I do not own any parts of Rookie Blue, though I do have a slight obsession with the show since season two ended a few months ago.

Thank you all for your wonderful reviews! I'm very proud of the prologue, and hope you enjoy this first chapter just as much. McSwarek fans, this will be a bit bittersweet for you...don't worry, I ship for them! :)

Remember, this is a work of fiction; I am neither a police officer, nor a stripper, nor a stalker. I am basing my knowledge of these lines of work on television and movies, since they are hardly ever wrong! (scoff)

Rated M for a very good reason. If you are not of age, please get your RB fix elsewhere. ;-)

[CHAPTER 1]

"The D's say it was pretty gruesome. Poor girl was beaten and," Andy McNally paused, hating the use of the next word that had to follow, "raped, and her throat was slit." She glanced out the passenger side window at the passing cars as she and her partner drove toward 15 division.

Her partner, Sam Swarek, shuddered slightly at her words. No matter how many years he had been on the job, nothing ever helped his nerves when he heard about cases where women had been violated; it reminded him of how powerless he had felt when his sister had been assaulted all those years ago. Nothing ever helped him forget that. The only thing that even remotely allowed him to deal with that word was getting creeps off the street before they could hurt anyone else, and even those times weren't as frequent as he would have liked.

He shook his head and stared straight ahead at the road before him. "Isn't that the third this month?"

His partner sighed. "Nope, fourth. You're forgetting the one found in the alley behind the Timmy's on Bloor."

"Oh, right," he lamented. "Not that I could ever forget that sight."

Andy sighed again sadly. "Me neither."

"They're thinking it's the same guy in all these cases, right?"

"Mmmhmm. The MO has been the same in each; beaten unconscious, raped, killed. The weird thing is that the guy takes a souvenir from each girl."

"Oh?" Sam was curious, looking at McNally for a safe amount of time before turning his attentions to the road again.

"Yeah. Each girl's hair had been cut. Like he had tied their hair into pony tails before cutting. And they had all had mid-shoulder length brown hair."

"Like yours." It was a statement, not a question, but Andy answered anyway.

"Yeah, I guess," Andy said, pausing. "It's all I could get out of Jerry. They're having a difficult time finding any hard evidence, though. No prints, no semen, no witnesses who could even attest to seeing someone out of the ordinary."

"Shit. Guess we're going to have to wait until the perp slips up," he muttered as he made a left onto Davenport. He hated the feeling of helplessness, but without any leads or evidence pointing to a particular suspect, he knew that the best they could hope for was that the next victim would either escape, or that the creep would leave some sign of who he was behind.

The police cruiser pulled into the lot at 15 division, and the officers left, walking in tandem toward the station. Sam felt the strange need to fill the silence, so he turned to his partner and said, "So, any plans for your days off?" as he pulled open the door and allowed her to enter before him. She threw him a grimace – since he was so guarded about his private life, he never asked her about hers – but she answered honestly anyway.

"Uh, well, I have to find an apartment."

He certainly hadn't been expecting that. "What? What happened to the house you and Luke just moved into?" he asked as they continued through the station, heading towards the locker rooms. Andy hesitated; did she really want to tell Sam how things had gone with Luke; how she had practically thrown her ill-gotten engagement ring, the one she had found among his personal items, back at him? How she had packed a duffle bag with her essentials and hightailed it over to Traci's right after, begging her not to breathe a word of the incident to anyone?

For Andy, all signs pointed to yes. This was Sam after all. Despite the feelings she had been denying she harboured for him, she knew that above all else, they were partners, and he always had her back, regardless of the situation.

Maybe her answer would help her gauge the feelings, if any, that he felt for her, too.

Besides, he'd find out eventually; it probably would be best if he found out from her instead of the station gossip mill.

"Luke and I broke up."

She continued walking, but she distinctly heard Sam's heavy footfalls halt suddenly after the words left her lips. Confused, she turned to face him.

She watched his face for any sign of distress or sadness, but found absolutely none. Instead, there was confusion.

"Oh?"

Andy's eyebrows rose slightly, as if challenging him to say more. He said nothing.

"Yeah. I didn't really enjoy playing second fiddle to his job…that, and he cheated on me."

The look of surprise on Sam's face wasn't lost on Andy, though it disappeared just as quickly as it had appeared. He schooled his features and looked appropriately apologetic. "Wow, I'm sorry, McNally. I, uh…I'm sorry to hear that." He stepped closer to Andy and put a sympathetic hand on her shoulder before asking, "You ok?"

She nodded and gave him a small smile, appreciative of his uncharacteristic sympathy. The truth was that she was almost ok enough that the thought of the betrayal didn't sting her eyes with unshed tears anymore. It wasn't that she missed Luke or what the two of them had once shared; it was the betrayal that still hurt. Had he ever really loved her at all? She thought better than to tell all of that to Sam. Instead, she slapped on a brave face and said, "Yeah, I will be once I have a place to live. Hopefully I find something in the next few days. Staying with Traci is great and all, but I'm sure I'll get in the way soon."

"Sammy!" Oliver Shaw called out to Sam. Sam's hand instantly dropped from Andy's shoulder at the call. He turned to say hi to his colleague and friend, and turned back to Andy briefly to wish her luck with the apartment hunt before catching up with Oliver. Andy waved goodbye and stepped into the ladies' locker room to wash off the grime and sweat of the day and wait for Traci's return from patrol.

Little did Andy know that inside, Sam Swarek, resident tough guy of 15 Division, was internally doing a jig at the news his partner had just shared with him. In fact, as he conversed with Shaw, he was fighting the smirk that threatened to appear on his face to replace the constant scowl that normally sat there. His mood had drastically improved from the beginning of his shift, and he had Andy's news to thank for it. He was furious at that prick for cheating on Andy as he had, contemplating a hundred different ways to put Luke in the hospital for what he'd done to her, but he was also sad for her, too. She was ruled by her emotions, a trait that had gotten Andy into more trouble than Sam liked to remember, and there was no way that this had not affected Andy, despite her strong exterior and brave words to the contrary moments before. Sam knew she would need some time to adjust to her new life without the pretty boy in it, but he knew deep inside that, if given a bit of time, she'd come to realize as he did; that this was the best for her. And for him.

Luke Callahan stepped through the front door of his house that evening and instantly felt alone. Though he had been working late hours and had barely spent any time with his ex-fiancée in the weeks leading up to their break-up, when he arrived home, he knew she had been there and that she would be there again. Now, though, the lack of Andy McNally's presence in the house was all around him, practically suffocating him. She had never put her personal touches on the home they shared so briefly, but he could still smell her faintly in the hallways, could almost see where she'd leave her runners haphazardly by the front door. The biggest sign that she was gone was that their walk-in closet was now only half-full. Luke had a wide assortment of dress shirts, ties, pants, and complete suits, but the rest of the closet had been well-stocked by Andy. Now, it looked desolate, incomplete. Just like he was, without her.

He knew sleeping with Jo had been a colossal mistake when it was happening, but with that initial kiss, he was reminded of old times, good times with Jo, and couldn't stop himself. He now knew that if he had the chance to do it over, he would have rebuked any and all offers Jo had for him. He had a good thing with Andy – a great thing – and now, thanks to a night of nostalgic sex, she was gone.

He knew that night in the motel with Jo was a mistake, and had told Jo as much the last time they had been in the same room. He had been blunt with her, telling her that he wanted Andy back, even though he knew that his confession hurt Jo terribly – she had the unmistakable look of hope at the rekindling of their previous passion in her eyes, and with his confession, he had extinguished it ruthlessly.

He dragged himself to the sofa and loosened his dark blue tie as he sat, grabbing the remote control with his other hand. The television came to life, brightening the completely dark living room. He flipped through the channels aimlessly, passing CityTV, CTV, the Buffalo NBC, ABC, and CBS affiliates, PBS, Sportsnet, and then the Weather Channel, where he finally stopped, though he wasn't watching at all. His mind was elsewhere. It was on Andy.

Cheating was the main reason for her departure from his life, but the truth, he finally admitted to himself, was that he had never really put her first, and that the infidelity had been the last straw for her. He realized then that their relationship had been just another accomplishment for him; he had the great career, the fancy car, the beautiful house, and the gorgeous, brown-eyed rookie in his bed. His life was almost set; he was successful in every aspect of it. But he had been especially successful in love. Andy was kind and thoughtful and sexy beyond words. Though he had never come out and said it to her, he knew that he loved her. He hadn't even planned to propose to her, especially not that way or at that time, but her finding that ring had been incredibly serendipitous. The more he thought about it – and he had had plenty of time to think about it while he was in the hospital after being shot – the more he realized that he had actually wanted to marry her. It might have been far too soon for them to even consider, but as he lay in bed at home after being released from the hospital, he began envisioning how Andy would look in a flowing white dress, being walked down the aisle by Tommy McNally toward him. He knew then as he knew now, that he wanted it all; the beautiful wife, the adorable kids, the white, piling snow in the front yard (instead of the white, picket fence – after all, they were in Toronto). All of it. And he wanted it with Andy.

He would set his list of priorities straight and make sure she was on the top of that list. Work would be second to her, as it should have been when they were building their foundation together. He knew he had been a fool for not seeing the idiocy of his ways before cheating, and would make amends any way he could.

At that moment, as he stared into the television with clouded eyes, seeing nothing before him, he knew that he had to get her back.

Two weeks after the body of Christianne Lefleur of Laval, Quebec, was discovered in her small apartment violated, with her throat slashed and her hair hacked off, Traci Nash, Chris Diaz, Dov Epstein, Gail Peck, and Andy McNally, the not-so-new rookies of 15 division sat at their usual table at the Penny, each with a drink in hand, talking about their day. Chris and Dov had helped to run a speed trap on Lakeshore, Gail had been assigned to ride with Shaw all day, and Traci had had desk duty for thankfully the first and hopefully last time that week.

The door to the bar opened and in walked Sam Swarek and Oliver Shaw. Andy had somehow known it was him – she was developing some sort of sixth sense when it came to her partner – and her eyes followed Sam until he made eye contact with her. Playing it cool, she raised her bottle of Corona to him slightly in greeting, earning her a small smile as he found his usual spot at the bar and sat down beside his friend. After they ordered their drinks, a scotch on the rocks for Oliver and a bottle of Alexander Keith's for Sam, Oliver turned to Sam and laughed. Confused, Sam's eyebrows crinkled together.

"What?"

"You and McNally, that's what."

"What d'you mean, me and McNally?"

Oliver patted his friend on the back before taking a sip from the drink that had been placed before him. "I mean, I haven't seen you this relaxed since…well, I never have. And I'm sure it has something to do with the fact that she and detective boy broke up." Before Sam could even open his mouth to refute it, Oliver held up his hand. "Don't deny it, brother. You're hooked."

Sam took a swig of his beer before answering, his eyes attempting to be hard, but failing since he knew that Oliver was absolutely correct. "I am not. She's…"

After a moment to let Sam get his answer together, Oliver laughed. "Wow, a man of few words. I get it. But trust me. It's all over your face."

"Fine!" Sam acknowledged with a slap of his open palm on the bar top. "But she's not ready for anything right now."

"How do you know that? You ask her?" Oliver asked, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"No, but when she was talking about that fucker and her ending things, there was something there that told me she still needed to work through some things. She was sad. I just knew it."

Oliver turned the bar stool he was sitting on towards the rookies sitting together at their regular table. Sam followed him, bringing his beer with him.

"Does that look like someone who's sad to be single?" Oliver said, motioning with his head to the table filled with laughing nearly-rookies.

"It's only been two weeks, though."

"Two weeks is enough time, at least judging by the way she keeps looking at you. It's obvious she digs you, too."

Sam chugged the rest of his beer down and contemplated Oliver's statement. Did she feel for him the way he felt for her? Could he really express his interest in her without receiving a McNally slap? He had tried to be as supportive as he possibly could stomach when it came to her and Callahan, but it was torture for him to see her with him when he was the one who wanted to be with her. He just wanted her to be happy, so he said the right things about detective boy to her, but inside, he was hoping she'd finally realize that he was all kinds of wrong for her. As he thought this through, he realized that she was looking up at him from their table, smiling at him shyly. He returned the smile and proceeded to ask the bartender behind him for another Keith's.

"Think about it, brother," Oliver patted Sam's back once again, then pulled his wallet from his back pocket and put a twenty dollar bill on the bartop. "Zoe is expecting me soon, so I'd better get outta here. See you tomorrow, Sam."

Feeling bolder than normal – most likely due to the three shots of tequila Traci had insisted upon them taking – Andy rose from her seat and walked to the bar, planting herself beside the object of her desire; Sam.

He felt her sitting beside him instantly, and turned to face her.

"Hey."

"Hey, Sam. Havin' a good time?"

Sam smirked at the question. "Just got better. What are you rookies yapping about over there?"

Andy giggled and called to the bartender, glancing back at Sam. "Dov had to pull over an elderly woman who was driving dangerously close to the fifty over mark. She started crying and apparently Dov had a soft spot for old ladies and tears, and let her off with a warning."

"Wow, generous of him. Probably should have booked her for street racing.*"

"Yeah, we were just busting his chops for it." The bartender returned from serving another patron and took Andy's order; another shot of tequila. When he returned with the shot and rested it in front of her, along with a slice of lemon and a salt shaker, Sam had to comment.

"What's with the shots, McNally?"

She ignored him before licking her wrist, shaking salt on it, taking the shot, licking the salt, and biting the slice of lemon before her. Her face contorted in a disgusting way before settling to normal. She gazed at Sam and said, "Liquid courage."

Before Sam could ask what that meant to her, and why she needed courage in that form tonight, she scooted the stool she was sitting on closer to him and smiled shyly again. "Sam, I'm never the bold one. I go for what's safe and easy. Tonight, I want to say 'screw that', and do what I want."

His eyebrows rose in question. What could she possibly want? He just had to hear the words from her, though, considering their proximity, he knew exactly what she was going to say. Her eyes met his and his anticipation rose when he recognized desire there. As she opened her mouth to tell him that what she really wanted was him, she felt a finger poking her lightly on the shoulder. Andy and Sam turned to see who had caused the disturbance and saw that it had been Luke.

"Sorry to disturb you. Andy, can I talk to you for a minute?" he asked, his face full of contrition.

Andy looked at him incredulously, like she was amazed that he had the nerve to interrupt their conversation. But she sighed and said, "Yeah, sure." She turned back to Sam, giving him a small smile. "I'll be right back."

He nodded silently, trying not to grimace at his frustration, and watched as Luke and Andy walked away from him and took seats at an empty booth to have a talk that Sam wished, even in his buzzed state, that he could hear with perfect clarity.

Stalking had become far too easy for him, but the fun part was what came after the hunt, when he was alone with her. He had watched her from a safe distance for about a week now, memorizing her schedule. She was a dancer at Zanzibar on Yonge, working the most coveted shift they had; ten to four am, when the tips practically fell out of the patron's wallets. The men there seemed to have loved watching her 5'5" petite but perfectly proportioned frame as it moved up and down in the most seductive and provocative manner, shedding her costume of the evening. Tonight, she had been a school teacher. How ironic, he had thought as he watched her fling her glassless rims from her face and begin to peel her pencil skirt from her sumptuous hips. She had been a teacher, too.

What little he remembered of that woman instilling in him any wisdom or knowledge had been replaced with the memory of her walking out on him. He had only been six at the time, but he remembered the way the sound of the door slamming behind her seemed to fill the small house instantly. Or the way the suitcase she had had in her hand at the time appeared; dark brown, worn, with a sleeve of a white shirt hanging carelessly out of the side. The main thing he remembered, though, was the way the back of her head looked, not the front. He had blocked out any remorseful look she had given him; he was sure there had been none. After all, what kind of woman would walk out on her own child as his had? Certainly not a good one.

The back of her head, though, had been permanently engraved in his mind – the deep auburn hair, swept up into a high pony tail, the way the strands of hair swished back and forth as she walked through the doorway.

It was amazing how many women resembled her, at least in his mind. He knew brown hair was a dominant gene, but the high cheekbones and the big doe eyes weren't. These women called to him. Their siren songs were powerful magnets, drawing him to them. No wonder it had been so easy to locate his next victim so soon after he had killed the student. It was the only explanation he had.

It usually took him a few weeks to find a new woman, but not with the stripper. He had needed a night away from his tiny apartment to plan, so he walked down to Dundas Square at 11:30pm. The bright lights of the billboards above the foot traffic below beckoned to him as they shone harshly at him. Though the signs were far too flashy for his subdued tastes, this was one of his favourite places to think; it was a popular spot in the downtown core and he knew his anonymity would be safe while he waded in the vast pool of random people walking. He was in no danger of being talked to, except maybe at that time of night by a sleazy looking guy soliciting free admission to a strip club. He had been in such a mood as he passed this portly man that he actually stopped and checked out the club. It was only a few minutes after he got settled into his seat, with a non-descript alcoholic beverage in hand so as not to stick out, before he saw her; they called her Tammy Sparks, and he instantly grew hard as he watched her step onto the stage in her costume, her hair up in a pony tail.

Tonight, as she walked out onto the stage somewhat timidly, playing her role as an innocent school teacher beautifully, he began counting down the moments until her shift would be over and he would have his chance to strike.

A/N: *FYI, here in Ontario, a law was recently passed where anyone going 50km/hr over the speed limit is considered 'street racing'. A whole slew of bad things happen if you are caught: you face road-side car impounding, you lose your car and your license for seven days, and you get fined $10,000. It's a law I don't necessarily agree with myself, since it doesn't actually affect street racers (the majority of those caught in the first few months of the law being passed were moms in mini-vans - who knew a mini van could go that fast? haha), but then again, they shouldn't have been driving that fast to begin with...