Rated M
Disclaimer - All things Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyers

Endless thanks and love to my favorite girls,
my boo Carrie ZM for betaing, and
Planetblue and Robsmyyummy Cabanaboy for prereading,
You three are the best!

"Someone trying to get ahold of you?" Chief Swan asks as my phone beeps in my pocket for the third time during our short car ride from the station to the McCarty family bakery.

I pull it out, grinning when I see her name on my screen and her three separate responses to my text from this morning requesting more cupcakes.

You

Are

Ridiculous

I feel the chief's eyes on me as I read then quickly shove it back in my pocket. "Uh yeah, a friend of mine."

His mustache lifts on one side before he focuses back on the road. "Mm hmm."

"Sorry, Chief," Emmett McCarty says, sliding a tray of bear claws into the glass display case. "Katie didn't have a boyfriend from Forks since high school."

"What about romantic interests?" Charlie probes. "Potential suitors?"

"From Forks?" He shakes his head. "Nope. She was in two serious relationships since she went off to college."

"What're their names?"

"Her ex is some guy she met at UDub. An exchange student from France named Laurent something or other. I don't know."

Grabbing his pen, he jots the number of donuts on a piece of paper while I make a few mental notes of my own. Right-handed. Pen strokes slant right and are applied with even pressure which is surprising given his sheer size. His hands are monstrously large, as are his arms and chest.

My thoughts are interrupted when he glances up and gives the chief a small smirk. "I liked her latest one a little bit more."

"The service man?"

Emmett nods. "Navy."

"What's his name again?"

"Diego Fuentes."

"Was Diego on leave recently?"

"No. Not unless he took a quick swim over here from where he's stationed."

"Hawaii?"

"Japan." He drums his fingers on top of the case, giving me a better look at his hands. No cuts or scratches, just a few burns. Probably an occupational hazard working in a bakery. "Yokosuka, I think. I don't know. They wouldn't give him leave for the funeral, so …"

"What about male friends?" I cut in. "Was she close with any of the guys from Forks?"

"Katie was friends with everyone. Everyone loved her." Smiling sadly, he drops his head to stare at his shoes. "She never knew a stranger."

"Em," a soft voice calls out from behind us. We turn to see a pretty, pregnant blonde woman standing in the doorway of the kitchen area cradling her stomach. "Can you fill the flour for me?"

"Yeah, sure, babe." He kisses her forehead as he passes and grabs a couple bags of flour of the floor and tosses them over his shoulders. I'm guessing they're about 40-50 pounds each. Definitely strong enough to strangle the life out of a 115-pound girl.

The blonde waits until he's out of earshot. "Chief, there was one guy that may've had some interest in Katie."

Charlie steps closer. "Who is it?"

"It was a fling between Laurent and Diego." Her voice lowers. "Emmett didn't know."

"What's his name, Rosalie?"

She swallows, making sure Emmett can't hear. "Jacob Black."

Gripping the steering wheel tight, Charlie eyes the small run-down cabin at the edge of town. "I'm gonna let you take this one."

"You have history with this one too?"

"Jake's father and I were best friends."

"Ah," I unbuckle my seatbelt, "so it's good history then?"

"Mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Jake's had a rough couple of years. His mom died back in the fall of 2017. Lost his dad a couple of months ago and has been getting into trouble ever since." He tips his head side-to-side. "Mostly just disorderly conduct. A little hell-raising here and there."

"Is he a drinker?"

"He is."

"An alcoholic?"

"I wouldn't say that."

"Can't hold his liquor then?"

"He's just angry." The chief shuts off the car. "Real angry."

I follow Charlie around the cabin back to a detached garage where the familiar chords of Rage Against the Machine's "Bulls on Parade" blast from a large subwoofer. Jacob Black has his back to us when we approach. He's easily six feet tall. Fit, but not as massive as Emmett McCarty. Based on the way he holds his wrench, I'd say he's right-handed.

"Hey Jake," Charlie calls out, stepping into the cramped garage lined with shelves of tools and worn out sporting goods. His space is tidy, but not particularly organized.

Startled, Jake turns, gripping the wrench tight only to relax when he sees the chief. "Charlie." A huge grin spreads over his face. "What's up?"

"Not much kid, just wanted to ask you a few questions."

The grin disappears. "About what?"

"Mr. Black," I take over, "my name is Agent Cullen. I'm with the FBI." I hold up my identification. "We're just following up on a few leads with regards to our current investigations."

"Leads?" The wrench is still clenched in his fist as he looks to Charlie. "Chief?"

Charlie holds up his palms to calm him. "It's just a few questions, kid."

Jacob's shoulders drop slightly and he tosses the wrench into the tool box on the floor before crossing his arms over his broad chest and leaning on the seat of the motorbike he's working on. "Fire away, then."

"Can you tell us about your relationships to Jessica Stanley, Kate McCarty, and Emily Young?"

"Relationships?"

"Yes." I nod. "Were you friendly with them?"

"Yeah. We weren't particularly close or anything, but they were nice girls."

"So, you were friends?"

"Sure, I guess."

"Were you romantically involved with any of them at any point in time?"

His eyes narrow. "What're you getting at?"

"I'm just trying to clarify the nature of your relationships with the victims," I reply, keeping my voice even.

"Nothing romantic with Emily or Jess. Those two were acquaintances."

"And Miss McCarty?"

He inhales deeply through his nose and shifts his weight. "Katie and I had … I don't know … a moment where I thought we could be more, but that didn't pan out."

"A moment?"

"Yeah, last summer. She was rebounding from some guy she was with and I was happy to oblige."

"Did you want it to be more?"

"I wouldn't have minded."

"But she didn't want it to be more?"

"Nope."

"Did she tell you why?"

He shrugs. "She didn't have to. I knew why."

"Why was it then?"

"Because it was a fling. Something to occupy her time here in Forks before she went back to college."

"Was your relationship with her a secret?"

"It was."

"Why the secrecy?"

"I don't know. Maybe that's how she got her kicks." He uncrosses his arms and shoves them in his pockets. "Secret hook-ups in Tillicum Park and late-night motorcycle rides to First Beach."

"When did it end?"

"When summer was over and she went back to school."

"How'd you leave it?"

"There wasn't any discussion. It was a 'see you when I see you' thing. No phone calls or texts. She came back at Christmas with a boyfriend, so that was a pretty good indication we were over. And besides, my life got a little complicated that fall. My dad wasn't doing so hot, so I was more focused on that than Katie."

"So, there was no bad blood?"

"None at all."

"Can you think of anyone who might've wanted to hurt her or any of the others?"

"No. I can't. Whoever it was … who did that to those girls," he shakes his head slowly, "they're not from around here. No one in this town is capable of that." Turning around, he grabs the motorbike and picks it up to adjust its position. "Any more questions?"

"Just one."

"Shoot."

"Where were you on the evenings that the girls went missing?"

"Probably here, either working on my bikes or sleeping."

"Was anyone with you that could corroborate that?"

He looks over his shoulder to Charlie, brows furrowed. "Chief?"

"Mr. Black," I press, "was there anyone with you that could corroborate that?"

"You can't seriously think that I—"

"Just protocol, Jake," Charlie reassures him.

"No," he concedes, "I was alone."

"If we have any more questions, we'll be in touch."

Charlie hangs back a moment, chatting quietly with Jake as I step out onto the gravel driveway. They're chucking about something when they emerge from the garage and based on the length between Charlie's hands, I'm guessing he's talking about fishing again.

"That fish gets bigger and bigger each time I hear that story, Chief."

Charlie laughs, clapping him on the back and pointing to the small boat beside the house. "You been on the water lately?"

"Nah," Jake shifts from foot to foot, "not since Dad passed."

There's a beat of silence before the Chief launches back into another one of his stories. Pulling out my phone, I snap a quick picture of the boat and zoom in on the knots used to keep the tarp down. Given how it's tied, I can tell it's not the lashings used by our killer. But given the complex knot, I'm certain that Jacob Black is no novice.

Hours later, Charlie and I call it a day and I head back to the motel. The thought of cooking doesn't appeal to me, but the thought of seeing a certain someone does. Grabbing my phone, I press on her name in my contacts and she answers on the second ring.

"Is this a butt-dial?"

I grin. "Is that how you always answer your phone?"

"I don't use my phone much for talking."

"That's a shame."

"To what do I owe the pleasure of an actual call?"

"I'm in the mood for Italian and I was wondering if you had any suggestions."

"Sure thing," I hear her adjust the phone before continuing, "the diner serves noodles and marinara that almost passes for spaghetti, and the gas station down the street from you has an Italian meatball sub which I wouldn't recommend unless you're ridiculously hungover."

"Good to know."

"But if you're looking for something both traditional and palatable, then you should try this spot in Port Angeles. It's a long ride, but the tortellini and wine selections alone are worth it."

I lean back against my counter. "Any chance you're up for taking a ride with me tonight?"

"Afraid you'll get lost?"

"Maybe I just enjoy your company."

"Maybe you just enjoy my cupcakes."

"Maybe I like both."

She laughs softly. "Then maybe it's a date."

"My parents split when I was about two," she tells me, rubbing the stem of her wine glass between her thumb and forefinger. "They did the joint custody thing. I lived with my mom and my stepdad during the school year in Arizona and my dad most summers in Forks up until I was about sixteen."

"What happened when you were sixteen?"

"My stepdad got a job managing a minor league baseball team in Jacksonville, Florida."

"The Jumbo Shrimps?"

Her brows furrow. "You've heard of them?"

"I worked a case in Jacksonville a few summers ago and went to a few games with my old partner who was friendly with the owner."

"Small world."

"So, your stepdad is Phil Dwyer?"

"The one and only."

"Interesting."

"How so?"

"He's," I pause, considering my words, "younger, right?"

She laughs. "Compared to my mom? Somewhat, I suppose. But it never seemed to bother them."

"Does it bother you?"

Taking a sip of her wine, she swallows as she gently sets her glass down. "Age is relative, don't you think?"

Her words are light, but there's a challenge there. I can't tell if I've touched a nerve or if she's tiptoeing around our age-gap.

"Depends."

"On what?"

"There's a lot to figure in there. Maturity, intelligence, shared interests …" I trail off, meeting her gaze. "Experience."

Her eyes stay fixed to mine, gleaming in the candlelight. "Attraction?"

Definitely. "Obviously."

She runs her teeth over her bottom lip, hiding a smile.

"But you never answered my question."

"What was your question again?"

"The age gap. Does it bother you?"

Circling the rim of her glass with her fingertip, she tilts her head. "Not in the slightest."

"There's this really great bookstore up a few blocks from here," she says, slipping her arm around mine as we leave the restaurant. "Do we have time to stop in?"

"Sure."

"Hopefully they have the book I want in stock."

"More recommended reading?"

"Something like that." Her hand slides down my forearm. "What about you? What do you like to read?"

I take her hand in mine. "You profiling me again, Psych Major?"

"Maybe."

"I like a little bit of everything."

"True crime?"

"I get enough true crime with my day job. Mostly I read biographies."

"That makes sense," she murmurs.

"How so?"

"Well biographies are usually the backstory about a person. What shaped and motivated them." She glances at me, rubbing her thumb against my skin. "It makes sense that would interest you."

"I suppose it does."

The book store is larger than I expected. Bella wanders off while I peruse the shelves of biographies and historical nonfiction. When I finally find her, she's tucked in a corner of the poetry section, engrossed in a book with her back to me. My approach is quiet and she doesn't seem to notice me until my lips are near her ear. "What're you reading?"

Eyes wide, she turns and backs up against the shelves with the book open and pressed tightly to her chest. "Jesus!"

"I'm sorry, I—"

"You scared the shit out of me," she whispers harshly.

My eyes drop to the title of her book and I read it aloud. "Dirty Pretty Things."

Her face flushes as she straightens and she averts her gaze.

"Are you," I pause and lower my voice, "are you blushing?"

"You'd blush too if you were reading this poem."

"I doubt it. I don't blush."

"Read it then." She pushes the book into my hands. "Out loud."

"Fine." I clear my throat then read the title. "Curious Girl."

"Keep going."

"She was a curious girl," I begin with a laugh, "who loved the smell of old books, chasing butterflies, and …" My mouth pops open at the next few words and glance up to meet the challenging stare of a pink-cheeked, yet smugly smiling Bella.

"Go on," she goads.

"And touching herself under the covers," I finish, snapping the book shut.

"Hmph."

"What?"

"You didn't blush."

"Told ya."

Grabbing the book from my grasp, she leans in. "I'm sure I'll figure out how to make you blush eventually."

"Come on," she holds a small piece of Dulce de Leche fudge up to me as we walk along the waterfront, "you have to try it."

"I have to?"

She steps in front of me. "I insist."

"I don't know. I've recently been on the receiving end of a pre-tty stern lecture about store-bought baked goods."

"Confectioneries don't count."

"I don't recall that stipulation."

"Are you watching your waistline, Agent Cullen?"

"No, but I probably should given how often you try to tempt me with sweets."

"I tempt you?"

"Frequently."

"You don't seem like the 'give in to temptation' type."

"Usually I'm not."

Eyeing me playfully, she pops the fudge into my mouth before bringing her hand to my chest and letting her fingers softly trail over the buttons of my shirt. "I wonder what else I could tempt you to do."

I swallow down the confection with a smile. "I'm sure you'll come up with something."

Inching closer, she traces a lone fingertip along my jaw but doesn't say a word. We're silent for several seconds, surrounded by the sounds of seagulls and the water lapping gently against the pier.

"Edward?" She hesitates, gazing up at me with widened, moonlit eyes. "Kiss me."

She looks gorgeous and hopeful and so fucking young. Despite this fact, I find myself lowering my face to hers. My hands grip the soft curves of her waist just as our mouths meet and she teases me with a few slow, lingering kisses before her lips curl into a smile against mine.

"Mmm," she breathes, wrapping her arms around my neck. "I'm half-tempted to ask you to do that again."

"Only half-tempted?"

She laughs. "Very tempted."

So I kiss her again right there. And then again against the passenger side of my car at the restaurant. And at every stop-light in Port Angeles and for a good ten minutes at her front door before asking to see her again tomorrow night.

This girl's kisses are like her cupcakes.

I'll never get enough.

A/N: Tonight's update comes to you from TFMU in St. Louis. Want to send a shout out to our girl, Dee. Happy Birthday, pal!

The poem he read is from a book called Dirty Pretty Things by Michael Faudet. Two enthusiastic thumbs up on this book of poetry - it's sexy and sweet and super sensual.

We loved hearing what fics you're dying to get an update for - here are a couple of ours *Lay and Carrie ZM light a prayer candle*:

Shame by belladonnacullen - She destroys him. He hides his disgrace. She manipulates. He dominates. She's driven by power. He's inspired by duty. Their corporate arrangement is motivated by shame. ExB, AH, Rated M.

Milk Teeth by sparrownotes - England 1991. Indie rock and bombs, fire and riots. We partied and ran wild, trying to find ourselves amongst the ashes. I found a lot more than that.

Sound off, fandom - tell us what is your most memorable fic line. Carrie and I have a few, but the one we love the most is from Stranger Than Fiction "Who did you wear it for?"

Keep your guesses coming - we love hearing them. Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, faved, rec'd or lurked this fic. See you on Thursday!