Dancing in the Shadows

Ayiana

Chapter 6

Joe hated hospitals. He'd never been in one without remembering his father, and the memories weren't exactly happy ones. He'd come to talk to a witness, but now he was in a hurry to put this godforsaken house of death, with its stale air and impersonal sterility, behind him as quickly as possible. His thoughts were on the case as he walked down the hall, and Diana had to call his name twice before he heard her. When he did, he turned around, surprised to see her there.

"I need to talk to you," she said, striding toward him with a determined look in her eyes.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm working." Her tone was matter-of-fact, almost brusque.

"What happened to Sally Rogers?"

She pushed past him into an empty exam room. "We lost her," she said as he followed her in. "And the suspect killed himself."

Damn. An image flashed through his mind of the pretty little girl smiling happily between her proud parents. "I'm sorry."

She gave him a brief nod. "Joe, sit down." She pulled over a chair, flipped it around and straddled it backwards. "I need to know some things." Resting an elbow on the back of the chair, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. "At the time Catherine Chandler disappeared, was she seeing anybody?"

"Seeing anybody?" He didn't know what he'd been expecting her to say, but this wasn't it. He perched on a tall stool and watched her uneasily.

"Dating. Involved."

"Not that I know of. We found some notes in her apartment from some guy named Vincent." He'd assumed it was an old romance, something from before she'd come to work at the D.A.'s office.

"She ever mention him to you?"

"No." He shook his head. "She was real funny about that stuff." Cathy had guarded her privacy more carefully than anybody he'd ever known. He'd wondered about it sometimes, but figured it was her business. If she'd wanted to talk about it, she would have.

"And besides this guy Vincent. Was there anybody else?"

"No."

Diana sighed and folded her arms. "Joe. I want you to clear your mind. I'm going to ask you a question and I'm interested in your very first response. No thinking, I just want you to respond."

"Okay—" What was she getting at? And why did he have this sudden urge to bolt?

"When you remember Catherine Chandler . . . who makes you jealous?"

The question shocked him. "What do you mean, who makes me jealous?"

There was sympathy in her eyes. "You were in love with her."

The words rocked him. He'd never thought, never considered— Oh, God. Had Cathy known? Had she even suspected? If it was so obvious that this stranger had noticed . . .

Diana jolted him out of his thoughts with her next words. "Now, did she ever look at anybody, mention anybody, and just for a second you were jealous?"

Joe shoved his hands in his pockets, and his voice was tight with anger when he responded. "Cathy Chandler was my friend."

"Cathy was pregnant." She paused, her sharp-eyed gaze taking in every nuance of his stunned reaction. "The doctor says she gave birth less than a week ago. Cathy wouldn't tell him what happened to the baby."

He couldn't believe it. Wouldn't believe it. He'd thought Cathy was his friend, had thought she trusted him. And yet— "She never said anything to me."

"I'm just throwing out the possibility here, but what if all this has more to do with the baby than with Cathy?"

"No." And there was absolutely no doubt in his mind that he was right about that. Whatever else might have been going on with Cathy, what had happened to her had been his fault.

"Why not?"

"Look. I gave her a piece of evidence. Asked her to keep it safe for me." His guilt over that still kept him up nights, ruined his appetite, and fueled his search for her despite John Moreno's strange insistence that he drop it. "First she turns up pumped full of morphine, then some guy shows up at the hospital with a gun and she goes missing again. Only this time, there's an eviscerated corpse and what looks like a couple of quarts of Cathy's blood." He took a breath, forcing the crime scene photos out of his mind. When he spoke again, his voice was rough with anger. "There's a connection."

"Of course there's a connection, but you have to keep your mind open to the fact of the pregnancy. What this could mean is that—"

"I don't—" He stopped. Lowered his voice. "I don't know what this could mean."

"Well, consider it, Joe. This could be the piece that makes everything fit." She stood up, pushing the chair away. "Now, I need to know. I need to know who the father of that baby is, who might have wanted that baby." She glanced toward the door and lowered her voice. "I need to know who made you jealous."

Joe felt as though everything he'd ever known about the world, about Cathy, had just been turned inside out. She'd been distracted during those last days, and he could tell she'd had something on her mind. He'd asked her about it once or twice, but beyond telling him that she had a sick friend, she hadn't wanted to talk about it, and he hadn't pushed. Now he was thinking that maybe if he had, she might not be missing.

But maybe there was something he could do to make it right again. Without looking up, he said the name that had come to mind the instant she'd asked the question. "Elliot Burch."

She blew out a breath. "Okay."

In for a penny— "He wanted to marry her."

"How long ago?"

"Right after she came to work for us." He still remembered the day Burch had shown up with lunch—complete with silver service and a bottle of champagne. The staff had been fascinated and amused. Cathy had been mortified.

"What happened?"

"She turned him down." She'd never told him the details, and he'd never asked.

"Did they stay in touch?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "But I can't believe Burch would have anything to do with this."

"You're positive."

He nodded. "Look, it's no secret that I don't like the guy, but he would never hurt Cathy." At least, Joe thought, I don't think he would.

********************

The tunnel community had a single communal bathing chamber that was the sole province of women and children in the mornings and of men in the evenings. Fed by warm water springs, and lit by a series of torches set in brackets along the walls, it made Catherine feel a bit like a Roman princess when she used it. So when Mary came to her chamber with fresh clothes and an offer of help, Catherine accepted gratefully.

They arrived to find the chamber empty except for Lena and her little girl. Lena looked up from pulling a bulky sweater over her daughter's head and jumped to her feet.

"Catherine!"

Returning Lena's careful hug, Catherine smiled. "Hello, Lena." Then she looked over at her small namesake and tried not to feel a pang of envy that Lena's child should be here, safe and well and happy, while her own was in the care of a cold and nameless stranger Above.

"How are you feeling?" Lena asked, pulling a toy from a small mesh bag and handing it to her daughter.

"Better," Catherine said. "But it'll feel good to be clean again." She was finding it hard not to stare at the toddler, who promptly threw Lena's offering into the swirling water and then howled for its return. With a tolerant smile, Lena leaned over to fish it out again.

Lena dried the toy on a towel and handed it back to her daughter before looking over to where Mary was setting out clean clothes on a rough wooden bench. "Do you need any help?" she asked. "I don't have anything I need to do for a while, and Katy would be perfectly happy to sit here with her toys for a few more minutes."

"Katy?" Catherine looked at the little girl, who had decided that the large rubber ring made an excellent chew toy and was gnawing happily on it. One of Mouse's inventions, no doubt.

Lena shifted uncomfortably, and Catherine saw her exchange an uneasy glance with Mary.

"It just . . . seemed like a good idea," Lena said carefully. "Less confusing, you know?"

The truth lay silent and heavy between them, unspoken but not unheard. Lena had taken to calling her daughter Katy in order to protect Vincent from repeated and painful reminders of Catherine.

"Well, now," Mary said brightly. "Let's do something about that hair."

With that, the tension was broken, and Mary and Lena set about helping Catherine bathe. The warm, swirling water felt wonderful, and generous applications of soap and shampoo soon had Catherine feeling human again. Afterwards, Catherine thanked the other women and sent them on their way. Mary fussed, claiming Father would be upset with her if she let Catherine walk unescorted—not because he thought she might get lost, but rather because of her injury. But Catherine stood her ground, assuring Mary that she felt fine, and finally, reluctantly, Mary headed off to the dining hall with Lena and Katy.

********************

Vincent was sitting in a chair beside the bed when Catherine reached her chamber. He had a book in his hands, but he closed it and set it aside when she came in.

"You look . . ." He trailed off, coming across the room to meet her. His eyes held the peculiar intensity they got when something she said or did touched him deeply.

Vaguely self-conscious, she ran her fingers through her hair. "Rather like a drowned rat, I suspect." She set her things down on the bed and turned into his arms. There was a smile in his eyes when she looked up at him.

"What?" she asked.

"I was just thinking of that long ago night in the park," he said. "Do you remember the rain?"

She did. It was one of her happiest memories, one that had gotten her through many a lonely night. "You must have thought I was crazy."

"No." He shook his head. "I only thought how beautiful you were."

She blushed and dropped her head, but he caught her chin with gentle fingers, tilting her face back up until she met his eyes. He held her there for a long moment, and Catherine wondered what he was thinking that made him stare at her so intently. Then, in a move so tender and full of love that it brought tears to her eyes, he lowered his head, and kissed her.

It was a gentle kiss, over almost as soon as it had begun, and yet it made her heart stumble and then race ahead so that all she could do afterward was bury her head against his shoulder and cling to him. Such a simple thing it was. A sweet gesture that, for any ordinary couple, would have provoked no more than a passing thought. But for them it was a milestone, and Catherine knew she would treasure it always.

"Catherine." There was a hint of almost parental concern in his voice as he set her away from him. "Your hair. It's dripping."

"I know. Mary and Lena were kind enough to help me wash it."

"Here," he said. "Sit down. I'll help you dry it."

"Vincent, no. You needn't—"

"It will dry more quickly if the towel is wielded with two hands rather than one," he pointed out calmly. "Perhaps you would like to read while I attend to it."

Recognizing the stubborn set to his jaw, she sighed and sat down in the chair, reaching for the book on the little table. "300 Days," she said, looking at the title as Vincent worked with the towel. "I haven't read this since . . ."

"Nor have I," he said. "But it called to me this morning, and I thought perhaps you would like to share it with me."

"I would love to."

She read until Vincent was satisfied that most of the moisture had been removed from her hair. Then he put the towel aside and crossed to the dressing table to pick up a comb.

"Please," he said, coming back to her. "Continue."

He made efficient use of the comb, working the tangles out of her hair with practiced ease, and she wondered how often he performed this simple task for the children. The thought awakened a distant memory of her mother, humming softly while she battled Catherine's stubborn knots with tender determination.

Finished with the comb, Vincent put it away and returned to her side. "Father was concerned when he learned you didn't eat your dinner," he said. "Are you hungry now?"

Catherine nodded. "Ravenous."

********************

Elliot Burch's office was every bit as chic as Diana had expected it to be—masculine and elegant, with plenty of dark leather and bright chrome. The room was large, with the desk positioned at the far end so that visitors had to approach him like peasants seeking an audience with their king.

Elliot himself was an enigma. Fashionably attired in what was obviously a custom-tailored suit, he leaned against the window frame with the casual stance of a man who had nothing more on his mind than an enjoyable conversation with an interesting woman. And yet she'd been here for twenty minutes, and she was no closer to understanding him than she had been when she'd first walked in the door.

"You think I had something to do with Catherine's disappearance," he said now, and he looked almost amused at the suggestion.

Diana looked at him from her place in front of the desk. Her gut told her that he'd had nothing at all to do with it, and that he probably had a dozen of his own people out combing the streets for Catherine right now. And her gut was usually right about these things. "Do you know who did?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Are you going to find out?"

"I suppose." He left the window and moved past her. "If you do your job." The sound of his footsteps disappeared into the thick carpet. "I'm sorry I couldn't help you more."

"So am I." She stood and turned toward him as he opened the door. "How do you feel about Vincent?" She watched him keenly, searching for any sign that he recognized the name, but he only gave her a puzzled glance.

"Who's Vincent?"

"The man she's been seeing for the last two years." There was a flicker of something in his eyes at that, but it was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and when he spoke, his voice was still casual.

"We never discussed him."

"Did you ever meet him?"

"No." He looked pointedly at the open door. "Look, Miss Bennett, I told you everything I know."

"I don't believe you have Mr. Burch." But she wasn't going to get anything else out of him—at least not today. She handed him a business card. "But I would appreciate you telling me the truth about one thing."

"What's that?"

"I want to find him, too. So call me. At least tell me whether or not I'm looking for a dead man." She turned away. "I hate wasting my time."

********************

Vincent held Catherine's hand as they approached the dining hall. It sounded as though most of the community was in there, and knowing how reticent Vincent was in public, she expected him to release her before they reached the entrance. When he didn't, she glanced up at him in surprise, but he just shook his head and pulled her closer. And so they stepped through the doorway together.

There was a moment of stunned silence, followed by an eruption of excited voices as everybody started talking at once. Catherine struggled to make sense of it all, but it was hopeless. All she caught were snippets.

"—when did—?"

"Look everybody! It's—!"

"Father said you—!"

"Catherine!"

"Are you—?"

"—back! We missed—!"

Overwhelmed by their enthusiasm, Catherine hung back, but their love and concern flowed out to her, enveloping her in warmth and affection. The children crowded close, reaching out to touch her, to satisfy themselves that she was real. The adults too, coming up one after another to hug her, and smile, and sometimes to cry while they told her how happy they were to have her back.

Soon she realized that her own cheeks were damp, and that although she was smiling, her heart was breaking a little, too. Somehow, at some point, these people had become her family, and she would do anything for them. Go anywhere. Fight any battle.

She wanted her son to know this family, to grow up here, where he would be nurtured and loved and supported until he became a strong and honorable man, a man like his father. These humble, roughly-dressed tunnel dwellers, with little to offer but a smile, or a hug, or a story, were infinitely more valuable than palatial estates and the power to rule the world.

"Please, everyone." Vincent's distinctive voice carried easily over the excited crowd, which settled into happy silence. "I am afraid we may overwhelm Catherine in our eagerness to welcome her home." He smiled, taking any sting out of the words.

They'd been separated from each other in the rush of greetings, and now Catherine moved back to his side. When he casually put his arm around her, the public affirmation of their relationship made Catherine's heart sing with joy. Smiling, she looked at the assembled group.

"Thank you, everybody. It's wonderful to be back. Your kindness and generosity mean . . . everything to me." She glanced up at Vincent, holding his gaze as she continued. "To us."

His arm tightened around her, and for a moment, she forgot they weren't alone as she sank into the brilliant blue warmth of his gaze.

William's voice broke the silence. "You two planning on eating or are you just gonna stand there and stare at each other all day?" But he was smiling, and his eyes were suspiciously bright.

There was a burst of laughter and affectionate teasing, and people started drifting back to their meals. But there remained in the hall a spirit of celebration, and when, near the end of the meal, William appeared with a cake blazing with candles, nobody reminded him that the day had only just begun.

                                                                                                                                                Chapter 7