Dancing in the Shadows

 Ayiana

Chapter 20

Diana didn't know how long she'd slept, but when she opened her eyes, Vincent was watching her, his eyes a brilliant shade of blue that pinned her to the chair.

"I know you."

She shook her head. "I don't think so."

"Yes." There was no room for doubt in his voice. He turned his head to gaze at the damaged wall, and she wondered what he was thinking. Did he remember what had happened? Did he feel remorse? Or was he merely observing?

"Vincent."

His head swiveled back to her. "You know my name."

Slowly, she rose from her chair and went to him. "Let me help you." She supported him as he got to his feet.

He struggled for balance, grunting a little with pain, and finally accepted her help. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. "You were in Catherine's apartment. And Below, in her basement." He stared at her. "Tell me why. Please."

"I'm with the police department. I was investi . . . I'm still investigating Catherine Chandler's death."

He dropped his eyes, his expression unreadable beneath the heavy brows. "Her murder."

"Yes. And I . . . I thought maybe you could help." The leather-bound book sat nearby on the righted nightstand. She picked it up and turned it in her hands. "I know your name from an inscription. I've been trying to find you." She handed it to him, watching the reverent way he handled it, the care with which he opened its cover. "I've been trying to understand this."

"These sonnets . . ." He passed his fingers over the words. "She read them to me. I see the words, but I always hear her voice. Always."

"'Though lovers be lost," Diana said, "love shall not. And death shall have no dominion.'"

Vincent dropped the book as though it had burned him. He was on his feet and across the room before she could react.

Diana blinked in surprise. "Look, I didn't mean to—"

"You could never know how those words live in my heart." He drew in a breath. "Burn in my heart." His shoulders slumped, his head falling against the shattered wall as he leaned into its support.

"You're tired," she said, half afraid he'd end up on the floor again. "You should sleep." She helped him back to the bed.

After he fell asleep, she picked up the thick white comforter and carried it over to him, making sure he was covered. Then she returned to the living room, put her gun away, and pulled the curtain across the bulletin board.

 

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

 

Brooke and Mouse had worked their way deep beneath the community tunnels. Mouse moved quickly, as sure-footed as his namesake and utterly confident. But as time went on, Brooke began to wonder if he really knew where he was going or if he was just guessing.

"How much further?" she asked finally. The bundle she carried was getting heavy. She longed to find Vincent and turn it over to him. And she hated it down here. It was dirty and cold and the darkness had an almost physical presence, with icy fingers that played against the back of her neck. She longed for the warm torchlight of the community tunnels.

"Close. Very close."

"Are you sure this is the right way?"

"Only way." Mouse cast her an impatient glance. "Hurry."

It was several more minutes more before Mouse called out in the darkness. "Vincent!" He raised the lantern, his head twisting from side to side as he peered into the shadows. "Vincent?"

A familiar bundle lay on a nearby stone. Brooke crossed to it and unfolded the edges. She stared at its contents and then at Mouse, worry tightening her voice and making her heart beat faster. "He hasn't been here for at least three days."

"Catherine's gone, too," Mouse said. "Like smoke." He lifted his hands, dropped them back to his sides. "Poof."

"Do you think they're together?" Please let them be together. Let them be safe. She didn't think she could stand it if she lost somebody else she loved.

Mouse shrugged. "Hope so."

 

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

 

The council gathered in Father's chambers to discuss Vincent's disappearance. Tension and worry joined the gathering, and fear seeped out of the dark corners and shadowy places.

"Vincent's gone off by himself before," William said. "Maybe he just wants to be alone." But he didn't sound convinced.

"Worse than alone," said Mouse. "And Catherine's gone, too. Gone Above. Gone alone."

"We help one another," Brooke said desperately, looking around. "That's what you taught me."

Mary shook her head. "We can't force them to accept help they don't want."

"Mouse can." Mouse pushed back from the table and stood up, a determined look in his eyes.

"Mouse is right."

Everybody stared at Father as silence fell over the gathering.

"Father, what are you saying?" Mary wasn't the only one surprised by the comment. The others were exchanging startled looks as well. Father's comment went against one of the prime precepts of the community—the right of each individual to choose his own path.

"The choice Vincent made, he made to keep us safe. To keep Catherine safe. Can we do any less for him? They're missing. Surely that's the only thing that's important."

"We don't know that he's in any danger!" William insisted.

"Catherine knew," Mouse said, glaring at William. "Catherine went."

"All right!" Father said before another argument could start. "So if we're wrong, we look foolish. But if we're right—" He turned to Mouse. "You say you took a note to Vincent three days ago."

Mouse nodded. "From Elliot Burch."

"What did the message say?"

Mouse shifted from foot to foot, refusing to meet Father's eyes.

"Go on, Mouse," Brooke encouraged him. "Tell him!"

Mouse fidgeted. Looked around. Looked away. "Compass Rose. Meet me. Good news." The words flew from him a rush, as if by saying them quickly, he could somehow negate the wrong he'd done by reading a message intended for somebody else.

Father reached for his cane.

"Father, what are you going to do?" There was a quaver in Mary's voice as she watched him.

"Something I should've done a long time ago."

Without another word, Father left, the sound of his cane and his slow footsteps echoing down the passageways and filtering into the library long after he'd departed.

 

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

 

Joe strode furiously down the hall of the criminal courts building. Diana almost had to run to catch up to him. He couldn't believe what he was hearing, couldn't believe she'd be so completely unprofessional.

"Joe, I'm sorry."

"I cancelled a major deposition this morning because you promised me a progress report." He stopped for a swallow of water from the fountain by the elevator, fighting to rein in his temper.

"I know. I said I was sorry."

He swung around to glare at her. "So where is it?"

"I didn't bring it."

"You didn't bring it."

"Actually . . ." She paused while a group of lawyers hurried by. "There is no progress report."

He blinked. "Wait a second. I'm confused here. You said 'Joe, I have news'."

"I'm taking myself off the case." She blurted the words in a rush, and he could only stare at her in utter disbelief.

"What are you talking about?" People were starting to cast curious glances their way. "Come in here for a second." He led her into his office and closed the door before turning to stare at her with his arms folded across his chest. "You want to tell me what the hell's going on?"

"You heard me, Joe."

She was his best hope of ever solving Cathy's case. And she'd been making progress, pulling together wisps of clues that he never would've seen himself. And now . . . "Why are you doing this?"

"Because I need some down time."

"Down time." In the middle of the most important case he'd ever worked? "Oh, that's just great."

Cathy had done this to him once before, as well. He remembered it like it was yesterday. She'd never explained it to him, and he wondered if Diana would be any different. He stalked around his desk and dropped into the chair.

"What the hell does that mean? Down time. A week ago you were telling me about tunnels and roses and this guy Vincent and how close we are, and now—"

"Now I just need to step back for a while."

He stared at her, and something in her stance, in the way she avoided meeting his eyes, made him suspicious. "You know what I think, Diana? I think you're holding something back."

"I'm not."

The words were too quick. Too definite. She knew something she wasn't telling him. But what? And why the hell wouldn't she tell him?

Joe shook his head. "I don't believe you."

For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she turned and left, slamming the door behind her. Joe cursed at the closed door. No way, he thought. No way was he going to let this happen. Cathy's murder would never end up in the cold case file. Not while he was alive. He grabbed the phone, punched out a number, and waited impatiently for the line to be answered on the other end.

 

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

 

The next time Vincent woke up, he was alone. A quick glance at the windows told him it was late afternoon or early evening. He was trapped until dark. Frustrated and impatient, he prowled the apartment eventually finding the note Diana had left for him in the kitchen. She would only be gone for an hour, but it would be longer than that before he could slip away to the tunnels and to Catherine.

Only Catherine wasn't in the tunnels. She was Above. Searching for him. He felt her worry like a living force within him, a restless, searching uneasiness that affected his own mood, making him pace the confined apartment in increasing frustration.

How long had she been out there? Did she know what had happened on the Compass Rose? Was she suffering the same agonies he'd endured when she'd been taken by Gabriel? His heart twisted at the thought, and he glanced again at the windows, willing the night to hurry.

Behind him, he heard the grind of machinery. Diana was returning from her errand. As he turned from the windows to greet her, he noticed a curtain hanging on the wall near her desk. It was an inside wall. What need was there to keep it covered? He crossed to the strip of dark fabric and pulled it aside.

And froze.

Pictures. News articles. Police reports. Catherine's face as it had looked shortly after he'd first met her. Photos of people from Below, taken . . . when? Catherine's funeral? It must have been. Shaking his head, he moved on to the crime scene photos, the mangled bodies bringing back memories best forgotten. These were people who had tried to hurt Catherine.

People who would never hurt anyone ever again.

His fingers twitched at his sides. He wanted to rip the pictures down, shred them, destroy these false images of who he was—who he and Catherine were together. Behind him, the gate slid open with a clatter, but he didn't turn around. Instead he balled his hands into fists and closed his eyes, forcing himself not to act on the destructive impulse. Breathing slowly, he concentrated on the sound of Diana's footsteps as she came toward him.

"That wall is my work." Her voice was soft. Apologetic.

He jerked the curtain closed and turned to her. "That wall is full of half-truths and shadows."

"Maybe."

"You'll discover nothing there. All you'll do is threaten the lives of those Catherine loved." The past-tense verb stuck in his throat. Lies on top of lies. Where would it end? But the falsehoods were necessary to protect Catherine, and so he forced aside the self-recrimination.

"How? How can they threaten them?" Diana lifted her hands toward him. In supplication? Explanation? He didn't know her well enough to guess. "This wall belongs to me. I don't show it to anyone." Her fingers fluttered at the curtain's edge. "I try to live inside of other people. I surround myself with them. I penetrate their minds. And sometimes, most of the time, what I see . . . it frightens me."

He gestured angrily at the hidden images. "You were trying to spare me from myself?"

She looked at him for a moment. Then she turned and pulled the curtain aside.

"All I have is a smattering of facts. A seed. Sometimes they take root in my imagination. If I'm lucky."

His voice was quiet, and some of what he felt about the things he'd done must've been in it when he responded, though he tried to keep his voice even. "But there was no imagining me."

She shook her head. "No."

They stared at each other in the deepening gloom, and Vincent wondered what she would do with the information she had. She could destroy him, and they both knew it. But would she? His instincts said that he could trust her, but only time would tell.

 

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

The sun was dropping below the horizon by the time Joe whistled for a cab to take him to Diana's apartment. He didn't like what he was about to do, didn't like the idea of abusing his power for personal gain, even if it was case related. But he couldn't let her walk away from this case. He owed it to Cathy to see that justice was served.

In seconds, one of New York's ubiquitous yellow cabs pulled to a stop beside him, and he climbed in, settling into the worn backseat.

"Federal courthouse building, please." When the taxi didn't move, Joe glanced at his watch. "Hey pal, I'm in a hurry. Could we move?"

The cabbie turned his head and held up a single finger. Before Joe could ask what was going on, the door on the other side of the cab opened and an old man climbed in beside him.

"Hey!"

"Do you mind if we share?" the man asked politely as the cab shifted into motion. He was wearing a thirty-year old suit and carrying a cane, which he tucked carefully against the door beside him.

"What the hell is this?" Crazy people weren't unusual on the streets of New York, but this was downright rude.

"Please," the man said. "Don't be alarmed."

Without answering, Joe leaned forward and tapped the cabbie on the shoulder. Just his luck he'd get a driver who didn't know his way around the city. "Hey, the courthouse is downtown, pal."

"Mr. Maxwell."

The old man's voice was tense, as though whatever he had to say was vitally important. Joe would've written him off as just another crazy New York street person, except for the fact that he knew Joe's name. Not too many crazy people bothered to read the papers.

Joe raised his voice, determined to get the cabbie's attention. "Stop this car right now!"

The stranger leaned forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. Surprisingly, the cab pulled over almost at once. With a curse, Joe climbed out and headed back the way they'd come. Why did stuff like this always have to happen when he was in a hurry? Behind him, he heard the other door open, followed by the sounds of pursuit.

"Please, Mr. Maxwell! I know you to be a good man! Just listen to me! I have information concerning Elliot Burch!"

Joe froze. Slowly, he turned around. "Who are you?"

"I'm a friend of Catherine Chandler's."

A friend of Cathy's? This crazy old guy who'd so cavalierly helped himself to Joe's cab? How could that be possible? And yet, he was desperate for any scrap of information, even, apparently, the kind of information you could only get from crazy street people. He folded his arms across his chest. "Okay, I'm listening."

"I know where Elliot Burch was the night he disappeared."

Burch had been missing for three days. Every cop in the city was looking for him. If this guy knew something, why hadn't he phoned in a tip? "Where?"

"He was on board a ship called the Compass Rose."

"Are you sure?" If it was true, it would explain why nobody had been able to find Burch. In fact, if it was true, they'd probably never find him.

"Oh, yes."

"The same Compass Rose that was tied up on the East river?"

"I believe so."

Joe tilted his head, staring hard at the old man. "How do you know this?"

"From Elliot Burch."

"He told you himself?" Joe's curiosity was growing by the moment. Who was this guy, and how the hell did he know Burch?

But in response to Joe's question, the stranger dropped his eyes and looked away. So he hadn't heard it from Burch. Why was he so sure, then? Was it possible he didn't know what had happened? No. The only way that'd make sense was if the guy lived in a cave somewhere. The accident was all over the news.

"The Compass Rose exploded and was burned to its waterline three nights ago."

Grief and fear flooded the man's eyes. His shoulders slumped, and somehow he seemed even older as he turned and began walking away, leaning heavily on the cane. The revelation had come as a shock, apparently, and Joe felt a little guilty for dumping it on him like that.

"Who are you?" Joe hurried after him. "Is your name Vincent?"

"No." The man stopped and turned back to him, obviously startled by the question. "My name is Jacob."

"Jacob what?"

"Mr. Maxwell." Jacob took a long slow breath. "Have they recovered any bodies?"

"No, not yet."

Hope flared in Jacob's eyes. "What do you mean not yet?"

"They have divers in the water today. Look, if there's anything you can tell me about Cathy's death, you have to."

Jacob shook his head. "Believe me. I would tell you. If I could." Once more, he started toward the car.

"Why can't you?" Jacob's appearance was the first solid clue Joe had had in days, and he wasn't about to let him get away so easily. "Are you afraid of someone? If you're afraid, I can help you."

But Jacob had the car door open now, and he was already sliding inside. "Please, Mr. Maxwell."

Joe watched him lean forward to tap the driver on the shoulder. As the cab pulled away, merging into New York's busy streets, Joe stared after it, utterly bewildered.

 

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

 

Vincent stood by the window, watching sunset fall over the city. He itched to be away, to find Catherine and bring her safely back to the tunnels. The knowledge that she was wandering the streets of New York, frightened and alone, tore at him.

Behind him, Diana stood quietly. He sensed her eyes on his back. She had helped him, bringing him to this place of safety and watching over him while he healed. He owed her much, but could he trust her with his greatest secret? He didn't know, and yet withholding the truth from her would add another layer of deception to those that already weighed so heavily on his conscience. Slowly, he began to speak, to share what he could of his love for Catherine. It was the most he could offer.

"She led me from the darkness," he said, his voice low, his gaze turned toward the skyline beyond her window, but seeing instead those fateful events on a distant rooftop. "She sacrificed everything. And I let her die." It wasn't really a lie. He'd been so certain she was gone, so guilt-ridden over his failure to save her.

"Vincent you couldn't possibly have stopped what happened."

He didn't turn around. "There was a time when I could've stopped it. There was a connection. A bond. I knew her. Her thoughts. Her fears. I could feel what she was feeling at that same moment. As if we were one."

"When Catherine was in trouble you knew?"

"Yes." As he knew it now, knew that she was weak with hunger and fatigue. Wait for me, Catherine. Just a little while longer. He sent the silent message winging over the rooftops, wishing she could hear it. Knowing she couldn't.

"What is it?" Diana's voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to her.

"I couldn't save her." Instead, it had been a stranger who had found her, a stranger who saved her life, and he wished that he could find the faceless doctor, thank him for bringing her back to him.

"Vincent, what you had with Catherine . . ." Diana came around the counter, moving into his line of sight. "I can only imagine what it would be like to love someone like that. Or to be loved like that."

He didn't answer. Instead, his eyes went back to the windows, to the growing darkness beyond. "I searched for months," he said. "But it was the heartbeat that led me to her. Faint at first."

"Was it Catherine's?"

"No." He shook his head. "It belonged to her child."

"You could actually sense the baby's heartbeat?"

He nodded. "I followed it to her. To the building where the man called Gabriel kept her." Gabriel. An angel's name for the devil's servant. "But I was too late. The child was gone. My son."

His eyes went once more to the windows. Outside, night had finally fallen. There would still be people on the streets, but he knew how to evade them, how to slip through the shadows, unnoticed. It was time to go. "I've said too much."

"Vincent, you can trust me."

"No." He turned to her. She had already taken a great risk on his behalf. He wouldn't ask more of her. "You mustn't involve yourself in this."

"I'm already involved. I was involved bef—" The door buzzer sounded, interrupting her, and she sighed. She crossed to the small panel beside the gated elevator and pushed a button. "Hello."

A male voice responded. Distorted and metallic. "It's me. I have to talk to you."

Diana glanced over at Vincent, then back at the intercom. "Joe, I don't want to do this again."

"Diana, let me up, because I'm not leaving until I see you."

Vincent could see her frustration, but he made no move to reassure her. Instead, he waited for her to make the decision he knew she must. He would leave while she was gone. There would be no way for her to follow him.

"Okay," she said, with a sigh. "I'll be right down." She turned back to Vincent. "I have to do this. But I won't be long." She reached to open the gate for the elevator.

"Diana." He waited for her to turn back. "I'll never forget your kindness."

Seconds later, she was gone, and Vincent opened the window.

 

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

 

It seemed to Joe as if it took hours for the lift to make its way down to him, and longer still for Diana to step out, her face tight and irritated. He started talking before the door slid open all the way, the words tumbling out in an excited rush.

"This city is full of crazies, right? I mean we both know it."

She nodded, but she was looking back toward the lift as if she was planning her escape route.

"I was on my way here, and I whistled for a cab, right?" His excitement translated itself to nervous energy that carried him back and forth across the tiny lobby. Two steps. Turn. Two steps. Turn.

"So?" Her eyes followed him, but her arms were folded across her chest, her legs braced.

"So one of them stops right away. Pulls up right beside me. I get in and tell the cabbie I want to come here. Only he just sits there." Two steps. Turn. Two steps. "I don't get it. I'm in a hurry, you know? I figure maybe he didn't hear me get in or something. So I say something to him." Joe shook his head, remembering the cabbie's odd behavior. "He just holds up his hand, you know, as if to tell me to wait a minute."

He stopped pacing and faced her. She'd want back on the case when she heard this. She wouldn't be able to resist the adrenalin rush. Cops were like bloodhounds that way. "Then this strange old guy jumps in the back of the cab with me." He watched her eyes, looking for the excitement that would blossom when he dropped his bombshell. "And he told me Burch was on the Compass Rose the night he disappeared!"

Joe had once made his dad a paperweight out of clay. He'd spent weeks on it, and by the time Christmas finally came, he'd been beside himself with excitement waiting for his dad to open it. His dad had given him the same puzzled look then that Diana was giving him now.

"What do you want me to say, Joe?"

Utterly deflated, he stared at her. She'd been living with Cathy's case for weeks, had gone through hell trying to find answers. He finally brought her some solid information and she reacted like this?

His voice rose as anger and frustration took over. "I want you to say that's amazing news! Show some curiosity, maybe! Say, 'I was wrong to drop out'!" He glared at her. "How can you ignore something like this? I don't understand."

"You don't have to understand."

"No. You're wrong. I do." He'd hoped to entice her back to the case with the information he'd brought, but her lack of interest forced his hand. "You know, I got to thinking about our little discussion this morning. And the more I think about it, the more unacceptable it becomes."

She gazed steadily at him, apparently unmoved by his outburst. "Explain that to me."

"I'm ordering you back on the case."

In response, she backed into the elevator and pulled the gate closed. "You can't do that."

"I'm the district attorney," Joe said, grabbing the gate and yanking it open again. "And I can do a hell of a lot more than order you back on the case!" He hated this, hated using his position against her. It went against everything he believed in. But he would do anything to solve this case—even if it meant risking the nebulous friendship that had been building between them. Grimly, he shoved his guilt aside and glared at Diana.

"Are you threatening me?" Anger flashed behind her eyes, along with shock and disbelief. But he also saw a hint of disappointment. She'd thought better of him. Hell, ordinarily he expected better of himself. But he was a desperate man, and desperate men tended to do desperate things.

"Look. Something is going on right here in front of us. And I think you're the only one who knows what that is. And I'm not gonna let that go." He turned away. He would leave her to think it over.

"I'm calling the commissioner."

Damn. It would've been better for them both if she hadn't said that.

He turned around, meeting her eyes. "I spoke to him about an hour ago." He crossed back to her. "Look, lady. I don't care if you hate my guts. But you take whatever you're holding back, and you weigh that against your job and your pension. And then you call me in the morning."

He yanked the gate closed and stalked away, too angry to care about her reaction to his ultimatum. She'd either do her job, or she'd lose it. Her choice.