<span style="font-family: 'Book Antiqua'"><span class="fixed-color" style="color:#99ff99">Cat pawed through the scraps of her clothes until she found the damned phone and took the call.  By the time she ended it, she was stone faced.  She hung up and started to dig for clothes.  "There's been another body," she said -- hopefully loud enough for Gabriel to hear from the kitchen.  "And you might be on to something about them wanting to sow fear -- because this one was NYPD."  She pulled on clothes without bothering to get cleaned up -- without caring what they looked like.  "Damn it, they're willing to kill cops."  That both pissed her off and terrified her.<br/>
<br/>
On top of that was the knowledge that the murder had happened while she'd been having her brains fucked out.  Realistically she knew she couldn't have done anything to prevent it... but... guilt was a wily bitch, and kept whispering at her that if she'd just been doing her job, this would have happened differently.</span></span>