Felicity's phone buzzed at seven-forty-five in the morning, a time she considered highly unreasonable for a Saturday. Still in bed, she grabbed the offending device from the nightstand and prayed she wasn't getting called to another homicide. It would be unusual for the department to assign her a second case when she was busy with Isabel's murder, but it wasn't entirely unheard of.

She pushed the hair out of her eyes and blinked at the screen, surprised to see that the call was from Sin. Her annoyance instantly transitioned into worry. Sin avoided early mornings with even more determination than Felicity.

"Is everything okay?" Felicity asked, skipping the greetings and not bothering to block video.

"Good as gold," Sin replied.

Felicity paused, taken aback by the cheerful response. "Then why the hell are you calling me this early?"

"Well, good morning to you too, Cranky-pants. Not enough rest?" A gleam came into Sin's eye. "The game didn't go that late. Maybe you were up doing something else last night."

Felicity frowned, wondering how Sin knew she'd gotten on her computer after the game to research Anatoly. The idea of digging into the Russian's data had been on her mind ever since Diggle had put it there a couple of days ago. She hadn't been sleepy when she'd gotten home and a little hacking felt like a more productive thing to do than tossing in bed and dwelling on her conversation with Oliver Queen.

She sighed, "Fine, Sin. I admit I did some work when I got home after the game. Happy?"

"Work," Sin repeated dryly.

"Yeah, you know, work. Why? What did you think I had done? And what about you? Did you even go to sleep? Or are you still up celebrating your two goals?"

Sin grinned. "It was a good game, wasn't it? That Amazon they had on defense thought she was going to push me into the boards, but she never even got near me. It was really satisfying to score the second goal in overtime." She paused. "Nice PJs, by the way. I like the penguins. And your hair is especially attractive this morning."

"Their defense couldn't touch you," Felicity agreed, flopping back onto the pillows. "It was a great way to kick off the season. And what did you expect with my hair? I'm still in bed. This is not a reasonable hour for you to be calling."

The grin remained on Sin's face. "No, it's not, but I couldn't wait any longer to talk to you. Apparently I wasn't the only one who was scoring last night. Way to go, Smoakie."

"Huh?"

"You and Oliver Queen. I take back what I said a couple of days ago about him not being smart enough to see your worth. The guy was interested enough to find you in an arena of twelve thousand people. That's pretty frosty. In fact, I'm a little surprised that you're alone in bed this morning. I thought maybe you were up late because nature had taken its course."

Felicity gritted her teeth. Roy. Apparently, their childhood friend hadn't wasted any time telling Sin about Oliver coming over to talk to her.

"Look, Sin, whatever Roy told you-"

"Roy didn't tell me anything. I went to Inside Star City this morning to see what they said about the game and there you were, right at the top of the blog. Couldn't miss it."

"What?"

"Front page of the website, my dear. You and Queen, holding hands at the arena. It's cute. You make an attractive couple."

Felicity sat up in bed. "Please tell me that you're joking."

"Check it out for yourself."

"Shit. Give me a minute. " Felicity slid out of bed and trotted to her home office. "Computer on," she barked as she passed through the doorway. As the screen came to life, she added, "Show me, Inside Star City."

A soft hum from the machine and there it was. A photo of Oliver standing with her in the alcove at the arena, holding her hand. The caption beneath the photo read:

We guess Oliver Queen never heard the adage,"men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses" because he appeared very interested in a spectacle-wearing blonde at last night's Lucky Stars game. Queen recently purchased the hockey team, and according to sources, hopes to work his business magic to bolster crowds and revenue. We're all for it, if it means more jobs and a championship trophy. It looks like he's off to a great start with public relations.

Sources were unable to discover the name of the blonde.

"Oh fuck." Felicity sat in her computer chair and put her head in her hands. "Fuckity, fuck, fuck."

"C'mon, Smoak." Sin's voice was cheerful over the phone. "It's not that bad. They didn't get your name."

"They don't need my name. All my commander has to do is see the picture. As far as he's concerned, Oliver is a person of interest in Isabel Rochev's murder. It really doesn't look good for me to be cozying up to him."

"If it's any consolation, Queen looks like he's doing most of the cozying. I mean, look at the man's face."

Felicity reluctantly lifted her head and peered at the photo. It was true her expression was a bit more neutral than Oliver's. His smile appeared warm and intense while hers looked a little cautious. Still, she was holding his hand.

"I am so screwed," was all she could think of to say.

Sin chuckled. "Does your commander even read the gossip blogs?"

Felicity brightened. "No, he doesn't." Then, recollecting an earlier briefing with Diggle, her heart sank again. "But his wife does," she added. "I'm sure she'll tell him."

Sin's face sobered, although Felicity could swear her friend was suppressing the urge to laugh.

"Maybe you could hack Inside Star City and take down the photo," Sin suggested. "Limit the damage."

Felicity considered the idea. Removing the photo was easily within her abilities. But too many early birds had seen it by now. If the photo mysteriously disappeared, Inside Star City could report the hack and Diggle might suspect her involvement.

"It's too late," Felicity mumbled. "I'm going to have to take my lumps."

"There are worse lumps to take," Sin replied unsympathetically, "than having Oliver Queen look at you like you're water in the desert. Unless he's a murderer. Is he?"

"No. But I don't think his look is entirely sincere either," Felicity said. "He was at the hockey game with another woman. He really had no business holding my hand at all. And you said it yourself, the other day - he's an expert womanizer. "

"Oh, what do I know? The only person who looks at me with stars in his eyes is Coach after I score a hat trick. And may I point out that Inside Star City didn't catch him holding hands with this other woman...whoever she was. They caught him with you. You owe it to yourself to at least figure out if Queen is sincere. And that means spending time with the man. So the next time he comes up to you and takes your hand, hang on and see what happens."

"And if I find out he's not sincere?"

Sin sighed. "Then your heart will be dented for a little while. You've been through worse. You'll get over it."

"You make it sound easy."

"Of course it's not easy. But it's life."

"Right."

They were silent. Felicity was about to change the subject and tell Sin about her conversation with Roy, when her phone signaled an incoming call. She looked at the ID and grimaced. "Shit."

"Problem?"

"It's the commander. I think I'm about to take my lumps."

The tapping on Oliver's bedroom door disguised itself as part of his dream. He was floating amid the wreckage of the plane crash, bobbing up and down in the waves, his skin saturated in seawater and blue with cold. When his body slid into the troughs he could see nothing; not his family, not Tommy, not even the plane. Just the seat cushion he was clinging to and the blue-green wall of water in front of him. When he rose on the waves' crests, a section of the fuselage appeared along with scattered debris, but still no people. He was alone under a huge grey sky, fighting for breath in the freezing salt water.

The tapping was coming from the section of fuselage. There must be people inside it, he realized, still trapped in their seats. He tried to swim toward it, but any progress he made was cancelled when the waves inexorably pulled him away. The fuselage was sinking and the tapping was growing louder and more frantic. He wanted to save the people before they drowned - needed to save them - as much to avoid being alone as to keep them alive, but he couldn't make headway against the power of the ocean. He struggled harder, only to be driven back by even more force.

"Oliver."

Someone in the fuselage was saying his name, calling for him. He took a gulp of air and kicked desperately. The waves drove him back once again.

"Oliver!"

He opened his eyes and saw a wall of pillows where there had been a wall of water. The pillows were cream-colored, motionless and utterly nonthreatening.

It had been a dream. Just a fucking dream.

He breathed out in relief and rolled onto his back, gazing up at the clean white ceiling of his bedroom. He felt a bead of sweat roll down his temple. Then he saw Tommy staring down at him.

"Bad dream," Oliver said.

Tommy took in the tangled sheets and the perspiration on Oliver's forehead. "No kidding."

"Was I shouting?"

"No. I came in to check on you because it's late...at least by your standards. When you didn't show downstairs for breakfast, I wondered if you were sick."

"What time is it?"

"Almost nine."

"Seriously?" Oliver sat up and looked at the clock on the bedside table. Eight-fifty-two. "Wow."

"I know. It's the equivalent of sleeping until noon for most people." Tommy walked to the window and pulled open the drapes, allowing sunshine to fill the room. "In all fairness, you got home late after the hockey game - later than I was expecting. Did you oversleep because you burned a lot of energy taking Ms. Williams home and banging her senseless? That would be an acceptable excuse."

"No," Oliver said, then immediately wished he'd lied. He didn't want to tell Tommy that he'd spent three hours hiding in the shadows outside Felicity Smoak's building to make certain the Bratva didn't follow her inside. "I, um, spent time with the team's staff after the game, digging into operations. Then I spent more time with the financials."

"The financials," Tommy repeated, and turned from the window to study Oliver. "Oh-oh. I know that look."

"What look?" Could his friend tell that he was fibbing?

"The look that says Ms. Williams is about to get the patented Oliver Queen, let 'em down gently ghosting." Tommy gave a dry chuckle. "Funny, for all that I bad-mouthed her, I thought she would last longer."

Oliver rubbed his chin and didn't bother to deny it. "You sound disappointed. I didn't think you were happy about me going out with a reporter."

"I wasn't. I figured it was only a matter of time before Susan started asking uncomfortable questions. But she is an attractive, intelligent woman and she knows how to handle publicity. She isn't needy, either, which is an absolute requirement for any woman who gets involved with you. Since it's not in your nature to be celibate, I believed you could do worse. I think a reporter is better than a cop, for example, which is where you seem to be turning your attention." Tommy's voice became sharp.

Oliver's brow furrowed. "What?"

His friend walked to the wall screen and tapped the On button. Then he said, "Show me, Inside Star City."

And in a couple of heartbeats, Oliver was looking at a photo of himself holding Felicity's hand. He was gazing into her eyes and smiling, as if they were sharing a private joke. He wasn't entirely surprised to see the picture. He knew that he was tempting fodder for the gossip blogs, and even though he hadn't noticed anyone taking it, he and Felicity had been surrounded by people with cell phones. It happened from time to time.

Tommy shook his head. "You're supposed to be done with her, Oliver. You gave her the security discs, you proved that you were at home when Isabel was killed. She has no reason to look at you further. So why the hell are you holding her hand at a hockey game?"

His friend wasn't angry, Oliver decided. He was worried. Or maybe he was both.

Oliver hastened to reassure. "Running into the detective was a fluke," he explained. "I saw her in the friends and family section of the arena and went over to talk for a minute. There's nothing more to it than that."

"That doesn't look like talking. That looks like you putting the moves on her."

"I wasn't, believe me. The photo just catches us at a weird moment. We were actually discussing business."

"Business," Tommy repeated flatly. He turned to study the photo and crossed his arms over his chest. "There is absolutely nothing businesslike about that picture." He closed his eyes and sighed. "Do you know why this bothers me so much, Oliver?"

"No, but I have a feeling you're going to tell me."

"Damn right I am. It bothers me because you look happy - stupidly happy. At peace. Like you're not thinking. Like your guard is down."

"It's not."

"Are you sure?" Tommy turned away from the screen, back toward Oliver. "I've watched you with a lot of women since we got home and never once did I worry that you weren't in control. Every time, every woman - you've had the situation handled. But with her," he gestured at the screen, "I think you relax. I think you allow yourself to let go."

Oliver started to contradict it, his instinct to declare that he was as much in control as ever. Then he paused. Tommy was his oldest friend and he'd helped Oliver through the worst moments of his life. He deserved a thoughtful answer, not an automatic denial.

Oliver leaned back on the pillows and looked at the photo, trying to recall how he'd felt when he'd talked to Felicity. He'd been worried about the Bratva. He'd been curious, and to be honest, a little annoyed to see her out with another guy. But in those seconds that he'd held her hand? Yeah - he'd been happy. Happy in an uncomplicated way that he remembered from a time long ago, before plane crashes and running a business. It felt good.

He took a deep breath. "Maybe you're right, Tommy. Maybe I was happy at that moment, and maybe I was at peace. But it doesn't mean my guard was down."

"Judging from your expression in the photo, I beg to differ. You've already told me a half dozen times how smart she is. Not to mention that she's an accomplished hacker. One little slip from you and she could learn a whole lot more than either of you want her to know."

Oliver couldn't argue with Tommy. But he also couldn't ignore the fact that there was something about Felicity that made him inherently trust her. And he wanted people in his life that he could trust. There were so few of them.

He sat up in the bed. "I'm going to let you in on something, Tommy. Something that I haven't even wanted to admit to myself." He looked down at his hand and saw that it was gripping the sheet tightly. "Being in control all the time is exhausting. Exhausting," he repeated. "And it's lonely. I can't live the rest of my life this way. I need a partner - in addition to you - that I can trust and lean on. If I can't ever have that, I'll turn into my father." It was the first time he'd given voice to the thought. It frightened him a little.

Tommy stared at him, his face showing anger but also surprise. For a long moment he said nothing. Then he walked to a chair in a corner of the bedroom and dropped into it. "Oh Christ, Oliver. I feel like the world's biggest ass harping on you like this. You've been coping with the shit you were handed for so long that I guess I started to believe you didn't mind it, that you were invincible. I stopped thinking about how hard it is for you."

Oliver smiled weakly. "If it's any consolation, I've tried to convince myself that I'm invincible too. I just don't know how much longer I can keep doing it."

Tommy pointed at the photo. "Do you know how long it's been since I've seen you look like that? Just...happy? These days, when you smile it's usually predatory. You know, you just closed a big deal and made another billion or two. There's nothing peaceful about it. But in that picture? You look like you don't have a care in the world."

Encouraged to see Tommy's anger waning, Oliver slumped back into the pillows. "I like her," he confessed. "She's smart, funny and incredibly honest. With most women I find myself wondering about their motives within the first half hour. Are they after my money? Do they just want to be seen on my arm or sleep with me so they can boast to their girlfriends? I don't think she cares about any of that. In fact, I'm pretty damn sure she'll be upset about this blog." He shook his head. "I said something to her last night that she didn't like, and she told me she expected better from me. Who else would say that - except maybe you?"

Tommy gave him a wry smile. "So you like her because she gets on your case."

"I like her because she's true to herself...and doesn't change to be something she thinks I want. It also doesn't hurt that she's pretty damn cute. I mean, look at her in that ball cap." He pointed at the screen.

Tommy didn't look. He sighed. "As your friend, I'm happy for you, Oliver. Really I am. But why on earth does this life epiphany have to be with a cop? Couldn't you find a hair stylist or a chef that gives you the same feeling? You know, some profession that isn't dedicated to finding the truth and rooting out crime?"

"It's not like I planned it."

"I suppose not." Tommy leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs. "So is that where you really were last night? With her?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I followed her to make sure she got home all right."

"Followed her?" Tommy's brow furrowed. "Does she know?" When Oliver said nothing, he added, "You mean, like a stalker?"

"No, not like a stalker. More like protection duty."

"She's a grownup and a cop, Oliver. My guess is that she can get home fine on her own. She's been doing it for years."

Oliver narrowed his eyes. "Not with the Bratva tailing her. And they are, Tommy. There was a guy at the game last night who didn't take his eyes off of her."

Tommy stiffened. "The Bratva?" he repeated flatly. "Why the hell would they be following her? Unless-"

"It's nothing to do with me. It's tied to Isabel's murder. Felicity told Anatoly that Isabel was using street drugs and he's having her followed in hopes she'll lead him to the dealer."

"Anatoly is in Star City?"

"Yeah. Did I forget to mention that?"

"Must have slipped your mind." Tommy's voice was dry. "So, what are you going to do about it? Obviously you can't follow your detective twenty-four-seven."

"No. But it occurred to me last night that I invested in a security business a few years ago. I called McKenna Hall and she's got a couple of her people keeping an eye on Felicity's apartment, as we speak."

Tommy grinned unexpectedly. "Only you could get away with asking one girlfriend to keep an eye on another."

"Neither one of them is actually-"

"Never mind, Oliver." Tommy shook his head, the grin fading. "You know, the detective may not like it if she finds out you're having her followed."

"That's the beauty of the plan. Felicity already knows the Bratva are following her. If, by some chance, she makes McKenna's guys, she'll assume they're Bratva."

"Well, isn't that convenient. You're just full of answers this morning."

"Pretty good for nine on a Saturday, huh?" Oliver felt his mood lightening.

Tommy rose from the chair and walked to the doorway. He paused, resting one hand on the jamb. Then he turned. "So tell me, Oliver, do you have an answer for this one? I know I keep saying it, but she's a cop, pal. A cop. And as much as I like seeing you happy, your life isn't exactly cop-friendly. You have secrets; some of them pretty damn dark."

"Tommy-"

"If you like her as much as you say you do, if she's as smart and honest as you say she is, how long is she going to put up with you keeping things from her? What are you going to say when she starts asking questions that you don't want to answer? And how are you ever going to be able to lean on her the way you'd like, if you can't share everything with her?"

And just like that, Oliver's light mood vanished, replaced by worry once again. Tommy had asked the very question that he'd been trying hard not to think about.

He swallowed. "No," he replied. "No, I don't have an answer for that."

Diggle didn't pull his punches. When she answered her phone, Felicity allowed herself to hope for a few, brief seconds, that her commander was merely calling for an update on the case. That hope was dispelled quickly.

"'Morning, Smoak," Diggle said, his voice crisp. "Did you enjoy the hockey game last night?"

So, he'd seen the photo. She sunk into her computer chair and closed her eyes. "Sir-"

"My wife certainly thought it looked like you were having a good time. She pointed your picture out to me this morning over breakfast."

"It's not-"

"I had to check it twice. My first thought was that you might have a doppelganger. Because when I think of all my detectives, you're not the one I considered likely to break the rules and go on a date with a suspect."

"It wasn't a-"

"But the glasses kind of gave it away. I mean, who else under the age of seventy actually wears glasses these days? My next thought was that you'd developed a new interrogation technique. Hand-holding. I thought maybe we'd missed something all these years in the department when we took a hard line with suspects. Maybe we should be adding hand-holding to the curriculum at the academy."

"We weren't-"

"I told myself the technique might be working. After all, Queen looks pretty damn happy in the picture. I thought to myself, maybe the man is spilling his guts to her."

Felicity gave up trying to speak. She waited for him to say his piece.

"I also reminded myself that you're a smart woman who has closed cases in surprising ways before. I told myself not to jump to conclusions - to ask first. So, I'm asking, Smoak. Has this unconventional investigative technique of yours yielded results? Because it's been three days and you haven't made an arrest yet. I don't believe you've even brought anyone into HQ for an interview."

Felicity continued to wait.

"That wasn't a rhetorical question, Smoak."

"Oh. Sorry, sir. It was hard to tell."

The words slipped out before she could stop them. Not a good time for sarcasm, Felicity.

Diggle stared at her over the phone screen. Then his expression softened.

"Fine. I suppose I had that one coming. But can you please explain yourself?"

Felicity took a deep breath. "First of all, Oliver isn't a suspect any longer. I checked the security footage from the gala and Oliver's home, and he was definitely at home when she was killed. I also don't believe," she continued quickly, when Diggle opened his mouth, "that he would have hired anyone to kill her. He has no motive. He didn't love her...didn't even like her very much, so jealousy or possessiveness isn't an issue. And DED hasn't turned up any signs of blackmail. "

There was a pause as Diggle absorbed the information. Felicity wondered how often she was going to have to recite the same story before the SCPD would accept that Oliver didn't kill Isabel.

Her commander eventually nodded. "So you believe you cleared Queen," he said slowly. "That doesn't mean it was a good idea to go on a date with him."

"I didn't go on a date with him. I went to a hockey game to watch my friend Sin play. Maybe you remember Sin from when I was in school?" At Diggle's look of acknowledgement, she continued, "Oliver saw me there and came over to talk to me. The way it looks in the photo - well, it was just timing. I swear to you, we weren't really holding hands." Well, mostly not.

"I see." Diggle paused again. Felicity waited, resisting the urge to offer more of an explanation. She was afraid she would start babbling.

After a moment, Diggle cleared his throat. "Okay then. We'll forget about the hockey game for now. You had a couple of other leads that you were pursuing. Where are you with them?"

"I'm leaning away from thinking this has anything to do with the Bratva."

"Because?"

"Because someone went out of their way to let us know that Isabel used drugs." Felicity filled him in on the planted vial of Zoomer and faked calls from the dealer. "I can't see a reason for the Bratva to call attention to her drug use - they know we're already watching them as a supplier to Star City. And, I...um...did a little research last night on Anatoly. I couldn't find anything that suggests he received warnings or threats from the Bratva or anyone else." She watched her commander anxiously. She had essentially just admitted to him that she'd hacked the Russian.

Diggle pressed his lips together. "That's...good...I suppose, but it doesn't close the door on the Bratva entirely. Maybe they reached out to Anatoly in a way that wasn't electronic."

Relieved that he hadn't reacted to the hack, she shrugged. "Maybe. But that wouldn't explain why they're following me now to find Isabel's dealer. If they're responsible for her death, they would already know who killed her."

She winced the second the words were out of her mouth. That was a fucking stupid thing to say, Felicity.

Diggle's face cycled through several emotions. He settled on angry. "You're being followed by the Bratva?"

"Yes, sir."

"Since when?"

"Since yesterday morning."

"And you didn't think it necessary to inform me?"

She tried to explain. "I'm handling it, sir. It really hasn't been a problem."

"You're being followed by an organized crime syndicate and you don't think it's a problem." His voice was hard. "I don't suppose this has anything to do with you wanting to keep the case. We talked about handing it over to the feds if the Bratva is involved."

"But that's just it. I don't think they're involved, not in Isabel's murder. Anatoly just wants to find out who was selling drugs to her. Sir, you know the feds won't care about solving the murder. They're looking for something to hang on the Bratva. If they get involved, we'll never find out who killed her."

Diggle narrowed his eyes. "You've got three minutes to convince me you should keep working this. If you can't, we're calling the feds."

"Right." Taking a breath, she updated him on Anatoly's visit to HQ, including how she'd let the Russian know about the drugs.

"I screwed up," she admitted. "I should have kept my mouth shut. I just figured that Anatoly would poke around within the Bratva to see if someone was selling to Isabel. But instead he's had a guy tailing me ever since to see if I'll lead him to her dealer. But - honestly - it hasn't been a problem. I've managed to drop the tail when it matters and they haven't done a thing to threaten me. I don't want to walk away from this case. I feel like I owe Ramirez. I've put him in danger and he won't be safe til we find Isabel's killer. And he's got a little girl."

"I see." Diggle studied her over the phone screen. "And you want fathers to stay with their daughters - always." His voice was gentle.

Shit. She closed her eyes. "Sir-"

"You did screw up," Diggle interrupted, saving them both from her emotions. "With what you knew at the time, though, I might have risked telling Anatoly myself. It wasn't a completely bone-headed move."

She felt a little better.

"I'm going to let you hang onto the case for another day or two," Diggle continued, "partly because of what you just told me, but mostly because I think you're right about the killer planting the evidence leading us to Isabel's drug use...and about him wanting to ruin her reputation."

Felicity raised her eyebrows. "You think I'm right?"

"Did you see this morning's Star Post-Gazette?"

"No, not yet."

"Take a look. I'll wait."

Felicity turned toward the monitor. "Computer," she said, "show me today's Star Post-Gazette, the commentary section."

A flicker of the screen and there it was.

Murdered Ballerina Tied to Illegal Drug Use

Isabel Rochev, found dead Wednesday morning in the Glades, is believed to have gone there late Tuesday night to purchase drugs. The SCPD's investigation has uncovered evidence that Star City's principal ballerina was using illegal amphetamines, most likely to enhance her performance on stage. The case has been an unusual one. Rochev was killed by an arrow in her heart, the same method the Star City Archer used decades ago to dispatch criminals. To date, police have been baffled by both the location and the mode of her death. It appears they've now learned that Rochev had pattern of criminal behavior...

Felicity sat back and looked at her commander over the phone.

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that you're not surprised to see this," Diggle said. "It fits perfectly with your theory of the killer leaking the story to discredit Isabel."

"Yes."

"So, do you think this is the start of a pattern? That he'll go after other people he's decided are bad guys?"

"I've been asking myself that question five times a day, sir. I just don't know. I'm hoping to catch him before he gets the chance to try again."

Diggle nodded. "So, what's your next move?"

"I'm digging into the former drug dealer's computer this morning. I'm hoping digital forensics will lead me to the person who planted the call - probably the same person who planted the vial in Isabel's apartment."

"I see. You know what question I'm asking myself five times today, Smoak?"

"Sir?"

"I'm asking myself how the killer knows where we are in our investigation." When she didn't reply, he added, "Based on the story the killer fed the Post-Gazette, it sounds like he's keeping tabs on our activities."

Felicity frowned, not wanting to follow the commander's thought to its logical conclusion.

"Smoak?"

She sighed. "You're suggesting the killer knows someone in the department." Or is someone in the department. She shook her head. "I'm not ready to go there. The timing of the story could just be a coincidence. The killer got tired of waiting for the police to reveal Isabel's drug use so he decided to leak it himself."

"I suppose." But Diggle appeared doubtful. He gave her a nod. "Well, I take back what I said earlier about not much happening after three days on the investigation. I can see you've been busy. Follow your plan for the day and I'll do my best to keep Chief Lance off your back."

Felicity started. "Chief Lance?"

"You don't think I'm the only one who's seen this morning's photo, do you?"

Fuck. Felicity put her head in her hands. "I didn't figure the chief to be the kind of guy who reads Inside Star City. And he's divorced, so his wife wouldn't have seen it either."

Diggle grinned. It was an unexpectedly lighthearted expression, given the gravity of the situation. "Yes, he's divorced," he agreed, "but he also has a daughter who once dated Queen. I wouldn't be surprised if she's seen it and said something to him."

Laurel Lance. Felicity had forgotten about her. "Great," was all she could find to say.

Diggle's eyes twinkled for a few seconds longer. Then he sobered. "Are you sure you're going to be okay with the Bratva on your heels? That's not such a joking matter."

She nodded. "I've got a plan for the Bratva."

"Then get to it. I'll expect a call if you can't get rid of the tail today."

"Yes, sir."

"Very good. Oh...and nice pajamas, by the way." And the commander disconnected before she could respond.

Felicity looked down at herself. "Shit."