So I of course swing myself onto the stool right next to her and give her the once-over, copper top to stiletto heels. "Double espresso," I snap to the counterman without taking my eyes off the sweetmeat next to me. Cat plays it perfectly. Everything about her shows her internal turmoil—terrified of the street monster beside her, yet equally scared that moving or reacting at all might provoke me. For an instant I catch her violet eyes, and I see the flash of cool amusement. She’s enjoying this, getting out of the office and into the field. And, who knows? Maybe deep down she doesn’t mind seeing me again.