Welcome back! I'm blown away by the support for this story. Thank you to both ADF and the FicSisters International House of Fanfic for recommending it on their sites this week. I am so incredibility honored! All the notifications and reviews make me giddy. I love hearing everyone's theories. :)

As always, this chapter wouldn't be the same without the guidance and support of my betas, LostInPA and Beautifulnightmarex. They are awesome.

I own nothing related to Twilight.

Now on with the show.

Chapter 3: Pieces

"I am a forest, and a night of dark trees: but who is not afraid of my darkness, will find banks full of roses under my cypresses."

Friedrich Nietzsche

The warm breeze smells honeyed, making it a perfect night for a movie in the park. Walking hand in hand, Edward and I make our way over to a secluded spot in the back. Unfolding the blanket on the worn grass, I bend over to smooth out all the edges, watching out of the corner of my eye as Edward looks on with a heated smirk. His blatant reaction to my unintentional eye-full melts me from the inside out.

"Are you finally going to let me see what you have in there?" I ask with my own smirk, motioning to the large picnic basket he is holding. Edward had surprised me by showing up with dinner already prepared. The fact that he went to so much trouble is sweet, but knowing that cooking and Edward don't mix has me a bit worried.

Memories of his disastrous breakfast after our first night together flash in my mind, and I have to bite my lip to prevent any unexplainable laughter. He looked so proud bringing the tray into his bedroom. Unfortunately, he made the fatal mistake of not tasting the meal before he served it. Edward had taken the concept of "seasoned" eggs to a new level, and the first forkful nearly burnt my tongue with the overwhelming taste of salt. Not wanting to extinguish his happiness, I managed to choke the bite down. However, not fooled by my inept acting skills, he quickly stole my fork to try it. His mortified expression was priceless as he spit it out, profusely apologizing before grabbing the tray and running back into the kitchen to dispose of the experiment. Needless to say, we ended up going out to eat that morning.

"Oh ye of little faith." Edward smiles widely, patting the top of the basket.

"What?"

"I know what you're thinking, Swan."

"I don't know what…I mean…I never…" I sputter, my logical excuses not quite catching up with the speed of my mouth. "Just tell me what's in there, Cullen."

Edward tries unsuccessfully to stare me down before breaking into an infectious grin. "I can't be serious with that face. You're adorable when you're all flustered, you know that?" Narrowing my eyes at his description, he leans over to kiss my frowning lips. "I went to Miller's East Coast Deli for take out."

Beaming, I clap my hands with delight and relief. "You're a genius! They have the best sandwiches."

"I know," he responds smugly while unpacking the basket.

Sitting side-by-side and sharing the delicious feast, Edward and I get lost in a comfortable discussion. Before I know it, the sun dips low in the western sky and the big screen starts flickering to life, indicating the impending start of the movie. A part of me is sad that our heart-to-heart will need to end. I've never felt so content, and I find myself not wanting any distractions from just being with him. Tilting my head towards the sky, I enjoy the splendor of the moment, trying to imprint it into my mind.

"You are so beautiful," Edward whispers. Turning, I find him staring at me, his hand reaching out to run his fingers gently down my face. "I never expected you."

"What do you mean?" I question, confused by his odd choice of words.

"The day we met, I had gone to the game to get my mind off some disappointing news about a," he pauses, as if calculating his next words, "a job offer of sorts. Anyway, I was angry that my plans fell apart, and then suddenly you stole all of my attention. As cheesy as it sounds, that saying about one door closing and another opening really came true that day."

I smile, warmed by his words. "What was the job?" I ask curiously. He's never mentioned it.

"It doesn't matter. It's not important anymore," he says casually. "After meeting you I'm glad it didn't work out."

"Really?" It's hard to tell if he truly doesn't care, or if he just doesn't want to talk about it.

"Really. I could never regret anything that brought you into my life," he declares leaning forward to kiss me deeply.

My passion for him burns all the way into my toes. "I love you."

"I love you so much, Bella. More than you will ever understand."

Our lips collide again, his hand gliding up my neck and through my hair. The familiar humming of his touch trails behind his movements causing my heart to beat wildly. With a sensual pull, he captures my bottom lip between his own, and I can't help but moan in response. His other hand draws me closer, ghosting under the hem of my shirt, his fingers on my skin setting me on fire. I'm lost in the sea of sensations. Pushing, pulling, touching, tugging, until finally falling… quite literally on the ground. Our bodies crash together in awkward position, and I can't help but giggle at our less than stellar romantic move.

"Oops." Above me, Edward laughs and tucks my messy hair behind my ear.

"I guess my clumsy tendency is rubbing off," I joke, sitting back up and straightening my shirt.

"Aren't they cute, Harold?" An unexpected voice rings out.

Glancing to my left, I spot an elderly couple sitting on a blanket a few feet away. Embarrassed that they saw us, I hide my flushed face in the side of Edward shoulder. He softly chuckles against my head, rubbing my back reassuringly. Turning to face my embarrassment, I smile shyly as Edward introduces us.

"Sorry about that. I, uh, guess we got caught up in a moment there. I'm Edward and this is Bella."

"Oh don't be silly. Movies in the park are supposed to bring out the romance," The elderly woman comments with a wave of her hand. "I'm Maggie and this is my Harold."

With Edward's arm still wrapped around me, I sit up a little straighter and greet the couple. "Hi, it's nice to meet you."

"You have a beautiful girl there, Edward. Take it from an old guy like me, beauties like that are a rare gift. Never let them go," Harold cautions, glancing sideways at Maggie.

"Believe me, I don't intend to." Edward looks directly at me when he responds, his eyes filled with love and passion.

"They remind me of us at that age." Maggie sighs, squeezing her husband's hand.

"Thank you," I reply sincerely, wondering if Edward and I will still be that close in forty years.

"Enjoy the movie, dears." Maggie graces us with one last smile before turning her attention back to Harold.

Edward leans forward to kiss me softly. "He's right you know. I'd be stupid to ever let you go."

"Then don't," I murmur, snuggling into his side, watching as the movie brightens the night sky around us.

The muted light of early dawn peaks through my windows. Sighing heavily, I flop onto my back trying to get comfortable. Sleep has evaded me, my whirling thoughts making it impossible to rest. Every time I close my eyes, all I can see are haunted emerald eyes filling my mind as the words "for you" repeat on a continuous loop.

Rubbing my gritty eyes, I realize that achieving any sleep at this point is a losing battle. Standing to stretch, my muscles pleasantly tingle with release, but the relief is short-lived. I'm exhausted, even my bones feel tired. It is a feeling I've never experienced until recently, and today it feels as though the hopelessness is winning.

Changing into comfortable sweats, I walk downstairs and head directly into the kitchen. Given the restless evening, my first priority is to brew an extra strong pot coffee. If I have any hopes of completing anything today, I will definitely need the extra kick. Waiting for the pot to fill drip by drip, I turn my attention to the foggy weather outside of the dew-covered window. Watching the billowy wisps float by is almost hypnotic as my mind continues to replay the events of last night. It makes me wonder how much stress a person can take before they finally fall apart.

You're being ridiculous!

I used to pride myself on my ability to overcome adversity. It's hard to comprehend why I can't do the same thing with these most recent events. I feel like I'm standing on a cliff, and the seduction of the darkness below is becoming more tempting, especially the freedom that would come with just letting go. My dad would be disappointed. This is not how he raised me, and yet, that knowledge has not been enough for me to change it. The only distractions from my dark thoughts are my cases. They give me a sense of purpose, and it's one of the reasons that Riley's case is so important. It has become a lifeline of sorts.

After filling a large cup with caffeinated goodness, I sit at the dining room table, ready to tackle the pile of papers crowding it. Opening the first file, I review Biers' background information making sure to take notes of key points and possible arguments. Riley is San Francisco's most notorious criminal mastermind and leader of its biggest crime syndicate. Recently, his strong hold has started creeping into other cities and neighboring western states, which is why our office wants to strike now.

Flipping through the pages, I come across a large professional photo. Holding it up, I foolishly wish that I could learn all of Riley's secrets by simply analyzing it. At face value, there is no doubt that the man is gorgeous. His handsome face, perfect smile, and hypnotic eyes provide an intoxicating visual, which he uses to his advantage in both his personal and business life.

However, it is what's lacking behind the gunmetal-blue depths that truly intrigue me. I have met "soulless" individuals on several occasions, but the ominous darkness staring out from the glossy paper makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand-up. The fact that this man believes he is invincible and derives pleasure from the pain of others energizes me to work even harder. I want to knock that sinister smirk right off of his face. Feeling a small spark, I sit up straighter and will myself to concentrate.

To hell with everything else, this is my priority.

Focused on reading, it takes me a moment to hear the persistent knocking at my door. Glancing at the clock, I'm surprised that several hours have already passed. Grumbling as the knocking continues, I realize that it's probably Rose and Alice wanting to check up on me. Although appreciative of their good, yet misguided intentions, I wish that they would just leave well-enough alone. They need to accept that I'm not interested in analyzing the details of last night or any other aspect of my life for that matter. Sitting quietly, I wait to see if they'll leave, but when the knocking continues, I begrudgingly get up from the table.

"Jesus, I hear you already! Shouldn't you girls still be in bed?" I yell, stomping towards the door.

Swinging it open, I'm about to spit out a sarcastic comment, but stop short when I see an empty stoop. Looking around for the person who, only a moment earlier was banging on my door, I suspiciously see nothing. Their sudden departure is a bit disconcerting given they seemed so intent on getting my attention in the first place. The person must have run off as soon as they heard my voice. Feeling unsettled, I slip into some shoes to see if I can spot anyone from the sidewalk. Stepping forward, I almost trip on two bags laying right outside of the door. Being so intent on looking for the mysterious visitor, I had completely missed them.

Cautiously, I kneel and pick up the first bag while continuing to glance around for the person who left it. Seeing the graphic for "Tartine Bakery" on the front turns my anxiety into curiosity, especially when I find several of their morning buns nestled inside. The baked treasure is a bit surprising considering you have to wait in line for a significant amount of time to get them. Given that they are still warm, the person was also able to travel quickly between the Mission District and here. Turning the bag around, I find a folded piece of paper with my name taped to the back. The familiar scrawl adds to my shock, but solves the mystery of its arrival.

Edward.

Still kneeling and holding the note in my hand, I contemplate what to do next. Do I leave everything here, or cave to the increasing curiosity of wanting to know his intentions? Deciding that I have to know, I shakily open the paper.

Bella,

I was remembering this morning how the world used to fade away when you focused on a case. So much so that I would have remind you to stop and eat. When I passed by Tartine, I thought that you could probably use something to keep your energy up. Besides, even the most self-reliant of individuals deserve a treat from time to time.

As for the lock, well, I know from experience that sometimes you just need a place to start. Your strength always inspired me, and I still see it, Bella. It's not lost.

You have every right to hate me, and I understand why you don't want to talk. I just hope that someday you allow me a chance to explain. I don't want to push you, but I also want you to know that I'll be waiting no matter how long it takes.

Yours, Edward

Grabbing the other bag and ripping it open, I find a new lock and the tools necessary to change out the old one. Staring at the page, I become more enraged as I analyze each word. Fuck him if he thinks I need his pathetic gestures or words of wisdom. I don't understand his game. He was the one who walked away, not me. Looking around again, the prickling sensation of being watched creeps up my spine. I know he is out there, I can almost feel him. Stuffing the note in my pocket, I leave the bags on the porch and walk back into my house making sure to slam the door as a message to spying eyes.

Safely inside, I slide to the floor, his cryptic words from last night still echoing in my ears. Hitting my head against the door, I try to reign in my emotions, refusing to let Edward be the reason that I finally break down. Forcing myself to get up, I secure the lock, and march over to the living room.

Pacing back and forth, I try to temper the fury boiling in my veins. After years of hearing nothing, he barges right back into my life acting as if nothing happened, as if he's still the person who loved me like no other. My body feels restless, almost electric, the exact opposite of the exhaustion I felt this morning. Sitting heavily in the reading chair, I eye the door warily trying to decide my next move.

Glancing to the left, I spot the picture of my dad and I at my law school graduation. We are smiling, our arms wrapped tightly around each other. The picture was a present, the message around the silver frame specifically crafted. The top and sides are engraved with different parts of the phrase, "Think it, believe it, do it" with the date residing at the bottom. It was something my dad would tell me when I was feeling down or defeated. It's funny how I've let myself forget it recently. Picking up the picture, I stare into my father's eyes, feeling an overwhelming combination of comfort and loss at seeing the passion and happiness reflected back.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," I whisper. "I wish you could tell me what to do."

As if on cue, my stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I have done exactly what Edward suspected and forgotten to eat. The sight and smell of the morning buns invade my senses making it hard not to salivate at the thought of tasting one. They are one of my favorites, and right outside.

"A place to start," I mumble reciting Edward's note, chaotic energy still pulsing through my body. With everything I need literally on my doorstep, I have no more excuses to feed my procrastination. Deep down, I know that I need to do this and face the reality that my father's not here anymore.

"Think it, believe it, do it," I whisper, starting at the door intently.

It would be nice not to have to worry about the lock anymore, and there is no way I can focus on legal documents right now. Besides, chances are that he left right after I shut the door. "So really, Edward won't even know that I ended up taking the bags," I argue to no one, trying to rationalize my sudden change of thought.

Pushing out of the chair, I walk back to the door and peek out. The bags are right where I left them. Looking around and finding nothing but an empty sidewalk, I quickly snatch them up and walk back inside. After grabbing another cup of coffee, I place a couple of buns on a plate and move back to the living room to sit on the floor. Surrounded by instructions, tools, and lock parts, I silently face my first demon.

Opening my door cautiously at the unexpected knock, I'm surprised to find three officers in dress blues. At first, I think that they are there to take me to a crime scene, until I see the gold cross on the collar of the man in the middle. My stomach drops.

"Miss Swan?"

"Yes?"

"We're here on behalf of the Seattle police department. Can we come in?"

"Just tell me," I growl. "He's dead isn't he?"

At the regretful nod of their heads, I fall to the floor.

I let the emotions of the memory wash over me as I focus my attention back on the lock. "I can do this."

My dad wanted me to be self-sufficient. Girls are just as capable as boys are, he would say. When I moved into this house, he came down specifically to teach me all the basics of home repair so that I wouldn't have to rely upon repairmen. Ironically, he was always okay with being the exception to the self-reliant rule. I know he secretly loved it when I asked him over for the weekend to lend a hand with some random project. I didn't realize how much having him available meant to me until he was no longer here to call.

"Okay, Bells, no matter how easy you think something is, always read the instructions." My dad's voice echoes in my head.

I smile remembering the time I thought I could fix my leaky sink without researching first. Stupidly, I decided that since I had a law degree, I was smart enough to figure out how to tighten a pipe. It took only one wrongly placed gasket and a wet kitchen for me to learn the importance of reading instructions. My dad never let me live the incident down.

"Make sure you have all the parts and tools you need before you start."

Laying out all the parts and tools, I carefully count and check it all off. Edward certainly thought of everything, and by the feel of the lock, he spared no expense. This is top-notch and appears unbreakable. He continues to show nothing but concern for my well-being, yet I still don't understand the intentions behind it. His recent behavior certainly doesn't match the heartlessness he showed when he walked away.

"Home improvement is a great stress reliever. In a world full of things out of your control, sometimes the simple act of completing one project can give you a little more strength to take on other battles."

My dad's words of wisdom break through the difficult thought. As always, he is right. I can't change what happened, I can't control Edward, but I can change this damn lock. Maybe tackling this demon will give me the strength to tackle another.

A half-hour later, I stand back and look at my work with a sense of accomplishment. I can almost hear my dad's "I'm impressed" whistle as I lock and unlock the door with ease. He would be proud, and knowing that alleviates a bit of the darkness that was threatening to consume me earlier. Leave it to Edward to light the fire I needed to take this first step. I honestly don't know if I love or hate him for it.

Satisfied with the job and feeling a sense of unexpected calm, I walk into the house to get back to work on the case. I still have a lot to do before Monday. Heading back to my kitchen table, I smile as I pass by the picture.

"Thanks, Dad."

Glancing at my watch, I groan realizing there is no way I will make it on time for my meeting with Sam. Juggling a couple of files that didn't fit into my briefcase, I quickly navigate my way to his office. Stopping right outside of the door, I take a moment to regain my composure and straighten my rumpled jacket before lifting my fist to knock.

"Enter," a deep and commanding voice responds. His tone reminds me of a principal calling a kid into their office.

Opening the door, I walk into the brightly lit, pristine, and organized office. There is not a spot of dust, dirt, or clutter anywhere. Sam either comes from a military background, or has OCD because no one's office should ever look this clean. Behind a spotless wooden desk sits a striking man with jet-black hair, olive skin, and dark brown eyes. When he stands up, I get the full picture of his impressive stature. He is tall, and although not as bulky as Emmett, is clearly in shape.

"Hi, I'm Bella Swan from the US DOJ's office."

Sam walks over and stiffly shakes my hand. "Ms. Swan, I'm Sam Uley. It's nice of you to finally make it." He sneers with disdain.

Remembering what Rose said this weekend, I bite my tongue from popping out a snarky comment in return. I need him on my side. "I'm sorry Agent Uley. It won't happen again."

Sam simply grunts and motions for me to sit in one of the chairs. "Let's just get started," he grumbles returning to the chair behind his desk. Jerk.

"Fine by me," I say sitting taller. With another dismissive glance from Sam, I feel a spark of determination. I will not allow him to intimidate me; I will prove that I am worthy of this case.

"I've investigated Biers for three years. I think you will find that the case is in order."

"Actually, there are a few issues to resolve before I can take this to court."

Sam leans back in his chair, anger flashing across his face. "Listen, I don't know who you think you are, but—"

"I am the prosecutor, and it is my job to know what will or what will not succeed in court. I'll respect that you know how to investigate a case, but I know how to prosecute one, and I'm telling you, there are holes that will give the defense a valid argument to overturn the evidence."

"Saying that there are 'holes' challenges my work as an agent!" Sam growls, his fists flexing and tightening on the desk. He obviously doesn't like being challenged, but he and his ego will just need to get over it.

"You don't think that his defense attorneys won't? Riley Biers doesn't have a burnt out public defender. He has a team of high-priced attorneys who will dispute every single piece of evidence!" I pause, realizing that I need to calm down too. Bumping heads isn't helping anything. "Look, there's enough evidence to get us through the grand jury, but once we get into court the defense will hammer us. You have more on his lackeys than on Biers directly. That means a slam-dunk case of plausible deniability. I want to crucify him, not his organization."

Sam glares across the desk, his nostrils flaring. "Going after his organization is the best way to get to him."

"I don't disagree, but we need a stronger connection between him and those people. Much of what you have is circumstantial. I need more. So how about we cut all the crap and just work together? I'd like to think that we have the same goal here, and this," I emphasize waving my hand between us, "is getting us nowhere."

"You certainly don't back down, do you?"

"Not when it's something I believe in."

"You need more?" he asks.

"I need more," I state, watching him pull out several files from his desk.

"Fine," he mutters flipping through documents.

I watch with fascination as he goes through each file, the clock ticking away while we sit in an awkward silence. His frustration increases with each page before he finally slams all the files closed with a thunderous smack of his hand.

Looking up, a bitter smile breaks his stoic expression. "Well, counselor, you certainly know your stuff. I was prepared to prove you wrong, but you're right. The strongest evidence we have is against his team."

I barely stop myself from bursting out with a gratifying, I told you so. It's not the most professional option for a comeback, and probably won't earn me any favors. "I know my job."

"That you do," Sam concedes gruffly. "I guess I owe you an apology. I should have heard you out."

"Thanks, I appreciate that," I say, hoping that we can finally get past this tension and focus on the case.

"I've had a really crap morning, and hearing you challenge a case that I've busted my ass on probably pissed me off more than it should have." Getting out of his chair, he moves around to lean against his desk right in front of me. "You're right, if we are going to do this, we need to work together. Tell me what gaps to fill in. I want this asshole more than you could know."

"Okay," I agree, relieved at the sincerity I hear in his voice. "How about we start by going through the evidence together step by step?"

Taking a deep breath, Sam nods his head. "Okay. But before we do that, how about we start over?" he asks, reaching out his hand with a charming grin. "Sam Uley, it's a pleasure to meet you Ms. Swan."

Looking down at his offered hand, I can't help but laugh at the gesture. "Agent Uley, I've heard good things. I'm looking forward to working with you. And, please, call me Bella."

"Call me Sam," he says holding my hand firmly. "You've heard good things huh? Guess I really need to make up for earlier then." He stretches around to grab several files. "You ready to take this son of a bitch down?"

We work for several hours comparing our notes and ideas on the best way to proceed. It's clear that Sam knows this case inside and out, however, as I feared there are still too many gaps for my liking. Riley is too good at keeping his hands clean. I intend to ask for the death penalty, so I need iron clad evidence and we don't have it yet.

"Okay, all the words on this page are blurring together. Let's take a break and get some lunch," Sam suggests, disrupting my concentration on the financial file I'm reviewing.

"Umm, sure. What's good around here?"

"A lot, but my favorite is probably this amazing Chinese restaurant a few blocks away."

"How is their moo shu pork?"

Sam looks at me with a wide smile. "A girl after my own heart. That is one of their best dishes. Want to come with me to pick it up?"

"I could stand some fresh air," I say getting up to grab my jacket.

Following him out of the building, we fall into a comfortable conversation. My impression of Sam was way off. He is much more easy-going than he first appeared. He has a great sense of humor, and his obvious love of reading gives him a wide base of knowledge to discuss a variety of topics. I can't help but enjoy the deep discussion, and by the time we reach the restaurant, it feels like we've solved all the world's problems.

After picking up our food, Sam unexpectedly changes the topic. "I hope I'm not overstepping my bounds, but I heard about your dad. I'm sorry." His comment shocks me. I didn't expect him to know anything about it. Sensing my surprise, he explains further. "Your dad was a well-respected detective within the law enforcement community. Word of a tragedy has a way of traveling fast."

"Oh." The pain in my gut that was missing earlier suddenly returns.

"Did they find the guy who did it?"

"Umm, no. The case is still open. Seattle P.D. believes that he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. There's not a lot to go on in regards to the suspects."

"If I can help out let me know. The bureau has a lot of resources, and I'm sure the director would be happy to lend a hand."

"Thanks," I say dismissively not wanting to talk about it anymore.

We walk for a couple of minutes before Sam breaks the silence. "I lost my mom a couple of years ago. It was hard, but you know what I hated the most?"

I look up, staggered by his unexpected revelation. "What?"

"People trying to make me feel better. I just wanted to get on with my life. I'm a special agent for God's sake, I didn't need my hand held. But all of sudden my friends and family treated me like I was sick. Fucking pissed me off. Sometimes you just need to leave well enough alone, you know."

"Yeah, I do," I whisper. No one, not even those closest to me, has understood, yet somehow Sam is able to summarize it precisely.

Sam stops, reaching out to grab my arm gently. "If you ever need to escape, just give me a call. I learned a few tricks that helped me get through the worst of it."

I'm surprised his actions don't irritate me as much as it does when others have made similar suggestions. Maybe it's because he's the first one that seems to understand what I'm going through.

"I may take you up on that," I answer truthfully instead of just placating him as I have so many others.

"I don't know what it is about you, Bella. Even though you've spent the entire morning challenging me, which I really hate by the way, I still really like you," Sam comments with a sarcastic grin, breaking up the serious moment.

"Well, isn't it obvious? I'm awesome," I joke back. It feels good to laugh again.

"And don't forget modest." He laughs before letting go of my arm to start walking again. Chuckling along with him, I realize that I've laughed more today than the last few months combined. Something tells me that hanging out with Sam might just be another step towards healing. Although we've just met, I can see him becoming a good friend.

After eating lunch, we spend several more hours going over the next steps. I need to work on obtaining several warrants for a few of Riley's buildings, while Sam is going to meet with his informants for intel on any up and coming activity. If we can catch Riley in the act of something major, it will solidify our case, and make it easier to show a pattern that will tie him to previous crimes.

"I have to say, Bella. I'm really impressed," Sam utters, watching me put my files back into my bag.

"What do you mean?"

"I've worked with a lot of DOJ lawyers, but you have the mind for it. I can see you working on your points, and calculating the possible arguments the defense will try to make. You definitely know how to build a solid case. Like I said, I'm impressed."

"Thanks," I mumble looking down to straighten my folders when I feel the predictable heat of embarrassment.

"I'm glad we're working together."

"Me too," I agree while attempting to grab one last file. Unfortunately, my fingers work against me, and I end up knocking my file and a couple of Sam's, to the floor. "Crap! I'm sorry." I quickly bend down to pick up the papers that scattered everywhere.

"It's okay. No worries," Sam reassures, leaning down to help.

In the process of retrieving several papers to hand back to Sam, one of the documents grabs my attention. It's a picture of an artistic looking butterfly with an Asian symbol woven into the wings. It's beautiful, and I swear I've seen before.

"What is this?" I ask holding it out to Sam.

"Oh, that's something from one of Riley's companies. He likes to use the symbol of a butterfly on lots of things. I'm not sure why, seems a bit girly to me, but to each their own I guess. Why?"

"It seems familiar."

"Hmm, it was probably in one of the files you read."

"Yeah, you're probably right." Handing Sam the last of the paperwork, I grab my files again. "I guess I better get going. I'll be in touch when I get the warrants in place."

"Sounds good. Be safe going home. It's a crazy world out there," he says seriously, walking me to the door.

"I will. You too, G-man."

"Please, I'm invincible," he jokes sarcastically, playfully bumping me with his shoulder.

"You're right, what was I thinking," I retort back with a gentle shove of my own.

All the way home, I couldn't get that picture out of my head. I know I've seen it before, and it wasn't in a file. I rack my brain trying to figure out where else I could have seen it. Suddenly, a vague memory makes my blood run cold.

"It can't be," I mutter, willing the cab to go faster.

Running into my house, I go directly to the downstairs hall closet and yank the door open. It is full of boxes from my Dad's house, most of which I've never really gone through. Jasper helped me pack them while my mind was in a haze. I remember just wanting to get it over with; crushed that the bank was foreclosing on the house I grew up in so quickly. It was devastating to lose, but Jasper had logically convinced me that it wasn't worth saving.

"You really had no idea that things were this bad?" Jasper questions incredulously, looking over several of my dad's financial documents.

"No, he never mentioned anything. What do I do?"

"I don't think you can do much."

"I spent most of my inheritance on that damn house. Maybe I can get a loan." My brain spins, frantically searching for options.

"And do what, Bella? You don't live in Seattle. Even if you can save the house, which given all of his other debt I doubt you can, then what? It'd just be standing here empty. I know it's hard, but think about this rationally. It's not worth it in the end."

Jasper didn't understand that my dad and his house were like my north star, always there to guide me in the right direction, especially after Edward left. The bank took the house away from me just as unexpectedly as someone took my dad. It was just too much to handle.

Throwing my coat to the side, I start pulling the boxes out one by one. Ripping open the tops, I frantically sift through the items, desperately looking for what I need to prove myself wrong. Finally, buried in the tenth box, I find my Dad's journal. He wrote in it religiously every day. He said putting his thoughts on paper helped him to let things go and work out problems. Flipping to his last entry, my world shatters. There in all its glory, is a pencil sketch of the same butterfly symbol.

Up next, some Edward and Bella present day interaction with a glimpse into what he's been doing. See you next week!