Chapter 2:

I ran back home quickly to grab a change of clothes. I didn't know when I'd be back. Rachel had left already. She had a waitress job where she worked the morning shift a few days a week. It was nice just having my place to myself. I liked Rachel, but our thing wasn't serious. We had been so close for years and when I realized I was gay, she was the first person I came out too. Nothing happened for a long time after that. I had girlfriends. She had… her talent… and a couple of serious boyfriends. One night, after one of her shows, a record company scout told her she was amazing and that he wanted to talk to her about coming to NYC and doing a demo. He walked her out to her car and I saw them as I was unlocking mine across the street. I turned just in time to see him put his hand on her leg. She pushed him off and he reached out to grab her. I yelled "Police!" and pulled my gun for effect. He said it was a misunderstanding and Rachel told me to just let him go. She stayed with me that night and at some point, she kissed me. We didn't talk about it for a while after that. Then, it happened again right after I got my promotion to detective and we still haven't called it anything official. She can date other people. So can I. She says she's not gay. She likes guys too. It's fun being with her sometimes, but it can be a chore sometimes too.

She had her own place and this was one of those days I was glad we didn't live together. I took a quick shower so I could actually do my hair and try to look decent. The FBI was sending a team in to help and I was trying my best not to look like that hick cop. There was a little part of me that knew I'd be seeing Santana later and this definitely made me a terrible person considering the person she was kind of dating just died, but it kind of felt like we were flirting there for a minute.

When I arrived at the station, the normal staff at that hour was already at work, but about 10 more officers from nearby towns as well as a handful from the state police surrounded them. There were only 5 desks in the entire station and one small conference room that operated as an interrogation room on the off chance we actually needed to interrogate someone. Chief Schuester currently occupied my desk. I walked past people I hadn't yet introduced myself to and past the few I did know and made my way over to him.

"Chief? What are you doing out here?" I sat the coffee I'd picked up on the way next to my keyboard and slid my purse into my top desk drawer.

"My office is no longer my office." He nodded toward his office. The blinds were drawn so I couldn't see who was in there.

"State?"

"Feds. They got here about an hour ago. Four of them. They've taken over my office as their command center." He leaned back in my chair and put his hands behind his head as if this was just any other day. Chief Schuester was the son of our former chief. His older brother is a state senator and his younger sister was on her way toward being a partner at a firm in Boston. William Schuester, it was said, got this job solely because his dad called in a few favors. Will was an okay officer, but his promotions throughout his career always came as another officer either moved on and up or retired. He won the election because he was unopposed. He was a decent guy, but Sherlock Holmes he wasn't. "Would you mind going back to the crime scene? The agent in charge wants someone to walk through the house with her."

"Puck could do that." I sat on the edge of my desk since it appeared he wasn't leaving my chair anytime soon.

"No offense to officer Puckerman, but I'd rather the FBI get a good impression of us so they'll keep us in the loop. Technically, it's still our case. They can't just take it over, but given the media attention and the fact that it's about to get worse…"

"You think they're going to push us out?"

"Wouldn't you?" He leaned forward and rested his hands on the edge of the desk. "Three murders of famous women in a town with the police force the size of a soccer team and no leads. If you were them, wouldn't you want to run the show?" He stood up. "That coffee looks good. I think I'll walk over to Tina's and grab me some. Maybe pick up some for the Feds too. Make myself useful." He started to walk away.

"Chief?"

"Yeah?"

"This isn't your fault. You're doing the best you can with what you've got. We're not exactly equipped to handle something like this." I could tell this case was hitting him hard. Despite the fact that he wasn't really a great investigator, he genuinely wanted to help people and three dead girls in town meant he wasn't really doing a good job.

"Let's just find the guy and get all these people out of here so we can get back to normal."

He walked off and out the front door.

"I don't think we'll ever get back to normal around here." I muttered to myself.

"So, did you tell Santana Lopez that you're totally hot for her?" Puck asked as he walked over.

I sat in my chair and quickly realized the Chief had adjusted it so I readjusted it back to how I liked it.

"Serial killer on the loose and you want to talk about that?"

"Gotta keep it light. Plus, she is hot. Just wish she played for my team."

"Did you hear back from the car place?"

I took a sip of my coffee and sat it back down. I moved the mouse to get rid of the screensaver so I could begin typing up my report.

"Oh, yeah. They said it was her rental car. She picked it up at the airport when she arrived and was supposed to drop it off in two days when she left."

"So, the car Santana saw was probably the killer's. We've got to get her in here to ID it."

"Think she can?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Even a partial license plate would give us something."

"Considering we have nothing, anything she gives us would be something, Quinn."

The Chief's office door opened and a tall woman with short blonde hair in a pants suit came out. She looked over at me, probably expecting to see the Chief.

"You! Where's Captain Nepotism?"

"He went to get coffee." I replied and looked at the gun hanging from her hip. It wasn't a standard issue. It looked like it was gold plated.

"Who are you?" She walked over toward me. Puck's eyes got big and he backed away not wanting to be a part of whatever's happening here.

"Detective Fabray."

"Special Agent Sylvester, FBI."

"Nice to meet you?" It was a question because I really didn't know if it was nice or not.

"Were you at the scene last night?" She asked while towering over me next to my desk.

"Yeah. I wasn't first on the scene, but I was there. The other two scenes too."

"I'm going to have you take one of my agents around then. Show him all three."

"You know, we do have pictures and video of the scenes. You could save time-"

"Did you use the station Polaroid or 8mm to take those shots? The computers in this place are older than Castro and I should know. I was involved in the Bay of Pigs."

I stood. I wasn't nearly as tall as her, but I felt better at least in this position than sitting down.

"These computers are 4 years old and we used a digital camera. Believe it or not, we do get the Internet around here. We do all have to share one IPhone though. My day is next Tuesday." I was in no mood for yet one more person to talk about how small town we all are around here.

"I like you, Fabray. You've got balls. Maybe some brains too. Let's talk."

She invited me into the office she'd taken over and dismissed the three other agents by telling them to 'get their heads out of their asses and do some actual investigating.'

"So, three dead women in three weeks. What do you make of that?" She asked with her fingers intertwined and her hands over her stomach while leaning back in a chair that didn't belong to her.

"Some local really hates the famous tourists." I told her while sitting in a chair I'd sat in a million times before. I wanted to appear comfortable. I didn't want her to think she was intimidating.

She squinted her eyes together and leaned forward.

"What makes you think it's a local, Fabray?"

"I don't think a tourist would travel all the way to our little out of the way village just to kill celebrities they can get in Los Angeles or New York. Plus, most of the tourists are already gone. The sailing competition is one of the last major events of the season. Most of them get out of here the next day. So, I think it's a local. Someone who's lived here for a while and probably isn't very well off themselves and they're jealous."

"You're pretty young to be a detective."

"Not much competition around here."

"Don't sell yourself short. You've got the makings of a real investigator. You just put together a profile without even realizing it."

I squinted my eyes back at her.

"No, I realized it. I've been working on it since the second murder. I was hoping we'd narrow down suspects before there was a third, but this guy is escalating fast."

"Three kills in 21 days is fast even for one of these sickos. One a week-" She leaned back again.

"It's not really one a week. The first one was on a Friday night. The second was 13 days later. Last night was 7 days after that." I paused. "So yeah, it's 3 in 3 weeks, but he's speeding up. From 13 days to 7."
"You're thinking the next one will be in less than seven."

"I'm thinking it has to be. Probably within the next 3-4 days. There's only one big party left until all of the celebrities flee."

"Ya know, I gotta tell ya, I thought I'd be stuck dealing with that curly haired, Levi's wearing garden gnome you call your Chief of Police and I pictured him diving into a plate full of donuts while the rest of us caught this bastard, but Fabray, you're the real deal. I want you to be my right hand on this thing until we bring this guy in. You can watch me get a confession out of him and maybe learn a thing or two."

I could tell this freakishly tall woman was a narcissist to say the least, but it couldn't hurt befriending someone at the FBI. You never know when that can come in handy. I have to do something when I'm out of law school to start paying back all those student loans and I don't think my detective's salary is going to cut it.

I told her about Santana and what she saw and heard. She agreed that we needed to get her into the station to ID the vehicle. By the time I left Sylvester's office though, I could see the media vans outside the station had tripled since I'd arrived. There wasn't really a back entrance I could bring her through where they wouldn't see her. I told the agent I'd head over to the B&B with one of the station laptops. We had a program that pieced together parts and colors of different cars based on descriptions. I was hoping she'd be able to put it together a little better while looking at that.

When I pulled up, I could see Richards standing on the front porch. I put the car in park and jumped out practically running toward him.

"What the hell are you doing out here, Richards? You weren't supposed to leave her door."

"She needed some fresh air." He professed and pointed over to a tree where I saw her. She was leaning against it and staring out at the still water.

I started walking over to her and told Richards to go inside and get some coffee. I'd deal with him later.

"Don't get mad at him. I don't take orders well. I practically had to push him out of the way." She confessed. "Call it the feisty Latina in me."

"I'll call it the masochist in you. I told you to stay inside so no one else would know you're here."

"Look the hell around, Fabray. There's no one out here. I haven't seen a damn car pass by here all morning until you just pulled in. I just needed to breath air that didn't smell like kitty litter and burnt toast."

"She has cats?"

"She has a clowder of cats." She paused and looked over at me. "And yes, I know what a group of cats is called. I'm not just a pretty face." She paused again. "Speaking of… you clean up nice."

"Thanks. You really shouldn't be out here though." I had to change the subject fast before I started to blush. "We can probably find you a room somewhere else tonight. Some place with fewer cats."

She laughed.

"I assume that because you're here, you need something."

"Other than to kick Richard's ass for letting you come out here, I need you to look at something with me."

"You sure you don't have any feisty Latina in you? I mean, you look like a pretentious white girl, but maybe a few generations ago one of your ancestors fooled around with someone of the darker variety."

"It won't take long. Let's just go to your room and I'll be out of your hair as fast as I can."

She took a step toward me.

"I really don't want to be here. The whole serial killer thing is a little much even for a badass chick like me, but that doesn't mean I want you out of my hair." She walked around me toward the B&B. Okay. That was definitely flirting. "Can we please find another room for me now though? I don't think I can concentrate while breathing in cat pee. I don't think that's a dermatologist recommended skin regimen."

I laughed as I followed her toward Richards. I had him go up stairs with her to get her things and while they were doing that, I found her another room and checked her in under yet another alias. When she climbed into my car, I dismissed Richards so he could go get some sleep. I started driving toward the hotel that had a lot of vacancies given the end of the season and the people fleeing a killer. It was about 20 minutes outside of town, but it was probably the safest place for her. Had I known about the cats, I probably would have had someone book her this place last night too.

"Why'd you become a cop?" She added sound to the silence.

"What?" I had been deep in thought about the fact that I was driving someone I'd had fantasies about to a hotel and that someone was flirting with me earlier. Or maybe she wasn't and I was just hopeful.

"Earth to Quinn. I asked why you became a cop. You don't exactly seem the type."

"Because I'm pretentious?" I joked and heard her laugh.

"Yeah, let's go with that."

"It's a long story."

"You're kind of stuck with me for the next few miles and until another one of your officers comes to relieve you so I think we've got the time."

"Why don't we talk about how you got famous instead? That's more interesting."

She smirked and looked over at me.

"Because you already know that story. You're my number one fan, remember?"

"Oh right." I replied sarcastically. "I know you grew up in New York."

"Born and raised. Got my first record deal at 16."

"How? I mean, how does that happen? Did you know someone or was it an audition?"

"Why? You looking to break into the biz? Are you a singer, Quinn?" She nudged my shoulder.

"Just in the shower, but my friend Rachel is. She's actually really good. She wants to be on Broadway, but hasn't really been able to catch a break."

"She's good?"

"Yeah, she's amazing." I hesitated telling her the rest of the story, but we did have time. "She did technically catch a break once."
"Yeah? Sounds juicy. What happened?" She turned to face me.

"She had an audition to get into some school in New York. NYADA?"

"NYADA? I know that place. I have some friends who went there."

"It didn't go well. She went to New York anyway, but ended up singing in some diner while waiting tables and she ran out of money so she came back here. She's been bouncing around ever since."

"Well, if you say she's talented, maybe I can help."

"Really?"

"Sure. If she's your friend, I can give her a listen. See if she's got the stuff."

"That'd be great. I'll talk to her. I won't tell her what's going on. I can maybe just bring her to your room. She won't tell anyone you're in town so I think we're okay there."

"Oh, about that…"

"What? What did you do?" I glared over at her.

"Wow! You sure go from sweet to pissed off in seconds, don't you? I forgot to tell you that I tweeted from the airport that I arrived here. People knew I was supposed to attend the white party tomorrow night. Kind of funny, huh? The brown girl attending the white party?"

"So, the whole world knows you're here? Perfect."

"Sorry. I didn't know my friend would be murdered and that I'd have to stick around to be a witness."

I calmed down knowing it wasn't really her fault. I was a little surprised to hear her talk like this about her friend, but maybe that was just how she dealt with stuff like that.

"I get it."

"I would have told you last night, but it wasn't exactly on my mind. I'm surprised you didn't bring it up first since I'm sure you follow me on Twitter."

"I do not follow you on Twitter. God, you never let up, do you?"

"Not when I'm right."

"Fine. You know what? Here." I reached into my pocket and with some difficulty pulled out my phone. "Password is 1215. Check for Twitter. I don't even have an account."

She took my phone and typed my password.

"Just because you don't have the app doesn't mean you don't have an account, but I guess I'll let it go… for now."

I could see her smiling out of the corner of my eye.

"Thank you."

"But now, I'm offended. Why don't you follow me?"

"Because everyone on the planet should follow you on Twitter because you're so amazing?" I jested.

"Exactly." She retorted and appeared to still be checking through my phone. "What's 1215?"

"My password."

"Yeah, got that part, detective. What does it mean?"

"We're here." I announced trying to change the subject.

"Oh, this is much better." She said as she stared out at the hotel appearing up on our right.

"Glad you approve. You can be a real pain in the ass."

"I'd say the craziness of this whole thing has made me difficult, but that would just be a lie. I'm like this all the time."

"I'm starting to get that picture." I pulled into a parking spot away from the rest of the cars. "Okay. Put this on." I grabbed a baseball hat from my backseat and handed it to her.

"I'm not wearing this. It'll totally mess up my hair."

I looked her square in the eye.

"You have two options. You can either wear the damn hat for 5 minutes until we get you up to your room or you can get recognized and possibly murdered. Your choice. I'm going inside."

Maybe she was used to getting her way all the time, but I've been around a lot of drunk, rich people and even more just plain difficult rich people since I moved here and I've never just rolled over before so I wasn't about to start now.

"Ugh! Fine." She put the hat on her head and slid her shades over her eyes. "I still look good, don't I?" It wasn't really a question the way she asked it.

"You look great. Let's go." I complacently complimented and then hopped out of the car and took a quick look around before walking over to her side and nodding for her to get out. "Let's get you to the room first. I'll come back down for your stuff."

"Fine, but all my underwear better be there when I open it later."

Rolling my eyes yet again, I started walking toward the lobby with Santana Lopez in tow.