A/N: Thanks so much for all your wonderful thoughts.

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 20 – Securing the Witness

Edward

Midnight finds us in one of the sub-basement floors of FBI Headquarters - the agency's private medical facilities. Currently, I pace the floors stiffly, hands clenched at my sides, and the fierce umbrage of the past hours as potent as it was then, though I'm attempting to rein it in so that I can present a composed, coherent, and competent case that won't appear ruled by emotion.

"I want her off the case, stat. She disregarded the operational protocols in place, disobeyed direct orders, and endangered Isabella's life."

"Edward-"

Before Whitlock can move beyond my name, Rosalie interjects with her type of justification, which completely disregards the fact that she has no leg to stand on.

"I did what had to be done."

"What had to be done." I echo the words flatly, an inflectionless monotone that belies how near to detonation I seriously am.

"She removed evidence from Penn's residence, and she was trying to escape with it."

My pacing ceases, and as I take a stand in front of my sister, I keep my hands locked against my thighs, curtailing the temptation to reach up and wrap them around her neck.

"She wasn't trying to escape with anything. She was on her way to meet me until you decided to go rogue and carry out your own, unsanctioned, one-woman op. Even after that, when I caught up with her, you managed to fuck that up as well."

Composed may be rapidly flying out the window, especially when Rosalie offers me a brash, unrepentant snort.

"You caught her? From where I was standing, it looked more the other way around. I had no choice but to intervene."

Flames lick at my peripheral vision, then swell and spread like wildfire so that everything shades in a haze of scarlet. Along with it, all possibility of an emotionless delivery evaporates like the heavy smoke expelled from my nostrils – and possibly my ears as well.

"Rosalie, do you know what the real problem was out there?"

"What was the real problem out there, Edward?"

Her tone is defiant but also holds a hint of wariness that seeps and darkens her eyes regardless of her attempts to camouflage her insecurity. When I offer her a caustic grin, it narrows her gaze almost imperceptibly and betrays her unruffled façade all the more.

"The real problem is that there's a reason why your job is to shuffle papers, why you sit in on meetings, why you obtain signatures, supplies, and carry questions and instructions back and forth from your superiors to the field agents. You have a great analytical mind, Rosalie; yes, you do. It's imperative to your job…but you have absolute zero instinct for the field. Never mind following orders; a field agent with a modicum of instinct," I pinch two fingers together tightly in front of her face, "would've known not to chase an individual who'd already agreed to a meeting at a designated time and place, Agent R. Cullen."

Every word tumbles forth in an ever-hastening rush of acerbity so that by the time I finish, the last few words get spat through clenched teeth scathingly, a tone that makes it sound more like an expletive than like her title. All the while, Rosalie's features pale in mortification, and then just a swiftly burn in outrage.

"Go to hell, Edward!"

Whitlock attempts another intervention, but with the vitriol now spewing freely between my twin sister and me, he's unable to get a word in edgewise.

I offer Rosalie a sharp retort on the heels of a mirthless chuckle.

"Go to hell, huh? Hm," I nod ponderously. "That's the defense of every individual with absolutely no rational justification for their actions."

When she takes a step toward me, I take a step toward her, and Whitlock swiftly prods his way between us.

"Agents Cullen, that's more than enough."

Clawing a hand around Rosalie's shoulder and mine, Whitlock assumes an authoritative stance, unblinking eyes flashing warnings between Rosalie and me. With an audible breath, he releases us and scrubs a hand down his face.

"Look, this raid was an overall success-"

"A success," I snarl in disbelief, "by whose standards?"

"An overall success by Haywood's standards."

Dropping my head, I shake it from side to side while pinching the bridge of my nose.

"Edward, unquestionably, there were operational…deviations," Jasper qualifies, "as evidenced by two dead suspects and a possible witness who should've been easy to acquire yet led a dozen of my agents on a wild chase around the city. A wild chase which ended with half of those dozen agents injured, including you two-"

"A few fucking bumps and bruises."

I acknowledge them dismissively, scowling at Rosalie. Any injuries she sustained are out of sight and set to heal in a matter of days. And while I've got a busted lip, a black eye, and a bruised jaw, courtesy of Bella, I would've sustained more, much more to keep her from what she endured tonight…what she's suffered over the past few years.

"-and four other agents receiving injuries that were a bit more serious – at the hands of a fellow agent no less…"

Whitlock glowers at me while I swat that particular reproof away with a careless wave of neither sympathy nor remorse.

"-and…with the witness herself injured," Whitlock rounds out.

And that right there is why I couldn't care less at the moment about those injured agents or about whatever black-and-blues and sore muscles will plague Rosalie and me come morning. As far as I'm concerned, we all got what we deserved, all except for Bella, who ended up hurt for…for trusting me.

That knowledge is the most painful injury, the deserved metaphorical knife to the gut.

While these thoughts make their agonizing circuit through my mind, both Rosalie and I prep for further bitter contention, though how she can still find the utter gall to offer a defensive argument mystifies me. But Whitlock pierces us with a scathing glare that boomerangs back and forth, unwilling to entertain any more dispute from either side. Assured neither of us plans to disregard his further demands for subordination, he exhales once again.

"All this will be documented in the interim and final reports, and any and all reprimands-"

"Reprimands? This goes way beyond mere reprimands, and yes," – I forestall his further accusations with a palm extended toward him – "I'll take my full share of responsibility and any disciplinary action that accompanies it, but Isabella could've died, and that's no exaggeration."

I swallow back the bile which that possibility still causes – even hours later, even knowing that despite her injuries, she's safe – while gesturing wildly toward the examination room down the hall, where Bella has been receiving medical attention since we arrived.

"She's in there because Rosalie refused just to stand the hell down, and we're talking mere reprimand?"

"You shot two suspects, and you want me to get hell for chasing one?"

"Rosalie," I snort, shaking my head, "if you still don't see the difference there, never mind a lack of instinct; you're just plain stupid."

"Kiss my-"

"Go ahead," – I curl my fingers in a 'bring-it-on' gesture – "run your mouth and prove my point."

"You are such a goddamn-"

"Rosalie."

Whitlock squares his jaw and shakes his head in long, exaggerated, and exasperated motions. Rosalie's nostrils flare, but she shut her mouth.

"You're a valuable assistant and an integral part of this case, but you disobeyed orders, and there will be consequences. Now, at this moment, you're not adding any value to this process, so please go home and get some rest, and we'll pick this up and any disciplinary actions in the morning."

That she can still stand there, eyes growing wide as if she's been blindsided by an unmerited reprimand just further fuels my ire. I await another defensive retort on her part so that I can shoot it down because she has no goddamn defense, but she appears to at least grasp the benefits of silence for now.

For now. I know my sister.

With one last dagger-like scowl in my direction, Rosalie turns on her heel, storms around the corner, and heads for the elevators. Once she's disappeared, Jasper and I are left alone in the brightly lit, nauseatingly ivory hallway.

He rests his back against the wall and exhales a long breath. "Long night."

"I'm not working with her on this case anymore," I restate, crossing my arms against my chest. It aches where Bella kicked me, and perhaps masochistically, I revel in that ache.

"Unfortunately, that's neither your call nor mine. She'll be disciplined, yes, but most likely not until the end of this case. The fact is she is valuable, and in a results-oriented agency, both your sister and you delivered results. And before you argue that you don't want to be lumped in the same category of accomplishments tonight as hers," he says, anticipating me, "let me remind you that to Haywood, results are what matter."

I pinch my eyes shut against the fresh stab of overwhelming guilt because at the end of the day, yes, I'm just as responsible for Bella's current predicament as is Rosalie. A few moments later, when I reopen my eyes, Whitlock is scrutinizing me with something surprisingly akin to comprehension, perhaps even an understanding of what it means to…to feel deeply for a forbidden someone.

After all, he's been not-so-furtively in love with Alice since almost the inception of this case.

Sighing, he places a hand on my shoulder, now more as a gesture of rapport and commiseration than as the restraint it was moments earlier.

"Look, Edward, I understand your frustration; believe me, I do. But you need to understand that I'm not the enemy here. I-"

Quickly opening and shutting his mouth, he undergoes a couple of false starts before resuming in an anxious whisper.

"Edward, your possible witness is in a perilous position. Haywood knows we need Isabella, so he's willing to overlook last night's events…and the fact that she did remove evidence from the scene."

"Come on!" I suck my teeth. "Both you and I know she had no intention of-"

"Intentions don't count here. Haywood is antsy. He knows everything else we have against Penn and his group pales in comparison to the first-degree murder and aggravated murder convictions we may be able to obtain against Penn with Isabella's testimony." He searches my eyes. "But we need the complete, unobstructed, unfiltered…and likely incriminating picture."

"Incriminating."

I breathe the word cautiously because I know where he's going; of course, I do. He confirms my suspicions in a slow, measured speech.

"Edward, in purely legal terms, Isabella Swan is not an innocent bystander in this case. She ceased being an innocent bystander the moment she became a thief, a money launderer, and when she tampered with evidence, regardless of her reasons or intentions. She's in a deep…deep hole, Edward."

"That piece of garbage, motherfucker," I spit through clenched teeth, "murdered her parents and tried to murder her."

"Vigilante justice is not legal justice in this country, but," he appends hastily, forefinger up between us when he senses my retaliation, "but the fact is that even with the evidence you and your team managed to gather over the past couple of years, Penn's lawyers would've probably gotten him a sentence way below what he deserves."

I shake my head in repugnance.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our stellar judicial system. So, what you're telling me is that Isabella is nothing more than a valuable witness to this agency, a guarantee that we'll win this case and be able to tack on a few more decades to James' sentence. Another success to tick off. That's it."

Whitlock doesn't bat an eye. "That's it, and don't ever think she's more. Don't ever let your guard down," he breathes. "Within these walls, all she'll ever be is a valuable witness to everyone…except you. And Alice," he nods sagely. "And Emmett out of loyalty to you."

I quirk a brow. "And how about your loyalty to Alice? How does that come into play?"

"That is why I'm here talking to you."

My nostrils flare, hands quaking as I rake them both through my hair, scrub them down my face, then re-clench them at my sides. But what the hell can I say? What can I do to fight the system? However Haywood sees Bella, it's his prerogative…his signature…his agreement that'll keep her safe.

I can't fight the system, not if I mean to keep her safe, and that's all that matters now.

All the while, Whitlock observes me…gauges me, and I have no choice but to allow his intense study. And to trust him. At this point, I need all the allies within the agency that I can find.

"Cullen, Haywood wants Isabella's sworn statement – a complete statement naming all names, laying everything out there." His hand cuts through the air in a sweeping gesture of all-inclusivity. "And right now, as long as she benefits the case, he's willing to move mountains to obtain her testimony." He moves in close to my ear and whispers. "So play this carte blanche carefully because it's the only one she has, and it has an expiration date." He pulls back, holding my gaze.

My temples throb. "What exactly are you saying?"

"With how last-minute everything's played out in reference to Isabella Swan – Live Witness, all other pieces have to fall in place briskly; all else has to occur speedily and without any more hiccups for Haywood to pull this off. Your arraignment, along with James' and Kate's, has been set for noon, day after tomorrow."

"That's fine."

He nods, his inscrutable expression serving more as a warning of impending adversity than were he actually to appear concerned.

"The indictment charging Penn with the Swans' murder is ready to go and will be announced at the arraignment, assuming all goes well."

"Assuming all goes well? Whitlock, Isabella hates me now, but I doubt she hates me more than she does the murderer of her parents. Strong feelings against me, notwithstanding," I swallow stoically and shake my head, "they won't keep her from testifying against James and Kate."

"Good. That's good." Despite his verbal positivity, he doesn't appear the least bit appeased. "Because she can't testify without providing a sworn statement beforehand. Cullen, a call has been placed to the U.S Marshal's Office. They're sending a rep from WitSec to oversee Isabella's statement at eight a.m. the same morning of your arraignment."

WitSec.

With that one word, the full picture here paints itself in a way I've failed to allow it to do so before, though the implications have been there from the very beginning. I swallow hard against the sudden lump in my throat.

"Witness Security," I murmur with an insuppressible quiver to my voice. "She'll have to relocate, change her name, her identity, leave everything…and everyone behind…"

"Immunity and Protection for Isabella. It's her 'Get out of Jail Free' Card,' so to speak, part of that carte blanche I mentioned earlier, the pass she gets for all she's been through; the pass you orchestrated for her, Cullen."

"Yes. Yes, I know I did. And I'd do it all over again."

Even though it's also my reality check because it's as if a thousand-ton weight has suddenly been dropped on my chest. Once Isabella is whisked into the Witness Security Program, only a U.S. Marshal handler will ever be allowed to know where she's been placed, who she's been transformed into.

"It's part of the agreement, Cullen."

I suppose something in my expression hints at the need for a reminder.

"I know," I hiss, nodding temperamentally. "I know."

Nonetheless, Whitlock enumerates all the benefits to WitSec.

"She won't face prosecution for theft or money laundering. She won't need to worry about retaliation from James or Kate or anyone associated with them. We're in charge of her until the trial, and as soon as she testifies, the U.S. Marshal's office takes over. But for her to receive all that protection, she has to provide a full, detailed account of the events of the night of her parents' deaths and return the funds that were withdrawn from the Cayman accounts in the past twelve hours. And, of course, she'll need to provide the names and parts played by all accomplices involved in the theft and money laundering."

And there's the rub.

Whitlock notes when it finally hits me. I swallow hard. If my temples can throb any harder, if my heart can sink past my soles, it happens at that moment; when I realize that in my haste and desperation to pull Bella out of James' clutches, I haven't considered the implications here half as well I should've.

I haven't stopped to appreciate her loyalties.

"As you know, concurrently with the raid on Penn's property, we had agents in Florida move in on Jacob Black's last known address. They found nothing. The whole place was cleared out as if he'd been warned that we were on to him." He pauses. "She needs to give up his current location."

Sidestepping Whitlock, I lob myself heavily against the wall and next to him, throwing back my head and exhaling. Though I'm still not clear on the exact nature of their relationship, Bella giving up Jacob Black and those closely related to save herself doesn't seem likely. Chuckling mirthlessly, I bang my head against the wall a few times.

"Whitlock, what if…what if she doesn't give them up?"

He rounds on me.

"And this is why I'm stressing here that it's all or nothing, Cullen. Unless she fulfills her end of the bargain, all bets are off, and she will be prosecuted." He pats my shoulder. "Convince her. You have until the U.S. Marshal arrives to take her statement."

I stare at him long and hard before nodding, but for the life of me, I can't think of what I can work out, what I can say to convince Bella to trust in who she sees as her betrayer and in turn betray a man with who she may very well be in love.

OOOOO

Emmett chuckles quietly as I approach the door he's been guarding.

"You should put an ice-pack on that," he smirks, gesturing with his jaw toward my eye. "Was that a left or right hook?"

"It was a jump-kick with her right foot."

He whistles low through his teeth. "Man, I can't believe I missed all that action. What I wouldn't have given to see that girl finally get in the hits I never could."

"That girl has the reflexes of a cat."

"Hence, the nickname Cat Girl. Shame she got hurt." He shakes his head morosely.

I nod stoically. "Any word?"

"Alice has been in and out a couple of times with updates." Much more sober now, he spouts Bella's injuries like a laundry list of damages, while I hold my breath and cringe with each ensuing trauma mentioned.

"First off, miraculously, nothing's broken. She's got a couple of bruised ribs, a sprain in her right ankle, she needed a couple of stitches on her left thigh, but only one on her toe. Her right eye is swollen shut, but there's no damage, and the doctor assures us that all swelling will start to decrease in a day or two. And other than for cuts, scrapes, and bruises that'll heal soon enough, she's in better shape than our two fellow agents, who'll remain in casts for a couple of months, courtesy of you."

I clench my eyes shut, but the scene of Bella dropping to the puddled ground when those two agents attacked her in that alley, taking advantage of the fact that both she and I were fully focused on one another, replays in my head and makes me flinch.

"Those bastards are lucky I didn't…"

"Ed, think of how much worse things could've gone."

Reopening my eyes, I expel a breath through narrowed lips. "It's all I keep thinking. Had they hurt her worse…had she miscalculated one of those jumps…had there been no scaffolding when she fell from that building…"

Emmett holds my gaze. "I mean, think of how much worse things could've gone considering the path she's been on. James would've killed her Edward, the moment he figured out who she was, or she would've killed him. As a matter of fact, no man, don't think about it anymore." He waves away his previous suggestions. "Instead, tell me now how you got that split lip."

"You're enjoying my injuries, aren't you?"

He grins.

"The split lip is from when I was pulling her off the fire escape, and she smashed the heel of her foot into my mouth. The bruises on both sides of my jaw are from when she landed on my shoulders and used my face as a punching bag."

"Bad-ass. I think I might be in love here." While he snickers, I knock on the door.

A voice I recognize as Alice's calls out, "Come in."

I'm struck by equal parts eager relief and wary trepidation, redirecting my attention back toward Emmett as a last-minute distraction before I turn the knob and face all I've wrought. No, my injuries are nothing in comparison.

"And I'm saving the ice-pack for where she kneed me in the balls the other night. Still aches."

Emmett chuckles quietly once more. "That's my Cat Girl. Good luck, man."

"Yeah, I'm going to need it," I whisper in return as I push open the door.

A/N: Thoughts?

Facebook: Stories by PattyRose

Twitter: PattyRosa817

"See" you soon.