“Sandy is an informant,” Rebecca began carefully. “I was working—”

“You’re not required to explain,” Catherine interrupted, angry at herself for even bringing the girl up. She had no idea why she had. Except there had been something strangely intimate about the entire setting—the small cozy apartment, the takeout dinner, and the way the young woman had berated Rebecca with unmistakable tenderness in her voice. You have another life that I know nothing about. A life that might mean more to you than anything we could share.

” I’m sorry that you had to go through this,” Rebecca said, lifting Catherine’s hand and placing a kiss against the fingers she cradled in her own. “I’m sorry I had to drag you into it at all, but I didn’t want an official report—any kind of record—tying Sandy to me.”

“Why?”

She hesitated only a second. “Because officially Sandy and I don’t have a relationship. It’s safer for her that way.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t call Watts instead of me,” Catherine said, and there was pain in that knowledge. “Would you have called me if I hadn’t been a doctor?”

She hesitated longer this time. “I don’t know.”

“Would you even have told me?”

The silence between them grew so loud that Catherine slipped your fingers out of Rebecca’s hand and moved a little away from the stretcher. “Rebecca?”

“I don’t know. I would have told you—something. Maybe not all of it.”

“Why not?” Her anger was gone, replaced by an honest desire to know, and by incredible sadness. How could they feel so much, and share so little?

“Because I don’t want you to worry. I don’t want you to hate what I do,” she admitted. The foot of space between them felt like a hundred miles, and it hurt so much more now than she had hurt an hour ago. She was doing this all wrong, but she couldn’t think of the right way to do it. Desperately, she whispered, “Because I don’t know what else to do.”

“Jim says your CAT scan looked good,” Catherine said quietly. “It might be a while before they move you upstairs to a bed—you should try to rest. I’ll come by tomorrow to see how you’re doing.”

“Okay.” She swallowed, a sinking feeling in her stomach. It was all coming apart.

Catherine turned to leave, then looked back over her shoulder. “Is there anyone you want me to call? Watts?”

“No. I’ll call him.”

“Sandy?”

“No. Catherine—”

“Get some sleep,” she said softly as she closed the door behind her.

CHAPTER TWENTY

“WHAT DO YOU mean you don’t have any record of her?” Catherine asked in the general direction of the hands-free microphone that was clipped to the visor above the steering wheel while she attempted to maneuver through early rush-hour traffic. “She should have been admitted last night—sometime after midnight. Are you spelling the last name right? That’s Frye—with an e on the end.”

She listened for a few seconds, eyes searching the street for a parking place on the block with the address she had been given. Pulling to the curb, she said with uncharacteristic irritation, “Never mind. I don’t have time to wait. I’ll call back later.”

She clicked off the cell phone, cut the ignition, and sat for a few seconds behind the wheel, waiting for the last remnants of frustration to ebb. I should have stayed at the hospital last night. It was ridiculous to think I could do this now, not knowing how she is. If I were a patient, I’d say this is a very good example of self-delusion resulting from lousy conflict management and unresolved anger.

“Well, thank you. That’s helpful,” she said out loud in disgust. Glancing at her watch, she saw that she had five minutes to find the building. “And now you can just do what you came here to do.”

She locked the car and started north on Front Street, checking the building numbers as she walked. Fortunately, she had guessed right and had started searching in the appropriate direction. In less than a minute she was standing on the steps of a four story warehouse fumbling in her briefcase for her wallet and a photo ID. After the disembodied voice instructed her to enter and an electronic lock clicked open, she stepped through into the cavernous ground floor and proceeded toward the elevator as she had been directed. As curious as she was about the place, her mind was only half on her surroundings. She had spent another restless night, finding it difficult to fall asleep after the adrenaline surge of emotions that had started when she had first gotten the call from Sandy and which hadn’t begun to abate until she had seen that Rebecca was stable. It had been excruciatingly hard to leave her, but the evening had brought up so many conflicting feelings that she doubted either of them were equipped to deal with the aftermath in the middle of the night. Nevertheless, when she had finally slid naked beneath the sheets, she had ached for her, body and soul.

The elevator stopped smoothly and opened with no more than a whisper, whereupon she found herself looking out into an enormous room filled with electronic equipment. It was time to set her personal life aside, and do her job. Stepping out into the hall that ran along one side of the building opposite the warren of computer stations, she glanced right and left looking for someone who might know where the meeting was. Almost immediately, she saw a woman in jeans and an open-collared navy shirt approaching. At first glance, the startlingly attractive woman didn’t strike Catherine as being a law-enforcement officer of any type. Even discounting her decidedly informal appearance, she moved with a kind of casual confidence that suggested she rarely worried about protocol. There was none of the tight focus that Rebecca displayed when she was working or the self-important attitude of the typical bureaucrat. If she were asked to guess, Catherine would say this was the private consultant.

“Good morning,” Catherine said as the woman drew near. “I’m Doctor Catherine Rawlings.”

“J. T. Sloan, Doctor.” Sloan extended her hand to the elegant, auburn-haired woman and added, “We were just gathering in the conference room. I’ll take you down.”

“Thank you.”

As they walked, Sloan explained, “Unfortunately, the full team isn’t here at the moment, but I know your schedule is very tight so we’ll go with what we have and I’ll fill in the others later.”

Much later, Catherine thought to herself, but she merely nodded. She wondered, not for the first time that morning, if Rebecca would be pulled from the case. At this point it should be evident to everyone at police headquarters that she wasn’t ready to go back to work. In some ways, it was fortunate that the episode had occurred when it did. If it had happened when Rebecca was in the middle of an altercation, or even if she had just been out on the street alone, the outcome could have been disastrous. At any rate, she was out of danger for the moment and Catherine gratefully cleared her mind to focus on the job at hand. As she followed Sloan into a glass enclosed conference room, several people stood and turned in her direction. One of them she already knew.

“Doctor Rawlings,” Sloan began, “this is my associate Jason McBride, Agent Clark—there at the end of the table, and Officer Mitchell, who is with the Philadelphia Police Department.”

Catherine shook each individual’s hand in turn, saying merely, “Officer Mitchell,” in a neutral tone when she got to her. It wasn’t uncommon for her to run into patients in social or professional settings, and although she tried to anticipate when that might happen and discuss with the patient their feelings about it, it wasn’t always possible to do that. She had known Mitchell was involved in a task force that might have been this one, but she hadn’t really expected her to be at the briefing. As was usual when something like this happened, it was something they would have to deal with later.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice, Doctor,” Clark said with an appreciative smile. Looking pointedly at Sloan, he added, “Our investigation is moving a little faster than we had anticipated. Since I know that time is short, and I expect that what Sloan and McBride have to discuss will be of most use to you, let me say a few brief words and then turn it over to them.”

Catherine listened while he gave her a capsule summary of the task force’s purpose and some background on the results of similar operations across the nation, but she was watching the people at the table, trying to get a sense of how the individuals fit into the team. Clark, the federal representative, alone at one end of the table and the first to speak, was the titular head, but she had the feeling that Sloan, an arm draped over the back of her chair in an utterly relaxed pose, was the real leader. The woman projected an incredible sense of self-assurance and as she toyed with a pencil, her eyes fixed on a spot in the center of the table, she reminded Catherine of a great, sleek predator fixing on its prey. Her associate, the remarkably handsome man by her side, was completely expressionless, but his eyes glinted with intelligence. Mitchell sat stiffly to her right, and Catherine wasn’t certain if that was due to her presence or just the young officer’s natural intensity. Were Rebecca present, Catherine knew, she’d be sitting across from Sloan, the two of them perfectly matched in skill and drive. Rebecca, relentlessly single-minded when in pursuit of a suspect, was every bit the hunter Sloan appeared to be. The thought of Rebecca brought a swift surge of longing, and Catherine brought her complete attention back to Clark.

He was saying, “We have some information pertaining to perpetrator profiles that have been generated by other investigations. What we need, Doctor—actually, what Sloan and McBride need—is a way to flag the contacts with the most potential to lead us into a real life meeting. Any guidance you can provide would be welcome.”