Bulletproof - Chapter 2

AN: These first few pages are back story (sorry), I tried to keep it brief so I do hope it's not boring lol.

THEN

She remembers the day her mother was murdered as clearly as if it had happened yesterday; she remembers what she was wearing, who she was with, where she was, remembers the look on her brother's face when he'd told her the news. She remembers how angry she'd felt in the months that followed, remembers how she'd let that anger consume her, how she'd let it alienate her from her friends (they just didn't get it, you know?).

She'd been sixteen at the time, in the midst of her high school career. Her biggest worries that day had been whether or not her crush was going to ask her to prom and passing the final exam in her French class.

Her mother, Ruth, had been a teacher at one of the most prestigious (and, therefore, highly selective) private schools in the state: Ivory Tower Academy. She and her brother David had attended the local public high school, Storybrooke High, and Emma had honestly never wished to be elsewhere (those Tower kids were too high and mighty for her taste). Ruth had been a wonderful teacher, though; she'd taught her students with care, she'd made sure that they understood what they were learning, made sure they had someone to listen if they needed it, or a shoulder to cry on. She'd taught at Tower for five years prior to her murder and had grown close to many of her students along the way.

Emma remembers how packed the church had been on the day of her mother's funeral and the thought that she had touched so many lives still brought a smile to her face.

That is, until she remembers how her mother died.

She'd bled to death in an alley. Alone.

All from a single stab wound to the abdomen. Her murderer was never found and, even now, the SBPD had zero leads.

David had just graduated from college when it'd happened. He'd always dreamed of working for the FBI and was on his way to D.C. for a job interview with his shiny new degree.

He'd never even gotten the chance to pack.

In the end, he'd chosen to stay in Storybrooke, mostly for her sake; she was one year away from graduating from high school and he hadn't wanted to uproot her (losing her mother had been enough of a shock for both of them). So, he'd joined the Storybrooke Police Department and had worked his way up the ranks. Between her brother and what had happened to her mother, it made sense for Emma to follow in David's footsteps.

Emma had always been a good student (having a teacher for a mother tended to have that side effect) but having a career goal had made her more determined than ever. She'd worked her ass off during her final year of high school and ended up receiving a full ride at one of the local universities. She studied Criminal Justice (just as her brother had) and joined the SBPD shortly after graduation.

Unfortunately for Emma, being a cop wasn't everything she'd thought it was going to be (in fact, it was pretty much nothing like she'd thought it would be). Her first day had probably been the biggest let down of all, to be honest. She had woken up early that morning, too excited to sleep. She'd carefully put on each piece of her uniform (she can still recall that new, freshly pressed polyester smell), allowing herself a small smile when she'd finally looked in the mirror. She knew going in that she was probably going to get stuck on the crap shifts with the crap jobs (the hazards of being a rookie), but the thought of working her way up had only thrilled her more.

God, she'd been so proud, so excited (so naïve).

She realized rather quickly that the Storybrooke officers who were actually concerned with "serving and protecting" were in the minority. She'd been in the precinct break room having a coffee break when she'd overheard two senior officers talking. Initially she'd chalked it up to cynicism (it happens when you're constantly exposed to the worst of humanity), but when the perp they'd brought in only hours before "mysteriously" escaped from one of the holding cells, Emma suspected foul play. It happened again and again and eventually Emma became discouraged; this wasn't what she'd signed up for.

That's when it had started.

Her third month at the precinct, she'd been banished to organize the records room when the usual clerk was fired for failing to show up for an entire week and had stumbled across a box of cold cases; her mother's had been among them. Emma had spent hours in that small, dank room that night, reading page after page of her mother's file. She'd come back every day that she could after that night, pouring over her mother's case, determined to figure out what had been overlooked.

Within a few weeks, she'd begun to spend most of her free time in the records room, looking at other cases as well as continuing to examine her mother's; that's when she'd noticed the discrepancies. In so many of them, there were leads that hadn't been followed by the detectives in charge of the investigations, witness statements that either hadn't been taken seriously or were written off immediately, even evidence that had gone missing on its way to the precinct from the crime scene. The cases that really stood out to her, though, were the ones where the cause of death had been the same; a single stab wound to the abdomen, just like her mother.

Emma almost couldn't believe it when she'd seen how many cases had this connection; how had no one noticed this before? She'd found cases as far back as fifteen years prior with the same M.O. and Emma suspected that the unfollowed leads and missing evidence weren't a coincidence; someone had wanted these murders to remain unsolved and had gone through a lot of trouble to make sure they did. But why?

She'd brought all of this to David's attention, assuming he would help her. Emma barely made it through her findings before he was snapping at her to drop it, telling her it was "too dangerous, just let it go, Emma." She'd been shocked, to say the least; if there was anyone Emma had always been able to count on, it was her brother. She knew his concern was mostly for her safety and Emma appreciated that, she really did, but all Emma could think of was the people like her; the families of the murder victims, the families that didn't know who had killed their loved ones or why. She wanted closure for them and for herself, felt that they deserved at least that. Despite her own strong feelings, however, she'd tried to do as David had asked (though, it hadn't stopped her from continuing her investigations).

Emma tried to keep her snooping discreet, knowing that those dangerous people David was worried about were closer than he seemed to realize. Initially she'd kept to herself, observing everyone and everything as she tried to gauge who she could trust. She'd befriended Mary Margaret not long after that; her responsibilities as the precinct's secretary gave her access to information about basically every officer (as well as any cases they were working on) and anyone (cop or criminal alike) that walked through those front doors. Mary Margaret's warmth and sincerity had pierced Emma's defenses, though, and while their friendship had started as a way for her to simply get information, it quickly evolved into something real; they'd spend their days off together window shopping or binge watching tv shows at her apartment and before Emma knew it, she was telling Mary Margaret her deepest, darkest secrets. As it turned out, Mary Margaret had shared her suspicions. Emma had revealed her findings to Mary Margaret then, relieved to finally have an ally in this crusade she'd inadvertently stumbled into. After that, any day off they had together was spent delving into the murders that had mirrored her mother's.

Mary Margaret had been the one to discover an even larger connection between those murders; one Ignotus Gold. Every single stab victim (save for her mother) had been either an employee of one company or another that was owned by Gold or a known associate. It had all made sense to Emma then; of course those murders were unsolved, Gold was Storybrooke's richest and most powerful crime boss, he'd probably paid someone to take those people out.

Now all they needed was proof.

Emma had tried the legitimate routes at first, had tried to set up formal, police sanctioned inquiries with Gold and his ridiculous amount of lawyers but, unsurprisingly, the man was untouchable. Within a few days, her apartment had been burglarized. It was a warning. A warning to do as her brother had told her months ago and "drop it." A warning to show her what Gold and his cronies were capable of, that if she kept digging, they'd make her pay in worse ways. She'd realized then that Gold had too much power, too many friends in high places, and trying to go through the legal channels wasn't going to do anything but get her killed. She'd pulled back after that, kept the cards she had left to play close to the vest, and waited; she still had every intention of taking Gold down, but this time, she was going to be smarter with her approach ("to catch a criminal, you sometimes have to think like one," Mary Margaret had told her).

As far as Gold or anyone else knew, however, she'd moved on. She'd thrown herself into every job her superiors had given her, worked harder than any other officer at her level, and eventually began to garner more responsibility. Mary Margaret continued her duties as well and, much to Emma's surprise, started dating David (who was well on his way to becoming Captain).

Killian Jones had shown up almost a year after Emma joined the SBPD. Emma would be lying if she said she hadn't noticed him immediately (not that she'd ever admit it to anyone other than herself). She'd observed him from afar initially, which was easy considering they were in two completely different departments. Mary Margaret had actually been the reason that they were even introduced in the first place as he'd shown up to fix something on her computer when she and Emma had been chatting. He'd seemed friendly enough, granting her a warm smile and a handshake, but the look in his eyes had caused her breath to catch; there was a sadness in them that he was obviously trying to hide, a heaviness, one that Emma felt she could relate to. She'd kept a closer eye on him after that, though she never really could admit to herself why.

Another murder is what ultimately ended up throwing everything into motion. Albert Spencer, the city's former district attorney, was found on the floor of his high-end apartment in a puddle of his own blood; he'd been stabbed in the abdomen and left to bleed to death. When the lead detective on the case failed to procure any hard leads, Emma knew she had to do something. How many people had to die before Gold was brought to justice? She and Mary Margaret had put their heads together that night and came to the only conclusion they could; taking the law into their own hands was the only option they had left.

She'd begun spending every other night chasing bad guys in black leather and a mask shortly thereafter, Mary Margaret as her back up (turned out the woman was quite handy with a bow). They got off to a rough start initially; losing their marks mid-chase, twisting their ankles, almost getting hit by cars, having to explain the occasional black eye to David. But they trained, they studied, they became better, and before long, they were a well-oiled machine. After a few months, the crime rate throughout the city even started to drop. That's when they'd met Ruby. She'd been new to the D.A.'s office at the time, but just as feisty as ever. To this day, Emma had no idea how she'd figured out how to reach them, but once she had, she'd proposed a deal; she'd told them about how she was planning on being the D.A. one day, told them that she wanted to help heal their city, just like the two of them were. She'd convinced them that they could help each other reach that goal, and thus an alliance was born.

It was one of Ruby's cases that had resulted in Killian joining their team. Emma had needed his help hacking into some scumbag they were trying to track down's email account. She'd tried to tell him that it was an ex-boyfriend she wanted to get back at, but he'd seen right through her ("You're something of an open book"). Once he'd figured out she was trying to play him, he'd refused to help her unless she told him what she was really up to. Seeing no alternative, she told him as little as possible. He'd known there was more, but had accepted her explanation in exchange for his help. But it hadn't stopped him from following her. In retrospect, Emma probably should've seen it coming (Jones wasn't stupid, after all), but she'd been tired that night and had just wanted to go home so she wasn't as careful with her route as she probably ought to have been. She and Mary Margaret had been stashing their equipment in Storybrooke's abandoned clock tower for months, it had become something of a makeshift base for the two of them, and she'd led Killian right to it.

They'd told him everything after that (it wasn't like he hadn't heard the rumors of the vigilantes running around the city, he did work at a police station). Once he'd discovered that their ultimate goal was to take down Gold, he'd all but demanded to join them. Ever the optimist, Mary Margaret was all for him joining them and between the hope in her eyes and the determination in Killian's, Emma couldn't bring herself to tell him no. They grew to rely on each other in the years that followed, grew closer as a team and, more importantly, as a family.

NOW

Emma pushed through the front doors of the precinct in her white blouse, black dress slacks, and modest heels, her blonde hair cinched in a high ponytail. She took a quick sip from the coffee cup in her hand as she made her way to the front desk where her best friend Mary Margaret was seated.

"Hey, you," Mary Margaret greeted with a soft smile, shuffling some of the papers on her desk.

Emma sighed and tiredly returned her friend's smile as she mumbled, "Hey, yourself."

Mary Margaret's smile widened at the blonde's weary tone. "Long night?" she inquired innocently.

Emma huffed a laugh. "You know it," she replied, plopping down in the chair beside Mary Margaret's desk.

"Hot date?" Mary Margaret asked, her eyes full of mirth.

"Oh, yeah. Was on him practically all night," Emma retorted dryly before taking another sip of her coffee.

Mary Margaret stifled a snort and leaned her sweater-covered elbows on her desk. "I thought you liked the fighters."

"Not when I have an early shift the next morning, I don't," she answered, setting her cup on the desk and shifting in the chair to cross her legs.

Mary Margaret made a noise of understanding and glanced quickly around them to see if anyone was listening. "So, you got him then?" she whispered, leaning closer to Emma.

Emma nodded and smiled. "Yep," she confirmed lowly, "Handed him off to Red and everything."

The brunette returned her smile and placed her warm hand on Emma's forearm. "See, you did just fine without me."

"Mary Margaret, please," she said jokingly, rolling her eyes, "We've been doing this for three years now. Last night was not the first time I've caught a target without you."

"I know, I know," Mary Margaret answered, looking away from Emma for a moment as she distractedly adjusted her soft pink blouse, "But you seemed a bit worried yesterday…I just wanted to reassure you."

Emma stiffened as she bit her lip and averted her gaze. "That's not what I was worried about and you know it," she muttered stoically.

There was silence between them for a moment as Emma stared resolutely at the surface of Mary Margaret's desk.

"I know," she said softly, taking Emma's hand in hers.

Emma swallowed and met the other woman's kind eyes. "You…didn't talk to him about it?" Mary Margaret asked hesitantly.

Emma shook her head and sighed. "Wasn't exactly the right time."

"Emma," Mary Margaret began, concern lacing her voice.

"I know," she interrupted, her tone firm.

Mary Margaret nodded and squeezed Emma's hand comfortingly. "It's almost six," she said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "Better get in there, you know how the Captain is when someone's late to his briefings."

"A pain in the ass is what he is," she chuckled, grateful for the change of subject.

"Hey, now," Mary Margaret teased, holding up an admonishing finger, "That pain in the ass is my future husband."

Emma responded with a laugh and rose from her chair. "Yeah, and he's my brother. I can call him whatever I want." She grabbed her coffee cup and looked down at Mary Margaret, "Lunch?"

"Lunch," she agreed, nodding and throwing her a smile.

Emma returned her nod and wordlessly waved goodbye before making her way toward the detective's bullpen. She wasn't a detective yet, still technically "in training," but she was official enough to get her very own desk (thanks in large part to her immediate superior, and mentor, Detective Graham Humbert). She removed the briefcase slung over her shoulder and laid it on the desk before she pulled out her chair and sat. The cheap, faux leather material squeaked as she shifted around in search of a comfortable position and turned toward her desk. Emma unzipped her briefcase and began pulling out various files and loose documents and setting them on the corner of her desk.

"Good morning, Emma," hailed an accented voice to her left.

Emma smiled to herself briefly and took another sip of her coffee before turning her chair and nodding toward the voice. "Detective Humbert."

"So informal," he quipped, shaking his head as he ambled over to her, "I thought we discussed this."

Emma rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "So sorry, Graham."

Graham sighed melodramatically and stopped a few feet from her desk. "There, was that so hard?"

She smiled amusedly and raised an eyebrow. "Whatcha got there, boss?" she questioned, redirecting her line of sight to indicate file in his hands.

"This," he began, before holding the folder out to her, "Is your homework."

"Homework?" she whined, pouting childishly at him.

"Yes," Graham laughed, placing the file on her desk when she didn't take it from him, "A bit of light reading."

"Yeah, right," Emma scoffed, petulantly stuffing the folder into her briefcase so she didn't forget it later.

"Okay, people, eyes on me," a voice suddenly commanded from the front of the room.

"Duty calls," Graham said, gesturing for her to follow him as he made his way toward the Captain's office where David stood, a crowd of officers and detectives amassing around him.

David began his spiel, going over all the current open cases and dismissing people here and there once he'd received sufficient updates.

"Jones?" he called suddenly, craning his neck as he looked around the room in search of the Englishman.

"Sir," Emma stiffened slightly as Killian's lilting voice answered from almost directly behind her.

"Have you made any headway with the evidence from the Kurt Flynn case?" David asked.

"Yes, Captain," he responded obligingly, "I should have a full work up within the next few days."

"Good, good," David replied, nodding distractedly. "Humbert and Nolan, in my office, please. Everyone else can get back to work."

Emma swallowed nervously as she followed Graham into David's office, the feeling of Killian's eyes on her back causing her stomach to flip. David closed the door behind her as they filed in and stood before his desk.

"First thing's first," he began, striding to the other side of his desk and picking up the manila folder sitting in the center, "How's your training going?"

"Very well, Captain. Emma has shown great progress during my time with her." Graham answered, his arms clasped behind his back.

A soft smile crossed David's face as his eyes flicked briefly to hers; Emma felt her face warm slightly at the obvious pride in her brother's eyes. "That's wonderful to hear. How close would you say she is to being ready to take the detective exam?"

Emma bit her lip nervously and threw a tentative glance at her mentor.

"Honestly? She was probably ready before I even started training her," he replied matter-of-factly, shooting a proud smile in her direction.

Emma returned his smile almost bashfully, joy swelling inside her.

David nodded and turned his attention toward her, his gaze softening ever so slightly. "What about you, Emma? Do you think you're ready?"

Emma straightened her posture and nodded confidently. "Yes, Sir, I do."

"Very well," he replied, a full smile spreading across his charming face, "Detective Humbert will set that up for you later today."

Emma and Graham both nodded in acknowledgement as David handed the folder in his grasp to the Irishman.

"Now that we've settled that matter, here's your next case," he told them simply as Graham leafed through the documents in the folder. "Any questions?"

Graham shook his head and handed the folder to Emma, "No, Sir."

"Very well. You're both dismissed," responded David, moving to sit in his desk chair.

Emma looked over the reports in the folder as she followed Graham out of the Captain's office. Another homicide; Caucasian male in his early to mid-thirties, found dead in his apartment. Emma's breath caught in her throat as she read the cause of death; he'd bled to death after being stabbed in the abdomen.

Graham's voice suddenly wrenched her from her thoughts. "I can't believe you're already taking the exam," he began airily, nudging her playfully with his shoulder, "You're going to get that shield and forget all about little old me, aren't you?"

Emma emitted a shaky laugh and closed the folder in her grasp. "Like you'd ever let me forget about you, Humbert."

The other officer laughed and clapped a hand on her shoulder, "I really am proud of you, Emma. You're going to make one hell of a detective. Those bad guys don't stand a chance."

Emma rolled her eyes and smacked his arm with the folder. "Stop it, you're making me blush," she said sarcastically, stopping in the front of her desk.

"Alright, alright, enough of that," he retorted, waving a hand at her, "I need to go pick up a few things down stairs before we head to the scene so meet me at the car in about fifteen."

Emma nodded and watched him walk away. She stood at her desk momentarily, biting her lip pensively when someone shuffled up behind her.

"Fancy meeting you here, Swan," Killian whispered throatily, so close his chest brushed against her arm.

Emma jolted in surprise, sighing in annoyance when the sound of his amused chuckle reached her ears. She turned herself toward him, intent on sending a harsh glare in his direction and realized too late how close he was standing. She scoffed and backed up a few steps, her legs hitting the drawers of her desk and impeding her progress.

"What the hell, Killian," she hissed, licking her lips nervously, "Does personal space mean nothing to you?"

Killian's eyes flickered briefly to her mouth as he stuffed his hands in the pocket of his slacks and laughed again. "I have no idea what you're talking about. This is a perfectly acceptable distance from which to converse."

Emma sent him a quick glare and crossed her arms over her chest. "What do you want, Jones?"

Killian raised an eyebrow and shifted his stance. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing, I'm just—I'm supposed to be getting ready to leave for a crime scene," she responded, trying (and failing) not to notice the way his eyes were studying her.

"No," he said, shaking his head and taking a step closer to her, "There's something else. What is it? You know you can tell me anything, Emma."

The earnestness in his tone caused her to flood momentarily with guilt; this was Killian, for God's sake, they'd been through too much together and had seen so many sides of each other. Why was she letting this stupid tension ruin everything between them?

Emma sighed in defeat and reached for the folder on her desk. She met his eyes as she handed it to him wordlessly.

Killian looked at her confusedly as he accepted the file and opened it. She watched his brow furrow in concentration as he read, his deep, blue eyes flitting rapidly across the page. His eyebrows were raising in surprise a few minutes later, his eyes quickly meeting hers once more in understanding.

"Another one," he muttered breathlessly. She said nothing and watched as his shock slowly morphed into anger. "We have to end this, Emma."

"I know," she agreed, nodding numbly and placing the file down and leaning against the side of her desk.

Killian's eyes softened as he watched her, his anger melting away almost instantly. "Hey," he said, lifting her chin with his finger so she'd meet his gaze, "We'll get him. You'll get him."

Emma swallowed thickly as she blinked away the tears threatening to fall from her eyes. "Yeah," she replied with a sniff.

"Oh, I almost forgot," Killian said after a moment, pulling his cell phone from his pocket and making several swipes across the screen. He allowed a small smirk to grace his features before he turned the phone in her direction.

Emma snorted out a laugh when she saw the picture on his screen; a too-skinny, thirteen year old Killian Jones, decked out in his head gear and braces, complete with thick-framed glasses that looked far too big for his face.

"Oh my God, you poor thing," she snickered, taking the phone from him so she could take a closer look. "Tell me, do you usually keep embarrassing photos from your youth on your phone and show them to people?"

Killian scoffed and playfully snatched his phone back. "What's to be embarrassed about? I was adorable."

"Adorably awkward, maybe," Emma mumbled, her laughter abating.

"Also, no," he continued, stuffing his phone back into his pocket and adjusting the rolled up cuffs of his dress shirt, "I don't usually keep photos from my youth on hand, nor do I make a habit of showing them off. My brother's best mate was cleaning out one of his closets and came across some childhood photographs. Thought I'd get a kick out of this one in particular."

"Did he send any others?" she asked hopefully, biting back a smile at the thought of seeing more photos of a gangly, teenaged Killian.

Killian laughed and shot her an incredulous look. "Others? I think the one is quite enough, Emma. For now, at least."

She sent him an exaggerated pout of disappointment that made him roll his eyes. A companionable silence fell between them as they both sobered.

"Thanks, Killian," she said softly, slowly lifting her gaze to meet his.

Killian shot her a fond smile and nodded. "Anytime, Emma."

Suddenly, Graham's voice cut across the room. "Detective Nolan, let's get a move on, shall we?"

"Yes, Sir," she called back, gathering her things and turning back to Killian, "See you later."

He nodded and watched her as she followed Graham out the back door before turning away and heading back to his department.

Emma and Graham arrived at the crime scene twenty minutes later. By then, uniforms were filtering in and out of the shoddy apartment, rolling out the crime scene tape and putting down evidence markers, while others canvassed the building for witnesses. Emma and Graham split up upon entering the apartment, looking for any evidence that might indicate who had attacked their victim and why.

Graham reached the victim's body before her and had managed to find a wallet with an ID; his name was Greg Mendell. When the M.E. arrived, his preliminary inspection confirmed the cause of death as the stab wound to the abdomen and placed the time of death sometime between late night and early morning. The forensics team showed up after that, dusting for prints and collecting the marked evidence. Graham had sent Emma back to the precinct to work on a few of the leads they'd discovered during their inspection about an hour later; so far she wasn't having any luck.

It was late afternoon when they finally received anything resembling a solid lead. A set of finger prints found at the scene had popped up in the system; they belonged to a woman named Tamara Cerveny. Cerveny was had been arrested in the past for various infractions (mostly theft and drug possession). It took them a few hours, but they'd managed to track her down and bring her in. Emma surveyed their suspect from the observation room.

Her first thought was that Cerveny didn't look at all like the criminals that usually sat where she was now. In fact, she looked the complete opposite; like a respected professional, neatly dressed in a gray pencil skirt, a light blue sleeveless blouse, and modest heels. The uniforms must've picked her up on her way home from work. Her second was of how striking she was; long dark hair, flawless brown skin, rich chestnut eyes that were wide with fear. This woman did have something of a checkered past, but she at least appeared to have pulled herself out of it, seemed to have gone on the "straight and narrow," as the saying goes. So how the hell did she get mixed up with the likes of Greg Mendell?

Graham wandered over, interrupting her perusal. "You ready?"

Emma nodded and followed him to door to the interrogation room. Graham was sending her in alone, allowing her to take the lead as he watched from the other side of the mirror. Emma gave herself a moment to collect her thoughts, put on her game face, and pushed open the door. The sudden noise caused Tamara to jolt in surprise upon her entry. Any trace of fear in her eyes was wiped away seconds later, however; she wasn't going to be any easy one to crack.

Emma slowly sauntered over to the table, her eyes trained on the file in her hands. She was trying to make her impatient (impatient people were quicker to anger, and angry people tended to let things slip).

"Ms. Cerveny," she began after a few minutes of silence, "Do you know why you're here?"

Emma placed the open file on the table in front of her and trained her gaze on their suspect. Tamara said nothing as she stared intently at an invisible spot on the table. Undeterred, Emma continued.

"You're here because your prints were found at the scene of a crime."

Emma paused, studying the woman before her for any tells that she knew what Emma was talking about.

"Is the name Greg Mendell familiar to you in any way?" she tried again, her eyes intent on Tamara's face.

Her mouth twitched in triumph as the woman's expression trembled slightly. Now they were getting somewhere.

"You've got quite the rap sheet, Ms. Cerveny," she said, "Breaking and entering, armed robbery, embezzlement, assault…Was Mr. Mendell an associate of yours, perhaps?" she asked, knowing she wasn't going to receive a verbal response.

Tamara continued to remain silent as Emma rattled off a few more items from her record. Realizing her intimidation tactics were getting her nowhere, she decided to try something else: honesty.

"I'm going to be straight with you, Ms. Cerveny," Emma began, finally sitting in the chair on her side of the table, "Your fingerprints were found at the scene of Greg Mendell's murder. That simple fact is all I need to hold you."

Tamara met her eyes and Emma saw the fear she was holding back creeping through. There was something else in them though, a kind of pain.

"I'm trying to give you a chance to defend yourself, Tamara. Are you really going to go to jail without a fight?" she asked softly, her expression earnest.

Tamara swallowed thickly as she averted her gaze. "I—I did…know Greg," she said finally, her voice hoarse.

"Okay," Emma said, nodding and folding her hands on the table in front of her, "How?"

A broken sob escaped the other woman as she fought back the tears clearly pooling in her eyes. "He—he was my boyfriend," she told Emma, her voice cracking on the last word as the tears began streaming down her face.

Emma slid the box of tissues on the table over to Tamara and gave her a moment to collect herself before she continued on.

"Did you kill Greg, Tamara?" she asked softly, already knowing the answer.

Tamara shook her head vigorously, taking deep breaths through her nose in an effort to calm herself. "No. I loved him," she replied quietly as she stared blankly at the table once more.

Emma nodded, her internal lie detector confirming that she was telling the truth. "Do you have any idea who did?"

Tamara began fidgeting in her chair at the question and looking anywhere but at Emma. Emma watched as she swallowed thickly, the panic she'd seen in her eyes earlier seeping back in and pushing out the sadness almost entirely.

Emma knew she was going to lie before she even replied. Her entire being was practically screaming in fear. Whoever did this was clearly dangerous.

She waited a few more minutes in silence, hoping Tamara might change her mind. When she didn't, Emma rose wordlessly from her chair, collected her file, and knocked to exit the room.

She handed Graham the file when he met her outside the door. "It wasn't her," she told him confidently, "But she clearly knows who's responsible. It's written all over her face; she's terrified."

Graham nodded in agreement and turned to the officer by the door. "Put her in holding for an hour or two and then release her. She's not going to give us anything else."

"Wait," said Emma, stopping the officer with a raised hand and turning back to Graham, "Could we maybe put a detail on her? I'm worried that Mendell's murderer is going to think she talked while she was here and come after her."

Graham was silent for a moment as he considered her request. He nodded a moment later and met her eyes. "Yes, good thinking, Detective," he told her shooting her a small smile before turning to the officer beside them, "You heard the lady."

The officer nodded wordlessly and walked off to carry out his orders.

"You did good in there, Emma," Graham praised, practically beaming with pride.

Emma huffed a nervous laughed and looked at the floor bashfully. "Thanks, boss," she said finally, playfully punching his shoulder.

Graham chuckled at her uncharacteristic sheepishness and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug as they strolled back toward the bullpen. "Come on, I'll pour you a cuppa. You've earned it."

Graham called it a day about an hour later and had left Emma at her desk where she sat pouring over Mendell's case file (old habits and all that). She sipped on her third cup of coffee as she flipped through the pages, re-reading every piece of information for the hundredth time in search of something she might've missed. It was after seven, most of the detectives had either left for the day or were off working on their own cases, leaving Emma more or less alone in the large room. She furrowed her brow as she read over Mendell's employment history for the thousandth time, trying to figure out what was bugging her about it. The man had been a criminal for most of his life so the majority of the jobs had been at places like the docks and shipyards where they either didn't do background checks or didn't care who you were. It seemed that within the last few years, though, that Mendell had turned over a new leaf, much like his girlfriend Tamara had; three years ago he'd been working at a junk yard a few cities over and a year later he suddenly had a stable, seemingly legitimate job at French's Finds, an upscale antique shop in the northern part of the city.

Emma sighed for the millionth time, at a loss as to what was bothering her. In need of a fresh set of eyes, she rose from her desk, file in hand, and made her way to the Computer Forensics department where she knew Killian still was. Her heels clicked on the tile as she entered through the open door and announced her presence to what appeared to be an empty room. Emma frowned and looked around.

"Killian?" she called, taking a slow step away from the door.

There was a sudden banging noise, followed by a muttered curse in response. Emma bit back a laugh as she walked toward it. She found Killian beneath someone's desk tangled up in wires and rubbing his head.

"Emma, I should've known," he said, raising an eyebrow in mock annoyance and carefully untangling himself from the wires.

Emma bit back an amused smile and waited patiently for him to rise. He sighed in relief when he was finally freed, running a hand through his hair as if to straighten it.

"What do you need, love?" he asked, smiling amiably, that ever-present soft look in his eyes.

"I need your eyes," she sighed, opening the file in her hands and handing it to him, "There's something about the employment history that's bothering me and I can't figure out why. I've looked it over so many times at this point the words don't make sense anymore."

Killian took the file and scanned the page, looking for the portion she'd indicated. There was a moment of silence as he read over the lines a couple of times, biting his bottom lip in concentration. Finally, he shook his head and met her eyes once more.

"I don't know, Emma, nothing seems out of the ordinary to me," he told her, scratching the space behind his ear.

Emma sighed in frustration and smoothed a hand over the top of her head. "I don't know then, maybe I'm just trying to find something that isn't there."

Killian regarded her in silence for a moment before he held up a hand. "Hold on," he instructed, walking quickly away from her and over to one of the computers in the center of the room. Emma watched as he typed furiously, stealing glances at the file from time to time. Emma stayed silent and waited for him to explain as he was clearly running some program or algorithm. He stopped typing finally and gazed impatiently at the hour glass on the screen. He bit his lip again as a window popped up and a moment later turned to her with a wide smile.

"You're right, Emma, look," he said, enthusiastically waving her over.

Confused, Emma walked over to where he stood and stooped to read the screen. "What am I looking at, Killian?"

"Keep reading," he urged, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

He'd done some kind of search on the antique shop Mendell had been working at for the last two years and this was some kind of profile. Emma sighed and skimmed the page, searching for whatever it was that had excited him so much. She reached a portion of the profile that had information from the business license and lease; her heart almost stopped when she saw the name of the owner.

"Belle French-Gold," she whispered breathlessly, straightening up and spinning toward Killian once more, her face shinning with renewed hope.

Killian smiled and nodded triumphantly. "Looks like we've got ourselves yet another victim connected to Gold."

"Yeah," Emma agreed, her mind racing as she paced around the empty office, "But for the first time ever we might have an actual witness."

Killian's eyebrow raised in surprise. "We do? Who?"

Emma smiled widely and closed the distance between them. "Tamara Cerveny, Mendell's girlfriend," she explained lowly, "I'd bet my car that she not only knows that Gold is responsible for Mendell's murder, but that she also either worked for him in the past or does now."

"Shit," Killian said simply, running another hand through his hair, "Emma, you need to get her to talk."

Emma shrugged and bit her lip. "I tried," she told him, some of the fire going out of her, "She was too afraid."

Killian shook his head then as he stalked over to her and placed both of his hands on her shoulders. "You misunderstand," he explained, earnestly holding her gaze, the heat from his palms seeping through her shirt and warming her skin, "We don't need a Detective for this one, Emma, we need a Swan."

A determined smile blossomed slowly across her face, her fire rekindled. "Let's get to work then."