A/N: Hello again everyone! A new chapter is here! :D

Before we get started, I would like to thank everyone that read last chapter! I would also like to give a huge thank you to winterschild11, suitelifeforever9, Guest, XxxAnimaniacxxX, No-emotions, and RainbowDiamonds for reviewing!

I hope you all enjoy!

My phone alarm woke me early the next morning, vibrating a jaunty dance on the nightstand. I peered at the screen. Six a.m. Six in the fucking morning and not a cup of coffee in sight. I shut it off and rolled to the edge of the bed. If the other side of the bed had just happened to be the Grand Canyon, I probably wouldn't trust myself not to just roll off.

I sat on the side, rubbed a hand over my stubbly jaw, and squinted at the door.

The house was empty. I was fairly sure. It just had a certain feel to it. James had left me the keys to his civilian car-a black Ford Edge, in case I wanted to "leave early or whatever," as he'd put it. I'm not sure such a thing was even possible. If it was six a.m., what time had he left? Even the early birds and worms must've been looking at him, wondering 'who the fuck is that?'

I knew what that was really about. He probably just didn't want to ride in with me. Or be responsible for getting me back home. I tried not to be too offended. Frankly, he'd already done way more than expected for an ex. A ride, a place to stay, and a vehicle to drive? I had no reason to feel so...shunned. Especially when I was the one that left in the first place.

It would do me well to put him out of my mind. No matter how sexy he was. Mostly because the reasons I'd left were still valid. I also didn't think he'd be forgiving me anytime soon. Thinking about his expression last night, jaw so tight it looked like it might crack, face flushed with anger, hazel eyes snapping fire, I had to wince. Fortunately, I had better things to do than getting rebuffed by an ex.

I showered and dressed quickly in an oxford shirt, tailored slacks, and a preppy blue silk tie. As I shrugged into my sport coat, I felt more like myself. More in control. I strapped my gun and fiddled with my hair for maybe six nanoseconds and then headed to the kitchen.

The kitchen was warm and friendly, all gray quartz countertops and dark, polished hardwood floors. Stainless steel appliances sparkled cheerily. Everything was perfectly organized. Anally organized. I opened the cupboard where the glasses were, only to be faced with canned goods.

I pulled open another cupboard. The bowls weren't where they used to be either. Of course. Why wouldn't he have changed everything? I'd warned him not to get the wrong idea about us, but maybe I should have warned myself. This isn't your house anymore, and you aren't home. You're a guest. Just a guest.

I fumbled around the kitchen, put together a bowl of cereal, and wondered when he'd switched to granola. And almond milk.

I didn't want to disturb the place settings at the granite bar, so I ate quietly at the sink, staring out the window at the lush, overgrown backyard that led down to the creek. It had never been clearer that it wasn't my home anymore. I wasn't going to brood over how that made me feel. Much.

I cleaned up quickly and headed out to the garage. The Edge was newer than my own modest sedan and started up quietly. A couple of chatty DJs came on the radio, and I snapped it off quickly. I sat there for a minute, let the engine idle, and blasted the A/C on high.

I was glad my assignment wasn't in a foreign city so I didn't have to fiddle with the GPS too much. On the highway, I flicked on my blinker to merge and realized as I glanced in my rearview that there was no one to really merge with. I'd beat even the earliest of morning traffic. Guess avoiding one another was going to make us real go-getters.

Grayson would be pleased.

XxX

The Brickell Bay police station was a three-story eyesore with a yellow brick and limestone facade, smack dab in the middle of town. There was a flowery monument in the center of a fountain that saved it from being something straight out of a post-apocalyptic Mad Max film.

None of my observations helped divert my attention from the ghost who'd decided to ride to work with me. She appeared when I stopped for gas and coffee at a Circle K and didn't seem inclined to go anywhere until I did her bidding. She seemed to think that murder justified another murder, and that my job was to help her get vengeance. She also didn't understand that my job as a bridge did not, in fact, involve slicing anyone's throat.

As I hustled for the main entrance, she fell into step behind me, and the tapping of her heels was loud in my ears. "So you think someone should just get away with stabbing me?"

Her tone was aggressive and suggested what she'd do to me if I did. I had no desire to anger someone to whom locks, mace, and my Glock meant nothing. "No, I don't."

"You do."

"Look ghost-"

"Meredith."

"Meredith. Whatever. I'm a federal agent. It's my job to track down people who do that sort of thing. Not join them in a life of crime. I'm not your personal hitman." We speed-walked by the fountain, and I said a silent prayer of thanks as the entrance came into view. "Why don't you just go toward the light and let us handle things down here?"

She scowled. "What light? There is no fucking light. When you finish your business, you just get to move on."

"Move on to where?"

"Ah." She smiled. "Finally something you don't know?"

If she wasn't real, then I was heckling myself. Heckling. Myself. It was a new low. I blew out a breath. Once again I'd decided I could go solo without my pills. Once again I was hella wrong.

A couple of officers passed me as they exited the building, and I nodded at their offhand greetings. After they passed, I turned to Meredith. "You need to stay out here."

"Not until I finish my business." She made a slicing motion across her throat with her finger, the fingernail pointy and glossy purple. "I want that motherfucker dead."

"You don't even know who he is," I said, exasperated. "Not that I would kill him. But I would arrest him."

"You're not even gonna look?" She narrowed suspicious hazel eyes at me. "Is it because I'm a stripper?"

"I'm in the middle of a case right now. But we will get to you as soon as humanly possible." I winced as I heard the words come out of my mouth. I sounded like an answering machine.

"You'd better keep your promise."

"Don't haunt me," I warned. "Or I can't help you."

"I don't go into your space," she said, offended.

"Some of you do."

"Maybe if you didn't make us chase you down, we wouldn't have to."

I glared. Didn't she think I'd thought of that? "Stay," I hissed. She sent me a pissed-off stare but stopped following me. When the main doors whooshed open at my approach, she disappeared. By the time I made it to the Cold Case Unit, the lights were already on. They had a fairly large office for a six-person team-a roomy briefing room with a circular table in the center and battle-scarred desks separated by partitions. Most of the team was already present. I vaguely remembered everyone, if not from my last time here, then from James' work stories.

Logan Mitchell was sitting at the round table, going over some notes. His partner, Jett Stetson, appeared to be doing nothing more productive than getting on his nerves. In other words business as usual.

Dak Zevon, James' partner, was already seated at his excuse for a desk, demolishing something wrapped in a soft tortilla and aluminum foil. His desk was closest to James, which gave James a 24/7, three sixty five view of Dak eating his weight in junk food. Probably because his wife didn't allow him to eat any junk at home. I glanced at the picture on the corner of the desk-two kids, looking so much like their father, the littlest grinning with a gap-toothed smile.

Dak finished the burrito and crumpled the foil, which he then pretended to jump shoot at the garbage can. "He's open for the shot. He shoots!"

"Brick," I said as the ball bounced off the rim. I shook my head when he started in on the bag of fried plantains. "I'm trying to remember the last time I didn't see you eating, and I'm coming up blank."

"I have a fast metabolism," Dak shrugged, his eyes dancing. "Growing up, my mom told me it was important to not miss any meals."

"Zevon. I knew I'd forgotten something on my 'things-I-hate-about-Miami' list." I pretended to think. "I'm going to put you down right between the blazing hot sun and no free parking."

He grinned. "Good to see you too, Knight. You here to show us how the big boys in Quantico do it?"

I had to grin back. "Of course."

The door opened just then and James came in, a box of donuts in one hand and a mug of coffee in the other. He looked more appropriately dressed for Vice than anything else, clad in black jeans that were a little too faded and tight and a black shirt with a rock logo on the front. His dark hair was tousled, and it was clear he hadn't bothered with a shave. I knew he mostly did it to needle his lieutenant, who preferred her detectives to look like they'd stepped out of that Dick Tracy movie. But James looked his best between scruffy and tailored.

He stopped short to see me, briefly nonplussed. "You're here."

"I am."

"Well, good. Okay." Just like that, he was back on track. Quick recovery. That was James. In bed and out. "They bring you up to speed?"

"I just got here. What've we got?"

Dak snagged a donut and sank his teeth into it. "It would be easier to tell you what we don't have. Motive. Witnesses. A suspect. A clue."

James sent him a warning look and set the box on the edge of his desk. "Kelsea Greene was last seen on March 25th. She left Roosevelt High after school in a 1995 Toyota Camry that belonged to her mother, Dinah Greene. She headed to McDonald's, where she bought food and a beverage. She ate in her car while talking on the phone with her best friend, Jenna, and then headed to a Citgo station where she worked as a part-time clerk."

"What time was her shift?"

"Five to nine fifteen p.m. She was usually home by ten. There's video surveillance of her car leaving the parking lot at nine thirty. Then she vanished."

It all sounded pretty much like the information I'd read that morning. "Anyone following her?"

"Not that surveillance cameras could pick up. We have footage from both the station she worked at and the drive-through across the street. It's a little grainy, but it's definitely her car."

"Have you checked out the family?"

"The stepfather is a local mechanic-one of those big-chain lube jobs. His alibi is solid. The mother is at home on disability. Back problems, I think. Three younger brothers live at home, all under ten."

"I notice you're tap dancing around the obvious."

"Well, we're still eliminating the boyfriend."

"I meant the fact that she could have just walked off on her own."

"That's still a working theory," he admitted. "But her bank account wasn't touched. Seventeen hundred dollars."

"Is anything missing from her room?"

He hesitated just long enough for me to realize he didn't want to tell me. Finally he said, "Her purse. Laptop. Violin."

"All things she would've taken to school."

"And her suitcase."

"Diamond-"

"Which she often used to carry art projects to school. From all accounts, she seemed to be happy and well-adjusted. Lots of friends." James scowled at my silence. "Good grades. She was college bound."

"Things aren't always as they seem."

"And sometimes they are." He looked at me darkly. "Right now we're treating this as a missing-person case."

I held up my hands, as though disagreeing were beyond me. "Of course. You're the lead."

He eyed me suspiciously, like he couldn't believe I was acquiescing so easily. "We've cleared a desk for you, if you need a place to work."

I nodded, but he'd already turned. Dismissed, serf. I resisted flipping his back the bird and began to cart materials over to the empty desk, grateful I wouldn't have to sit at the group table. I don't know whether it was carryover because I grew up in a sharing community or that I'm finicky, but I didn't like people touching my things.

I laid out my files neatly, chronologically. By the time I finished, I could hear discord on the other side of the room. Lots of discord. A half partition wall made of cork and good intentions did little to cushion it.

"...is he even doing here?" Jett was apparently resisting Logan's efforts to hush him.

"...an asset to the team," came James' voice. He sounded icy. "He's just here to help."

"We don't need that kind of help."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I heard he cracked up." Jett's voice had gained strength. I could hear every word. "He went crazy up there and started talking about ghosts and shit."

My face burned. I knew it was too much to hope those rumors hadn't made the rounds. Jett clearly wasn't finished. "The doc can't decide if he wants to be from Criminal Minds or Ghost Whisperer." He snorted. "Solving crimes is not about crystal balls and tarot cards. Solving crime is about hard work-police work."

"Stuff something in that crater-sized mouth of yours, would you?" Dak whispered. "He's going to hear you."

"Good," Jett snapped. "Maybe he can tell us why, exactly, we need his kind of help."

"Well, I make a mean pot of coffee," I said, finally tired of being talked about. I rounded the partition to absolute silence. "I can see why you'd be skeptical, but profiling does have its place in locating missing persons."

James frowned. "You don't have to explain yourself to-"

I waved a hand to cut him off. "It's fine. I get this a lot." Too much, really. Some people just couldn't grasp the fact that we were on the same team. "When you have a missing person, there are always going to be a variety of unspoken variables. Was she a victim of foul play? Is she an attempted or completed suicide? If she did run away, is she likely to return home on her own? Runaways, suicides, and victims of foul play have unique profiles that not everyone is trained to assess."

Jett bristled. "We're working this case the best we can."

"Of course. The general procedure for a missing person requires that we collect information from next of kin, friends, coworkers, and acquaintances, and I have no doubt that you've done that. But profiling can determine who that person really is...almost like a psychological autopsy. An extension of victimology that reconstructs the psychological state leading up to the disappearance. That's the only true way to get a full picture of her lifestyle risk. Was she low or high risk? From all appearances, she seemed to have a routine that she followed, and a consistent set of friends that she came in contact with. No drugs. No prostitution."

"Low-risk lifestyle," Logan said with a nod. "So who's she a target for?"

"High-risk lifestyle equals unknowns. Low-risk? It's more likely she was victimized by someone close. Someone she'd open the door for late at night. Someone who would ask her to come over and she wouldn't bat an eyelash. In other words the worse kind of betrayal."

"Family members," he agreed. "Boyfriends. Teachers."

"I won't take you through any of the chi-square analyses or data-mining procedures, but it basically amounts to eliminating a litany of variables. Demographics. Social. Circumstantial. Then cross-comparing them to personality and behavioral factors. So that's how I might be able to help." I shrugged, and my gaze bounced from Dak's grinning face to Jett's red one. "And like I said, I did make coffee."

James looked fairly amused. "I guess that ends the introduction portion of our morning. Stetson, Loges, weren't you guys supposed to be meeting with the aunt?"

"We're on it." Logan reached over, grabbed two donuts, and stuck one in Jett's mouth. He patted him on the top of the head. "Just in case you get the urge to say something stupid again."

Dak pushed back his chair and stood. "I spoke with the school counselor this morning. She's available to meet with us at noon."

"Knight and I are supposed to meet with the mother," James said.

"You guys should go." Dak snagged another donut. "I can handle the school interviews on my own. Besides, I think two detectives and a buttoned-up G-man is a bit much for a friendly interview anyway."

I looked down at my attire. "Buttoned-up G-man?" Maybe it was the pinstripe vest.

James just smiled.

XxX

I was glad my new desk was situated near a window, seeing as how I was clearly going to be spending a lot of time sitting on my ass, reading dry files. I spent the next few hours orientating myself with all things Kelsea Greene. I also ate quite a few more donuts than I should've-fuck, I was already feeling more like a cop-and made notes on my iPad with slightly sugary fingers.

Case 38419KG started with that photo of Kelsea, the same one I'd seen before-a yearbook photo. All I could see of her clothing was a blue ribbed turtleneck. Her long auburn hair fell in natural waves around her shoulders. Dark brown eyes surveyed me solemnly in a face slightly too long and thin. She'd disappeared five years ago, though. Those slightly awkward features just shy of symmetrical had probably matured with adulthood.

If she was still alive.

I made a quick note to send her photo to the lab for an age progression and kept reading. She was the only girl child of Dinah Ryan and an unnamed father. When Kelsea was four, Dinah had married a man named Luke Greene, and over the next few years, had three sons-now ten, nin, and four years of age.

I flipped past the initial information and got to the meat of things. Apparently Kelsea usually arrived home no later than ten p.m. Her mother began to call her friends by eleven thirty, while her stepfather went to the gas station to look for her. They looked until midnight and then decided to call the police. Previous investigators summarized that she willingly left her job that day, under her own steam, in her own vehicle.

Just the verbiage made me grit my teeth. Willingly. Own steam. It was in my nature to question everything and everyone, and to my trained eye, it seemed like the primary detectives had viewed her as a runaway case. A nuisance case. I'd admit that it was a possibility, but it was just that-a possibility.

At least they pulled out all stops for a search. They did a four-mile grid search that they later expanded to six. Dogs, CSU, the whole nine. There was a big family effort too-poster, vigils, several local news appearances, and a ten-thousand-dollar reward posted with church donations. There had been several hundred tups, but none of them had panned out. I frowned. "See Annex C1" was underneath the tips section.

My eyes widened as I spotted a binder in the box labeled C1. It was thicker than the old-school yellow pages. I'd have to go through that later, and I wasn't looking forward to it. Most of that information would be garbage. Like digging through millions of oysters to find the one with the pearl.

I set the binder aside and flipped through the case reports-copious interview notes from various people in Kelsea's life. The boyfriend, Brock Johnson. An alibi-confirmation report stating that the guy's mother had confirmed he was home by nine Kelsea disappeared. I snorted. An alibi from someone's mother was almost like no alibi at all.

There were interview notes from Kelsea's coworkers. Classmates. Neighbors. Over two hundred pages of documents and photos, two years of investigation, and they'd turned up nothing. The case had turned cold. I hated that term.

Cold.

It was only cold to the people who didn't really know the victim. I'd bet it wasn't cold to her mother. Her brothers. For the people who'd loved and known Kelsea Greene as more than just case file 38419KG, the case was probably far from cold.

"Well, we're not ready to give up quite that easily," I murmured.

"What?"

I glanced up to find James with a fast food bag in his hands. "Just thinking out loud. Is that for me?"

"Yep. It's noon."

I checked my watch, almost automatically, and grimaced. "Damn. I didn't realize it had been that long."

"You're being thorough. That's a good thing." He set the bag on the table and dropped into one of the chairs. "I'm thinking we can head out in about an hour."

"Dinah Greene." I thought back to the photo of the aging blonde. "Is she receptive?"

He nodded. "Seems to be. The stepfather isn't quite as agreeable."

"Stand-up kind of guy?"

"Kind of a douche, actually." James shrugged. "But he's a douche with a fairly credible alibi. He's a regular at a local bar, and he was there that night during the window of her disappearance. Several people vouch for him."

"Credible people?"

"As credible as bar flies go." he pushed the fast food bag closer to me. "Eat up and then we can go."

"I've eaten already."

"Donuts are not food," he countered.

I stared at him then, struck by memories of him doing the exact same thing. Before. When we...when we were. When I hadn't left, and he and I were an us. When I pushed him away, and he didn't push back.

When I was offered an opportunity to join Grayson's team in D.C., I was hesitant. But it was a step up from my previous position, and the pay was decent.

Even now I don't know if I was testing James when I told him about it. He went completely still, and those usually expressive eyes were unreadable. He came closer to me then, his voice deep and husky. "This is what you want?"

I swallowed hard. "It is."

It seemed like the right thing to do when I saw ghosts every time I turned around. Seemed like the right thing to do when I was pretty sure I was losing my mind. I'd seen the hurt in his face then. He wasn't able to hide it. And then his final word on the subject. "You should take it," he said. So I did.

We'd agreed to stay friends. Whatever the hell that means. It never worked like it was supposed to, and we were no different. A few calls and texts a year tapered off into the occasional birthday text, and that turned us into what we were now-strangers.

"Kendall?"

I blinked at him and realized I'd been staring and hadn't spoken for quite some time.

"Yeah?"

"You okay?"

I would be.

I cleared my throat. "Thanks for the food." I opened the fast food bag and pulled out some fries. I went back to the murder book and read as I ate. "I'll be ready in an hour."

Done! So, the investigation into Kelsea Greene's disappearance has begun. We also got a little peek into Kames' breakup.

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, as well as if you happened to have any favorite parts/moments!

Again, I hope you all enjoyed and that you all are doing well! :) The next chapter of this will be up sometime next week.

Until then!

-Epically Obsessed