Ophelia Turner always dreamt of working in the Big Apple also known as New York City. Now she stood in front of her apartment, two weeks after moving into it. Ophelia had grown up in Melbourne. Although she loved her hometown dearly, she had always dreamt of living in America where she found that the mysteries to unravel themselves.

The dark oak brown door opened itself and blue orbs met her own brown ones.

"There you are Phe," her roommate; Jackson Jones had come to call her as he found Ophelia, although a very beautiful name to be a mouthful. Ophelia smiled at her friend and blushed as he grinned down at her. She had found him very handsome the moment the greeted each other as he gave her a quick tour of the three bedroom apartment.

"Jack, heading out to work now?" she questioned him in a timid voice. He smiled as he felt a burst of fire course through him as she flushed in his presence. Jackson nodded and watched as the petite looking young woman dance around in the kitchen, putting away the grocery. "You're going to be late Jack if you don't leave now,"

Jackson cursed as he glanced down at his wristwatch. He looked over at the grinning woman before quickly dashing forwards to her and pressing his lips to her cheek and watching as she blushed feverishly.

"I'll see you tomorrow then Phe," she nodded and waved slightly still quite embarrassed and shy about the whole matter.

If there was one thing about Ophelia Turner it was the lack of confidence she had with handsome strangers. There was no problem in meeting woman. Yet, she was always weak around the legs and blushing like a tomato whenever they were near. Eventually though, her shyness would fade and be replaced with a hyper, strong minded young woman.

***

His wristwatch read: 12:45 am on a Saturday night or to most it would be Sunday morning. Don Flack was unhappy that he had been called out to a scene when he could be snoozing, ready to catch up on sleep when he had pulled 72 hours earlier in the day but like they say: 'Crime never sleeps'.

Oh how true is that cliché. He thought bitterly to himself.

Don watched the officers in uniform control the audience that were standing outside of the new Italian restaurant. Cielo e Inferno. Don frowned at the unfamiliar name of the restaurant noting to ask Danny of the meaning later as it was in Italian, he was sure of.

"What do we have here Don?" he looked over to Stella Bonasera and flashed a dimpled smile. A smile any girl would have sworn over for but not Stella. Stella and Don held a different relationship. Colleagues as well as close friends.

"Victim is female. A wallet was found near her body and the driver's license confirms her as Stacey Bourne. 27. She was found lying in a pool of her own blood by her best friend. Rachel Gavin who is being questioned by officer Barmen."

Stella frowned as she observed the poor dead woman lying on the pavement. She had assumed that when this woman was alive. She was beautiful. Her hair was blonde and seemed to curl around her shoulders. She had a beautiful tan that seemed to be quite natural and a thin body that most females were trying to get.

"Poor thing. A nice dinner turns out to be a disastrous." With that said, Stella got to work as she saw Danny Messer walking towards the scene from the other side of the tape.

"Hey Stella. Sorry I was late. I thought I had the night off," Danny stated as he set his kit down and clicking away at the camera. Stella smiled knowingly as Don snorted.

"Don't we all think so Messer? I think I'm going to be pulling another 24 hours here," Danny looked up sympathetically at his best friend who was a homicide detective as he was a CSI. "All I wanna do is be under my covers," the friends nodded agreeing with Don's words as they continued to do their work.

"Miss! You can't cross the line. This is a scene and you are unauthorised to enter!" the voice of an officer brought the group back to their senses. Don looked over as he saw an officer struggling to keep a woman back behind the line. With a sigh, Don walked over there.

"I have to get there. My friend is in there Mr!" the woman spoke harshly but quickly as pieces of her brown hair kept getting into her eyes and it frustrated her to be flicking it back to her ponytail every so often as she fought with the officer. Don found it quite humorous just watching her. He found her beautiful, standing there in her shorts and a jacket thrown over her top as her face flushed with anger.

"Hey! What seems to be the problem?" Don asked flashing his badge at both of them. He wasn't quite sure whether it was to show the officer he was in higher status or tell the beauty he was a detective.

"I'm trying to tell this man here that my friend contacted me. I'm here to see Rachel Gavin," she spoke huffing it all out while quickly throwing a glare at the officer who happily glared back at her. Before Don could even utter a breath at her, he was interrupted.

"Ophelia!" Rachel screeched as she saw her brown haired friend. Ophelia wasted no time and pushed through the officers towards her frightened friend who was sitting at the back of an ambulance van. "Oh Ophelia, Stacey died. How could someone do that to her? They killed in her cold blood!" the young haunted woman cried out as Ophelia held her in her arms.

"Hey baby girl, everything is going to be ok. Look, stop crying and look at me." Ophelia commanded in a stern voice that left no questions. Rachel pressed her lips together firmly and stared up at her friend. "Take deep breaths ok? I want you to tell the officers exactly what you saw and what you did, do you hear me?" Rachel nodded as she understood what Ophelia was saying to her. "Good. Then everything will ok,"

Don approached them, having observed the power this woman had over the witness, Rachel Gavin. Rachel only moments before had been wailing and shaking non-stop but when this "Ophelia" came over and spoke in a few short sentences, Rachel had calmed down immediately.

Work of art she is. Work of art. Don thought as he parted his lips to speak to her.