Many thanks to my beta team, StoryPainter and irelandk.

Big hugs and kisses to my pre-reader, Shazzio. Her invaluable input always makes this a much more enjoyable process. Thanks also to WellHungHubby for the stamp of male approval and insight into the beginning paragraphs of this chapter (What? He chose his own psuedonym *eyeroll*).

For my Aussie readers, Shazzio will verify that this chapter was written before the death of the inspirational Jim Stynes. For everyone else, the poem Bella reads was also used recently at the state funeral of a well known and loved Australian Rules Football player.

I think this is the longest chapter I've ever written. Enjoy!


Chapter 11-Irons in the Fire

Edward

She was sitting on my lap, squirming in the most distracting and enticing way as she moved to face me. Our eyes met, and I could see the naked want burning in her heated gaze. Her hand crept up to weave through my hair as she pushed her chest against mine, the heat radiating from her palm adding to the fire already flickering inside me. I groaned, a pained sound full of desire and entreaty. Answering my wordless plea, she pressed her lips to mine, her lips parting in invitation. As my tongue found hers, I groaned again, my hips bucking instinctively to grind against her.

I was overwhelmed with sensation. Her taste was intoxicating and consuming, and I kissed her deeply and fervidly in my search for more. Her subtle scent surrounded me, clouding all thought until all I wanted was to drown in her. One of her hands tugged on my hair as the other roamed over my back, the combined stimulation heightening the feeling of being surrounded by this beautiful woman. Moving my hands to her thighs, I helped her move until she was straddling me. Our bodies were now close enough that I could feel her heat, even through the denim of her jeans. I couldn't seem to control my automatic reaction, and she gasped when I bucked into her again, her head thrown back in pleasure. I kissed the alluringly soft skin along the column of her throat as I continued my rocking movements. I was rewarded with her throaty moans, and I increased the pressure against her apex. One of my hands cupped her buttock as she responded and moved against me, and I trailed the other up until I brushed the tight peak of her nipple.

We found our own rhythm, our desperate yet sensual sounds mingling as we kissed and grasped at each other in our frenzy. I could feel the tension gather and coil in my abdomen and lower, ready for rapturous release. I massaged her breast and rolled her nipple as I prolonged the pressure against her heated center, sucking at the tender spot just above her collarbone that always made her quiver. With a deep inhalation of breath she climaxed, a satisfying and glorious sight. Scrunching my eyes tightly shut as I thrust a final time, I let myself ride the wave with her. My own orgasmic noises were louder and more primitive-sounding.

I lay in sated bliss, listening to the pulse thunder in my ears as my racing heart tried to return to its normal pace. I stretched my cramped fingers, freeing them from the tightly bunched material clenched in my hands. Missing the sensation of the warm and willing feminine form I had just been embracing, my fingers crept about looking for her. They searched in vain.

"Bella?" I opened my eyes to see where she had gone. "Fuck!"

I was in my bed. Alone. I was also very sticky.

Another damned dream.

Swearing, I threw the rumpled covers aside, striped off my shorts and t-shirt and headed for the shower. As I stood under the warm spray, I mentally berated myself. This was the third morning in a row I had woken this way after dreaming of the intriguing and captivating Bella Swan. This kind of thing hadn't happened to me since I first reached puberty. At twenty-eight, I thought those days were long gone, laid to rest by…well, getting laid. Maybe that was the problem. This was the longest I had ever gone without regular sex. It wasn't like I was a man-whore or anything, but when I was in the mood, a lack of female company had never been a problem. After my last relationship died a natural death eight months ago, I just hadn't really missed it enough to get back in the saddle, so to speak. Or else, I just hadn't met the right person.

All that changed six mere mornings ago when the call out came over the police scanner we had at the office. Unless they were out for publicity or it was voting season, the police never gave us a heads up on potential newsworthy stories if they could avoid it. Having a scanner at the office meant we weren't reliant on the police for information and could be at a scene quickly. Compared to Chicago, it was a rare request to attend to a dead body found at home in Port Angeles. Although uncommon out here in the tranquil backwaters, sadly the odd murder or suicide did happen. Our readers were always eager for every detail, the more gruesome the better and the more papers we sold. As the closest thing PA had to a crime reporter, it was my job to report on what had occurred. That's how I found myself meeting Bella.

Of course, Felix hadn't been willing to give me an official statement when I first arrived at the scene, but assured me that if I hung around, he would talk to me after the medical examiner had done his thing. I had wandered into the park, and spying the lone figure sitting on a bench smoking, thought only of passing some time with someone caught in a similar delay.

Seeing a quaking Bella perched precariously on the seat had reminded me of the first job I had attended, a gory gangland drive-by shooting. Nothing prepared you for having to put aside your sense of shock at the dreadfulness you witnessed at certain scenes. It took time and some desensitization to put aside your rational and natural reaction to it to think and act in a functional way while you got the job done. Remembering that, I felt for her obvious distress and found myself wanting to ease her way through it. Her partner was an idiot, I had thought, abandoning this fragile young woman at a time when she could clearly use a sensitive mentor. Something about her brought out my caveman instincts, and I found myself wanting to protect and care for her.

Watching her anxiety and tension ease a little as I distracted her let me see a glimpse of what she would ordinarily be like. Her wan, heart-shaped face got a little color back as she relaxed, revealing her usual creamy complexion. Her lustrous brown hair was tied in a tight top-knot but wisps had escaped, waving around the nape of her neck and her face. It looked long, and I imagined it framing her pretty features in soft curls. Her eyes were her most striking feature. They were large, brown, and expressive. As I stared into them, I could see little flecks of color in the pupil; the bronze and gold inclusions giving them a rare depth and intensity.

Much to my surprise, I felt the first stirrings of attraction. The whole damsel in distress thing usually didn't do anything for me, and I wasn't yet sure what else there was about her that called to me on a deeper level. She had done nothing to call attention to herself or to invoke my interest, a complete novelty compared to my previous experiences. All I knew was that I wanted another opportunity to get to know her better, away from this horrible scene, to see if the spark I had felt could ignite to something more.

Any hope of that was obliterated when the jerk from the Sequim Gazette took a photo as they were removing the body from the house. Assuming it was me, Bella had gone ballistic and attacked. She was unexpectedly strong for such a petite woman, her fury making her cheeks glow and her eyes bright with passion. Some hulking policeman tried to drag her away but she scorched him too before collapsing like a deflated balloon. The protective urge surged in me again, and I itched to pick her up and console her, cursing myself for not even trying. Her cousin had come to whisk her away, but I had found myself thinking about her in the days after. Although my rational brain knew it was futile, my more emotional hidden side couldn't seem to let her go just yet. It didn't help any that as I drafted the newspaper article and started talking to people about Renee Dwyer, I also learned a little more about her daughter. I couldn't seem to get away from her.

When we bumped into each other at the basketball court on Sunday, it seemed like karma. I was initially certain that she was going to cuss me out. Instead, she had apologized and when our fingers touched as she handed back our ball, I felt a current of electricity creating a weird connection between us. The spark of attraction flamed into life, and I took a minute to appreciate how she looked in her Sunday best. She wasn't just pretty, she was breath-taking. As we got to talking about her family, I realized her beauty was in more than her looks. She was kind and caring, and when as she related happier memories, I could see her usual confidence and spirit shining through the shroud of grief she currently carried about herself.

I was a total goner.

I couldn't get her out of my head, every waking thought consumed by her and then every nighttime one too, hence the wet dreams. Glimpses of swinging and shining chestnut hair, thoughts of soft curves, and the memory of her unique scent would ambush me at random moments, distracting and disarming me. I cursed the fucked-up timing more than once. Bella had lost her mother in tragic circumstances and was clearly struggling to accept it. Trying to pursue a woman in the depths of mourning wasn't just poorly timed, it was wrong on so many levels. I debated with myself about biding my time and waiting for a better opportunity, but that just made me feel like a sleazy asshole. No, perfect woman or not, I would have to put all budding warm and fuzzy thoughts aside, and just be the nice but reserved outsider she probably saw me as.

Resigned to my fate, I thought that was the end of things until I got a message from Jennifer saying Bella wanted to see me. Using her obvious nervousness as a handy excuse to take our conversation somewhere more conducive to proper social interaction, I drove her to a nearby favorite haunt of mine. The girl clearly needed to chill a little. After reducing her anxiety once again, this time with food and a beer, she spilled out her story and asked for my help. I was skeptical to start with but listened to her as she reasoned her way through her explanations. She was both logical and shrewd, her keen and observant mind an additional draw. I had my own take on some of the things she revealed after the footwork I had done for my article but kept them to myself. I knew I would need to think carefully about whether it was worth embroiling myself in what could be a wild goose chase. I couldn't afford to let my growing fascination with her cloud my judgment. Whatever Bella believed, it was still more probable that her mother had indeed committed suicide, regardless of how unacceptable and unlikely her loved ones had found it.

It was also clear to me that what she seemed to need most was someone to really listen to her concerns and to be there just for her. She was fortunate to have such a close and supportive family, but from the little things she had been saying, she had been having trouble opening up to them fully. Now that Bella seemed so set on her personal crusade, she would need someone in her corner, an ally against the negativity and obstacles she would encounter. The caveman side of me said this could only be a good thing for me. If I agreed to her request, it meant I would be seeing more of her, as we would have to work together closely on certain aspects of the investigation. It would provide the perfect chance for her to get to know me better, to see me as something more than the guy with a handy job and a camera. I'd be able to get to know her better, too. I might even be able to work out what it was about her that intrigued me so much.

Thinking more about talking with her that night, I realized something else important. Bella was no damsel in distress. She was a woman of action, willing to put aside considerations of potential difficulties and smears on her own character in her drive to put things right. That spoke of a hidden core of strength and integrity. She was far more resilient than she appeared, and in the end, I might well end up playing the side-kick to her avenging hero. That proved quite the mental visual, and featured in more than a few of my dreams.

Stepping out of the shower, I dried myself and shaved. Returning to my room, I dressed in a light green shirt and coordinating tie, wanting to blend in with other mourners. It wasn't unheard of for reporters to attend the funeral of public figures, and I rationalized my intention to attend as carrying out further research. After all, I needed to get a firm handle on all the players so I could make an informed decision about getting involved in Bella's crusade. I knew there would be plenty of attendees. From the interviews I had done, I knew Renee had been well-liked, and considered a respected and talented teacher. The bigger the crowd, the easier it would be for me to blend in. I wanted a chance to observe everyone close to Renee, and this would probably be the one and only time they would all be together in the same place.

I pulled into St Francis de Sale's parking lot about twenty minutes before the service was due to start. The lot was almost full already. Brightly dressed mourners mingled in the paved forecourt, a small group gathered at the foot of the stairs. As I passed, I could see Phil Dwyer in the center of the cluster, flanked by his parents and brother. I noted with surprise that the Dwyers were all dressed in black. Although the Peninsula Examiner had come out before the funeral details were confirmed, the particulars had all been listed in the online version's obituary section. They must have dressed that way deliberately, but why?

Wanting to get a seat somewhere with a good view of the front pew, I skirted the huddle of people and headed inside. There was a line of mourners waiting in front of a small table in the foyer. Scanning the huge noticeboard next to it, I could see the brightly hued slips of paper people had written their tributes on, a nice touch I hadn't seen at this kind of thing before. Having not known Renee personally, I decided it wouldn't be appropriate for me to contribute, but I did sign the condolences book.

The inside of the church was large, and I managed to find a spot in a bank of seats that faced perpendicular to the raised area on which the alter stood, giving me a great view of the front seats. I wanted to be able to watch Phil's reactions throughout the proceedings. The coffin was already on the dais, surrounded by an array of wreaths and tall vases of elaborate floral arrangements. The most ostentatious was a heart-shaped wreath of pink and purple anemones, hyacinths, and a single petal type of rose. A purple ribbon crossed the heart diagonally, proclaiming "adored wife." I made a mental note to look up the meaning of those particular flowers and to check exactly who had ordered them.

With its plain wood, stylized painted design and matching spray of deep pink roses on top, the coffin looked simple and elegant, in direct contrast to the riot of showy and pretentious flowers draped around it. A brass stand stood to the left, on which leaned a huge framed portrait of Renee. As I studied it, I could see Bella had the same heart-shaped face as her mother and had inherited her lips, a defined and rosy cupid's bow. Renee had been an attractive woman, and had looked younger than her forty-three years.

Leaving my coat on my spot to mark it as claimed, I slipped back outside and found a place where I could observe Phil and his family unobtrusively. I people-watched as I waited for the Cullens to arrive, nodding in greeting to those that I knew and the people I had recently interviewed about Renee. There was Mr. Greene, the college principal, and a few teachers. Amanda Reed, one of Renee's colleagues, seemed to be the closest thing Renee had to a girlfriend. When I had interviewed her, she commented that Renee had been distracted and emotional lately, the only person who didn't go on about how cheery Renee always was. She was also the only person that didn't seem to have any sympathy for Phil, and some of the things she said hinted that Renee might have confided a few things to her. In light of Bella's concerns, I would need to speak to Ms. Reed in more depth.

Everyone else seemed to see Phil as a model citizen. The women as a whole seemed jealous that he was such an attentive husband and devoted family man. The envies of the men centered on his successful and apparently lucrative business, his flashy car, and that he was athletic-looking and still had his own hair. Not one person had anything bad to say about him, which in itself was a little odd. Even the rival realtors in the area praised him, relating how he had done much to raise the profile of local businesses through his involvement with Clallam County Business Advisory Group.

I put some time in researching since Bella asked me to help look into her mother's death. Bella told me that her mother had neither known nor cared about Phil's past. The brief education and professional history listed on the realtor's association website had checked out so far. I made an appointment to travel to Kingsgate to chat with his old boss. He had worked there three years; his other jobs all lasting only about twelve months. I also asked Jasper to check into what he had done before college. He was a late starter, and there was a gaping hole in his background before the age of twenty-five.

Jasper was my go-to man whenever I needed a cyber-chase, and had extensive and stealthy ninja-like skills negotiating the mysteries of secure systems and databases. We met when he was doing a double degree in digital media communication and graphic design, an official and handy cover for his private hacking enterprises. Jasper explained he was fueled by curiosity and had no interest in sabotaging the systems he infiltrated, thriving on the challenge. He justified his inquisitiveness saying that he was merely the product of his upbringing as the only son of two journalists. He had five sisters, none of whom had shown any interest in joining the family business. While Jasper's work overseeing the computerized system that logged, laid out and published the paper and online versions of the Examiner took up a lot of his day, his small crew of dedicated and industrious IT staff afforded him enough free time to indulge in his little sideline.

I watched while Phil shook hands with people, his face a somber mask of sorrow as people offered their condolences. During the brief periods between greeting the various parties, his mask would drop and his face would become more animated. He even smiled a few times as he exchanged whispered words with his father or brother. Twice, I saw him wipe away tears, once when a man in a satin-trimmed muumuu came out of the church for a few words. Judging from the symbols that decorated his dress, I surmised that the man must be the Father Banner Bella had been referring to. The second time was when a stylishly dressed couple approached, both embracing Phil with familiarity. I recognized them from the realty webpage. It was Alec Harrow, Phil's business partner, and his wife, Jane. I had seen her in the flesh once before, a memory that had grown in significance.

When Jasper had first offered me a job as a photo-journalist, I had taken two weeks' vacation from my Chicago job to come visit and check things out. I had wanted to get a feel for the area, to watch how things at the paper ran and how my potential future colleagues worked together. I had also made arrangements online to inspect some apartments. I was going to view two in the same building, one furnished and one bare. Arriving about ten minutes before our scheduled meeting time, I saw an eye-catching blond woman leaving the apartment, patting down her hair. I saw the flash of diamonds and a wedding ring as her other hand smoothed her skirt down. I knocked on the open door, startling the agent who was redoing his tie. He had broken the awkward silence by pasting on a huge smile and introducing himself, making no reference to what I had seen. Needless to say, I did not rent the furnished apartment, images of what might have occurred recently on the furniture all too fresh.

Now, seeing the three of them together, I recognized Jane as the woman I had seen that day leaving the apartment Phil had shown me. I had just assumed she was Phil's wife, but quickly realized my error the day of Renee's death. Alec kept one arm firmly glued to the slim waist of his wife as the trio exchanged hushed words. There was no way to tell from their current interaction if Jane and Phil still had something active on the side, and I added this onto the growing list of things to explore further.

Phil certainly hadn't seemed to remember our previous business dealings on Saturday when I had called on him at his parents' house for an interview. That day, he sat on the couch between his stern father and pinch-faced mother as he related how Renee's worsening mental state lead to the deterioration of their marriage. He had insinuated that she was fast becoming an alcoholic, and that it was starting to interfere with her judgment and parenting. When I asked what measures he had taken to ensure that the boys would not come to danger in her care, I saw his father nudge him with his foot as Phil hastily back-peddled, saying that Renee had always been a good mother. Phil seemed slightly more guarded after that, and after a few more words, his father interrupted and tried to wind up our interview. James Dwyer stated firmly that although the Dwyer family was clearly distressed at his daughter-in-law's sudden passing, it had not been entirely unexpected in view of the decline of her mental state.

I had to give the Dwyers one thing: while they might lack outward signs of empathy for Renee or any sense of responsibility, they were staunchly united in looking out for Phil's best interests. As James escorted me to my car, he reminded me of keeping the promise I made when they agreed to the interview. I was to send a copy of the article to them that night for their approval before it was submitted for publication, and any further requests for information were to go through him.

The arrival of the Cullens drew my attention from my observation of the Dwyers. My eyes focused on Bella, my heart clenching as I took in how pale she looked, and how bleak and flat her eyes were. She wore a beautiful print dress that made her legs seem to go on forever, but I couldn't tear my gaze away from the look of misery marring her pretty features. She seemed oblivious to the goings on around her, so wrapped up in her own sense of desolation that she was almost like a sleepwalker. The small boy holding her hand let go and he raced toward Phil, throwing himself at his legs. Phil patted him on the head absently, exchanging polite words with a handsome couple I assumed were Bella's aunt and uncle. The woman had hair the same shade of honeyed brown as Renee's, and she held the hand of a younger boy. For some reason, a large fluffy yellow dog was with them as well. Ignoring Bella and her cousin altogether, Phil gestured toward the church, and they all made their way up the stairs to gather in the foyer. I slipped unobtrusively around them and made my way back to my seat.

Everyone stood as the small procession of family members walked into the church. Phil led, his head bowed and face sad. Next came Bella and Esme with the little boys and the dog padding behind, a sight I still couldn't get used to in a church. Bella's uncle and cousin came next, and the Dwyers last. The service ran as those kinds of things do. The most interesting parts were the eulogy and watching Bella. She nuzzled the boy on her lap frequently, which seemed to calm and ground him, her arms surrounding the child's as she held onto him like a life preserver. The eulogy was delivered in parts, with Phil, Mr. Greene, Esme, and a former student of Renee's all taking a turn. Esme's and the students were done by video, as the girl was now studying English Literature at Oxford University in the UK. All spoke of Renee with fondness, recalling favored memories and recounting her admirable attributes.

Except Phil.

He spoke last, positioning himself carefully, his black suit a somber counterpoint to the riot of color behind him. The suit provided the perfect foil against the bright floral backdrop, making him stand out and underlying his solemnity. He was quite the showman with his pitiful speech, and the sobs and sniffs all around became more audible as he spoke of his heartbreak at his wife's decline. It was amazing to watch how he worked the crowd, and for a minute, I wondered if my cynicism was misplaced. Maybe he really was a man bereft.

I listened some more and realized he never once spoke of anything positive about his wife. He didn't refer to how his children or Bella were feeling. It was all about his loss and how it would affect him. It seemed I wasn't the only one to notice the focus of his carefully rehearsed speech. My attention was again drawn to Bella, and I saw her eyes were no longer desolate but blazing fiercely with anger. She seemed to struggle with herself the whole time he spoke, and I found myself wishing I was sitting next to her so I could hold her hand and stroke her fingers; anything to convey some sense of consolation. The urge to move to do so was so tempting that I found myself moving restlessly in my seat. After a while, Bella slipped back into her apathetic state.

Toward the end of the service, a slide show photographic tribute to Renee's life illuminated an overhead screen. Overexposed color pictures of her parents holding her as a newborn were followed by carefully posed school portraits and casual holiday snaps of her with her sister. Her graduation photo was replaced by a picture of her holding a baby with dark wispy hair. There was one of her and Bella on Bella's first day of school, her hair up in crooked pigtails. Another one showed Renee and Bella in matching Halloween costumes. Then came a shot from Phil and Renee's wedding, Bella standing next to her mother in an elegant dark red bridesmaid dress. At Bella's graduation Renee looked hugely pregnant, and the remaining shots were almost entirely of the Dwyers together. It was a somewhat surreal experience watching first her mother and then Bella grow to womanhood right before our eyes. In elegant script, the words "Renee's legacy" flowed across the screen, along with estimations of the number of students she had taught, how many graduated high school and then college. Someone had worked out how many hours she contributed to local fundraising and community ventures, and pictures of her at such activities were also featured. Lastly, there was a short video of Bella with her arms around her brothers, sitting in a garden, the three of them seemingly unaware of the camera as the boys gestured to a statue of an angel. As the images of the siblings' peaceful moment together played out, a pure and lilting voice recited a poignant verse as a background.

In those quiet moments in the still of the night
Remember to rejoice and celebrate life
Do not think of me gone and weep
I am not there, I do not sleep
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am the diamond glints on snow
I am the sunlight on the grain
I am the gentle autumn's rain
When you awaken in the morning hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
of quiet birds in flight
I am the soft stars that shine
You will hear my gentle voice
and remember to rejoice
Never give up your fight
and remember always
to celebrate life...

~oOo~

After the service, I followed the crowd into the church hall for the gathering after. The notice board covered with bright Post-Its and photos had been wheeled in from the foyer and was joined by another of the same size. It was covered by handmade cards, crayon drawings, and craft projects. So many Christmas and Mother's Day cards, valentines, and Thanksgiving pictures were pinned on it that they covered the cork and dangled off its wooden borders. Some are addressed "To Mommy," and had been signed first in wobbly writing, then clearer lettering by Bella and Afton. Corin's were all shaky, but he was only three. Then there were those done by former students. Those proclaimed "best teacher" and "my friend." Renee had saved them all, years and years worth of memories so obviously treasured. It was yet another illustration of the loss not just to her family, but to her wider community.

The divide between the Cullens and the Dwyers was subtle, but definitely there, both taking positions at opposite ends of the room. I chatted politely with a few people, but mostly skirted the mourners and discreetly eavesdropped on conversations while trying to keep an eye on Phil. As before the service, there was an almost constant procession of people shaking his hand and patting his shoulder or arm. His parents remained glued to his side, his father intervening if it seemed someone was taking up more time or if the conversation went too close to personal matters, like the state of their marriage or questions of exactly how Renee had committed suicide. It never failed to surprise me how little tact or sensitivity some people had, asking such things on the day of her funeral.

I was beginning to think nothing interesting would happen, so I slipped into the kitchen to get a drink. The church auxiliary ladies had apparently commandeered the catering, and I was quickly given a cup of coffee and a small plate of finger food before being propelled out another door. I wandered the corridor, looking for a place to sit in peace for a few minutes and, finding an open door, found myself in what looked to be a small study room. Several student-size tables were arranged into an odd square, an old bookshelf against the wall crammed with bibles, hymnals, and other religious books. I chose a seat in the corner so I couldn't be seen from the door if anyone did happen along here. The door itself had a window which reflected a fuzzy view of the brightly lit hallway, so I would see and hear anyone else coming. I had just finished eating when I heard the creak of a door and footsteps. I briefly debated excusing myself and returning to the hall when the sounds of the hushed conversation reached me, echoing softly up the corridor.

"I've missed you so much, baby!" a high-pitched, youthful voice simpered.

"Shh, keep it down! If anyone catches us we're in deep shit," a male voice hissed.

Looking toward the door, I could barely make out the reflected forms of a man and a woman. The man's clothing was dark, and so it could only be Phil. I couldn't make out much of the woman, other than she had long dark hair. She seemed to be trying to embrace him, and he was trying to push her away.

"Not here!" he hissed again. "I've missed our time together too, but this is her funeral for God's sake. We have to wait a decent amount of time before coming out, so it doesn't look so bad."

"But sweetie, I don't know if I can wait too much longer," the woman whined.

"We can still keep seeing each other," he murmured reassuringly. "We just have to keep being careful. My dad is all up in my business at the moment and never leaves me alone. He keeps reminding me that I have an image to maintain and there are eyes watching. You'll just have to be patient, sugar."

"You promised me, Phil! You can't just string me along forever. I do have some pride you know!"

The woman stalked off, her high heels clicking furiously. I heard Phil sigh loudly, and after a few minutes, he slipped away too.

So it seemed Phil had more than one secret. I wondered if his father knew or just suspected, or was merely mindful of public opinion. Picking up my dishes, I returned them to the kitchen and entered the hall the way I came.

Things were starting to wind down, and I noted the hall was beginning to empty. Spying Amanda Reed preparing to leave, I approached her and asked if she would be willing to talk to me a little more sometime over the next week. She agreed readily, and after we set a day and time, we walked out to the forecourt again before saying goodbye. The Dwyers were nowhere to be seen, and the Cullens were thanking mourners as they got ready to leave. Bella was also missing. As I approached, Bella's cousin's face lit with recognition.

"Oh, hey! I know your name now. You're Edward." She reached out and we shook hands. "I'm Alice by the way." She tugged my hand, bringing me closer to introduce me to her parents, Esme and Carlisle.

"It was a beautiful service, a real credit to you all," I offered sincerely. "I felt like I got to know Mrs. Dwyer in a much more personal way."

"Oh, thank you, Edward," Esme exclaimed, reaching out to touch my arm lightly. "The story you wrote about Renee was lovely, and the boys were thrilled to bits to see her picture in the paper. It's pinned on the wall in their room." Her small smile was tinged with sadness. "We also heard we have you to thank for making Bella let us know she was okay the other night. We've been so worried about her, so we were so grateful to hear she had someone she felt she could talk to."

Carlisle cast a critical eye over me, and apparently deciding that I measured up to whatever internal scan he was running, clapped me on the shoulder.

"You should come over for dinner soon so we can talk more somewhere a little more normal," Carlisle suggested. "Bella doesn't take so quickly to many people, so anyone she counts as a friend is worth getting to know."

I almost blushed at their praise, sensing their genuine generosity and care for Bella.

"Sure. That would be great. I don't want to make Bella uncomfortable though." I didn't know how she would feel about me being invited over. She might prefer to keep those parts of her life separate.

We were interrupted by a couple wanting to talk to Esme and Carlisle before leaving. As they politely turned their attention to the guests, Alice spoke again.

"Dad's right, you know. Bella rarely confides in anyone. I think she really needs it at the moment, so please don't screw it up." She gave me a fierce look, and despite her small stature, I got the distinct feeling that Alice Cullen was not someone to be fucked with. "I promise I will maim you permanently if you do anything to hurt her." I was beginning to feel slightly alarmed when she beamed at me. "I get the feeling that meeting you could be the one good thing that comes out of this whole terrible situation. Call her soon, Edward. Gotta go." With that, she flitted off, chasing after one of the boys as he ran down the stairs.

As I drove home later, I went over everything I had seen and heard over the last few days as I considered what answer I would give Bella. My deliberations were constantly interrupted by thoughts of what she was doing and how she was feeling after the emotional stress of the day. Where was she now? Was she alone, or was she being tended to and comforted by her family? Had she actually talked to them, or had she continued to bury all her concerns and hide her fears from them? Would she need some distraction perhaps?

Shaking my head at myself, I realized the decision had been made as soon as I helped her into my Volvo. All day, I had effectively been on the case, looking at Phil with a critical eye. Once I had seen for myself the first chink in his pretense of respectability, he became a solid suspect, and the appeal of the chase took hold. When I got home, I changed and sat down to write notes, carefully documenting and cataloguing everything I had seen and heard since I first became involved in the case. It was almost dark when I finished, and I ate a hasty meal before trying Bella's number.

There was no answer, so I left a voice mail and sent a text for good measure. After an hour, I began to get concerned. I knew she was waiting to hear from me and was anxious to get started. I tried again, leaving another message. I debated whether it would make me look even more like a stalker, after the unsolicited letter I had already sent to her, but in the end, my sense of unease won out. Scrolling through the recently dialed numbers, I found the one Bella had phoned three nights ago when I had urged her to call home. I dialed it.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Esme? This is Edward Masen. Sorry to call, but I'm worried about Bella. I tried calling earlier but got no reply."

"She went back to her house by herself. She refused to let any of us go check on her, and we're a little worried about her too. Um…maybe…" Her voice was hesitant, and there was something else. A hint of suggestion.

"Maybe I could go check on her. I need to talk to her about something anyway, but if she's not in the mood, at least we'll all know she's okay."

"Would you, Edward?" Her relief was palpable. "I'd be grateful if you could. Please don't tell her I put you up to it though."

I smiled, even though I knew she couldn't see me. Reassuring her that her secret was safe with me, I didn't think it was necessary to tell her that was what I wanted to do in the first place. I made me goodbyes and got ready to go.

I was going to pay a visit to Bella.


I'm going to post the next chapter in two weeks, instead of my usual weekly schedule. Don't panic! I'm not abandoning this story. I wouldn't have started posting it at all if I had no committment to following it through. Just look at my previous story and posting regularity if you need further assurance.

In the meantime, you could always review...