying to reverse her amnesia," Catherine stated. "Obviously, its vital to know exactly what she witnessed. Its critical to the police investigation. On the other hand, I have to think of Janets psyche first. She is a sexual abuse victim herself. Her brother repeatedly raped her throughout her childhood. Im certain that the shock of witnessing the assault this week triggered many old terrors for her."

"Enough to account for the amnesia?" Hazel asked, dunking the corner of her cheese danish into the steamy black coffee.

Catherine shrugged. "The beating she took by itself may account for the amnesia --but shes beginning to have flashbacks from her early childhood. Previously unremembered episodes of abuse. That is a result of witnessing the rape, Im sure."

"She must be very fragile right now," Hazel commented.

"She is, of course. Shes been working with me individually, and in group, for some time. She has made a lot of progress. This whole event has brought up a great deal for her to handle all at once."

Hazel pushed her chair back slightly and sat quietly regarding Catherine Rawlings. Catherine had been the brightest resident she had ever trained, and she was now the most accomplished psychiatrist on her staff. Hazel hoped to see Catherine assume her own position as head of psychiatry when Hazel retired. She knew her to be both an empathetic therapist and accomplished theoretician. Hazel knew that when Catherine sought her advice, it was often simply to confirm what she already believed.

"What do you think would happen to Janet if she were to recall the details of this recent trauma before she was prepared for it?" Hazel asked at last.

Catherine thought carefully before replying. "I cant be sure -- theres a good chance she would handle it well. She has a supportive partner, and she has made great progress with resolving much of her confusion as to her own guilt -- or lack of it -- for the abuse in her childhood." Catherine hesitated, thinking aloud. "But there is still a possibility that she might see her inability to prevent this rape as a reflection of what she considers to be her failure to protect herself from her brother. It could be damaging."

"Thats your answer, then, isnt it," Hazel stated calmly. "Shell remember when its safe for her to remember."

Catherine felt a wave of relief as she often did when Hazel grasped the essence of some professional dilemma and reduced it to its simplest form.

Of course, her first responsibility was to her patients welfare, regardless of the potential risk that existed if the rapist was not apprehended quickly. If any doubt existed as to Janets well-being, Catherine owed it to her to be cautious.

"Of course. Youre so right," Catherine said quietly. "Im afraid I momentarily lost sight of exactly what my issues are."

Hazel recognized the look of self-accusation that crossed Catherines fine features, clouding them for an instant with self-doubt.Ever the perfectionist,Hazel thought.

"Dont be so hard on yourself, Katie," Hazel said softly, using the nickname few people knew. "This is not a simple matter. Are the police pressuring you to force Janet along?"

"Oh, no," Catherine replied quickly. "Rebecca has been wonderful with Janet."

Hazel picked up immediately on the change in Catherines tone, but she didnt comment on it. Catherine, however, flushed slightly and hastened to explain.

"Rebecca Frye is the detective in charge of the rape investigation. Shes very good with Janet. Shes frustrated, of course, because she doesnt have much to go on. But, shes allowed me to handle Janet my own way."

"Sounds unusual for the police," Hazel noted dryly. It had not been her experience that the police were particularly sensitive about how they elicited information.

"Rebeccaisunusual. Shes a police officer, down to her last cell, but shes also a sensitive, tender woman. I dont think thats been easy for her." As Catherine spoke, she remembered the exhausted woman who had sought comfort in her arms just a few hours before, and her body warmed to the memory. Hazel knew Catherine too well not to notice.

"How serious is this -- with this police woman?" Hazel asked pointedly.

Catherine met Hazels gaze evenly, but her eyes betrayed her uncertainty. She sighed deeply and shook her head.

"Oh, Hazel. I wish I could answer that. I hardly know her, really, and yet, my feelings for her are so strong! Shes hardened by her work and emotionally barricaded because of it; but shes also hiding her fear and her tenderness and her caring just to maintain her balance." Catherine spread her hands in a rare gesture of helplessness. "Im afraid Im quite taken with her."

Hazel wasnt all that surprised. She was probably the person who knew Catherine best, and she had watched her hold herself apart from potential relationships -- unsatisfied by casual encounters, not given to sexual liaisons, searching, seeking some deeper connection and being continually disappointed. She knew it had been some years since Catherine had even seriously dated anyone, and that her detachment had grown out of her disillusionment with love. For all of Catherines training and knowledge of life, she remained, at her core, a true romantic. And she remained a woman, Hazel feared, who might never find the soul partner she so desired.

"Well --" Hazel said finally, "I think I can understand your dilemma better now." She raised a hand to halt Catherines quick reply. "Oh, I do not for an instant doubt your professional judgment, or your ability to protect your patient. But ones head is hardly clear when one is falling in love."

Catherine blushed fully and looked down at her hands. "Do you think Im foolish?" she asked softly.

Hazel reached across the table, touching Catherines hand gently. "Not a bit," she replied. "Its normal and healthy -- and about time."

"It may turn into a disaster," Catherine went on, voicing her fear for the first time. "Shes afraid, I feel, of being hurt. Im not sure shes even capable of knowing her feelings for me, or for anything."

"Shes not alone in that, Katie," Hazel said sadly, "but, shes touched you in a way no one has in years, and I doubt that she could have done that if she were truly irrevocably lost to her feelings. Trust to time -- and try to take care of yourself."

Catherine smiled her gratitude and straightened her shoulders. Pushing back from the table she stated, "Ive got to make rounds."

They accompanied each other in friendly silence, strengthened as always by their encounter.

Chapter Sixteen

Rebecca pulled into the hospital parking lot just before 11A.M.and took the now familiar route to the psychiatry wing. She needed information from Catherine, and she was trying unsuccessfully to segregate her personal feelings from her professional obligations. She couldnt deny the quickening of her heart beat, or the slight inner excitement that stirred just from the anticipation of seeing Catherine. Even though she was bone tired and still reeling from the shock of Jeffs death, the memory of Catherines body beside hers charged the very air around her. She stepped off the elevator into the hushed hall of the inpatient ward and tried to assume a professional demeanor.

A woman was bent over a stack of metal folding charts behind the white counter of the nurses station, busily cross-checking medication cards. She looked up and smiled when she heard Rebecca approach.

"Im sorry," she said, "visiting hours arent until one oclock."

Rebecca pulled the slim black leather folder from her pocket and displayed her identification.

"Im looking for Dr. Rawlings," she explained. "Is she around?"

The attractive dark-haired woman, whose name tag identified her as Ruth Murdock, R.N., checked her watch and replied, "She should be finishing with the residents in a few minutes. Theres a conference room just down the hall. Do you want to wait for her there?"

Rebecca nodded. "Thats fine. Ill find it," she added, motioning the nurse to stay seated.

There was little of interest in the conference room, and Rebecca let her mind wander back over the events of the last week, hoping to turn up some detail that might provide direction to her investigation. There was something that kept nagging at her -- something she had seen or heard which might be significant, and she couldnt quite bring it into focus. That feeling was not unfamiliar. She had an idea that all good investigators experienced it -- the swirling impressions which finally consolidated into an image, bringing the greater picture into sudden relief.

The tantalizing "clue" which was often the key to a puzzle whose separate pieces quickly fell into place. She was familiar enough with the process to know that it couldnt be rushed. Eventually, her unconscious mind would work that tiny fragment free and allow it to float to the surface.Then, she hoped, she would begin to close the gap between herself and the man she sought.

The door opened and Catherine walked in. "You dont look like a woman whos been up half the night," Catherine said as she seated herself at the small conference table. The warmth in her smile and the intimacy in her eyes reached out to Rebecca like a caress.

Rebecca felt her cheeks flush despite her resolve to remain detached, and she looked away for a moment.

"It isnt about last night," Rebecca began, her tone stiffer than she had intended.

Catherine studied her intently, replying quietly. "An official visit, then?"

"I need to know about the reporter you spoke with."

"The reporter?" Catherine said blankly.

"Have you seen the paper?"

"No."

"There was an article today revealing the fact that we had a witness to the rape," Rebecca said, unable to hide the anger in her voice.

"Oh, god," Catherine said. "Of course! There was a young man here yesterday, asking questions" She stopped and looked at Rebecca, her eyes filled with concern. "You think I told him?"

"Did you?"

"No, but he seemed to know that the police were involved with Janets case. I assure you, Rebecca, I told him nothing."

Rebecca quickly reached for Catherines hand and squeezed it briefly. "I believe you. Can you think of anyone who might have talked to him?"

Catherines face revealed her frustration. "A dozen people. A hospital is the least private place in the world. Everyone is eager for a story, and every bit of human drama is meal for the gossip mill. It could have been anyone!"

Rebecca nodded. "I was afraid of that. Theres not much we can do about it now, but, it makes it even more important that we learn what Janet saw. Can you help me with this?"

Catherine was quiet for a moment, sorting through her thoughts. The sight of Rebeccas drawn and tired face was wrenching. She wanted so much to be able to offer some relief. But she had a deeper obligation, in this case even greater than her growing affection for the woman before her.

"Rebecca, Ill do all I can. Im seeing Janet and Barbara tonight. If I learn anything at all, Ill tell you immediately."

"I may need to have Janet interviewed by the police psychiatrist, Catherine," Rebecca said quietly. She saw Catherines body tense, and she feared she had offended her. She didnt want that -- professionally or personally. "He may be able to recognize something you dont."

"Of course," Catherine responded formally. "Im not a forensic psychiatrist."

Rebecca shook her head impatiently, "Im not suggesting youre not competent, Catherine! But, he is trained in criminal investigation."

"May I be present at the interview?" Catherine asked.

Rebecca thought quickly. "I dont see why not -- it might make it easier for Janet."

"I dont like it, Rebecca, but I can see that you have to do this."

"Thank you," Rebecca said softly, realizing in that moment how frightened she had been. She couldnt tolerate the thought of Catherine angry at her. "Theres something else I need from you," she continued.

Catherine couldnt suppress a chuckle. The woman was certainly relentless! "Theres more?"

"What do you know about serial rapists? This doesnt seem to fit with what Im used to seeing."

Catherine nodded. "This type of patterned, serial rapist is unusual. Most rapes occur between acquaintances, or in particular settings -- groups, or gang rapes, in bars or at parties. And, of course, the repeat rape of young children by adult sexual abusers, generally family members. The type of rape were dealing with here is a sociopathic activity, a crime perpetrated out of some deep-rooted psychopathology."

"Such as?"

"Oh, any number of things. Low self-esteem, attributed, often incorrectly, to powerful female figures -- a domineering mother, a failed relationship with a woman -- anger at feelings of impotence or lack of control -- inability to direct events around him. The rapist often feels like a victim of social or personal injustices and translates that into anger against women. It is rarely purely sexually motivated, but, of course, sex is equated with power, especially in our culture. So, the rapes represent an attempt to control events, to gain superiority over the perceived persecutor."

"What can I expect in terms of the pattern of these attacks?" Rebecca asked, making notes as she listened.

"Its hard to say. There isnt anything particularly ritualized about them. As far as Im aware, the only similarities are the site, and the fact that all of the victims are runners."

"There is something else," Rebecca said. "All of the victims were sodomized -- there was no vaginal penetration."

Catherine raised an eyebrow as she considered this new information. "Well, I could theorize, of course, but I doubt that it would help you much."

"Go ahead. You never know what may help."

"It could be that the rapist is potent only that way -- fear of vaginal intercourse, of `losing ones penis, is not that uncommon with sexually maladjusted men. There is also the possibility that he is acting out a fantasy in which the victims femaleness is a detractor."

Rebecca stopped writing and looked up. "You mean a homosexual fantasy?"

"Possibly."

"Terrific," Rebecca said disgustedly. "That would definitely help public opinion of gays."

"Its not likely that he is consciously gay, Rebecca. It would be much more likely that he is suppressing homosexual ideation -- and, as I said, Im only theorizing."

Rebecca snapped her notebook shut and rubbed her face in frustration.

"I cant do anything but wait for his next move -- and that means waiting for him to attack another woman."

"What about staking out the area?"

"We try," Rebecca snorted, "but its pretty difficult with only a few people to cover twenty miles of river front."

"I wish I could help you more."

"You can. You can help me find out what Janet Ryan saw that night."

Catherine remained silent, torn between conflicting emotions. At length, she stood up, not wanting to leave but knowing she must.

"I want to see you again, Rebecca," she said at last. "Not here, and not about police business. I want to be somewhere with you where we can talk and rest. I want to be able to touch you."

Rebecca turned quickly towards Catherine, pulling her close against her, kissing her firmly on the mouth. Her hands traveled the length of Catherines back, caressing each curve with trembling hands. When she stepped back, her heart was racing.

"And Ive been wanting to do that since you walked in the room," Rebecca said breathlessly. She touched Catherines cheek softly and then slipped quickly from the room.

Catherine was aware that Rebecca had again successfully avoided her suggestion of any intimacy between them. And she was also aware of how good Rebeccas hands felt on her.

Chapter Seventeen

Rebeccas beeper went off before the hospital elevator touched the ground floor. Threading her way through the log jam of wheelchairs, elderly patients shuffling behind steel-framed walkers, and clumps of disoriented visitors, she reached a public phone and called the station.

"Frye, here," she announced into the phone.

She edged her way out of the path of a speeding adolescent and waited impatiently for her call to be put through.

"This is Watts," the heavy male voice intoned in a bored voice.

"What do you want, Watts?" Rebecca snapped, unable to hide her dislike for her new partner.

"A call came in on the night shift -- a desk clerk down on Delroy found a dead hooker in one of the upstairs rooms."

Rebecca waited for more and was rewarded with the faint background buzz of the phone line.

"Watts," she said in exasperation, "we dont have time to track down some faceless john who got too rough with a hooker. Turn it over to Homicide."

"Yeah," Watts said. "Youre probably right. The whore was just a kid --thirteen, they said."

Rebecca expelled a ragged breath. "Fuck! I was hoping we had quieted that action down."

"Funny thing about it. The M.E. called in a preliminary report -- seems the kid was beaten to death first, then sodomized. The semen analysis showed up type O."

"Jesus!" Rebecca exclaimed. "Why didnt you say it might be our guy straight out! Give me the address -- Ill meet you there."

She knew the place. The Viceroy Hotel. It had once been a respectable hotel, housing long-term tenants and the occasional tourist. With the decline of the neighborhood and the gravitation of junkies, prostitutes, and drug dealers to this area, anyone who could afford to had moved out. Now the hotel was a stop over for hookers and their clients, junkies waiting for their next fix, and the lonely wino who had scrounged the price of a thin mattress for the night.

Rebecca made the cross-town trip easily, despite the rush of lunch hour traffic. Watts was waiting in front of the four-story building, looking apathetic and bored. His crumpled suit, too tight across his bulging middle, had once been expensive but now reflected the neglect and disinterest which was evident in the man himself. Rebecca knew that he had once been considered a sharp detective, but apparently, something had changed. He looked every inch the burnt out veteran, just putting in time until his pension came up. Rebecca did not want to be saddled with him; he was clearly a loser.

She joined him wordlessly, and they pushed through the hotels double entry doors into a dank, dimly lit foyer. Thread-bare chairs sat haphazardly on a rug of indeterminate color. Piles of old magazines lay strewn randomly over the surface of a scarred coffee table. Beyond this waiting area was a small counter where the desk clerk leaned on his elbow, watching them impassively. The room was empty except for an old woman who reclined on a sofa against one wall, snoring softly.

The clerk clearly read them as cops and continued to stare at them without speaking. As they approached, Watts flipped his badge open and leaned against the cigarette-scarred desk top.

"You Bailey?" he said without preamble.

"Thats right," the man said. His breath smelled of liquor, and he didnt look as if face had seen a razor in days.

"You find the body?" Watts continued, making no effort to introduce Rebecca. She was irritated but saw no benefit in making a show out of it. She let Watts carry the ball.

"Yeah, I found it."

Watts nodded slightly. "Says in the report that you called in at 3:42A.M."

"Probably. I didnt look at no clock."

"How come youre on the desk now? Wheres the day shift?"

The man looked at Watts blankly. "I work the day shift."

Watts paused for a moment, a befuddled frown on his face. "That so? Then how come you were here in the middle of the night? You work the night shift too?"

The desk clerks face registered dismay, and he looked quickly around the room. Rebecca had the sense that he was looking for an exit, and she stepped slightly to the left, blocking the hinged section of counter that led out from the narrow space between the mailboxes and the registration desk. She slowly moved her hand to unbutton her jacket, allowing her access to her automatic. She wasnt sure what Watts had in mind, but he was certainly after something. It would have helped if he had briefed her first.

Watts studied the clerk, his face still creased with confusion.

"You got other work here, maybe?"

"Like what?" the thin greying man asked uneasily.

"Like maybe you run a few of the girls yourself?"

At Watts suggestion the man gave a frightened snort and backed away from the counter.

"No way, no way at all. I never pimped -- I swear. I just --" he stammered into silence.

"You justwhat?" Watts asked.

"Nothing."

Watts turned to Rebecca and raised a questioning eyebrow. "What do you think, Detective Frye? Isnt soliciting clients for prostitutes a felony in this state? Maybe we should take Mr. Bailey here for a ride downtown?"

Rebecca followed his lead. She nodded agreement, and responded, "Youre right, Detective Watts. Mr. Bailey does seem in clear violation of the law."

Bailey squeaked in protest, words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush.

"Wait a minute! I didnt solicit for nobody. The girl was up there a long time, and I just went to see. There she was -- spread out on the bed, naked except for those shorts around her ankles. She was cold already. I could tell that from the door. Sos I called the cops -- thats what a citizen is supposed to do, isnt it?"

He glanced from one to the other, hoping for a sign of approval. They returned his gaze impassively.

Rebecca stepped a little closer to the counter and said softly, "Why were you watching her, Mr. Bailey?"

He looked uncomfortable and shifted from one foot to the other. He seemed to come to some decision, speaking slowly. "They pay me a little to keep an eye on the girls. You know -- to see how many tricks they turn -- if theyre holding back on their pimps. I dont do nothing but keep an eye on traffic, so to speak."

"Who pays you, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked, keeping her body between Bailey and Watts. They were playing good cop/bad cop all right. She only wished that Watts had given her some notice.

"You cant arrest me for watching hookers -- that aint no crime!"

Watts moved closer to Rebecca. "It is if youre an accomplice to the act --which you are, Bailey."

Bailey blanched but remained silent.

"Who went up there with her, Mr. Bailey?" Rebecca asked suddenly.

"Didnt see him," he answered quickly.

Rebecca turned to Watts. "Maybe Mr. Bailey would remember if we took him downtown. What do you say, Watts?"

Watts appeared to be thinking, his brow knit in consternation. "Yeah -- you might be right, Frye. But then wed have to fill out all those reports and probably run Bailey through the computer. You know how long those computer checks take." He sighed as if the idea didnt appeal to him much.

Bailey watched them, scarcely taking a breath. Finally, their silence drove him to speak.

"Look. I dont pay much attention to the johns -- theyre in and out of here all the time. Dozens of em. This girl Patty -- she was popular, you know? Young stuff like that attracts a lot of action. Shed be up and down those stairs ten times a night."

Rebecca suppressed a shudder, pushing the image of a young girl laboring under the bodies of countless men from her mind. She kept her gaze noncommittally on Baileys pale face.

"The last guy -- I just glanced up when they went by. He was young, I remember that. Made me wonder for a second why such a young dude would have to pay for it." He shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe he was a virgin."

"You never saw him before?" Rebecca asked, hoping to encourage Bailey to continue his musings.

"Nah. I probably would have remembered if he was a regular."

"Is there anything that struck you as unusual about the guy?" Watts asked.

Bailey appeared to be considering the question, but his face remained blank. Chances were he had become too immersed in the decadence around him to notice specifics.

"Dont think so," he said slowly. Suddenly, his face brightened, as if he had had a revelation. "I do remember he had a bag with him -- one of those gym bags." He chuckled absently to himself. "Maybe he kept those shorts in there."

"What shorts?" Rebecca prompted, looking at Watts. Watts shook his head slightly, signally he had no idea what Bailey was referring to.

"You know," Bailey said, "those little shorts she had on. She wasnt wearing them when she went upstairs."

Rebecca felt a surge of excitement. "What was she wearing?"

"One of those little leather skirts and a -- what do they call them? Tank tops?"

"Were her clothes in the room when you found her?" Watts asked.

Bailey shook his head. "Didnt see them, but I didnt look too close."

Rebecca knew they could check that out in the report the uniform who responded to the call would file. She thought they had enough from Bailey for now, and she explained to him that they would need him to meet with the police artist to sketch a composite of the man who had accompanied Patty Harris on her last trick. Despite his protest that he didnt really see the guy, he agreed to meet them at the station later that day. He seemed more willing to cooperate now that they had "forgotten" about his role in the prostitution business.

Rebecca and Watts went over the crime scene, but they didnt expect to find much. An iron bed stand stood in the center of a grey-walled room that had once been white. The mattress was thin and stained. There were no rugs on the worn wood floor, and only a curtain remnant to block the view of a deserted building across the street. A single bulb hung from a central ceiling fixture, its globe long broken. It was an empty, abandoned place, much like the people who used it for their hasty couplings. The oppressiveness of the room permeated their consciousness quickly, and they left after a rapid survey, neither of them speaking.

Once outside, Rebecca turned to Watts where he was attempting to light a cigarette. His match kept blowing out.

"That was a nice piece of work with Bailey, Watts," she said. His questioning had been sharp, and they had worked well together.

His cigarette finally caught, and he took a deep drag. He didnt acknowledge her remark as he started toward the car.

"Guess well have to start questioning all the hookers down here," he remarked, pulling open the door to his battered green Dodge sedan. "See if theres a john around who likes girls in gym shorts."

Rebecca nodded, her thoughts in tune with his. It could just be a coincidence, but it was the only lead they had. It was certainly better than cooling their heels waiting for their rapist to strike again.

"Ive got some contacts here --let me chase this a while," she replied.

Watts shrugged. "Suits me. Im going to grab some lunch."

He didnt invite her along, and Rebecca didnt suggest they go together. She agreed to meet him at the station later to see what Bailey and the police artist would put together. Maybe, finally, they had a break.

Chapter Eighteen

It was after eight, and Catherine was exhausted. She had spent the afternoon at her office, seeing private patients. She loved her work, but there were times when it took all of her effort to stay connected and focused during a session. She was a good therapist, and she was almost always present for her clients. On days like today, she was glad to see the last client leave.

As she pushed the stack of patient files into her brief case, the phone rang. She stared at it, wishing she could ignore it. Her receptionist had left. The switchboard would pick it up in a few more rings. Then it occurred to Catherine that it might be Rebecca, and she snatched the phone up.

"Hello," she said, a hopeful anticipation in her voice.

"Dr. Rawlings?" a soft male voice inquired.

"Yes," Catherine replied, trying to keep the disappointment from her voice.

"Is she feeling better now?" the voice continued.

Catherine frowned, annoyed and confused. "Im sorry -- who is this? I dont know to whom youre referring."

"You know her, Dr. Rawlings," he said in a husky tone. "The girl who saw me in the park. The one who watched me fucking that other one."

Catherine took a slow deep breath and kept her voice steady, despite the sudden racing of her heart.

"Im glad you called," Catherine said. "What shall I call you?"

There was a soft chuckle through the line. "You know I cant tell you that. Theyre looking for me, you know. But theyre too stupid to find me."

"Why is that?"

"They have no imagination." Another soft laugh. "Do you, Dr. Rawlings?"

"I think so," she answered.

"Can you imagine lying on the ground, your face in the grass, with a big hard cock up your ass?"

He might have been asking her if she would like to take a stroll in the park. His tone was casual, almost distant.

"Is that what youre imagining right now?" she asked him.

"I wont tell youthat, Doctor," he responded, an edge in his voice for the first time. "I cant tell anybody -- but youll see, wont you? The next time I do it, youll see."

"What are you going to do?" Catherine questioned.

The click of the line being disconnected was the only response.

"Damn," Catherine muttered as she sagged against her desk. She started to tremble slightly and realized how shaken she was by the call. Part of her professional mind was fascinated, but, personally, she was repulsed by the soft, cool voice which reached out to her like an unwanted caress. There was only one voice she wanted to hear right now.

Chapter Nineteen

"Hey, Frye," the night sergeant called across the squad room. "Theres a call for you."

Rebecca frowned and gestured "no" with her hand. She and Watts were expecting Bailey to finish with the police artist any second, and she was eager to get a look at her suspects face.

The desk sergeant shrugged. "The lady says its an emergency."

Rebecca, annoyed, crossed the nearly deserted room and reached for the receiver.

"Frye," she announced tersely.

"This is Catherine, Rebecca. I wouldnt have called, but --"

"Nonsense," Rebecca interrupted immediately, detecting a difference in Catherines usually calm voice. "What is it?"

"Your suspect -- the rapist -- just called me. At least, I think it was him," Catherine replied, her voice curiously flat. She felt somewhat detached from everything at the moment.

Rebecca caught her breath, filled with a sudden anger. This nameless, faceless man had gone too far. He had touched someone who meant a great deal to Rebecca.

"Where are you?"

"At my office."

"I want you to lock your office door, move away from the window, and wait for me. Donotopen the door for anyone. Ill be there in ten minutes."

"Im fine, Rebecca," Catherine said, some of her usual control evident in her tone.

"I know that. Just do as I say."

"Of course I will."

Rebecca hurried across the room for her jacket and was intercepted by Watts as she headed toward the door.

"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping nonchalantly between her and the exit.

Rebecca stared at him while trying to make a decision. She knew she should tell him about a possible contact from the suspect, but she wanted to see Catherine alone, to be sure she was all right. She remained wordless, and he watched her, no expression on his face.

Taking a deep breath, she replied, "We may have a phone contact from our boy. He may have just called Catherine Rawlings. Im going there now."

Watts raised both eyebrows and whistled softly. "Things are heating up, arent they? Guess Id better tag along."

Rebecca knew she couldnt prevent him from accompanying her, as much as she wanted to go alone. Damn the job sometimes!

"Lets go then," she said resolutely, consumed with the need to reach Catherine.

When she knocked on the office door, calling to Catherine, she unconsciously held her breath until she heard the lock being turned. The door swung open and Catherine stepped forward, looking pale but composed. She stopped short when she saw Watts behind Rebecca, her eyes meeting Rebeccas.

"Thank you for coming, Detective," she said quietly.

Rebecca wanted to enfold her in her arms, aching to touch her just for a moment. Instead, she nodded slightly and followed Catherine into the waiting room. She introduced Watts and suggested they sit so Catherine could tell her story.

Catherine relayed in detail the brief conversation. Her memory was excellent, honed from years of retaining an entire hours session with clients. Rebecca and Watts each took notes.

Rebecca stiffened when Catherine clinically stated the callers sexual intimations. She felt a rage she rarely experienced despite all her encounters with brutality and perversions. This time it was Catherine who was threatened. When Catherine finished, Rebecca was wordless, struggling with her emotions.

She started slightly as Watts asked, "Did you recognize the voice, Doctor?" Rebecca had forgotten he was there.

Catherine shook her head, a look of faint surprise on her face. "No," she said, "of course not."

Watts gave a non-committal shrug. "Never know. Could be someone you knowor maybe someone you treated?"

Catherine regarded the blank face of the man seated beside Rebecca contemplatively. She sensed a clever mind behind the facade of apparent disinterest. Her curiosity was piqued, and she wondered where his train of thought was leading. Without consciously realizing it, she slipped into her professional mind set and began to view the events objectively, as if they had happened to someone else.

"I would recognize the voice, Im sure of that. He was casual, and yet, so intimate." She didnt notice Rebeccas slight flinch at her choice of words. Watts gave no sign of noticing it either.

"Hes trying to make contact. He wants someone to share his experience with," she mused aloud.

"What do you mean?" Rebecca asked, trying to keep her voice even.Goddamn him to hell for involving Catherine in this.

She didnt want to interrupt Catherines assessment of what had occurred by allowing her own reactions to interfere. She forced down the rage that threatened her objectivity, and she tried to view Catherine as the critical component she had become in this case. Nevertheless, she was aware of a faint nausea that made it difficult for her to swallow. Watts glanced at her nonchalantly, giving no sign he had noticed the strain in her voice or the rigid way she held her body.

"Hes pleased with himself," Catherine said, her eyes turning toward Rebecca. Her gaze was slightly unfocused as her thoughts continued to form. "Hes performed an important act, you see, and hes established himself, done something powerful -- won a little victory. And he wants to be sure someone appreciates this."

"So why call you?" Watts said.

Catherine shrugged. "I dont know"

"Catherine," Rebecca began urgently, "this is very important. Are you sure he isnt a patient -- someone you know?"

Catherine shook her head. "I dont treat many men. Im certain I would know."

"How about pulling your files on all the men youve seen -- say in the last five years," Watts said. "Maybe we can find something there that jogs your memory."

Catherine straightened in her chair with a start.

"Absolutely not, Detective. Its out of the question."

"Look, Doc," Watts suddenly interrupted. "This guy picksyou-- you of all the people in the city -- to have a little talk with. He calls you to share a few `intimate details of his latest fuck. Now I gotta think thats not a coincidence. Like maybe hes got a little thing for you or something?"

"Back off, Watts," Rebecca ordered, fighting to control her temper. Wattss crude interrogation of Catherine incensed her, and had Catherine not been present, she would have told him to shut his fat fucking mouth. As it was, it was all she could do to keep her hands off him. "If Dr. Rawlings says hes not a patient, then he isnt."

Watts settled back in his chair apparently unperturbed. "Yeah, if you say so."

"Ill review all my files, Detective," Catherine offered. "If theres anything there at all I think may be relevant, Ill look into it."

"Absolutely not!" Rebecca exploded. "You are not to pursue any contact with anyone you think may be involved with this case! For gods sake, Catherine, this man is a psych -- hes already killed two women, and a third may die!"

"Oh, I dont know, Frye," Watts mused softly. "Might not be a bad idea. Maybe the doc can come up with something for us. We aint got shit now."

"Leave it alone, Watts," Rebecca said, cold fury in her voice. She looked at Catherine, her blue eyes dark with a mixture of anger and a fear she couldnt quite hide.

"Promise me, Catherine," she said urgently, not caring that Watts was sitting beside her.

Catherine despaired at the anguish in Rebeccas eyes, and she hated the conflict her involvement had created for Rebecca. The last thing she wanted was to make Rebeccas already overwhelmingly difficult job any harder. "Yes, of course," she answered quickly. She was rewarded by the slight easing of Rebeccas stiff shoulders.

"Well need to put a tap on your phone," Rebecca said, her mind beginning to function again. "Ill put a man in your office, too."

Catherine sighed deeply, hating the words she had to say. "I cant let you do that, Rebecca."

Rebecca looked up from her notebook, astonishment flooding her face. Watts looked almost amused.

"What?" Rebecca exploded.

"I cant have my line monitored. Its an invasion of my patients privacy. And a man lurking about in my waiting room would be too unsettling for some of my clients. I just cant allow it," Catherine said as gently as possible.

"Catherine," Rebecca began, her tone dark with exasperation.Thiswas too much. She couldnt deal with this professional bullshit any longer -- not when it put Catherine at risk. Confidentiality was one thing, but this was carrying it too damn far. Not only did she need to protect Catherine, but she had to have access to this guy if he called again. Before she could continue, Watts interrupted.

"How bout this, Doc," he suggested. "We put a tape recorder on your phone, and if our boy calls, you record it. And well have somebody watching your office from a car on the street?"

Catherine considered carefully for a moment. "The tape recorder sounds fine, but I cant have someone watch my clients come and go."

"God damn it to hell!" Rebecca barked.

"OK for now," Watts said, slapping his thigh briskly. He turned to Rebecca, his face carefully revealing nothing. "Talk to you outside for a moment, Frye?" He rose and strode deliberately to the office door, leaving Rebecca to follow angrily behind.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, Watts?" she roared as soon as the door closed behind her. "Its not up to you how we run this case. I'm in charge here, and Ill say how we handle this surveillance." Her face was two inches from his, and it took all of her control not to punch his already misshapen face in.

Watts reached unperturbedly into his jacket pocket and fumbled for a cigarette. He lit it, took a long drag and exhaled slowly.

"Looks to me like the shrink is one stubborn lady. If were gonna get anything out of her, were gonna have to go real slow and gentle, like a virgin on her first date."

"Jesus Christ," Rebecca murmured. "You are the worst piece of crap Ive come upon in years. If you think I'm going to leave her here like some piece of bait, you're stupider than you look." She was having trouble thinking straight, but she could'nt seem to clear her head. She had been up for nearly three days running with only a few hours of sleep. Jeff was dead, for gods sake, and now some piece of slime had slithered into her world and touched the woman "she-she-what", for Christ's sake? The woman she let hold her when her heart was breaking? The woman who gave her her body for comfort and a few hours peace? Oh god, what was she doing? How could she have let this happen now, in the middle of a case like this? She sagged slightly against the wall and stared numbly at Watts, who continued to puff contentedly on his cigarette.

"Sorry, Watts," she said at length. "You're right. We cant force her to do anything, and even a tape is better than nothing. Probably cant use it as evidence though."

"Doesnt matter if we catch the guy. Well have a DNA match from the semen."

Rebecca stared at him wordlessly. He was right again.

"Lets see if Cathif Dr. Rawlings has anything else to add," she said tiredly, feeling ineffectual and unaccountably defeated.

Watts turned away, saying, "You do it. Not much more there, and I'm ready to call it a day." He strolled away, leaving Rebecca staring at his retreating back

Chapter Twenty

Catherine, already tiredly slumped in her chair, listened to the angry murmur of voices outside her door. The excitement of the last few hours had dissipated, leaving her drained. She knew Rebecca was angry, and she understood, or thought she did as much as anyone could, the frustration and powerlessness the detective must feel right now. To have this man, whose identity had eluded the police so thoroughly, suddenly reveal his presence in such an arrogant and taunting manner was an insult too bitter to contemplate. And, Catherine also knew that her unwilling involvement with him placed a great strain on Rebecca, who now must feel torn between her professional obligation to maintain contact with the perpetrator and her personal desire to shield Catherine from him. Catherines inability to cooperate in the way that Rebecca required certainly did not help ease the situation. She stared uneasily at her office door, wondering what future difficulties the return of the two detectives would bring. Clearly, Rebecca and her associate did not see eye to eye on the best way to proceed. Catherine imagined it must be very hard for Rebecca to deal with a new partner so soon after the Jeffs death, especially since Rebecca had no real opportunity to mourn the loss of her friend.

"Of course, shell never have time to deal with his death as long as she can drive her feelings into some hidden corner by working twenty hours a day," Catherine mused to herself. "I suppose shes placing me in the same category --someone who creates feelings shed rather avoid."

She sighed softly and leaned her head against the back of her tall leather chair. Sometimes it was hard being a psychiatrist -- it was too hard facing what many others never really saw. Now and then she longed to live just from moment to moment like most of the world, not really knowing, or caring,whyshe did or felt something. She longed to abandon just for a few hours her awareness of the struggle it was merely to survive.

When Rebecca returned to the office, she found Catherine asleep. They had kept the lights low deliberately in case anyone was watching from the street. Now the stillness was complete except for the soft steady breathing of the woman before her. Rebecca sank into the chair across from Catherine and studied her silently. Catherines face was soft in sleep, with only a hint of lines about her full lips to suggest that she was not a young woman. Her hair fell in soft curls to her shoulders, peppered with the grey that gave her the distinguished look that suited her so well. She looked very beautiful to Rebecca, who rose finally and touched her shoulder.

"Catherine," Rebecca called gently.

A faint smile touched her lips as Catherines eyes fluttered open. Her gaze widened with pleasure when she found Rebecca bending over her, even as she noted the tightness around Rebeccas fine mouth and deep eyes. And Catherine also saw a weariness that she had never seen before in Rebeccas eyes, not even when Rebecca had come to her in the first hours after Jeffs death. Instinctively she reached out to stroke the strong face before her.

"What is it, love?" she asked quietly.

Rebeccas heart lurched at the words. She longed to tell Catherine her fears. That Catherine might be in danger, that she couldnt bear the thought of this evil touching Catherine in any way, even with words, and that she wasnt sure she could function if she thought Catherine might be harmed. But she forced herself to keep her demons to herself. It was time she began acting like a cop instead of allowing Catherine to take care of her again and again.

"I need to take you home," Rebecca replied quietly. She turned her head slightly and kissed the fingers that still rested against her face.

Catherine recognized the barrier that Rebecca had erected between them, and, despite her understanding, she was hurt by it. She needed to know this woman,allof her, not just the parts Rebecca allowed the world to see. Catherine knew her strengths -- she could see them in her body, feel them in her touch, hear them in her words. But what of Rebeccas fears and her needs? Would they always be closed to her?

Catherine nodded, knowing that now was not the time to search for answers. Rebecca had sustained a tremendous emotional blow from Jeffs death, and the investigation was taking a heavy toll on her physical and emotional reserves.

"I have my car here," Catherine answered.

Rebecca shook her head. "I dont want you driving alone. Ill drive you and pick you up in the morning. You can come back for your car."

Catherine started to protest but then thought better of it. An argument now would not help either of them, and she suddenly realized she was exhausted. It was nearly ten oclock, and, once again, she had missed a meal.

"Burger break on the way?" she asked, rising stiffly from her chair.

Rebecca at last grinned. "Ill do better than that. Ill treat you to pizza."

"Youre on," Catherine replied, slipping an arm around Rebeccas slim waist. Rebecca pulled Catherine to her quickly and held her fiercely.

"I have to go out again," Rebecca whispered into Catherines hair. "Things are beginning to move in this case, and Ive got to stay on top of it. I wish I could stay with you, but Ill have one of the black-and-whites cruise by your place every half hour or so."

Catherine leaned back in Rebeccas arms, her clear green eyes meeting the deep blue ones now filled with worry.

"Ill be fine, but I appreciate your looking out for me. I know you have to do what youre doing now, but Im concerned. You havent slept enough in three days to account for one good nights sleep, and you wont be very effective if you cant think straight."

Rebecca kissed her then, a slow deep kiss that kindled desire in both of them. When she broke away at last, they were gasping. Rebeccas hands traveled unbidden to the round fullness of Catherines breasts, feeling the softness of silk beneath her fingers. She pressed against Catherine, fusing her taller, lean frame to the gentle curves and planes of Catherines body. Catherine backed up slightly until her back touched the edge of her desk, and slipped her hands under Rebeccas jacket. She traced the muscle of Rebeccas back down to the firmness of her thighs. She moaned as Rebeccas fingers closed over her nipples, and warm liquid shimmered in her core. Rebeccas hands were insistent now, one raising her skirt, pressing against the restraints of her undergarment, the other fumbling with the buttons of Catherines blouse.

"Let me lock the door," Catherine murmured, fumbling with the buckle on Rebeccas belt.

"To hell with that -- Ive got a gun," Rebecca said. She raised her head from Catherines breast and looked wildly about her. Wordlessly, she slipped her arm behind Catherines knees and picked her up, carrying her the few feet to the couch across the room. Laying her down, she quickly pulled Catherines garments aside and knelt before her. Pressing her face against the warm flesh of Catherines thighs, she breathed in her heady aroma . Her lips sought the source, consumed with the need to touch her, taste her, absorb her into every cell. Rebecca groaned as the wetness welcomed her. She immersed herself in it, seeking and probing for Catherines very soul. She slid both hands under Catherines buttocks, raising Catherines hips, pulling her closer.

"Oh god, Rebecca," Catherine cried, her hands twisted in Rebeccas thick hair. "You feel so good, so good. Oh yes - right there! Oh!"

Rebecca moaned, feeling Catherine grow even harder under her tongue. She brought a hand between Catherines thighs, finding entrance with two fingers. She pushed inward as she sucked harder on the rapidly quivering shaft between her lips.

"Yes, Rebeccamake me come--," Catherine breathed, her voice an urgent whisper. "Oh please -- make me come."

Even as she heard the words, Rebecca felt the internal spasms, and she knew it had begun. She increased the pressure with her tongue, gripping Catherine as Catherines hips heaved upward. Rebecca continued to stroke the pulsing flesh with her lips and tongue long after Catherines cries had ceased and her limbs quieted. Finally, Rebecca pulled herself upright and stretched out beside Catherine on the couch, pulling the sated woman into her arms. Catherines arms came around her; she felt soft lips on her neck.

"Youre wonderful," Catherine sighed contentedly. "Im completely demolished."

Rebecca laughed quietly, her arms tightening about Catherines supple frame. "I needed to touch you so much I couldnt stop myself." She looked down into Catherines face. "I had to be that close to you."

"I know, Rebecca," Catherine said softly. "And Im right here."

All other realities vanished as they slipped into sleep.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rebecca was awakened by a relentless pain in her left side. She shifted carefully on the office couch and reached between her body and Catherine to reposition her shoulder holster against her rib cage. Her watch showed that it was nearly 3A.M. Her head ached and her body felt empty -- drained of all emotion or energy. She realized she hadnt eaten since early the previous morning. She knew that that combined with sleep deprivation was sapping her strength. Still, she forced herself upright and swung her legs to the floor.

"What are you doing?" Catherine asked sleepily, curling her body against Rebeccas back and stroking her softly.

"There are things I need to do that cant wait," Rebecca said quickly. "Can you sleep here the rest of the night? Ill swing by and pick you up in the morning."

Catherine shook the sleep from her head and thought for a moment.

"I have to be back here for rounds at 9 oclock. Can you be here at six-thirty?"

"Yes. Lock the door when I leave and dont open it until you hear my voice. Anddontanswer the phone!"

"But what ifhecalls again?"

"Thenhellhave to wait. I dont want anyone to know youre here alone," Rebecca replied angrily.

"Yes, I see. Of course." Catherine sat up beside Rebecca and met her steel gaze. "Ill do exactly as you say. Please dont worry about me tonight."

Rebeccas face softened suddenly, and she bent forward to kiss Catherine. "Thanks. I know its hard being ordered around --"

Catherine stopped her with a gentle hand to her lips. "Nonsense. In these matters, youre the expert and I trust you."

Rebecca reached for Catherines hand, squeezed it quickly, and pulled her to her feet.

"Come lock the door behind me."

"Be careful," Catherine whispered as the door closed firmly. She stood motionless for some moments, listening as Rebeccas footsteps echoed down the empty corridor. The room suddenly felt chilly and she pulled her raincoat from the rack behind the door and threw it around her shoulders. She was worried, and she knew she had good reason to be. Rebecca was in far more danger than she was at the moment. Catherine was only too aware of how quickly reflexes and thought processes could be impaired by fatigue and stress. She fought the anxiety, knowing she could not influence Rebeccas behavior -- that, in fact, Rebecca was behaving in the only way she could under these circumstances. Once again, understanding was small comfort. She sighed deeply, pulled the coat tighter around her shoulders, and resigned herself to wait out the rest of the night on her own therapy couch.

**********

Rebecca slowly cruised the streets of the tenderloin. Even at this hour -- the darkest, loneliest part of the night -- there were people about on the streets. The vagrants were all tucked away in their cubby holes, in doorways or on subway grates, covered with bits of carpet or old clothes, their possessions gathered under their arms for safety. But there were still a few prostitutes huddled in pairs or leaning singly against storefronts, hoping for one more trick before morning. And cars continued to cruise by, the drivers faces were cast in shadow as they surveyed the possibility of a quick antidote to their loneliness. Rebecca circled the six-block area several times until she finally saw her. Standing alone in the archway of an adult bookstore, her long legs bare to mid-thigh despite the cold. Rebecca pulled her car to the curb and rolled the passenger window down. The girl had looked up as the car pulled over, and her look of anticipation quickly turned to dismay as she recognized Rebecca.

"Oh man! Cant you leave me alone? Youre gonna ruin my business!"

"Get in," Rebecca said, pushing the curbside door open.

"Uh-uh. No way. You dont have nothing on me --"

"Do you want to talk to me in here, or should I come out and walk around the streets with you a while?"

"Oh Jesus! I dont need this!" she swore as she quickly crossed the pavement and slid into the small bucket seat.

"Put your seatbelt on," Rebecca said as she pulled away from the curb.

Sandy snorted in disgust. "If you cared so much about my well-being, youd stay the fuck away from me. People down here start thinking Im a snitch, I could get hurt."

"What people?" Rebecca said nonchalantly, her eyes on the road.

"Just people. And, besides, I dont have any tips for you. Nobody knows nothing about no kiddie racket -- or if they do, they arent telling me."

Rebeccas head turned slightly and her eyes met those of the young girl beside her. The eyes that looked back were the eyes of the street, bitter and old.

"Its not about the chicken business."

Sandy looked surprise for an instant, but quickly recovered with an expression of disinterest.

"That so?"

Rebecca nodded. "A hooker was found dead last night. Her body was found at the Old Vic. Young girl, about thirteen."

Sandy feigned indifference. "So? It isnt the first time. She ODd or what?"

Rebecca shook her head. "Looks like the john did it." She looked directly at Sandy as she said, "I dont want it to happen again. I want this guy -- and I need help."

Sandy remained silent, looking down at her hands, unconsciously picking at a broken nail.

"Sometimes ya cant tell, ya know? A guy looks like Mr. Straightsville, and the next thing you know, he wants you to tie him up or let him piss in your mouth. It happens. You try to be careful, but sometimes you just cant tell." Her voice was flat as she spoke, and she didnt raise her head.

"I know. Thats why Im telling you -- be careful. And tell the other girls, too. I cant give you anything on him. I dont have anything."

Sandy raised her head defiantly. "And if you did, you wouldnt tell us any how, would you? Afraid wed scare him off."

Rebecca shrugged. "Probably not," she said, and wondered if it were true. "Try to find out if any of the other girls have noticed anyone particularly strange lately -- probably fairly young, late twenties, maybe likes ass fucking."

"Yeck," Sandy said. "Most girls stay away from that. Depends on how much, you know. Somell do anything for the right price."

"Yeah, well, see if you can turn up anything."

"And if I dont feel like it?"

"You keep testing, dont you? Then, Ill start visiting you every day, out in public, like youre my new sweetheart."

Sandy sighed. "Had to ask."

"Right," Rebecca said as she pulled the car to the curb. "Go home, Sandy. Youre not gonna retire on what youll make the rest of the night."

As she pulled away she watched the girl in her rear view mirror as she slowly wandered off into the cheerless night.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rebecca returned to her apartment shortly before 5A.M. The first thing to greet her besides the stale air of a space left too long undisturbed was a pile of junk mail that had been pushed under her door. She kicked it aside and went straight for the kitchen. She emptied the grounds from the basket of her coffee maker and ran water into the appliance. She found half a pound of espresso in the freezer and measured out enough for four cups. She left the coffee brewing and headed for the bathroom. Her jacket and slacks would have to go to the cleaners. They looked like theyd been slept in, she thought ruefully. She laid her gun on the toilet tank, threw her underwear at the over-flowing hamper and turned on the shower. She stood under the pulsing stream for a long time before she lifted her arms to lather some shampoo into her hair. With her eyes closed against the frothing suds, she recalled random images. The dead girl in the hotel room; Jeff lying so quietly on his side, just a trickle of blood behind his earlike reruns of bad movies. And then she thought of Catherine -- serious when discussing a patient, soothingly gentle when Rebecca came to her exhausted in body and soul, vibrant in the throes of passion.

Rebeccas mind rebelled against reason and caution. Catherine could be in danger from this psycho. Rebecca wanted him, no matter what it cost. She twisted the knobs viciously and stepped from the shower, gasping at the chill in the room. Her face in the mirror above the sink appeared lined with fatigue, but her eyes were clear and hard with determination. He had made a mistake killing that hooker. Rebecca had one tiny thread to grasp now, and she would follow it wherever it led until she could get a bigger piece and then another until all the pieces came together.

"Im coming for you," she whispered into the stillness of the room. "Oh, yes, you fucker, Im coming."

Refreshed from her shower, Rebecca drove quickly through the empty streets, just ahead of the rush hour traffic. The medical center, as always, was alive with activity, and she was forced to circle the block several times before she found a parking space near Catherines office. She hurried through the deserted hallways, anxious to reach Catherine. Her knock was answered immediately. Catherine, looking rumpled and weary, greeted her with a smile.

"You have no business looking so damn good when I know you havent slept all night," Catherine said, relieved to see that Rebecca, although obviously tired, seemed alert and controlled. She reached for Rebeccas hand and pulled her into the room. Impulsively she kissed her, slipping her arms around her waist.

"Im glad youre here," Catherine sighed, not adding that she was also relieved to find her safe.

Rebecca held her gently for a moment, savoring the nearness of her. She felt somehow anchored in Catherines presence, as if there actually were someplace where the world had meaning. Here, in this womans embrace, Rebecca felt at home.

"Are you all right?" Rebecca said at length, not loosening her hold, not wanting the moment to pass.

"Ive had better nights," Catherine said, her head resting on Rebeccas shoulder, "but the morning looks pretty good right now."

Rebecca grinned at the womans resiliency, hugged her briefly and stepped back. "Id better get you home."

Catherine nodded resolutely and moved away to gather her briefcase and papers.

As Rebecca maneuvered her car through the now congested streets, her mind returned to the case. She was desperately trying to weave a tapestry from an assortment of disconnected threads. Somewhere there was a pattern, some detail, she had overlooked or failed to recognize that would begin to make a whole of the scattered pieces. Catherine recognized the distant look in Rebeccas eyes and left her alone with her thoughts. She was startled when Rebeccas voice broke the stillness.

"How is Janet Ryan doing?"

"Physically shes making good progress. She would actually be ready for discharge if it werent for her psychological state. Shes still terrified, and the assault has triggered flashbacks which are difficult for her to deal with now."

"Flashbacks?" Rebecca queried.

"Traumatic events will often provoke memories of similar occurrences in an individuals past," Catherine answered, intentionally avoiding making direct reference to Janets specific case.

"Similar occurrences," Rebecca echoed. "Like rape?"

"Sometimes," Catherine stated.

Rebeccas jaw tightened, a sign Catherine was coming to recognize as Rebeccas response to anger. She waited, knowing that Rebecca would continue when her feelings were once again manageable.

"No wonder Janet cant remember what happened out there," Rebecca said, her voice carefully concealing the rage she felt at the brutality visited on so many women by this maniac. Her fingers tightened on the wheel, the only sign of her inner turmoil. She had to remain objective if she hoped to stop him. She would somehow have to view this as just another case.

"Would she be able to look at a police sketch of a possible suspect?" Rebecca asked.

Catherine considered her answer carefully.

"Im not sure," she answered truthfully. "Janet feels a tremendous responsibility to remember what she saw. That kind of pressure can actually make it more difficult for the amnesia victim to regain their memory for the event. Id like to reserve judgment on that until I can speak with her again. Can you give me until tonight?"

"Do I have a choice?" Rebecca said, her frustration evident.

"Rebecca," Catherine responded cautiously, "your responsibilities and mine dont have to be at odds here. I know you need Janets statement, and believe me, I want to see this man caught as much as you do. I simply cant place her in psychological jeopardy to do that."

"Even if it means another woman is raped and murdered?"

"Even then, Rebecca," Catherine answered quietly.

Rebecca heard the pain in Catherines voice and knew suddenly how agonizing that decision was for Catherine.

"Im sorry," she said, reaching across the seat to grasp Catherines hand.

"Dont be. You have to use everything you can to put an end to this madness. And I have to take care of the people who put their trust in me."

And now those people include me, Rebecca thought.

Rebecca followed Catherine silently to the steps of her building, searching the streets for any sign of someone who seemed out of place. The sidewalks were crowded with people hurrying to work, but no one took particular notice of them.

"Let me have your key," Rebecca said at the top of the steps, her eyes scanning the heavy oak door for signs of tampering. She led the way inside and made a quick search of the rooms, checking the windows and patio as she went. Satisfied that everything was in order, she turned to face Catherine.

"You can go ahead and change; Ill wait."

Catherine smiled at her, appreciating once again the presence of this intense, driven woman in her life, wishing she could somehow reach into that barricaded soul and comfort her. Instead she contented herself with a soft kiss, rewarded by the instant melding of Rebeccas lean body against her own. In this way at least Catherine knew she could reach her, and she accepted sadly that for now that was all she could do.

Rebecca arrived at the station just after nineA.M.and was surprised to find Watts already at his desk, nursing a hot cup of coffee and a danish. He looked up when Rebecca sat down across from him with her own caffeine infusion.

His eyes scanned her face, giving no indication that he noticed the dark circles under her eyes or the fatigue lines etched in her finely chiseled features. Nor did he comment on the slight tremor in the long fingers that held the paper cup of coffee.

"Everything okay with the shrink?"

Rebecca looked for some hidden meaning behind his words but was met with his usual blank stare.

"Yes." She turned to the pile of papers on her desk in an effort to avoid conversation.

"I think its about time we went over what we got and figure out where to go from here before this creep bangs another broad."

Rebecca stared at him, astonishment evident on her face. She leaned forward on her elbows, and said softly, "Watts, you are a crude bastard, and I dont give a good goddamn what you think. Im in charge here, and well do things my way."

Watts simply shrugged. "Dont think the Captains as patient as I am. He wants a status report so he can meet with the media this morning."

"Shit, just what we need. More media people nosing around." She looked at Watts and had the feeling they finally agreed on something. "Did the artist get anything out of Baileys description?"

Watts grimaced. "Its pretty general, but Im having copies run off and distributed to all the precincts."

Rebecca was surprised, as she always was, when she discovered that Watts was actually thinking about his work.

She stood abruptly. "Come on, lets get out of here."

Watts raised an eyebrow. "What about the Captain?"

"We cant give him a status report if were not here. And then the media wont have anything to tip our boy off with. Who knows what little tidbit might send him under cover?"

Watts grunted noncommittally, but he rose to his feet to follow her, grabbing a stack of photocopied sketches as he went.

He handed the police sketch to Rebecca as they pulled away from the station. She glanced at it quickly and felt her hopes plummet when she saw how nonspecific the rendering was.

"Just what we need," she sighed. "Everyman."

"Yeah," Watts agreed. "Aint life a bitch."

Rebecca ignored him, her mind sifting through possible courses of action, trying to come up with something they had failed to do.

"Have the homicide boys come up with any assaults or murders of prostitutes that might tie in with this case?"

Watts pulled out his tattered notebook and made an entry. "I dont know. Ill check it out. I suppose we ought to start interviewing all the hookers and find out if anybody knows anything."

"Im working on that. Leave a bunch of those fliers in the back. For what its worth, Ill hand them around."

"Yeah, and tell them about his bag of tricks."

"What did you say?" Rebecca asked quickly.

"You know, his gym bag. Maybe if they cant remember his face, theyll remember the bag."

"Or what he brings in the bag," Rebecca mused. "Watts, all three victims on the drive have been runners, all wearing running shorts. The dead prostitute was found with running shorts that she wasnt wearing when she went upstairs with him. Maybe he needs them to get turned on."

"Yeah, well, Ive heard of weirder stuff, but so what. You want we should put out a bulletin that no broads wear shorts outside the house?"

Rebecca sighed. "No, but at least I can get the word out on the streets. Maybe one of the girls will know something."

Watts grunted. "We dont even know for sure its the same guy. We wont have a DNA match for another week. Could be were chasing our tails for nothing."

"Right now we dont have anything else to chase," Rebecca replied dispiritedly.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Rebecca dropped Watts off to follow up on one of their other open cases and tracked down the homicide detectives working on Jeffs murder. They were obviously hassled, but they took the time to fill her in. They had no new leads, but the rumor on the streets was that Jeffs undercover man was getting too close to a major crime lord and that the two men were executed as a warning. A warning to both the police and anyone who might be thinking of providing the police with information.

She thanked them, knowing that they were doing what they could. Her beeper went off as she was leaving the building. She considered not answering it. She didnt want to hear that the Captain was waiting for his status report. Something made her stop and call in.

"Watts wanted us to run you down," the dispatcher said when she identified herself. "Said youd want to know that some doctor received an interesting package this morning. That make any sense to you?"

Rebecca slammed the phone down and was out the door before the dispatcher registered the dial tone at the end of his line. She went lights and sirens all the way across town to the hospital and left the car in the emergency zone outside. She stormed into the lobby and nearly collided with a woman pushing a baby stroller.

"Sorry," she muttered as she pushed her way to the elevator. The ride up to the psychiatric floor seemed to take forever. As soon as the doors opened, she saw Watts leaning against the counter in the nurses station conversing with a woman in white.

"Watts!" she shouted. "Wheres Catherine? Is she all right?"

He intercepted her and turned her away from the curious eyes of the people gathered around. "Yes, shes fine. I took the call because I was in the squad room. When I heard what it was, I figured youd want to know."

"Whatwhatwas?"

"Your doctor friend is pretty smart. Someone sent her a dozen roses -- and since it wasnt her birthday, she thought she should tell you before she opened the card. I guess she figured you didnt send them."

"Damn it, Watts, just tell me where she is, and what the hell is going on."

"Iamtelling you. Im waiting for the lab boys to pick up the flowers now. The card reads, `Thank you for last night. Ill see you soon."

"Jesus Christ." Rebecca turned away, her face grim. "Im going to talk to Catherine. We need to put a guard on her."

"I dont think thats such a great idea," Watts stated flatly. "Might scare him away."

Rebecca rounded on him, her temper finally snapping. "Listen to me, Watts! We arenotusing Catherine Rawlings for bait. You understand me? We are going to cover her like the Pope until this guy is caught."

"Hey, I know how you feel --" Watts began.

"No, youdontknow how I feel, and you neverwillknow how I feel! So drop it. Now." Rebecca could never remember being so frightened. She had been shot at, maced, and ambushed by street punks, but she had never felt the panic that threatened her now. All she knew was that Catherine was being drawn further into a very dangerous game, and she felt powerless to stop it. She set her jaw and took a deep breath. It was time for her to take charge of the situation, and that was exactly what she intended to do. Catherine, as it turned out, had different ideas.

**********

"Rebecca, you must understand. For any number of reasons I cant let you assign me to protective custody. One very important reason is that I may be able to establish a relationship with this man. At the very least, well have some idea of the state of his mind. Please, darling, think of how important that might be!"

Rebecca stood with her back to the room, staring out into the streets below without seeing. Watts had left them at her request once it became clear that Catherine was not willing to be assigned a guard. All of Catherines arguments made sense, and at any other time Rebecca would have accepted the logic of maintaining contact with this unknown psychopath. But she couldnt accept it now.

"Theres a big part of me that knows youre right," she said softly, her voice hollow. "As a cop, if I were a good cop, I should be elated that we have some conduit to this guy --" Her voice trailed off.

Catherine went to her, put her arms around her, leaned her cheek against Rebeccas rigid back. Rebeccas strain and tension were transmitted to her through the unyielding muscles under her hands. Catherine knew the rejection was not of her, but of the weakness that Rebecca perceived in herselfbecauseof Catherine. Rebeccas inner struggle now was one that Catherine knew would need to be fought again and again -- the conflict between Rebeccas need for absolute emotional distance and the disruption of that control caused by her involvement with Catherine. Catherine was determined neither to ignore the problem nor to allow Rebecca to face it alone. The outcome of that battle would determine just how much the two of them could share, and Catherine found that that meant a great deal to her.

"Rebecca, the way you feel right now is perfectly understandable," Catherine began softly. "Youre worried about my safety, and its different than it usually is because you care about me. Were involved with each other, for heavens sake. Weve made love, weve shared something of ourselves. I am not someone you can be objective about."And not someone you must push away to satisfy your sense of duty, I hope.

"I never should have let this happen," Rebecca said, her back still to Catherine. "Its compromising my thinking, and that could mean jeopardizing your safety."

"Well, I, for one, am not sorry that it happened," Catherine persisted. She knew she was taking her own emotional risks by admitting to Rebecca, and to herself, just how important Rebecca had become to her. But one of them had to make the first move to breach the considerable defenses they both had erected around their hearts.

Rebecca turned to her then, and tightened her arms around Catherine, holding her fiercely.

"Neither am I," Rebecca answered, her voice rough with emotion.Im afraid to even think about how much you mean to me. I just dont know what Id do if anything happens to you. Her tension began to lessen in the soft embrace of Catherines arms, and her mind began to clear. Even as she held her, Rebeccas thoughts turned to what she must do to protect her. Where other emotions clouded her judgment, Catherines touch restored clarity. She was continually astonished, and still a little afraid, of the womans effect upon her.

"I dont suppose I could persuade you to have a police officer accompany you around until this is over, could I?" she asked, her lips pressed to Catherines forehead.

"No."

"At least at night, when youre at home?"

"Only if its you."

Rebecca leaned back and gazed down into the face that never failed to move her, memorizing the image -- wisps of grey at the temples, fine bones beneath ivory skin, liquid pools of swirling greens in her eyes.

"Its not in my contract," she whispered, longing to forget everything except the desire to kiss those tender lips and lose herself in Catherines welcoming warmth.

"It could be," Catherine answered, her lips finding Rebeccas.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Rebecca slept during the afternoon in an empty on-call room at the hospital and later drove Catherine home. She attached a voice activated recording device to Catherines telephone after they had agreed that Catherine would review the tape and erase any client related calls before turning it over to the police. Once again Rebecca did a security check and arranged for extra patrols to pass through the neighborhood. Finally she felt satisfied that she had done all she could do. The next move was up to him.

"I have to go out for a while," she said. "There are people I need to talk to --people I can only find at night. Will you be all right?"

Catherine nodded, silencing the fear she felt, not for herself, but for the determined woman she had come to care so much for. Every time she saw the gun harnessed against Rebeccas chest, she was reminded of the potential violence Rebecca faced each time she went out into the streets. That fear was something Catherine knew she would never get used to, and that it was the price she must pay for allowing Rebecca into her heart. At this moment, however, she knew that Rebecca needed reassurance that Catherine was safe.

"Can I expect you tonight?" Catherine asked, placing her hand gently on Rebeccas arm.

"Count on it."

**********

Rebecca found Sandy without any difficulty. What surprised her was the lack of any protest when she pulled her car up beside the young prostitute. Sandy crossed the sidewalk quickly and slid in beside her.

"Lets get out of here, okay?" Sandy said.

Rebecca pulled into the line of traffic and looked at the girl questioningly.

"Why so glad to see me?"

Sandy grimaced. "Things are getting really weird out here. All the pimps are uptight because the cops are pulling them in -- asking questions about the kiddie porn stuff. And now theyre starting to pull in the girls, asking about kinky johns and rough trade. Its making everybody nervous. Whats going on?"

Rebecca smiled at the reversal in their positions. Suddenly she had become the informant. "I dont know for sure. There may be a loose cannon around. Some guy who likes girls in gym shorts and gets a little rough."

"How rough?"

"Rough like in dead."

Sandy leaned her head back against the seat and sighed.

"Shit, we dont need this. Got anything on him?"

"Look in the back seat. Theres a sketch of someone who might be him."

Sandy looked at the police rendering and snorted.

"Oh, him. I must see ten dudes a night who look like this."

"Yeah, thats what I was afraid of," Rebecca answered grimly. "The best I can tell you is that hes white, late twenties or early thirties, probably well-educated, and wont seem like a nut case. And this is important. He may have a gym bag or something like it. He seems to like his women to dress for his pleasure, with short nylon running briefs."

"Thats it?"

"Afraid so."

"What do we do if he shows?"

"If you can, dont work alone. Stay in pairs or groups, so if he approaches someone, one of you can call me. Try to get the word out as quickly as you can. The girl he killed two days ago is the only prostitute we know about. I dont want there to be another one."

Sandy looked at the woman beside her, surprised by the vehemence in her voice and the stony set to her features.

"Yeah, well, thanks," was all she said. Too many years on the streets had taught her not to trust what looked like kindness, because there was always a price attached. But she would remember the look on the tall detectives face, a look that made her feel a little safer.

**********

When she knocked on Catherines door a little after midnight, Watts answered it. He stepped out into the hall before she could say anything and pulled the door closed.

"Shes all right," he said quickly, noting the alarm on Rebeccas face. "Our boy called. She called it in and I came over. Figured youd rather have me here than someone she doesnt know."