Without realizing it, she had clutched the arms of the chair, her hands white-knuckled with the force of her grip. “I could see them more clearly now. He was big—linebacker kind of big. He had one hand around her throat and the other under her skirt. Her thighs were bare, pale, ghostly in the moonlight. I saw her face for the first time then. There was blood on her face…”

From across the desk, Catherine could see the sweat bead on the young woman’s forehead and knew that although her eyes were open, she wasn’t seeing anything except those moments replaying as real as if they were happening now. She didn’t have to imagine the feeling. She knew the feeling. “Go on,” she said very gently.

Mitchell jerked slightly at the sound of the voice that seemed to be coming from very far away. “I announced myself…I think I yelled ‘Police! Put your hands up where I can see them.’ God, he was fast. It was almost as if he knew I was coming, or at least he wasn’t surprised to find me there. He let her go and she slumped to the ground. My eyes followed her for just a second, but it was enough time for him to swing around with his hands locked together and catch me in the side of face. Stupid move on my part. I went down on my knees and he followed up the punch with a kick. At least I saw it coming and managed to roll away from most of that. His foot connected with my hip but it wasn’t that bad. I was still between him and the street and the alley wasn’t that wide. I knew I had I had to get up or he would just jump over me and be gone. As I got to my feet, he grabbed my shirt and punched me low, below the bottom of my vest. And that’s when I hit him with the butt of my service revolver.”

“He hurt you.” It was a statement, because the facts spoke for themselves. “Do you remember hitting him?”

Mitchell blinked as if awakening from a dream. She could still smell his sweat, and the coppery odor of blood, and the acrid stench of her own fear. She felt the ache between her thighs where his fist had landed, and she saw with perfect clarity the battered face of the woman lying on the ground.

She stared at Catherine for so long that Catherine began to wonder if she would answer. Finally, the psychiatrist asked, “Officer, do you remember striking him?”

Mitchell wasn’t certain what she should say. She didn’t know how her words would be used against her. She met the warm green eyes that held such tenderness, an acceptance that eased some part of the terrible pain, and she answered hoarsely, “No.”

“Sorry I’m late. Traffic.”

“That’s all right. How are you? I haven’t seen you at all the last few days except at conferences.” Hazel Holcomb settled into her chair and regarded her young colleague with a speculative expression.

Catherine shrugged wearily as she dropped her briefcase by the sofa, then smiled deprecatingly. “I could plead workload, but…I think I’ve been avoiding you.”

“Ah ha.” Hazel sipped her coffee and pulled an ottoman over in front of her chair with her toe. Propping both feet up, she raised her cup slightly. “Coffee?”

“Tonight, I think I’ll take you up on it.” Catherine walked to the antique credenza against one wall in Hazel’s home office/study and poured the aromatic brew into a delicate china cup. “I’m surprised that you even use these except for special occasions,” she remarked absently as she sat down across from Hazel. “They’re so beautiful.”

“Too lovely to keep behind glass. Now, let’s get back to that therapeutically laden statement about avoiding me.”

“You said I should see you regularly, and I didn’t want you to remind me about that.”

“Why not?”

“Probably because there’s something I don’t want to talk about.”

“Only one thing?” Hazel asked in mock seriousness. “How fortunate. We should be able to clear that up tonight then.”

Catherine laughed. “All right. Several things.”

“And yet you called me for the appointment this afternoon.”

“Yes,” Catherine admitted. “I know enough to recognize avoidance, and I know that’s not the answer. So, here I am.”

“How are you sleeping?”

“Better.”

“And the dreams?”

Catherine shook her head. “Not for the last couple of nights.”

“Good.” She didn’t need to add that it might be temporary. The younger psychiatrist knew that, of course. “Then what’s troubling you?”

“I suddenly realized that I don’t know very much about being in a relationship.”

“Interesting, isn’t it, how we never appreciate that until we’re actually faced with it,” the older woman mused. “What’s happened to make you think that now?”

“Rebecca has gone back to work, and I don’t know how to…react to it.”

Hazel emptied her cup and leaned over to place it on the end table next to her chair. “Reactions aren’t something you think about, they’re something you feel. How do you feel, Catherine?”

“A little insecure. I’m not certain where I fit in her life any more.” She hesitated, then added, “Or where she fits in mine.”

“Do you love her?”

“Yes.” That was something she didn’t even need to think about.

“And her? Does she love you?”

“Ah,” Catherine said softly. “How do you do that?”

“What?” Hazel asked quietly.

“Ask the right question?”

“Part of it is practice, as you very well know. And part of it is knowing you. And part of it is knowing what we all fear—that our love will not be returned. So…why are you insecure?”

“She’s so damn self-sufficient,” Catherine replied, surprised at the anger she heard in her own voice.

“And?” Hazel prompted.

“I’m afraid that all she really needs is her work.”

“Some people would say that about me. Or you.”

“Yes,” Catherine countered, her tone still sharp. “But my work won’t get me killed…”

“And hers might,” Hazel finished softly.

Catherine leaned back into the cushions and closed her eyes. Finally she said, “I’m supposed to meet her for dinner after this.” She opened her eyes and sat forward. “Would you mind very much if we cut this session short? I just need to see her.”

“It’s your time, Catherine. I’m certain you know how best to use it. Go see her and let her remind you of what it was that first touched you about her.”

“Thank you.”

“And Catherine,” Hazel added as her colleague gathered her things to leave. “Give yourself a little time. She wasn’t the only one struck by that bullet.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CATHERINE WAITED UNTIL she reached the expressway before calling Rebecca. She drove with one eye on the traffic, preparing herself for disappointment as she half expected that the detective would not be home. When the phone was answered on the second ring, she realized she’d been holding her breath. Hurriedly, she said, “Hi. I’m done early and I was wondering—”

“Terrific. Would you like to go out or—”

“No,” Catherine said quickly, “let’s stay in. We can watch a movie. I can cook—”

“I’ll take care of that,” Rebecca said swiftly, then broke into laughter. “Maybe if we stop interrupting each other, we’ll be able to figure out what we’re doing. Is thirty minutes all right?”

“Anytime,” Catherine said, her voice suddenly husky. God, she’d never thought she could miss someone so much after just a day.

“I’ll be right there,” Rebecca replied in a tone filled with promise.

In fact, by the time Catherine found a parking place and walked the half block to her brownstone, Rebecca had arrived and was waiting for her on her front steps.

“Have you been waiting long?” the psychiatrist asked as she hurried up the stairs, searching in her briefcase with one hand for her keys.

“Only a minute.”

The four marble stairs bracketed by wrought iron railings that led to Catherine’s front door were not very wide, and as she reached past the taller woman to fit her key into the lock, their bodies brushed lightly together. Absurdly, her hands began to shake. It was moments like this that made her wonder how she had ever believed that she understood anything about life, or human relationships—when she had never experienced anything like this before. Of course, there was no understanding it because it made absolutely no sense that the mere presence of this woman could reduce her to nothing more than raw nerve endings and mindless desire.

“Are you all right?” Rebecca murmured.

“No,” Catherine said as she pushed the door open and entered.

Rebecca followed with a paper bag filled with groceries tucked under her right arm. She set it down on the telephone table just inside the door and stood still, regarding Catherine as she dropped her briefcase. “What’s wrong? Has something happened?”

“No. Everything is fine.” She hesitated, wondering how much to say and then, at a loss for logic, simply said, “It’s just that…these last few weeks, I was so used to coming home and you would be here. We’d have dinner; we’d talk; we’d sleep together. I miss you.”

For an instant, Rebecca was stunned. She still wasn’t used to the fact that someone like Catherine, someone so accomplished and intelligent and…so damn wonderful, could even want to spend any time with her, let alone miss her when they were apart. It was fantastic and terrifying and she expected at any moment for it all to disappear. But there Catherine stood, three feet away, looking at her with something close to sadness in her eyes, and the thought of Catherine hurting in any way tore through Rebecca more sharply than any bullet ever could. She crossed the distance between them and pulled the other woman close, whispering fervently, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry about last night. I wanted to be with you.”

Threading her arms around Rebecca’s neck, Catherine pressed tightly against her, content for the moment to forego words and simply feel. Besides, there were no words to describe the sensation of everything suddenly being made right by a simple embrace. She didn’t understand it, but the veracity of it was undeniable. Rebecca’s hands moving softly over her back felt more essential to her being then the air she was breathing. “I love you.”

Rebecca closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the silky softness of Catherine’s hair. “I love you.”

“Is there food in that bag?” Catherine asked after her breathing had steadied, leaning back slightly in the circle of Rebecca’s arms and letting her eyes play over the blond’s face.

“There is,” Rebecca replied, but it wasn’t food that she hungered for. Deftly, she lifted the blouse from beneath the band of Catherine’s slacks and slid her hand onto the warm skin at the base of Catherine’s spine. Circling her fingers over the hollows just above her lover’s hips, she pressed her own hips forward, drawing a gasp from the woman in her arms. “But it will keep.”

Their lips met, and for a time they merely swayed together in the midst of the gathering darkness, hands claiming flesh and lips making promises with kisses that grew more abandoned with each passing second. Catherine finally pulled back when she thought she was in danger of falling, her legs shook so badly. Gasping, she asked, “Does this go away? This feeling of never being able to get close enough?”

“I don’t know,” Rebecca answered desperately, her chest heaving. “I’ve never felt it before.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” Catherine murmured almost to herself as she began to work the buttons free on Rebecca’s shirt, pulling it from her trousers as she did. She pushed the constraining fabric aside and slid her palms over firm muscles, capturing the soft swell of breasts in her palms. “It’s beyond my control.”

“Good…don’t stop then…” Rebecca groaned, her knees nearly buckling as pinpoints of pleasure streaked from beneath Catherine’s fingers. Arching her back, she closed her eyes and tried to steady herself with her hands on Catherine’s shoulders. She’d never had a woman take her this way, and she’d never even known before how much she’d wanted it. But she did. The feeling of surrendering to Catherine’s passion was more freeing that anything she had ever experienced.

“Can’t,” Catherine moaned, her head throbbing and her vision nearly gone. Some small working part of her mind reminded her that they were standing in the middle of her living room, and she grasped Rebecca’s hand and pulled her urgently toward the sofa. “Sit down,” she commanded as she yanked down the zipper on Rebecca’s trousers.

The backs of Rebecca’s knees hit the edge of the sofa and she had no choice but to comply, feeling the clothes stripped from her body as she went down. She found herself nearly naked, Catherine in her lap, their mouths dancing over one another’s skin again. When fingers slid between her thighs, all she could do was drop her head against the back of the couch and moan. It had been like this that first night, her need rising so fast she’d never had a chance to contain it, but this time she didn’t resist. She welcomed the fire that burned through her blood, purging the wounds far deeper than flesh. “Please,” she begged.

Catherine slipped to her knees between Rebecca’s legs, and then leaned forward to take her with tender hands and demanding lips. No thought, no insecurity now. This—this splendor, this wonder, this indescribable beauty—this was hers for the taking, and take her she did. With certainty of touch and surety of heart, she lifted her lover on the wings of her own breathless desire to a place beyond knowing.

Rebecca sifted strands of thick auburn hair through her nearly lifeless fingers, unable to muster enough strength to lift her head from the cushions of the couch. Her thighs still trembled, and her stomach rippled with aftershocks. “Catherine?” she asked hoarsely.

“Mm…”

“I’m wasted.”

“Me too.”

“If you help me up, we can probably make it into the bedroom. You must be uncomfortable.” With effort, she slipped her palm beneath Catherine’s chin, raising her lover’s head from where it rested against her own inner thigh, and managed to focus on the deep green eyes. “If you give me a few minutes, I might be able to reciprocate, too.”

“I’m fine.” Catherine smiled. “Making love to you seems to set me off.”

“Still, I have plans for you.” She was tired, and her chest ached, and the lassitude that lingered after her release had nearly lulled her into sleep, but she needed Catherine to know how much she wanted her. She needed to show her, and there wasn’t much time.

“Hold that thought,” Catherine said warmly as she pushed herself upright and extended one hand to Rebecca. “Let’s have dinner first. We both need to eat.”

“All right. Food first, but don’t think I’m forgetting.”

“Oh, believe me, I won’t let you forget.”

As it turned out, time slipped away and it was close to midnight by the time Rebecca had stir fried the vegetables and noodles she’d picked up earlier in the evening, and even later by the time they’d finished eating and piled the dishes into the dishwasher.

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