Binding Lies

by Maybe an HEA Contest

Some say that true love is based on trust … some say on truth. What about the love that was based on lies? Will it still be a true love? Or just another deception?

Standard Disclaimer: The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Binding Lies

Present Day:

The moment I step into the room, my eyes find her. I see her from afar, feeling like too much of a coward to get closer.

She's Isobel Dwyer, the greatest con artist in the world.

And I?

I'm her biggest con, Edward Cullen—FBI Special Agent, and a defeated lover.

Two Years Ago; Somewhere Inside the Louvre:

I try to pick my jaw up from the floor as I see the escape route, unable to believe my own eyes. "Are you sure this is the way they used to escape?" I ask the disgruntled Assistant Curator for the third time.

"Monsieur," he replies, letting a little frustration color his tone. "This is the only way out of this gallery, no?"

"Yes, but …"

He cuts me off with a raised hand. "Then oui, this is the route they used. As you can see the gallery is armed with an automated theft detection system. It's designed to seal off the gallery the moment a painting is removed from its display case."

"So instead of keeping the thief out, you want to keep him in?" I ask, fascinated with the idea.

"Oui," he answers shortly. "However, as you can see, this time, the thief managed to escape before the automated gates could come down and seal off the exit."

"How long does it take for the gates to come down after a painting is removed?"

"Exactly twenty seconds."

I let out a low whistle. "Then he has to be pretty damn fast to make it out of here with the painting."

"He?" a sharp voice asks from behind me. "It's a little presumptuous of you to think the thief was a man, Monsieur."

I quickly turn around to see the owner of the voice is a woman. She's wearing the uniform of the museum staff with a cap shielding her eyes. "You are?"

"A woman trying to make her mark in a man's world," she responds, her accent thick with French. Before I can think up a brilliant comeback, she turns to her employer and says something in rapid French. Then she makes her exit, leaving me staring at her.

Two Months After the Louvre Theft, FBI Headquarters, Art Crime Unit:

"Special Agent Cullen, I must say that I'm very disappointed," Kyle Simpson, Training Supervisor of our Art Crime Team, says with a little shake of his head. "When you were assigned to this case, I didn't expect you to turn up here empty-handed."

Taking a deep breath, I open my mouth to defend myself. "Sir, I admit that we haven't been able to recover the stolen Giovanni or to identify the thief, but I have prepared a profile based on this and a couple more robberies that have taken place recently."

"A profile?"

"Of the thief, sir."

He doesn't speak for a moment and I take that as my chance to proceed. "Sir, before the theft at the Louvre, there had been other break-ins at The Egyptian Museum of Antiquities, the British Museum and the Museu Picasso in Barcelona. From each museum, an artifact had been stolen—be it a painting or a sculpture. And judging by the way the thief has been moving around Europe, we can expect him to come to The States next."

Supervisor Simpson sits up straighter and asks, "Where do you think he'll strike in the US?"

"Well, by the way he's been taking articles by famous artists from all over the world; I think it might be The Starry Night by Van Gogh or the Ginevra de' Benci by da Vinci."

Tanya, one of the agents on my team, looks baffled by the information. "Wait, you said he stole paintings and sculptures alike. But I thought these art thieves stick to one type of art only."

"Unless they're a con man," Special Agent Jasper Whitlock says before I can. "Cullen, do you have any ID of the thief yet?"

Sadly, I shake my head. "Not yet, but he's been dubbed 'Golden Bee' by our friends in Interpol."

"Golden Bee?" Simpson asks with a frown.

"Yes, that's the only evidence he leaves behind," I answer. "A small golden bee in the very spot the piece used to be."

"Okay. Thank you, Special Agent Cullen, at least that was something," Supervisor Simpson says before standing up to address the room at large. "Now, as Cullen has pointed out, there are two pieces of valuable art that might attract the thief here. Unfortunately, one of them is in New York while the other is here in D.C."

Whitlock scratches his goatee when he asks, "So some of us need to be on the lookout near the one in New York?"

"Exactly," Simpson answers. "That's where you come in, Whitlock. I want you, Cullen and Denali on a flight to New York first thing tomorrow. You're gonna stay at a hotel near The Museum of Modern Art and work on any lead you may find there."

I look at Jasper and nod, if he's gonna be in charge of the case, then it's fine by me. Jasper gives me an answering nod, probably returning my thoughts. And then the Supervisor says, "Special Agent Denali is going to be in charge of the case while you're there."

I'm sure I look like I'm having a heart attack because Tanya winks at me.

Why am I reacting like this?

On our way out of the conference room, Tanya pushes her way between the two of us and grins. "You two are gonna be my bitches, bitches."

Yeah, that's why.

Day-2 in New York City:

"Fuck! I feel like we're being punished or something, man," I can't help but let a little whine slip out as I complain to Jasper. "I bet they're doing the real shit in D.C. while we're stuck here with Denali."

He pulls at his face and says, "Cool it, Ed. It's not all bad. We get to work without Simpson's nose sniffing up our asses for a bit.

Before I can point out the reasons why this is bad, the reason presents itself. "Less chatting, more working, girls," Tanya's voice speaks from behind us. "We're here on a mission."

"Yeah? Well, what are you working on?"

She laughs at Jasper's question. "The cute girl at the front desk. Mama's got a hot date tonight."

I roll my eyes and wait for Tanya to leave us before turning my head to look at Jasper. "And I rest my case," I say.

He shrugs and then says, "Well, I say we come up with a plan to look for the Bee instead of being holed up in the hotel room and listening to Tanya screwing a girl in the next room."

"Good point."

So that's what we do. We make a game-plan. We decide to check out the lists of flights that came from Paris in the last week, and the lists of people staying in hotels who have France as their last visited country.

It's a great plan; one that should work.

Ten Hours Later:

I itch for a drink as I walk into the hotel lobby filled with tourists yapping about God knows what. Walking up to the reception area, I am met with a head full of blonde hair greeting me with her body turned to the other side.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She turns around at the sound of my voice, and I feel like I've just gone speechless. She's beautiful ... quite possibly the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. Bright brown eyes smile up at me from behind a pair of glasses as she greets me in a soft voice, "Hello, sir. Welcome to Four Seasons. How may I help you?"

I'm so fucking dumbfoundedthat all I manage to do is grin at her beautiful face. She tilts her head to the side and looks at me from above her glasses. "Sir? Are you under the influence?"

"I must be because I feel like I've stumbled upon an angel." Yeah, I can be a cheesy asshole at times.

She giggles at my cheesiness and shakes her head. "Well, say hello to your angel for me then."

I must have lost my ability to think before speaking because I immediately say, "Hello, angel."

"I can't be an angel, sir, not right now, anyway," she says, making my smile fade. Then she adds, "I'm still on the clock here. So why don't you give me your name and I'll see if I can find some time for you after my shift's over?"

Her words give me the hope that she might be interested in me as well. So I try to keep things professional for now. "Well, Ms. …?"

"Dwyer. Isobel Dwyer."

"Ms. Dwyer," I say with an answering smile. "I need a list of all the guests in your hotel who have travelled here from Europe recently."

A frown mars her beautiful face as she says, "I'm sorry, but I can't give you that information unless I see some I.D."

I pull out my badge and hand it over to her. "I'm a Special Agent for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, Ms. Dwyer."

She gasps and takes the badge in her shaking hands. "You're an FBI agent? For real?"

I nod.

"Holy …! I've never met a FBI agent in person before," she says, still looking down at my badge.

I offer her one of my killer smiles and give her a one-fingered salute. "You have now. Special Agent Edward Cullen. It's nice to meet you."

"I sure hope so," she murmurs as she reaches for her keyboard. "Is some psychotic serial killer hiding in here?"

"I sure hope not," I answer, playing her words around. "I'm actually looking for a thief."

I don't know why the words spill out of me, but they do, and on some level, I feel like I can trust her.

~*~*~*Binding Lies*~*~*~

Isobel stares at me with her eyes wide and full of shock. "Wow," she whispers. "All I've heard of is the names of the artists. They must cost a fortune."

I chuckle at her innocent question. "Yes, you could say that … a fortune and then some. Those are all masterpieces, Isobel. Each of those is priced at somewhere in the high millions."

She blinks, probably not used to hearing about such big figures. "And you're trying to catch the man who stole those?"

"Person," I correct automatically, suddenly being reminded of the sassy museum worker back at the Louvre. "We don't know if it's a man or a woman."

She frowns. "You really think that the one pulling off these thefts could be a woman?"

"Why not?" I ask with a shrug. "Just because you're a woman doesn't mean that you can't be kickass at your job. The same goes for thieves as well."

A teasing smile comes on her face as she narrows her eyes at me. "Did you just compliment me or call me a thief?"

"No, no, I was just …" I trail off as I see the smile playing on her face and reach out to grab her hand. She escapes by an inch and rushes outside, leaving me in the hotel lobby.

Not to be deterred by this playful and insanely attractive girl, I follow her. She tries to avoid getting caught but I manage to catch her in the end. Her smile makes me smile. Before I know it, I've got her pinned against the wall where we both try to calm our breaths.

I notice a pinkish hue on her cheeks … the slightest hint of a blush and I can't help it anymore. Leaning down, I put my face very close to hers. It feels like our lips would've brushed if we tried to speak. I wait for her to say the word, and she does by giving me the tiniest of nods. And then, my lips are on hers, kissing her sweet lips for the first time.

Two Weeks Later, Still in NYC:

Isobel Dwyer turns out to be the woman of my dreams. She's everything I've ever wished for. She's everything I've ever dared to hope for. She's just … everything.

I actually feel a little guilty about not taking her to meet my friends, but that's probably not a good idea considering I'm working a case. Yeah, the repercussions from that are not a risk worth taking in my book.

I'm brought out of my memories of our first encounter when I feel two arms wrap around my torso from behind. A small kiss is dropped on my shoulder blade before I feel her smooth skin on mine as she lays her head on my back. "Will you be shocked if I tell you something?"

Chuckling at her attempt at mystery, I reply, "You shock me constantly, Bell. So what's one more thing?"

I feel her lips turn upward at my nickname for her before she gasps and walks around to stand in front of me. Perching a hand on her hip, she narrows her eyes at me. "What did you mean when you said that I shock you constantly?"

I can't help the laughter that escapes me at her angry-kitten facade. Wrapping my arms around her, I pull her to my chest despite her feeble attempt at resistance. "I meant that you shock me with how amazing you are, baby. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, and yet, you're not vain. Do you have any idea how difficult that is to find now? You're like my greatest discovery."

Her cheeks turn pink, granting me the delight of making her blush. "You're such a flirt," she says to me. The smile playing on her lips tells me that secretly, she loves the flirting.

"So what were you going to say?" I prompt her.

She's quiet for a moment before she stands up on her tiptoes, bringing her face very close to mine. Then she whispers in my ear, "I've fallen in love with you."

With six words, she makes me the happiest man on earth. I tell her that I've fallen in love with her as well before taking her to bed and showing her exactly what I mean.

Two More Weeks Later:

"I just don't know how the fuck he is doing this," Jasper grumbles in frustration.

Unlike the other times he's had these mini outbursts, I don't try to stay optimistic. It's been a month since we've been cooped up in this city and Golden Bee is yet to make his move. Damn it!

Plucking my baseball cap off my head, I throw it down on the desk laden with myriad evidence and possible clues in front of us and let out a sigh. "This has to be the world's most boring thief. He has been laying low for too long, man."

Tanya, who has been sitting between us looking like she might be in the middle of sleep and wakefulness, seems to snap out of it as she exclaims excitedly, "Maybe he's dead. Maybe he was in a plane crash on his way to the US?"

"Nope. No crashes have been reported in the last month," I say, much to Tanya's dismay.

"Then where the fuck is he?"

Jasper stays silent for a long time before presenting us with a solution we haven't considered yet. "Maybe he just quit?"

"Give it all up? That's bull!" Tanya says, and I agree. But the more we think about it, the more the idea seems plausible. Something like this isn't unheard of in cases with art thieves.

Just when we're about to accept Jasper's theory, we get a call from Training Supervisor Simpson. Without much preamble, he tells us that Ben Cheney, our unit geek, has recently intercepted a phone call after spending a whole month searching for a clue as to when Golden Bee will attack next. According to Ben, the call was between a couple—a man and a woman—who sounded like they were heading to the Big Apple to enjoy their vacation. Because he heard it on a secure channel that was supposed to be sending traffic signal alerts instead of random phone conversations, Ben seems to think that these two might be Golden Bee.

If Ben's hunch is correct then there is one small glitch we hadn't thought of before now … Golden Bee has an accomplice and can very well be a man and woman team-up.

Simpson's call sends us on high alert, and the next few days we each take turns keeping an eye on The Museum of Modern Art. On my shift on the third day, I notice a somewhat tribal-looking man with long slicked-back black hair carefully checking out the place. His attention seems to be focused more on the floor plan than The Starry Night.

Back at the hotel, I tell Jasper and Tanya about my suspicions. They agree to keep an eye out for someone who fits that description while I take my break. We even make a plan for a sneak attack the next day if the tribal dude shows up there again.

Once I'm alone in my room, a break comes in the form of my Isobel. She comes to see me there; and after a long tiring day of bullshitting around the museum, all I want to do is lose myself in my lovely girlfriend.

Tonight is different though. She's different. I feel it when she hugs me tighter than usual. The sound of my name, falling from her kiss-swollen lips as she falls apart in my arms, rings with a desperation I've never heard in her voice before. The way she urges me to go faster makes it seem like she wants to consume me and be consumed in return.

After we come down from the height of our love making, she doesn't let me go. Instead, she clutches me to her as if she's afraid that I'm a mirage that will vanish in the morning light. "Bell?" I call her name softly. "Baby, what is it?"

She tries to hide her face in the crook of my neck. When I pull her face to mine, I see tears shining in her eyes. "Oh God! Bell, did I hurt you, love?" Instantly I'm in full panic mode because this woman means too much to me to see her hurt.

"N-no," she answers with a sniffle. "I'm ok."

"Then why are you crying?" She doesn't answer me. The sight of teardrops making their way down her cheeks makes me feel like small pieces of my heart are being torn away. "Bell, love, tell me," I beg of her again.

Shaking her head, she takes a few deep breaths to calm herself down before looking back into my eyes. Her tear-stained brown eyes hold my green ones as she whispers, "The sneak attack you're planning with your partners for tomorrow? Please don't go. For me?"

My heart warms when I realize that her tears are just because she's worried for me. I try to reassure her by holding her to me, whispering how much I love her over and over again. Right before slipping into the unconsciousness brought on by sleep, I realize that I haven't told Bell about the sneak attack.

How did she know?

Before I can ask her that, sleep claims me.

~*~*~*Binding Lies*~*~*~

The next day, I wake up to a cold and empty bed. I look around my hotel room only to find that any trace of Isobel being there the night before is gone.

By the time I meet my colleagues, I feel disoriented and very confused about how Isobel might've known about our game plan.

Tanya hands us a cup of coffee each and then goes over the plan once more. We are going to case the area for the tribal-looking guy, and when he shows up we're going to take him into custody and that will be the end of it. It seems simple … a little too simple, but I don't complain.

Maybe the Bee has gotten cocky with all of his success to let his guard down this easily, I tell myself as we all make our way to the MoMA. We're pretty confident in our plan as we walk inside the museum.

Thirty Eight Minutes and Six Seconds Later:

"That's him," I hear Tanya say from my left side, where she pretends to be very interested in the floor carpeting.

Looking to my other side, I see Jasper give me a surreptitious nod as he slowly starts to make his way toward our target.

We both approach the hooded figure from behind cautiously. Even though we recognize the hoodie from the one the target was wearing the day before, to me, the figure seems different in body structure.

Before I can signal Whitlock to wait though, I see him extending his gun toward the hooded figure as he yells, "FREEZE! Federal Agents!"

A hand shoots out from underneath the hoodie and clocks Jasper with a right hook. The severity of the blow makes Jasper fall on his knees as the person in the hood starts running in the opposite direction.

As he passes by me though, I detect a hint of long glossy blonde hair under the hood and I gasp. It's a woman! Golden Bee is a woman.

"Cullen, get him," Tanya barks the order at me as she goes to help Jasper up from his place on the museum floor.

I don't wait to be told twice. I run like I'm being chased by hell's fire as I follow the Bee out of the museum. She makes a mad dash toward a car; and just as she's getting inside, I take a look at her face.

Isobel.

My Isobel.

She's Golden Bee!

"Bell?" Her nickname, the name I've given her, escapes my lips as I see her close the car door. She turns around and it looks like she's mouthing something to me. She tries to lower the window to talk to me, but it's powered by the engine. So the window doesn't budge. The car needs to be started.

She seems to realize it when I do. Standing at the museum entrance, I watch as she starts the car and then … BOOM!

The car goes up in flames, and the only woman I've been in love with is engulfed by that fire right before my eyes.

When the CSI Unit comes, they scan a strand of blonde hair found inside the car wreckage. They manage to find her in the system ... registered as Isobel Dwyer, a con artist.

I don't go to see the body when the CSIs welcome the FBI to collaboratively work with them. Instead, I let the numbness take over me as I hear Jasper and Tanya talk about the body being so burnt that it was barely recognizable.

I try to hate her. I really and truly try, but in the end, I end up hating myself for giving her the power to con me.

Back to Present Day:

Despite my struggles to not look, my eyes go back to the empty photo frame on the far side of the wall where it hangs with many other known con artists. In a way, I feel relieved that they couldn't get a photo of her in the system. I don't know how it would've felt to see the face of the woman I fell hopelessly in love with smiling down at me from the wall designated to our unit's most successful cases.

The sight of her name, "Isobel Dwyer, Con Artist, Deceased", etched on a plaque under her empty photo frame still hurts like a bitch though.

"Cullen!"

I turn my notice away from the wall to find the Training Supervisor of the FBI Art Crime Team standing there with a broad smile on his face. "Enjoying the party?" he asks.

I shrug. "It's your retirement party, sir," I say. "So you should be the one enjoying your party. After all, the décor seems to portray your most successful cases quite nicely."

He laughs a slightly drunken and boisterous laugh. "Definitely, my boy!" he responds. "Anyway, as you know my retirement has made quite a few changes in ranks. Whitlock will no longer be your partner."

"I had a feeling it might happen," I say. "Good for him."

He nods. "Give it a few more years and you'll be a Training Supervisor by then for sure. Until then, think you need to have a partner who'll have your back?"

Knowing that it was just a rhetorical question, I stay quiet for him to continue. He doesn't disappoint. Waving a hand to his side, he says, "Let me introduce your new partner, Special Agent Swan."

He steps away, revealing a very pretty brunette standing behind him. I hold my hand out for her to shake. "Edward Cullen."

She lets her hand touch mine as she whispers, "Isabella Swan." And then she looks up at me, giving me a peek into her bright brown eyes. I frown, and then my eyes go to her lips which are trapped between her teeth as she keeps looking at me. That's when it dawns on me and I suck in a breath like I've been sucker punched.

"Bell?"

Her eyes soften for a moment before she looks away from me, efficiently blocking me from looking for signs that she is my Isobel.

Is this Isobel? MY Isobel, or just a crazy coincidence? I wonder, as I see her interact with all the agents in our unit.

I hear her laugh at something stupid Tanya says as I watch her closely. As if she can sense my eyes on her, she looks at me from across the room. Then, for a tiniest second, her eyes go to the empty photo frame with her name on it. And that's when I know.

She is my Bell.