Present Day

I'd be lying if I said I didn't fantasize about having a hot sex scene in the shower. Let's face it: everyone does. And when your guilty pleasure is cheap romance novels and your daily pool of male companions consists of serial killers, gang bangers, and an FBI agent who's practically death in a cowboy duster, it's easy to imagine something positive during the gloomy workday of a homicide detective. Like, say, having said man's duster be the one hung up on your bathroom hook.

This, however, was probably the farthest thing from a romantic bathing session and not what I had asked for.

"Son of a bitch," I swore loudly, not caring if I disturbed her own morning routine as I mercilessly cranked the red handle in the shower. Nothing changed. Ice water funneled from the lowest depths of the Arctic continued to gush out of the shower head, etching down my skin and making my muscles tense just as relentlessly. It was a miracle I didn't break the nozzle off.

I really needed to get my own place and water company.

"Oh for the love of- Lissa, your shower sucks!"

"At least mine works," her rich voice chimed back.

"That's the only perk of it right now," I mumbled while fighting the urge to swear again, wishing Dimitri had taught me cooler Russian curses for these situations. Standing there in my best friend's shower, feeling like an idiot as the cold seeped into my bone marrow, it was through sheer will power I managed to stay in. If I could hang out with Dimitri on a snowy roof in November, I could handle an April shower, pun or no pun. That's what I told myself, anyway. With that logic in mind, eventually my muscles unwound, and I became mobile enough to rinse out my long mane, my hair practically black against my almond skin. The cold I could still live without.

Even though Lissa's posh townhouse screamed money, courtesy of her family name and bank account, the hot water thing had been a problem for the past four days. I guess I shouldn't complain too much. A cold shower was better than no shower at all. My own bath tub, laying unused in my apartment complex, was out of action for the time being while my land lord tried to fix the mass plumbing issue plaguing his establishment. Lissa had been kind enough to rent out her place so I could rest and cleanse without worry. Still, there were some serious downsides to sleeping over at her place.

And I mean serious downsides.

As I wrapped up my shower and shut off the water, I stepped out of the tub only to jump at my extra male company and bang my shoulder on the side tile, stifling another swear. "Son of a- Lissa!"

"What?" Lissa exclaimed from the kitchen while he stood there, rooted, staring at me with blank eyes. Somehow that amped up the "creepy" meter by ten fold and I scrambled to cover myself with a towel, glaring at him. His expression never changed. "Are you okay, Rose?"

"No I am not okay! Get! Shoo!" He didn't budge. "Lissa, get your turtle out of here!"

Bass the Tortoise, a 100-pound weight of a shell and the farthest thing from a Boston pet, greeted me at the shower's stoop, standing motionless next to the sink. I didn't know when he'd come in, and frankly, I didn't really care. That didn't change the creepy factor. Never one for animals, especially ones that waited on the other side of the shower curtain like a killer from an old Hitchcock movie, I gave him another haughty leer before stalking out, and into the guest bedroom.

When I got to the kitchen after, fully dressed in a tee and slacks, Lissa was waiting on the other side of the marble isle, looking concerned. "What on Earth happened?"

"You need to get that thing a cage, that's what happened." I pushed back my wet, plastered hair, my short nails combing through the already-curling strands. "The sight of me undressed is now permanently engraved in your turtle's mind."

"He's a tortoise."

"So not my point Liss."

She smiled and ignored my unamusement, pouring a cup of warm liquid from the kettle. She handed it to me across the marble. I took it by instinct. "If he's checking up on you, it means he likes you," she said. I scoffed in response. Oh how I doubted that. I'd dealt with enough serial killers to know blank eyes are the epitome of contempt. I didn't even want to think about the day I walked in to find Bass somehow wielding a kitchen knife. I took a sip of the scalding, mahogany liquid while Lissa continued to talk, thinking little of either until the drink hit my taste buds. I cut off whatever else Lissa was saying by promptly spatting it back into the cup, coughing and gripping the counter. "What?" Lissa exclaimed for the second time that day.

"What is this?" I exclaimed back.

"Herbal tea. It's good for you,"she tacked on when she saw my face the moment she said the name of the drink.

"Are you trying to poison me? Ugh, God, it's like licking the bottom of a lawnmower." I set down the cup and proceeded to run my tongue under water from the sink facet. For some reason, that water was perfectly warm. Damn logistics. I rinsed out the last of the vile, non-coffee substance and wiped off my mouth, making sure to make various faces of disgust. While I needed at least a pound lump of sugar in my coffee, right then, I would have preferred to drink black and cut sugar like cold turkey. And that was seriously saying something. Maybe I'd gotten hooked on caffeine more than I realized. As I straightened, I was distracted from making another wry comment about her trying to put me in the morgue, noticing Lissa's attire for the first time. I'd been too haunted by her tortoise and poisoned morning beverages to notice before. Shutting off the water and looking at her up and down, my face twisted into another mask of disbelieve, still wiping off my lips. "More importantly, what are you wearing?"

"What? I'm going jogging." Lissa proceeded to jog in place for five seconds to demonstrate, her blonde ponytail swinging behind her. I almost wanted to make fun of her just for that. It looked like an outfit straight out of a Nike's commercial. She sported a fitted camisole, a $50 pair of running shorts, brand new shoes- and so help me God- a sweatshirt tied around her waist.

"That doesn't really answer my question. At all. What's with that get-up? Why didn't you just go buy an old shirt from Goodwill?" When I went jogging (boy, was that a punchline in itself), I flaunted a beat-up tee from my FBI training days and shorts from 9th grade gym.

"The saleswoman said this would all improve my performance."

I wasn't even going to point out the flaw in taking advice from a person that pushed products to keep their job. "I still don't get why you're suddenly inspired to take up track again. Are you trying to be extra-healthy or something?" A realization hit me. "Is that why you were trying to poison me with green tea?"

"Hey, it's good to be healthy," she protested, showing great restraint by not explaining how green tea was far from a medical toxin. "It was my New Year's Resolution to get in shape, remember?"

"Oh yeah. Only took you till..." I checked the clock. "April. You're on a roll, Liss."

"Better than you and your resolution to stop drinking beer." I wish I had a good retort for that, but she did have a point. No roundabout Rose logic could slip me past the obvious. Lissa retied her already-perfect ponytail, the size zero, drop-out model far from the type that needed to jog. "So? You want to go with me?"

"No, I'd rather take my chance with your lurking sea turtle, thanks. Besides, I can already feel the herbal tea making an effect." And by effect, I meant slowly killing my caffeinated soul. No need to tell a doctor that, though.

Lissa simply shrugged and started to head out when she suddenly stopped and frowned. Just as her jogging attire had taken awhile to register with me, she was scrutinizing me, seeming to pick up on something. "Are you alright?"

I blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, yeah. Besides the cold water, herbal tea, and creepy land animal thing? Just fine. Why do you ask?"

"No reason," she said, before pausing, almost immediately contradicting herself. "You just look... tired." From the tone in her voice, that sounded like the most gentle way she could put it. I hesitated a few moments before making a flippant remark, blaming the lighting and early wake up call. Lissa picked up on the fact she shouldn't probe too much, and promptly let it go as well. I immediately felt bad. I didn't like making my best friend feel like she was walking on egg shells- but hey, a small voice said inside my head, anything to drop the subject. After reminding me to lock up and making a mushy goodbye to her tortoise, Lissa left the house for her jog. I took the liberty of dumping out the rest of her kettle down the drain the moment she was out the door. Lord knows I wasn't going anywhere near that again. Weariness tugged at me just at that small, brisk task, though, and I had to stop to yawn. Lissa had certainly been on to something.

Though I hated talking about it, I still rarely got sleep, inside or outside of my apartment. I didn't tell anyone the source behind my insomnia. Most rarely noticed. So why speak out?

Telling my squad of criminal hunters about my visions of a ghostly still bedroom, a blood-stained scalpel, and fogged, jade eyes would only score me an appointment with Dr. Olendzki, the department's therapist. Her answering-every-question-with-another-question method would only serve to plummet my mood more. Thanks but no thanks. Rekindling memories of my almost-murder over morning coffee was not something I wanted to jut into my daily routine. My palms, marred by faint, X-shaped scars, ached at the thought of it, and of him. Yeah. Definitely better to just stick with insomnia.

Luckily, I didn't dive into memory lane right then. That's when my non-killing male company happened to arrive. Too bad I hadn't anticipated any company to begin with.

"Oh Hath-away?" a sing-song voice called, paired with a rhythmic tapping on door. It was a very familiar voice.

I turned toward the direction of it, making the same face I had when the herbal tea hit me. "You've got to be kidding me," I muttered. I knew most girls would melt into a puddle at the thought of a surprise visit from a guy while fresh out of the shower. Me? Not so much. For as many times as he's mercilessly bantered with me, 9 out of 10 times even dropping an insinuating comment, I knew he wouldn't actually show up to court me with a box of chocolates. This was a work call. I padded over towards the door, calling, "What are you doing here, Ashford?"

"Well that's some welcoming" he commented. "I was in the neighborhood. I tried calling you at least 8 times- you didn't pick up. Alberta wants us in early."

I frowned at that, glancing back over my shoulder at the clock. 7:30 AM. It was almost an hour earlier than I'd normally go in. If it wasn't for the insomnia thing and Lissa's insane early-bird habits, I would be dead asleep around this time. "Yeah, well, I was in the shower," I said, not keen on going into the office yet, awake or not. "Do you want me to answer the door in a towel and messy bun?"

There was a pause. "That depends, do you want me to die a happy man or not?"

Oh Mason. There was a sexual harassment charge just looming on the horizon for him. I sighed and leaned against the wood door. I didn't bother asking him how he knew I was here; the day my water supply got cut off, I'd made sure to gripe about it to half the homicide unit. My yelp have happiness when Lissa invited me over had startled that same half. A sullen, teenage part of me half-wished our death-in-a-cowboy-duster FBI agent would have extended the offer back then, but again, some shower was better than no shower at all. Beggars couldn't really be choosers. "Is the work call important?"

"Deadly urgent," he said gravely and melodramatically.

"You're just saying that because you want to see the towel."

"Innocent until proven guilty, remember?"

A ghost of a smile hinted at my lips as I caved and straightened, opening the door. I had to admit, I had to fight back a laugh when my partner's happy demeanor fell the moment he caught sight of me, fully dressed in way-too-covering clothes. Mason had always been cute, in a boyish kind of way. His tall figure took up a good portion of the door frame, his red hair gleaming in the sunlight, while his blue eyes swept over me. He would look a lot cuter without the sullen teenage look. "Problem, Mase?"

"You're so mean in the morning."

"Hey, you're the one hoping to catch sight of me in a bath towel."

"And you're the one who got my hopes up."

My smile cracked wider at that. It was hard to keep a straight face with him around. We'd been partners for almost 3 years and had always meshed well together, our bantering included. After I propped open the door with my foot, I ducked back in long enough to grab my badge and gun. I have to say, they really complimented the lamp and expensive vase on the breakfast bar. "So?" I asked, changing the subject from bath towels and messy buns. "Why does Alberta want us in?"

"She didn't say."

"Gee, that's promising." Sure. That was one way to put my Tuesday morning. "Lissa's out right now, jogging. We should probably catch up to her and let her know we're being pulled in."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he waved off casually. "I saw her on the side road and pulled over long enough to giver her the rundown. She blew off my offer to hitch a ride. She said she wanted to do some mile sprint to the office instead."

"Of course she did." Meanwhile, I was tempted to pull over at a Dunkin' Donuts and get a large coffee with three Boston Cremes. I was such a golden member of the gym. We left after that, pausing long enough to lock up the townhouse before jumping into Mason's old dinosaur of a car. I didn't even bother stopping him when he pulled onto the highway, rolled down his window and sang terribly off-key to some ACDC song on the radio, the singer screaming about TNT. I knew it was impossible to win with Mason, so long as this was his car. I still wish I had some TNT to blow up this radio, though. Not even bothering to protest, I did my best to tune my partner out instead and pressed my cheek against the window, absentmindedly glancing out at the rolling, gray clouds and letting my weary mind wander. The wind wafting through the open window hummed with static and smelled of wet Earth. Mildly, I wondered if it would storm.

Storms weren't rare in Boston. The weather was known for being up and down, an unpredictable roller coaster with all sorts of twists and turns- kind of like my haywire life. Maybe that's why I'd always resonated with the northeastern city.

Earlier in the fall, I'd faced a particular run of events that had managed to blindside even me. The biggest development was the reappearance of Victor Dashkov, my personal stalker and would-be-killer, who broke out of maximum security in October in an attempt to finally send me to the land of the dead.

I have to say, it was a lovely get-together. The only thing that was missing was a tea party. He'd almost killed me years ago, but I'd considered myself safe and lucky after I escaped with minimal scarring and the lunatic in jail. Maybe I ultimately would have been safe the second time, too, had he not have had a reliable buddy and murderous apprentice eager to help when he escaped. The two had tricked and trapped me, but I managed to trump Victor's game again. Long story short, his apprentice wound up dead, and Victor wound up back behind bars. With the help of Dimitri, Lissa, and my department's moral support, I was recovering well from the mental and physical scars he'd left me.

And that was the second big development. Dimitri. His timing never was any good.

Dimitri Belikov was my old teacher back when I was training to be an FBI agent at an elite academy. Teacher or no, I'd fallen in love with him, and we'd gotten together despite our teacher-student status. It was awesome while it lasted. Unfortunately, we'd had a messy break-up and I'd dropped out of the academy to become a detective back home after my best friend's sister had been killed. We didn't speak for 5 years. That all changed when the Victor Dashkov case became bigger than life and our department had to reign in help from the FBI. By a sick twist of fate (helped my by other old friend and FBI contact, Mark), Dimitri wound up being our consultant. It had been a rocky first meeting and road, but we managed to patch most things up.

It helped that I was still somewhat head-over-heels for him as well. I think I would always love him, honestly. It was hard not to. Dimitri was a Russian war God, still maintaining his deadly beautiful reflexes and chivalrous attitude in his leisure time. He was really what had helped me overcome my fears in the aftermath of the Victor case, and soon enough, Victor was no longer my biggest problem outside of my dreams. Surprisingly, I found that neither were the small-town murders scattered around the city, my usual early-morning memos beginning to look mundane.

Those were now deeply overshadowed by the Strigoi. While the local mafia was growing rapidly and gaining momentum, they remained in the shadows, untraceable. It both frustrated me and reinstated my belief they were the archetype of Bram Stroker's Dracula, refusing to come out in the sunlight. That's how the pattern went after Victor: solve the cases at hand while chasing after any glimpse of the Strigoi.

They came first.

And that's how the pattern continued through fall and spring. Even now, in early April, we had little to no leads. Maybe that's why Alberta was calling us in early, I mused. Maybe she'd uncovered something.

However, as I arrived at headquarters and trailed up to the cafe, I found it wasn't my squad alone meandering the small space. Most of the homicide unit had been pulled in. Numerous men either sporting suits or casual jeans grumbled worse than teenage boys about what this meeting was about. Among the highly-testosterone crowd, I spotted Lissa alongside the coffee bar- checking her heart rate, go figure- and a petite woman with blue eyes and doll-like features. Whatever prettiness she radiated was promptly squashed by her no-bullshit aura. That was Mia for you. She hadn't changed in the least.

Mason and I walked over and joined them, but I couldn't help glancing around as we did. Though I knew I would have spotted him in seconds if he was in the room, courtesy of his height, I still couldn't help doing a double-check. Mia picked up on my solo search party instantly. "Agent Belikov's not here," she said simply when we reached her. "He has a meeting in Virginia this morning. Some FBI thing."

"I- wasn't looking for him," I said lamely. Man did that get doubtful looks around the table. Lissa in particular gave me a pointed one. She was the only one that knew my former, not-so-platonic relationship with Dimitri, besides Mark. Mason and Mia had grow a little skeptical of our closeness over the months, and I'd had to jump in and admit we used to be teacher and student, which luckily was a satisfactory answer to their curiosity. God knows I didn't want to divulge my former love life to them. "So, do you know why Alberta wants us in?" I asked Mia, pointedly changing the topic.

Mia shook her head, letting the thing with Dimitri go. "No idea. I don't think anyone knows."

"Maybe Angeline Jolie is playing a homicide cop and she wants to do a ride-along," Mason suggested, apparently formulating explanations while listening to 1970's metal groups.

"Yeah," Mia remarked dryly. "I'm sure that's what it is."

I grinned and headed toward the coffee dispensers beside them. "Hey now, be nice. There are witnesses around."

"I'm sure they'd cover for me if Mia ever tried to gag me with a tie," Mason remarked. Mia's return look spoke legends in and of itself, severely doubting Mason's statement.

I chuckled and grabbing a Styrofoam cup, knowing I'd need more juice in my system if we were going to continue bantering. Caffeine was what I needed. God knows how many work days coffee alone had sustained me. I definitely needed it after the horrific green tea event of this morning. I pushed down on the bar dispenser's handle while my partner's continued disputing one another; however, like the hot shower crank, the handle did nothing for me. No coffee came out. I stared, taken aback, and pumped again but with the same results. "Whoa, don't tell me there's no coffee here either," I exclaimed.

That caught their attention. It was like announcing to a lion pack we'd run out of antelope. Mason took the courage leap of taking a cup and even trying the decaf container. That was empty, too. As his face shifted to one of horror, I looked around and stopped one of the workers at the cafe, who was pleasantly busing tables, ignorant to the fact my day was crashing down around me. "Where's the coffee?"

"We're not allowed to serve coffee today."

I stared at her, bewildered. "Says who?"

"Morning," a new voice jumped in. All of the homicide detectives, including myself, glanced over to find our superior, Alberta, coming through the side doors. She was a seasoned police head in her early 50's and always had a facade of confidence. While she'd softened up to me and my unit in wake of the Dashkov incident, she didn't show it today. She was all business as she stood up front and crossed her arms. "Now, I'm sure you're all wondering why I called you in so early."

"Actually we were wondering where the coffee was... mam."

Alberta simply arched an eyebrow while small laughter resonated through the throng. "I'm glad you asked, Hathaway. Starting today, the detective unit will be participating in a week of health." A week of what? As she said that, one of the workers produced a small, propaganda-like poster, and as one, the unit groaned. Well, most of the unit, that is.

To my absolute horror, Lissa raised her hand, spurring me to lean over and mumble pointedly, "Are you raising your hand?" She shushed me just as Alberta noticed her polite intervention.

"Yes, Dr. Dragomir?"

"I'm happy to do whatever I can to help this endeavor."

"Of course you are," I muttered, wondering if she'd advocated for this whole movement behind the curtain.

"Don't be grumpy. Like I said, it's good to be healthy. You know on average, a police officer only lives 3 to 5 years after retirement."

"Seriously?" Mason, Mia, and I said in unison, caught off guard by that statistic.

Alberta nodded in satisfaction, clearly glad to have back-up. "Exactly. And I'm not going to sit around and let my people drop dead on me. So for the next week, we're going to try to pick up some better habits. Congratulations, Hathaway, Dragomir. You two have just become our new wellness captains."

You mean hall monitors. And when the hell did I volunteer? Lissa smiled obliviously at the new title, and the group applauded, but I knew they were all just happy not to be picked on themselves. Mason in particular seemed to take more amusement in it than anyone. I smiled tightly in response as well but managed to lean over towards Lissa at the same time. "Shoot me," I managed through my teeth.

"You know I don't carry a gun."

"Mine's back pocket, left side."

Lissa looked at me, bewildered, like I'd been completely serious. Maybe I had been. Alberta jumped in again before she could say anything else on the topic. "The cafe will provide healthy meals, Dr. Dragomir will lead us in meditation, and Detective Hathaway will lead physical activity breaks."

"Swell," I muttered, thinking Lissa should have dibs on the exercise bit. I wasn't keen on taking up the meditation in exchange, but it was something I probably could have shrugged off onto Dimitri. He was here to help, after all. Alberta left after that announcement, leaving the homicide unit to grumble and laugh about the new plan again.

Everyone except my team, that is. Mia got a call right then, and I knew by her visage what it was about. We had a new case at hand. Sure enough, as soon as she clicked off the phone, she instructed, "Come on. We have a body, east side."

An idea struck my suddenly, making me happily exclaim "Yes!" and slam the empty cup down. To hell with that, green tea, and leading a healthy lifestyle. "Quick Mase, we can stop by a Boston Joes on our way!" I didn't know if it was my mood or suggestion that sparked it, but my enthusiasm was contagious. Mason perked instantly while Mia just shook her head, exasperated, the small blonde already out the door. We all but gallivanted after her, heedless of our grim destination.

I had to admit, I felt a little bad I was taking so much enjoyment in my caramel latte while simultaneously examining a dead body. Having a career that requires seeing murdered victims daily tends to take the punch out of horror movie scenery, though. Besides, without it, I'd probably collapse on the ground beside her. I so did not want to do this here.

I stepped over a grime-covered wine bottle, glad Lissa was wearing her track shoes so she couldn't fuss over her typical, designer pumps. We were ducked underneath the belly of a bridge, heavy 16-wheelers roaring up above while a river streamed alongside the concrete. Trash littered the ground, and the young woman looked about as rough as her surroundings, her clothes torn and bare skin marred. I had to squint to make out her out. A good portion of sunlight was blocked off, the forensic photographers briefly illuminating the corpse with quick, flashing pictures. It was enough for me to see light hair and dark, doe-wide eyes, her mouth agape in frozen shock. It was also enough for me to see the bullet holes and blood rimming her chest. I guessed it was a 38-caliber bullet. I drug my gaze away to inspect the trash and cardboard boxes piled on the side of the road. "She's pretty young to be living out on the streets," I remarked.

"What makes you think she was living out here?" Mason asked.

"Well, look at her." I nodded over to the victim while Mia snapped on her gloves and bent down to her. I stayed on the sidelines, lips moving around the rim of my cup. "You don't get that dirty overnight, even if you were attacked sexually- or whatever happened to her."

"Maybe," Mia murmured, digging through the victim's pockets. She managed to uncover a wallet and handed it to Mason as she continued searching her.

Mason, having one glove on, maneuvered the measly wallet open. Its paper-thin folds were empty except for her ID, tucked in clear plastic. "Elena Conta," he read aloud before his lips formed a small grimace. "23."

Mia's eyes turned hard at that, but said nothing. Even I stayed quiet. Almost all of us had entered the police force around that age; it was hard to image dying that young. Mia, as professional as ever though, did a good job of keeping her tough bravado up. Nothing else was on the victim, and Mia ordered the photographers to get every detail, just in case. That's when Lissa took over, some of the forensic photographers giving her strange looks at the track outfit. It was a far cry from her usual get-up. Mia walked toward us on the sidelines, snapping off her gloves. "Looks like a regular homicide. 38 caliber bullets- one of the most common around." She sighed. "There's not much else we can do here. We'll try to trace down some family members for interviews and-"

"Rose?"

We all looked over, alarms instantly going off in my head. There was an anxious note in Lissa's voice as she glanced up and locked gazes with me, that angst manifesting in her demeanor. Her latex-coated glove were tilting the victim's neck to the side, exposing the back towards her. Even though she'd called me out, her next words were directed at all of us. "You're going to want to see this."

We all went over to see the source of her dismay. As one, our hearts dropped through the floor, in sync with hers. Mia swore under her breath. While the rest of the victim was coated in the industrial slime of the environment, Elena's porcelain neck was almost perfectly spotless, save for the 3 jagged and lightning-like tattoos on the back. Each formed an X that echoed the X-shaped scars on my palms. I knew hers weren't carved in by a scalpel, though. These were Molnija marks. "That's..." Mason breathed.

"There's no mistake," Mia said gruffly. "It's their mark, all right."

"This isn't one of their territories, though," he pointed out, still thrown off guard.

I stared at the marks. It wasn't the first time I'd seen them, but it was the first time I'd seen one like hers. The skin was tender around the tattoos, as if they'd recently been tampered with. I set down my coffee long enough to put on a latex glove and brush over the skin, some trapped blood underneath beginning to show early signs of bruising. "There's some different ink in here," I murmured. "It's not all black. See? These outer edges are different, like she tried tattooing over it with gold or yellow ink. Didn't seem to work too well."

"Why would she do that?"

"Why would she be out here, living on the streets and hiding in such a remote location?" I countered. No one answered. We all knew they those with Molnija marks lived in luxury, courtesy of their criminal bank account. I stood and glanced at the trash again, then back at Elena. Even without Dimitri around, I could come up with a decent explanation. "If this girl really earned those marks, she must have been in their inner group. Something must have happened that forced her to try to run from them, onto the streets, and alter her tattoos."

"But they found her," Mason said, slowly picking up on where I was getting.

"And once they found her, they killed her. I take back what I said about sexual assault. I think they added the extra mauling as a warning to anyone else who threatened to leave."

"Like a beacon of warning," he finished.

"I still want to do DNA testing," Mia insisted, Lissa nodding in agreement.

I shook my head, though. "Even if there was some sexual assault, you won't find anything," I said quietly.

"How can you be so certain?"

"Easy. This is the same thing we've seen the last 5 months. You know as well as I do the Strigoi won't leave any evidence behind." I turned and snapped off my glove. My eyes were on the cement, where a bit of dry blood had splattered. "Especially if they just decided to kill one of their own."

The Elena case nagged at me for the rest of the day. It was just another Strigoi murder that would go unsolved, into the piling number of cold cases. That was far from comforting. I'd dealt with serial killers, chasing them and being chased; I never slept well with them running around. After I wrapped up the day at the office and dragged myself back to my apartment (the weirdness of Lissa's townhouse enough to herd me out, with or without running water in the picture), I all but collapsed into bed, falling asleep the moment my head hit the pillow. I didn't sleep soundly as I had predicted, but it wasn't because of the Strigoi. No, my dreams were entirely his realm.

I shouldn't have been that surprised I had the nightmare again, or that I woke up in a cold sweat.

What did surprise me was what awaited me in reality.

I eyed the small, postcard-sized envelope distrustfully as it lay on the carpet, the rosy light spilling over it like an invisible sheen of blood. I glanced around curiously, but my home was settled and quiet. The envelope had been slipped under my door sometime during the waning hours of the night, the outside bear of any name or origin. There was no flower bouquet, box of chocolates, or Edible Arrangement either. I could rule out a bad attempt at a secret admirer. My wariness doubled. It didn't help I had a bad history with anonymous postal deliveries to start with.

Tentatively, I bent down and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. The outside was completely blank, the envelope and its contents as thin as a few sheets of paper. I glanced under the door and through the peephole. Nothing. Curiosity still tugging at me, I slipped my finger under the taped flap and broke the letter's seal. That's when I hesitated. I wasn't one to be paranoid, but I was a detective, and probably on more than one shortlist of people craving revenge. People didn't mess with anthrax anymore, right? With no roommate or pet, I turned to my fail-safe. "Think I should open it?" I asked.

The steaming coffee pot gurgled back some unintelligible reply. Ugh. I really needed a German Shepard. A German Shepard that could sniff out deadly toxins. Yeah. That would be nice.

My curiosity didn't really have the attention span for that, however. I squinted as the scarlet, early-morning light danced like a kaleidoscope against the white paper, illuminating the letter. My eyes swept over it. They weren't individual words cut from magazines and glued down like a 70's serial killer. That was a good sign. However, they addressed me by my full name and clearly knew where I lived. That wasn't such a good sign. There was only one inquiry stamped out in styled, typewriter ink.

Care to play, Rosemarie Hathaway?

Play? What, did they mean a game like Monopoly or Dominoes? I kicked ass at Battleship. Frown deepening, I began to investigate further when my phone rang and cut me off. "Figures," I muttered. I set the letter aside and picked up my cell, standing in front of the window with a hand on my hip. The panel was cracked open, the April air humming with static and sparking a cool sensation to creep over my skin. The calm before a storm. "Hathaway," I answered.

It was Mia. The phone's static hummed alongside my brewer as she gave me the rundown of our latest case to pair with Elena's, my partnering detective as business-like as ever. However, as she gave me the address, I sensed an odd, underlying note to her voice. It caught me off guard and pricked a strange memory. Before I'd stumbled on Dashkov's first murder scene in October, Stan had used a similar pitch, twisting it to mock me. 'Follow your nose, it might bring back some memories. Have fun, Hathaway.' While Mia's efficiency was the farthest thing from snide, the chord had been struck. I knew.

This wasn't like Elena's at all. This case was different.

As the knot in my gut tugged at me and sunlight gleamed against an anonymous, taunting letter in the background, I told her quietly, "I'll be right there."

The sun shone overhead, the last remnants of snow now sad, muddy puddles sloshing along the side of the road. The alleyway had been warded off by police tape, red and blue lights flashing against the brick. While Mia had sent the call, she wasn't the one to greet me at the tape. Dimitri was. My heart jumped at the sight. He was as gorgeous as ever, his brown eyes sparkling in the bright light and clean-shaven face glowing. As I said before, our status was still complicated, but we'd managed to work through some things without couples therapy or buying a Dr. Phil book. That was definitely progress.

Still, I knew we were eons away from being where we were back at the academy. Combine that and his current, sober expression, and all of my romantic thoughts dried up. Had it not been for those factors, God knows what I would have done. Priorities, Rose, that stupid voice in my head chastised. "What happened?" I asked.

He beckoned and lead me back, both of us bobbing our heads under the tape. Shockingly, Lissa hadn't arrived yet. Normally she'd be an hour ahead with either a makeshift autopsy table or a makeup cart rearing to go. Maybe she was still out jogging. Whatever the case was, Mia and Mason were the only ones waiting at the crime scene. They were angled away from us currently with their heads bowed together, their bodies obscuring the victim. I was surprised to see them huddled so close. Despite my teasing and their partnering positions, they'd maintained their hate-hate relationship almost flawlessly. Some days they deserved an Emmy for their heartfelt performance. That's when I noticed the harsh tension crackling between them, their bodies rigid; they weren't discussing late-night moves and carnival rides, but were arguing in low voices. "You have to warn her," Mason insisted. I recognized the blue fire in his eyes instantly. It only came out when a threat presented itself. A threat like, say, Victor Dashkov. My stomach rolled.

Mia's azure orbs were a mirroring, molten glare. Even if she was six inches shorter than him and looked like a European Barbie doll, I knew she could knock him out with breaking a nail if it came down to it. "She's seen worse, she countered. "She can handle it."

"You don't know that. You've made this same mistake before trying to keep it 'unbiased', but she'll piece it together in two seconds!"

"I'm not going to baby her!" Mia hissed.

"This isn't the way to-" Mason stopped himself, seeming to pick up on my arrival. They straightened and separated instantly. I stared at them, Dimitri my shadow. Meanwhile, my stomach was still doing acrobatic stunts. Call it a sixth sense or natural intuition, but I knew even without their shady bickering I'd stumbled onto something big.

I knew this one was different.

"What?" I asked after a lapse of ominous silence, casting accusing glances between them. "What aren't you telling me?"

Mia and Mason exchanged a look, the latter silently edging her forward. Mia still looked defensive, but I could see her front slowly crack. She closed her eyes, caving. "We weren't talking about you," she finally said. When she said nothing else, I walked forward to see the evidence for myself. They made way silently.

And that's when I froze.

I'd been shocked at murder scenes before, but this was very, very different. I was petrified. My muscles locked up instantly and my tongue felt heavy as lead as I stood there, unmoving, unable to speak. Unable to believe what I was seeing. I felt like I was looking at a ghost- a terribly, terribly disfigured ghost. My skin crawled. The victim was in her early 20's and athletic-looking, her brunette hair matted with blood and flopped on the pavement, painted rosy by the red sunrise. Hollow, blue eyes stared at nothing while her body was crumpled on the ground in an unnatural position. In the pool of blood was a chess piece.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

Dimitri, alert and observant, swooped to my side instantly, peering down from his tall height. "What? What is it?"

He didn't know what was wrong. Of course he didn't. He couldn't. "Don't let her come," I tried to order, my voice muffled and choked.

"What?"

I couldn't answer. I was too distracted, the cogs in my head churning. Slowly, the fog of fear was lifting as I blinked back the tears beading behind my eyelashes. With it came realization, and anger. This is what they were trying to hide. What Mia was trying to hide. 'We weren't talking about you.' My tongue still felt like lead, but I fought it back, clenching my jaw. My quivering fingers fisted and my knuckles turned white as I whipped around lightning-fast at Mia. Dimitri flinched, but she didn't. She saw it coming, her blue eyes ice.

I didn't even have to look. I knew; if her eyes were cold, mine were searing. "Get her out of here!" I snapped. "Do you hear me? Do not let Lissa see this!"

"Rose-"

"Now." There was no arguing or debate. It was final. I didn't look at any of them as I abruptly turned back to the victim and dropped to one knee.

The victim was a dead-ringer for her. Both shared the same traits. Both were the same age and body type at the time of death with brown hair, blue eyes, and light skin. Both had also been killed the same way and marked with the same tale-tell. Even if she'd hadn't been referring to me, Mia was right. I figured it out in seconds. This was the handiwork of Avery's killer.

Avery Dragomir's case had been written off as a cold case with little to no evidence turning up during the investigation's time span. It was marked as a sole, freak accident in the sea of Boston murderers and stowed away in the mountains of files dominating the basement of the PD headquarters. It'd been considered insignificant, not a threat. But not now. Not anymore. With the clear victim type and characteristic tale-tell of the murderer, the white knight chess piece a mirror of Dashkov's mark of a tea cup, I knew.

"We're dealing with a serial killer," I whispered.

As promised, we're finally moving on from Victor Dashkov to tackle Avery's murder, the Strigoi, and some whirlwind romance. Special emphasis on that romance part. H&D might have been a bit void of that category, but hey, I like getting character development in before they rip each others clothes off. For future reference, please note the current and updated "M" status of this story. Eh? Eh? Points for that?

Reviews/Favorites/Follows would be superb. You all absolutely make my day.