Disclaimer: I do not own anyone or anything except for the original characters. Dick Wolf is the mastermind behind the characters that we know and love so well.

...

…It's 7:30 am, and it's another spectacular day here in Manhattan…

Mike Cutter's eyes shot open at the sound of an obnoxiously enthusiastic morning show host's voice blaring from his clock radio. He shifted resentfully in the warmth of his bed, pawing mindlessly at the racket coming from the nightstand. He successfully found the snooze button and rolled over. There was no hope of returning to his deep slumber, however. His Blackberry began chirping with e-mail and text message notifications. Ah, the curse of being competent. The big office and snazzy ties came with the price of zero personal space and little down time. He kicked his comforter to the floor and doddered to the bathroom in the residual haze of sleep, shoving his cell phone into the pocket of his loose flannel pajama bottoms.

In his tiled lair of tranquility, hot water splashed against his face and chest. Mike thought of his teeming schedule for the next ten hours—arraignment court followed by an evidentiary hearing; visits to Rikers and Bellevue; directing the usual Trial Advocacy class for the influx of Junior ADAs; and if he had time, maybe he would try to fit in a dinner break. Anticipating the stress, he massaged his tense neck. The muffled vibrations of his phone from a few feet away filtered through the vinyl curtains. There was that damned responsibility again, drawing him out into the icy air. Just once, he'd like to enjoy a shower for more than 5 minutes. Wrapping a towel firmly around his waist, he noted a missed call from Connie.

...

…You have reached Michael Cutter. I am unavailable at the moment, but leave your number and-…

Connie Rubirosa nudged open the front door to her building with her shoulder and began walking down Reade Street, composing a text. Her partner wasn't answering his phone, but being the thoughtful person that she was, she decided to give him one more chance to choose his breakfast. She rounded the corner to Hudson and again to Chambers, stepping into the warm interior of Zucker's Bagels. She staked a spot in the moderate queue and checked for Mike's reply. A crooked smile formed across her lips.

You're a lifesaver. Anything without onions and the biggest coffee they have. Please/thanks.

"Excuse me!" Startled, Connie looked up from her Blackberry screen. A tall, elegant woman with covetable café au lait skin brushed between her and another patron. Connie inspected the quality of the woman's clothing—a pristine, charcoal gray nubby tweed skirt suit accented with pearls, seamed stockings, and expensive stilettos—and lamented that she could not afford to dress with such flair and opulence. Her only splurge was an out-of-season Coach purse that was still in its box and the occasional trip to the Tribeca Beauty Spa. Ah, the curse of being on a civil servant's budget.

...

"Excuse me!" Jacinda Chambers pushed through the line at Zucker's, moving toward the door. She was a woman on a mission, who was on the verge of being late. Ah, the curse of being an event planner to the affluent population of Manhattan. Life revolved around appointments and dates, weddings and parties, capital and luxury. It wasn't even eight in the morning yet, and she was already on her second phone consultation. Chatting loudly into the Bluetooth device that was lodged into her ear, she ignored cyclists and fellow pedestrians as she strutted past Washington Market Park. A cardboard drink carrier, brimming with paper coffee cups, wobbled dangerously in her grip. She tucked her portfolios under her arm and dug her phone out of her designer tote. "Listen, Dominique, I'm going to have to call you back. Actually, why don't you just bring Anita up to my office this afternoon? Yes, that would be perfect. Okay. Okay. Uh-huh. Bye."

The uproar of frenzied shouts and screeching tires drew her attention away from her PDA-in-hand. A dark blue sedan was driving full speed toward her.

...

Detective Kevin Bernard stepped gingerly over the scattered array of books, empty coffee cups, and pieces of scaffolding that lined the sidewalk of Greenwich Street. His partner, Cyrus Lupo, was crouched next to the grotesquely contorted body that had stained the brick façade of an empty office building a deep, crimson red. Most people started their day with a morning jog or a staff meeting. He, on the other hand, had learned to expect criminals and cadavers. Ah, the curse of being a Homicide detective. "What have we got?"

"Jacinda Chambers, 27," Lupo announced, holding up a driver's license. "Cause of death-…"

"…Is pretty damn obvious. Please tell me someone got a plate number?"

"I'll do you one better." Connie's heeled boots scraped against the pavement as she eagerly joined the detectives. Her cheeks were red, lashed by the harsh morning wind. "According to the first responding officer, several witnesses said that the car came from that direction."

"From that parking garage over there?" Lupo stood and peeled the latex gloves from his hands.

Bernard shot her a what-are-you-doing-here look, and she quickly explained, "I was in the neighborhood… and be glad that I was. I put in a call to Icon Parking headquarters—you'll have the surveillance tapes by lunch time."

"Look at you… Detective Rubirosa. It has a nice ring to it," Bernard smirked and gave Connie's elbow a good-natured nudge.

"I don't think so," she rolled her eyes, smiling reservedly. "I've got to get to the office. Call me when you've got the tapes."

...