<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99"><i>Which war?</i> Cat wondered -- because this Gabriel (or so was the name that David had given her) didn't look old enough to have fought in any.  Well.  The Iraq war, she supposed... but he sure as hell didn't look like any Iraqi vets she'd met.																																												  <br/>
His change in attitude was... familiar.  Though he'd probably dislike the comparison, his eyes had sharpened in exactly the same manner she'd have expected from a fellow agent -- and that more than anything convinced her that this man, this... wizard... could help.  <br/>
<br/>
When he asked for crime scene photos, she wasn't surprised.  From an inner pocket of her blazer, Cat pulled out a stack of photographs.  "If the FBI asks, you didn't see these," she said, passing him the pictures.  "If there's another murder, I might be able to get you on scene.  The existing ones have already been released -- nothing to see there."  She'd bitched about that plenty to her superiors as well, but there was only so long you could hold a scene, even for murder.  The locked room had lasted the longest, but eventually she'd had to cave to the landlord's pressure and allow it to be cleaned.</span></span>