A/N: Hey, folks. As I post this, I'm into the final prep for my exams that begin TOMORROW! I'm incredibly stressed out. Well begun is half done, so I'm hoping for the best.

Thanks to Payton79 and Pamela for all their help.

CHAPTER 4: GUILT

I scrubbed a hand over my face as I crossed the street. My eyes stung with fatigue, and the only thing keeping my body going at the moment was the promise of coffee from my favorite little café around the corner.

The Carmen DeLuca murder case had proven to be simultaneously too easy and too hard. The less-than-impressive quality of the recorded call made it difficult to ascertain that the voice belonged to Marcus Volturi, but the arrogant nature of words certainly suited his character. Ben could be only fifty percent certain that it was Volturi threatening our victim just hours before her death. Marcus had no trouble giving us an alibi for his whereabouts, and there were at least fifteen people at his office vouching for the same, including some CCTV footage. We were still working on the alibis of the fifteen employees who'd received phone numbers from the batch we were concerned with. But from what we had gathered on them so far, there seemed to be no reason for any of them to harm Carmen. The actual number in question, the one that'd left the threatening message on Carmen's phone was missing and untraceable.

On the other hand, we'd found an unidentified partial print on the main door of Carmen's house. With no matches in the system, we had no way to find who they belonged to until we had a few suspects for comparison.

All in all, it was pretty clear to me that Marcus Volturi was responsible for Carmen's murder. But we were running out of time to figure out how he'd done it.

Throughout this past week, we'd spent long days and late nights at the station, pouring over every aspect of Volturi's life and looking for anything that was amiss. The most probable theory was that of a henchman, but we had yet to find anything that would lead us to him.

It'd been exhausting, yet somewhat exhilarating. This was why I'd joined the force—to catch hold of the wolves among the sheep and make sure they got what they had coming.

But I'd be lying to myself if I attributed my tiredness to simply work.

Because it was something else that kept me alert and awake even while I tried to shut my eyes in the comfort of my own bed.

It was a pair of eyes—the deepest, darkest pair of eyes I'd ever seen—that haunted my dreams as well as my waking thoughts.

I'd spoken to her for all of two minutes, yet she'd left an impression in my mind that try as I might, I couldn't erase. I couldn't deny that it was her beauty that'd left me nearly dumbstruck the first time I'd laid my eyes on her.

But that wasn't what occupied a large portion of my thoughts.

It was the expression on her face, the emotion in her eyes toward the end of our meeting that played on a constant loop in my memories.

Despite having observed the fear Marcus seemed to instill in his subordinates, I'd been shocked when he'd fired Isabella right there and then. The easy, condescending way he'd dismissed her had left me feeling enraged on her behalf.

And then her eyes had locked with mine.

In an instant, my fury had vanished. My mind was rendered clear of every thought, every emotion, except one.

Guilt.

Overwhelming, unrelenting guilt.

Because, in those deep, expressive eyes, I'd encountered an amalgamation of wrath and despair like I'd never seen before.

In wake of the humiliation that'd been thrust upon her, Isabella Swan had stood tall, ignoring the rest of her audience and focusing solely on me. I could see her anger toward me, could almost hear the expletives she must've screeched in her thoughts as she blamed me for getting her fired . . . and probably not wrongly so.

But there was also the thin glimmer of moisture that she refused to let escape her eyes that hit me hard, twisting in my chest like a jagged knife.

I'm sorry, I'd whispered in my mind, willing her to feel my apology in my silence, knowing that it made no difference.

I didn't know her circumstances, but she'd obviously treasured her job.

And I was the reason she'd lost it.

The guilt had been eating away at me all of this past week. When I wasn't thinking about the case, my mind had been occupied with the beautiful brunette I'd wronged and how, if ever, I could begin to make up for it.

Which was why, when I stepped into The Busy Bean to get my caffeine fix and happened to encounter a very familiar pair of brown eyes, I almost slapped myself to try and pull myself out of this delusion.

Almost.

"Isabella," I breathed, blinking once through my astonishment—half afraid of losing the vision of her, half begging for it to be a reality. When she gasped and took a reflexive step back, I know someone up there had answered my prayers.

I remained frozen until she moved to the side, as if to step around me, which jarred me into action.

"Wait, please," I requested, hoping that my desperation didn't shine through my words. That would surely make her run far away from my creepy ass.

She moved again to the other side, ignoring my words. This time, I followed suit, planting myself in her path. I did pull myself back a few inches, unwilling to impose upon her personal space despite the fact that I was obstructing her sole means of exit. I could only hope it made her see I meant no harm.

She huffed, glaring at me as her brow creased into a scowl. "I have nothing to say to you."

"But I have something to say, to apologize," I rushed to clarify. "I'd—I'd like to apologize."

"You did your job. I didn't do mine. That's it." I watched her knuckles strain as she tightened her hold on the Styrofoam cup in her palm.

Our little dance began anew as she stepped to the right, aiming for the door, and I followed suit.

For a split second, I wondered how I would explain myself to my colleagues if someone saw the way I was behaving and called 911 on my stalker-ish self. Judging by the look on Isabella's face, she'd probably file the complaint without hesitation and dance around in revengeful glee as I was handcuffed.

She murmured a curse under her breath, pulling me away from my inane imagination.

"I'm sorry." I held up my hands, scrambling for words that'd make her stay for just a little while longer. I stuttered for a few seconds, and she huffed again, shuffling her feet. Her impatience was like an invisible time bomb hanging in the air. Any minute, the time would run out, and she'd explode in a puff of smoke before disappearing forever. The idea frightened me to the point where I blurted out the first words that popped into my head. "I come here every day, but I've never seen you here before."

I almost breathed a sigh of relief once the sentence was out. I'd managed to string together innocuous words that could prolong the conversation, hopefully giving her a chance to calm down.

Apparently, Isabella disagreed.

If anything, her face seemed to burst into flames, her nostrils flaring as she drew in a quick breath.

On the exhale, her reply came through, swift, sharp, and biting.

"Yeah, well, that's what happens when you lose your job. You lose your apartment when you're not able to make rent, and you're forced to downsize with a shitty roommate in a shitty area, buying this shitty excuse for a coffee."

My eyes widened in surprise at her tirade, and she took advantage of my momentary lapse in concentration. Her hand grabbed my elbow so swiftly, I had no chance to even appreciate the first time her hand landed on my body—albeit through the cotton of my shirt. She shoved me aside, and before I could make sense of what was happening, she was barreling down the street to disappear into the morning crowd.

Once I returned to my senses, I threaded my hand through my hair. My eyes fell shut for a moment, and when I opened them again, I found the entire café silent, almost frozen in place as they stared at me. Our exchange had been quiet, but obviously, our body language had been enough to catch everyone's attention. I threw a shrug at no one in particular, then spun on my feet and made my way out.

I was wide awake now, my guilt refreshed and ready to cut me open as Isabella's words rattled through my mind.

Yet, for the first time in the past week, my thoughts tinged with clarity as I made a decision on what I needed to do. Until I'd achieved it, I knew I'd have no peace.

I began to head in the general direction of the precinct to start my day, making only one stop on the way—at the newspaper vendor who'd set up shop down the street.

A/N: C'mon. You know you'd be pissed, too. Give the girl a chance, okay?

As stated above, I'll be neck deep in exams in the upcoming days . . . in fact, for the next three weeks, so I don't think I'll be able to reply to reviews like I usually do. I'm so sorry, but I can't help it.

Rest assured, the story will continue to post, because I've already written the next few chapters. Now, wish me luck!

Teasers, photographs, and other details about my stories can be found in my FB group: Fanfiction by ForeverRobsessed. The link is available on my profile here.

See you next time!

FIC REC – Forged By Fire by Sunshine1220 – We rose from the ashes of their man-made disaster and became stronger, drawing our strength from where we've been and what we've seen. This is our world now, and they can't take it from us.