A/N: Hello again everyone! Welcome back to a new chapter! :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, RainbowDiamonds, and Guest for reviewing!

I hope you all enjoy!

We strolled down the sidewalk in front of her studio, the heat of the day prickling my back. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'd dress more appropriately for the weather. Jeans and some moisture-wicking shirt would do nicely. It was all fine and good to wear snazzy suits and white palazzo pants on CSI Miami, but in real life, tailored duds didn't cut it.

"I have a few questions I'd like to ask you about one of your former students. Kelsea Greene. Do you remember her?"

"Oh, that poor girl." My mother's hands fluttered and then dropped to her sides. "Of course I remember her. Such a sweet girl. It's hard to believe that someone could have done something to her.

"So you don't think she ran away?"

"Is that what people are saying?"

"Seems to be the official consensus."

She stared off for a moment, brow creased, and then shook her head. "No, I just don't believe that. Things weren't perfect at home, of course, but I just can't believe it was bad enough for her to take off."

"Why do you say things weren't perfect at home?"

"Well, sometimes she'd come extra early and stay late. At first I thought it was just inspiration making for odd hours. Anyone artistic knows when the muse strikes, you have no choice but to comply. But sometimes she'd just stay and help me clean brushes and straighten up the studio. A couple times she offered to run the store while I taught classes upstairs. I just got the feeling that she'd rather not be home if she didn't have to be."

I could imagine. A few minutes in her stepfather's company had me contemplating where Grayson would send me if I punched Luke Greene right in the tattooed face. Bermuda? Angkor Wat? I would like to see the temples, but it just wasn't worth the risk.

But lots of teenagers didn't like it at home. Some hated the rules, the restrictions, their younger siblings, being a teenager in general...hell, I hadn't liked it at home as a teenager, and it had nothing to do with abuse. It was more about washing my clothes ankle deep in a river and drying off with hemp towels.

I pulled out my phone to make a few notes. "Did she seem excited or worried about the prospect of going to college? I hear she was getting an art scholarship."

"She had mixed feelings about it. Scholarships are very competitive, and the only place that offered her enough financial aid was Pemberton."

"In Arizona?"

"Exactly. I got the impression there was someone special she didn't want to leave behind."

"Brock Johnson? Her boyfriend?"

"Oh, I think she and that awful boy were done. He wasn't exactly a pleasant sort."

"Did you have any dealings with him?"

"When he came to pick her up sometimes. He was all sullen and angry. Now his HEF could use some cleansing," she said indignantly. "I think she was in a new relationship. I don't know who the new boy was, but he had to be better than Brock."

"Did she mention any names?"

"No, she was very private about it. But you know, a few years ago she bought this necklace from the shop. Usually she wore both pieces. About a year ago, I noticed the other half was missing. I figured she'd given it to someone." She beamed. "Isn't that so sweet? It was-"

"Rose gold?" My eyebrows lifted. "A broken heart?"

"Yes. How'd you know?"

"Lucky guess," I murmured. "It would be helpful if you could write down the names of any people Kelsea hung out with in class. Someone she would have encountered on a routine basis?"

She took my phone and pecked out a few names on the notepad. "I have to get back to work," she said as she handed it back. "But maybe you and James can come by for dinner?"

"We'll see."

"I still have some of those necklaces in inventory, you know. In case there was someone you wanted to give-"

"No."

"But you and James were just so-"

"No." But I softened my words with a kiss on her cheek. She smelled like lemongrass and ginger. "I'll call you later."

As I strode past the shop's plate glass window, I caught her in my reflection, lithe fingers plucking things from the air around my head. "Stop cleaning my aura," I said without turning.

"Not enough bleach in the world," she called back.

XxX

We spent much of the rest of the day speaking to the people Kelsea had called friends, trying to ferret out her mystery relationship. The entire day made me feel introspective about the whole business of life. Of course there was sadness when it came to a missing friend, but for the most part, human beings were engineered for self-preservation. Moving on. Even after you were nothing but dust in the air and a faint memory, there was still laughter. Hope. Love.

I couldn't decide whether that was inspiring or depressing. Checking in with Kelsea's friends who were living their lives, some with families and careers and offspring? Things she might never have? I had to go with depressing.

By the time we made it back to the station, I was more than ready to call it a day. I plopped in a chair in the briefing room and waited for James to finish a phone call. Then I realized I didn't have to wait because I'd driven. I sighed and decided to wait anyway. We could walk out together.

Because you haven't been together all day? I bit my lip. We could probably grab food on the way home and eat together. Then wake up tomorrow and do it all over again. The only thing missing from that scenario was fucking one another into a sex coma. Jesus. Day fucking one and we were following our old pattern so seamlessly we didn't even realize we were sewing the same screwed up dress.

I knuckled my eyes. I was far too tired to get philosophical about bullshit.

Don't you fall in lust, I warned my dick.

Don't you fall in love, it warned me right back.

When I glanced up, James was giving me an odd look, eyebrow raised. "You okay?"

"Fine." Just getting a few things straight with my body parts, is all. Turns out we don't like broad shoulders, dark hair, and hazel eyes. Or a strong jaw perpetually covered in stubble. Yeah. Not really our kind of thing. "Just thinking about dinner."

"You feel like Mexican?"

I had to grin a little at his hopeful tone. I could take it or leave it, but Mexican food and James went together like peanut butter and jelly. "Fine by me." I shouldered my messenger bag and gathered a few files in my arms. Then I trailed behind James as he headed out the door.

"You think we'll ever find Kelsea's new mystery man?" he asked.

I shrugged. "Depends on how much of a mystery she kept him. Apparently, she didn't share the secret with her mom or best friend."

"Because you tell your mom everything about your sex life?"

No. Absolutely not. Not a damned thing since she'd walked in on me jerking it in the bathroom as a preteen. She left a copy of The Joy of Sex on my nightstand, and I was tempted to suffocate myself with a hemp pillow. I shivered. "He might be the key to all of this. It certainly wouldn't be the first time a new boyfriend wasn't happy with the old one."

"Or the old boyfriend wasn't happy with the new one," James countered.

"Either way, someone wasn't happy with Kelsea."

We headed for the elevator bank, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I jabbed the Down button and crossed my arms for the wait. The station wasn't exactly up to date, and the elevators were notoriously slow.

"I think we should go back to the Greene house," I said out of the blue.

"Why? You suddenly have a hankering for dirty coffee and attitude?"

"I'd like to see her room," I said. "I don't know a teenager on Earth who's not hiding something in his or her room."

"They already did an extensive search."

"I'd like to take a look for myself. Maybe they missed something."

James shrugged. "Couldn't hurt."

Plus, as a bonus, we would get to talk to Luke and Dinah Greene again. Yippee. I jabbed the elevator button again. Just because.

XxX

Kelsea's room was a study of bright shades-pink walls, a leopard-print bedspread, and a shaggy turquoise ottoman led the colorful parade. Books lined her shelves, interspersed with knicknacks-litle figurines mostly. The walls were adorned, not with posters, but paintings. Most of them looked like they were hand painted, probably by Kelsea herself. Butterflies, landscapes, and nature. I leaned in, peered closely at the painting of the monarch butterfly, and noted the tiny scripted K in the corner, which confirmed my suspicions.

I stood in the middle of the room, loafers sinking into the plush orange shag rug, hands propped on my hips.

I would have a hard time explaining what exactly I was looking for. Maybe something...unnatural? Paranormal even?

I blew out a frustrated breath. Maybe I should rattle some fucking chains or something. Pull out a Ouija board. As usual, my sixth sense deserted me when I actually tried to use it. Maybe that was a good thing. If I couldn't find Kelsea, maybe that meant she was still alive. Or maybe I was just incompetent at spiritual pursuits. And if those options didn't float my boat, there was always the whole stone-carrying thing.

"This is someone else's room," a voice murmured to my left, and I whirled.

"Fuck, Trevor," I breathed out. "Could you not sneak up on me like that? And where the hell have you been?"

"Someone else's room," he said again, full of nervous energy. "You shouldn't touch anything."

"I'm not touching anything," I snapped.

I made my way over to the bed, ran my hand over the rumpled comforter, and immediately made a mockery of my words. I checked under the mattress. A couple of candy wrappers and a whole lot of dust. Nothing a Roomba couldn't fix.

Was it too much to ask to find a diary or something? "Met strange looking man today. Lives at 123 I-Kill-People Street." That would be helpful.

I sighed and looked at the paintings again. Nothing left but broken dreams and unfulfilled promise. I squinted at one of the landscapes of a lighthouse and a water vista. There was no scripted K in the corner, and it didn't have the same vibe as the rest of her paintings.

I leaned in a little closer and stared at the print. "Does this picture look odd to you?"

Trevor shrugged. "Looks like something you'd find in a doctor's office. Nothing special."

"That's exactly my point."

I lifted the painting to examine the wall behind it. I ran my hands across the surface, but only felt smooth wood grain. Hmph. Well, maybe a painting wasn't a hiding place, but it meant something. I just didn't know what. I stared at the lighthouse again.

I propped the painting against the wall and continued to explore. A few bookcases were against the far wall, almost bursting with a random assortment of items-DVDs, a few figurines, art supplies, books.

I ran my hand across the spine of The Scarlet Letter, sandwiched between Tom Sawyer and The Prince. Mostly required reading, looked like. I pulled out one of the books and flipped through nostalgically, the crisp pages rough against my fingertips. My gaze drifted across the page as I flipped. Required reading was so much better when there was no exam involved. As I flipped, a crisp hundred-dollar bill fluttered from between the pages and fell to the floor. I stared at it for a moment and then knelt to pick it up.

"You shouldn't be touching that," Trevor advised.

"Shut it," I advised right back.

A furrow creased my brow as I turned the book upside down and gave it a shake. More hundreds fell out. I shook the book until I was sure it was empty. "Guess somebody's hiding a secret," I murmured.

"Everyone has secrets," Trevor whispered.

I certainly did. At best I was talking to a ghost. At worst I was chatting it up with a figment of my imagination. I picked up the bills and set the book back on the shelf. I checked the others, just in case, but in the end, it was just the original twenty bills. Two grand.

"Where'd she get this kind of money?"

"She has a job?" Trevor suggested.

"Maybe." I stared thoughtfully at the bills. "But why hide them in a book?"

"Who're you talking to?"

I startled at the voice in the doorway and looked to find Kelsea's mother standing there, limpid blue eyes only mildly curious. I turned my back, only to find Trevor gone.

"No one," I said and shook my head. I held up the money. "Did Kelsea have a second job?"

She scowled at me. "She had school. Activities. She didn't have time for another job."

"Then where would she have gotten this kind of money?" I didn't add legally, but I might as well have.

She glared at me. "I don't like that kind of talk," she said angrily. "She was a good girl. Worked hard. She wasn't a whore."

My eyes widened. "I didn't call her a-"

"Or a drug dealer or anything else you're thinking." She lifted a trembling hand to her lips for a drag that lasted an inordinate amount of time. "Bet you cops just love to get all the dirt, don't you?"

"I'm not a detective. I'm with the FBI," I said mildly. "I have no interest in anything other than what will help us solve this case. I'd kind of like an answer to my question. Do you have any idea where Kelsea would've gotten this kind of money?"

Her silence was deafening. Telling. Her sheet white face even more so. "She was not that...kind of girl." Her hand trembled. "And I think you should leave now."

"Maybe it would interest you to know she has a life insurance policy on Kelsea." I turned to find James in the doorway, his phone in hand. "Just got a call from Dak. One hundred thousand dollars in fact. That's a lot of insurance on a healthy teenager."

We both turned and looked at Dinah, who blinked at us. "Insurance is not a crime," she said.

"Wow," James said with a sharp intake of breath. "You really don't care if you ever see her again. As long as you have your insurance payout, you'll be A-OK."

Dinah's face suffused with color. "You can't speak to me like that." For all of her rough exterior, at that moment, she sounded like Anne of Green Gables. Insert petticoat and pearls to clutch.

"I just call it like I see it. It's going to be pretty bad for you in the joint," James continued. "Do you know what they do to child murderers?"

"Fuck you."

I held out a hand. Things were getting a little intense a little too fast. "James-"

"No. We're busting our asses looking for her kid, and she can't even tell us the truth," he snapped as he raked a hand through his hair. "The only thing she cares about is money."

"I'm going to have both of your badges!" Dinah hollered.

"Enough." I stepped between them and cut off the line of sight between the combatants. "Detective Diamond, perhaps it would be better if you went outside."

Usually, James' hazel eyes were so bright, sometimes even shimmering like a gemstone. Usually. Right then those beautiful eyes were like a dark forest. His voice was just as dark. "Dr. Knight, I don't really need your permission to conduct my investigation the way I see fit."

"Right now you need to cool off," I said coldly. "Outside."

A moment of breathless silence. I was really, really hoping he'd just comply. Because physically? I wasn't in the mood to try and forcibly move him. And then he threw up his hand, clearly disgusted with us both. "I'll be out in the car."

Where you're going to get an earful. I knew that without being told. But damned if I'd let a witness be spoken to that way. Or suspect. Witness. Whatever. I rubbed my temples as he stormed out.

Dinah stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the dresser. "This is exactly why I hate the police."

It wasn't worth formulating a response. I pointed at the lighthouse painting. "Can I take this picture with me? It might be important."

She glared at me for a moment and resignation filtered through her expression. "Take the damned thing. Now you can follow your buddy right out that door."

I lifted a brow. "Things to do? Life insurance to file?" She stubbornly looked past my shoulder, arms crossed. I fished my card from my pocket and held it out. "If you think of anything else."

The upraised FBI seal flittered under the dim light, and the grooves that lined her face grew deeper and bracketed her mouth like parentheses. She made no move to take the card from my outstretched hand and took another slow, calculated drag of her cigarette.

I left it on the dresser and had one last glance at the brightly colored room. Broken promise and unfulfilled potential. I couldn't leave fast enough.

XxX

By the time I got to the car, I'd built up a head of steam myself. I put the painting in the trunk and took my time to secure the money in an evidence bag and take a few pictures with my phone. When I got in the car, I ignored James and put my seatbelt on deliberately. He didn't start the car, and I gave him a pointed look.

He gave me the look right back. "You're angry? What a fucking coinky-dink."

I took a moment to gather my temper. Don't be air to his fire. Bring the flames down. Be baking soda. Be baking soda. It wasn't exactly self-help book material, but I would follow it to the letter. "I don't run my investigations that way," I said evenly. "And I don't lose my shit on witnesses."

"I did not lose my shit on a witness." At my snort he colored. "Okay, I may have come on a bit strong, but it's not like she was a shrinking violet either."

"What do you think Tate would say about that?"

He looked out the window, jaw tight, fingers drumming on the wheel. "You going to tell her?"

"Do I need to?" He didn't answer, and I sighed and looked away from his tensed profile. Because I was still actively trying to be baking soda to his flames, I didn't press the issue. "Guess we won't be invited back for another talk."

"It's not as if she was being so forthcoming anyway. I'm starting to think we should start looking for Kelsea under her rose bushes."

"You popping off at that woman going to help find that girl?"

"Her kid is out there, maybe dead, and she could care less. That doesn't bother you?"

I sent him a cool look that made him redden.

"I don't know what I expected from the Iceman," he muttered.

"Iceman." I repeated the word as though it were Russian. Fuck baking soda. Be kerosene. The next time I repeated it, my voice was decidedly higher. "Iceman? I stay compartmentalized so I can be effective. Being overly emotional isn't going to help them or me."

He didn't seem to be listening. "Hell, the only time I've ever seen you lose control is when we were…" He seemed lost in his own thoughts. "Unless even that was an act."

My jaw worked. I wasn't even going to dignify that with a response. When I spoke, my voice was like a dip in a natural spring...in Antarctica. "You about finished?"

"Yeah," he said finally. "I'm finished. More finished than I've ever been."

Hitting below the belt, I see. He wanted a reaction, and I wasn't going to give him one. Clearly, this was about more than Dinah Greene's evasiveness. During an investigation, it was more surprising when someone told the truth than when they lied. That was the status quo. It shouldn't affect him so much. Unless the case had triggered something.

I couldn't hold my tongue. "Why don't you tell me what this is really about?"

"It's about finding a missing girl," he snapped. "That not enough motivation for you?"

It was about more than that, and he knew it. Obviously, he wasn't ready to share. Not with me anyway. I let out a calming breath. This wasn't helping either of us.

"We need to look at this money angle," I said. "I want to find out where she's getting this extra cash."

James' mouth twisted, and I knew he was holding his tongue from saying something cutting. I appreciated the effort. "Fine by me," was all he said.

"We should talk to her best friend."

"Okay."

"She lives with her mother, Margaret Macmillan. Margaret is fairly important in the community. She knows the police commissioner."

"I know that."

"She may be resistant. Probably not happy to see us. I doubt she wants us talking to her daughter. Five years is a long time, and a lot of people have moved on."

"You're telling me this why?"

"Because if you do that again?" I jerked my thumb toward the Greene house with a serious look. "We'll both be out of a job. I kind of like eating. And not living in a cardboard box."

"I'll be on my best behavior." At my look, he rolled his eyes. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a Scout."

"No, but I like camping." He paused. "And cookies."

"That's girl-" I cut myself off and shook my head. "It'll do."

We were extra solicitous with one another on the way over. Careful not to dance over the shaky truce we'd laid, somewhere in the middle of the ever-growing space between us. I couldn't help but think Taylor Swift had it right-it had never been clearer that we were never, ever, ever, getting back together again.

Done! So, needless to say, things are a little rocky between Kames. But at least they have another lead of sorts!

I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, as well as if you happened to have a favorite part/moment!

Again, I hope you all enjoyed and that you all are doing well! The next chapter of this will most likely be up early next week, this weekend at the earliest. As for Be Alright, the next chapter of that will be up within the next few days, most likely Wednesday or Thursday. :)

Until then!

-Epically Obsessed