<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">Ooooph... he was even prettier when he laughed.  She might have stared -- because for a moment, just a half a breath, they weren't two professionals over a table of grisly crime scene photos.  They weren't an agent and a wizard at all -- they were just, for that instant, a man and a woman.  Cat sucked in a breath and forced her eyes off him and back onto the photos.  <i>Focus on the dead bodies, Catherine</i>, she ordered herself.  "Not Harry Potter," she said -- the words spilling out without her consent.  "You are far more handsome."<br/>
<br/>
In an effort to recover from the word vomit, she picked up a particularly grisly photo and focused on it.  "Hallucinations, paranoid ramblings.  I'll put the word out, and ask some questions of my CIs.  I suppose I need NYPD Vice," she added, her lip curling a little.  She had more than the usual FBI agent's scorn for local law enforcement.  <br/>
<br/>
It didn't surprise her, really, that the information was suppressed somehow.  She was a federal agent -- "cover up" might not be a word they spoke in mixed company, but every agent she knew had worked a case that subsequently disappeared.  Cat was no exception -- there were two organized crime cases she'd worked that were no longer in any records.</span></span>