Apologies in advance to anyone with in-depth knowledge of symphonies (specifically the Phoenix Symphony); I tried to keep all music/organizational references specific enough to make sense in the story but vague enough where I didn't need to be Highly Accurate (bc that is not the point of this crossover lolol). Let's call it creative license, lmao. I hope y'all enjoy the chapter!

xXx

Joe checked his watch as he jogged down the stairs, the clang of his shoes against the metal steps echoing through the quiet, isolated parking garage. Around his body was a satchel, his left hand clutching the bottom of the leather bag. His grip tightened when he reached the foot of the stairs, and he spared only a second to glance around him before continuing forward in search of his car.

He hadn't travelled more than a yard before a low click rolled through the garage.

"Is that you?" Joe called, slowing to a stop. "Hello?"

A second search of his surroundings revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Upon receiving no answer, either, Joe continued walking, though there was greater urgency to his step than before.

He began digging through his satchel, pulling out his keys before glancing behind himself yet again. Despite being the only person in the garage, Joe broke into a sprint, frantically looking all around until he arrived at his car.

"Come on, come on," he muttered, hands shaking and sweat beading his forehead as he fumbled shoving the key into the lock.

Once he managed to get his car open, Joe wasted no time climbing inside. He threw his satchel onto the passenger seat, and his still-shaking hands now struggled to slide the key into the ignition. A relieved exhale escaped his lips when he finally succeeded. Joe turned the key forward—

A massive explosion rocked the parking garage, a ball of fire surrounding his car and expanding yards and yards outward. Chunks of boiling metal and liquified plastic were sent flying into empty space, and all that remained in the driver's seat was—

"Joe!" Allison screamed, sitting bolt upright. Her body was drenched in cold sweat, and she immediately jerked to her left where her husband normally laid beside her.

Joe was nowhere to be found. Somehow, Allison managed to swallow a sob and take a deep breath as she checked the clock on her nightstand.

10:17 AM.

He hadn't been lying about letting her sleep in. God, that meant he'd already left for work. Did he use a parking garage? For the life of her, Allison couldn't remember, his workplace had changed so many times over the past few months.

She grabbed her cell phone off her dresser as she hastily made her way to the front of the house, tears trickling down her cheeks despite herself as she typed his number into the small keypad.

Cell. No answer.

Office. No answer.

"Dammit, Joe," Allison muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Pick up the phone!"

It was just a dream, she reminded herself, though that didn't stop her hands from shaking as she continued to dial. Just a dream.

On the fifth attempt, Allison turned on the TV, flipping through the channels in search of news, any news, about an explosion in a parking garage—maybe a car bomb, or some extreme vehicle malfunction. Going through every local station three times revealed nothing, and Allison exhaled a shaky breath. Waves of nausea still rolled about her stomach, but the worst of the storm was subsiding, even if sailing was nowhere near smooth. Whatever she'd seen… was preventable.

It had to be.

On her eighth dial to Joe's cell, Allison left a message.

"Hey, babe." She cleared her throat—no reason to sound overly distraught and risk making something out of nothing. It had been, after all, just a dream.

How many times would Allison have to tell herself that before she believed it?

"I know this is out of the blue, but I need you to call me back when you get this message." Allison wiped away a stray tear still trickling down her face. "Thank you."

She hesitated before quietly adding, "I love you."

After another pause, she hung up, exhaling as she placed her phone on the small kitchen table.

Allison shifted her attention to the family computer, though she kept her cell phone and one of the house phones right beside her as she signed in and began searching online for information about explosions in the Phoenix area.

Just like with the televised news, there was nothing.

Allison's racing heart continued to slow as she leaned back in her chair, forcing herself to take a deep, easy breath. Continuing to panic would do her no good. Joe was probably in a meeting or speaking with a coworker or any other of a million possibilities that did not include dying in a parking garage. There had to be a rational explanation for why he couldn't answer the phone.

Because it was just a dream.

Allison stood and retrieved a glass of water, the cool liquid grounding her more than pacing her breathing had. If Joe was more than likely fine at that very moment, then it was safe to conclude the explosion she'd seen hadn't happened yet, Allison again reminded herself. There was still time to stop such disaster from befalling her family. They could—They could buy a new car, or check under and inside their car for explosives every day, or even—

Allison jumped as the familiar chime of her phone rang throughout the room. She nearly dropped her glass as she placed it on the table before grabbing her cell and flipping it open. "Hello?"

"Eight missed calls? Allison, what the hell's going on?"

Allison's knees buckled, and she managed to guide her fall into the chair situated before the computer. "Joe," she breathed, relief seeping through her bones. "You're okay."

"I'm okay? Al, did you hear yourself when you were leaving that message?"

She chose not to address his snide comment, though her relief at hearing Joe alive and well was gradually being replaced by irritation towards his not-quite derision. "I'm fine. I just…" Allison shook her head. "I had a really bad dream. And I needed to hear your voice."

A beat passed before Allison heard Joe exhale on the other end of the line.

"Okay. I understand." His tone was gentler now. "I'm sorry for snapping at you. What happened in your dream? To me, I assume?"

"No, no, don't worry about it." Allison stood again, pacing back and forth next to the small kitchen table. "Focus on work. I'll fill you in on everything tonight."

The silence that followed was one filled with skepticism, and Allison grimaced. Perhaps leaving a voicemail promptly after waking up from such a horrific dream hadn't been her brightest idea.

"Alright," Joe finally said. "If you're sure."

"I am sure," Allison confirmed. Her pacing slowed, and she gripped the edge of the table with her free hand. "Before you go, I need you to promise me something." God, he was not going to like this. But she had to take precautions.

"Fire away."

Allison flinched at his choice of phrase. "When you come home tonight… you have to promise me you won't drive your car home."

A bewildered huff left Joe's end of the line. "Allison—"

"I'm serious, Joe! Take a cab, take the bus, hell, let someone else take you home! But you can't—you have to promise me you won't drive yourself." Her voice faltered at the end, and Allison closed her eyes, taking a slow breath. "Promise."

There was another extended pause, but Joe sighed. "Fine. I promise I won't drive my car. But"—his tone grew steely—"we are talking about whatever happened in your dream when I get home, okay?"

All that mattered to Allison was making sure Joe got home. "Deal."

"Glad we're on the same page. See you tonight."

"Love you." Allison blew an exhausted but relieved kiss into the phone before hanging up. The clock on the wall behind her revealed it was just past 10:30.

God, the only minutes longer in her life than the last 15 were the hours Joe had been held hostage at Aerodytech.

If Lee had been telling her the truth, though, and they wouldn't need her actively working the case until noon, at least that meant Allison could spend another half hour recuperating from her dream before she started readying herself to face the day.

As she prepared a cup of coffee—no breakfast beyond that, her dream had shattered her appetite—Allison tried to decipher the nagging feeling that somehow, somewhere, she'd witnessed the explosion in her dream before. She was no stranger to psychic-induced car bomb scares, but…

This dream had been far more vivid. It was the kind of sharp, eerie vividness rooted in reality, though she prayed, prayed that reality would not be Joe's.

Allison blinked, freezing with her mug halfway to her mouth as recollection hit her with the force of a sledgehammer.

The detective. Monk. When she'd shaken his hand—that was where she'd seen an explosion of the same intensity!

Her coffee all but forgotten, Allison practically flew across the kitchen to sit in front of the family computer. Her hands shook as she typed 'Adrian Monk' in the search bar and clicked enter. The loading symbol spun across the screen, and Allison bit her tongue to hold back a gasp as the first page of results appeared.

"Wife of Decorated SFPD Detective Slain."

"Car Bomb Case Still Open."

"Detective Granted Discharge Following Breakdown After Wife's Murder."

"Oh my God," Allison murmured, continuing to scroll down despite her horror. It was if some outside force compelled her to continue investigating. After a moment, she squared her shoulders and opened the first link.

Then, Allison began to read.

The victim, Adrian Monk's wife, was a woman named Trudy. The explosion that had killed her—a car bomb—had occurred in a parking garage, just like what happened to Joe in Allison's dream.

According to the article, Trudy and Monk had been married for seven years before her murder in 1997, and at least at the time of writing, the case was unsolved.

Allison had a feeling that even after all these years, the killer was still out there.

At the bottom of the article was a picture of a beautiful blonde woman with the kindest smile Allison had ever seen. Trudy Monk, the caption simply read. Beside that portrait was a photo of the same woman with Monk, dressed in his detective's uniform—a still of her kissing his cheek while he laughed with unabashed elation.

Allison's heart ached. How devastating his wife's loss must have been for Monk to become so… for him to be in such constant pain without her, at least based on what Allison had experienced upon shaking his hand that morning.

Allison clicked another article, this one detailing more about the unusual habits of Adrian Monk. He'd struggled with OCD and numerous phobias for most of his life, all of which were exacerbated tenfold following Trudy's death. For three years after his wife's murder, he couldn't leave his house. It wasn't until a Captain Leland Stottlemeyer—one of Monk's longtime friends in the SFPD, the article explained—hired a nurse, Sharona Fleming, to look after him that he'd been able to get back out into the world.

Despite her digging, Allison couldn't find any links with more recent information, but it was apparent Monk had improved enough in recent years to serve as a consultant, with Sharona now his assistant instead of his nurse. And though no article stated it outright…

He was still searching for his wife's killer. He had to be. There was no way he could rest until that case was closed.

Allison leaned back in her chair, taking a sip of her coffee as she tried to process all that she had read. She grimaced—ugh, the drink was barely lukewarm. A glance upward revealed that the clock on the wall now read 11:13, and Allison bit back a huff. She'd been down her research rabbit hole longer than she'd expected. Any minute now, Lee would probably be calling her about the case—

As if on cue, the landline rang.

"Hello?" Allison said as she picked up, crossing over to the kitchen sink to dump her cold coffee down the drain.

"Hey, Allison." Yep, it was Lee. "We're heading out to visit Louise Boudreaux's apartment in a bit—wanted to know if you were interested in tagging along."

"Of course," she affirmed as she rinsed her mug. "Who's 'we'?"

"Me, plus Monk and his assistant."

"Right." Allison made a mental note to hold her tongue around Monk today and not ask about his wife. Yet. She wanted to talk it all over with Joe first. "Yes, I'd love to come."

"Great. You driving yourself, or you want me to come pick you up?"

Allison shivered, her dream of the car bomb still fresh in her mind. "I'd appreciate it if you could drive me, thanks."

"Not a problem. I'll be there in 20."

Allison grimaced. "Could you make it 30? I'm still in pajamas."

Lee laughed. "Sure, sure. See you in 30."

"You're the best."

"So Lynn tells me."

Allison thanked him a second time before hanging up and heading to her bedroom to get dressed for the day. Or dressed for the latter half of it, at least. She shot Joe a quick text reassuring him she'd pick up the girls from school. Hopefully by then she'd be more comfortable getting behind the wheel.

Lee arrived at her house 30 minutes later, as promised, and their conversation on the way to the victim's apartment began with typical small talk about how Lynn and Allison's girls were doing. As they neared their destination, said conversation transitioned to reviewing the purpose of their visit.

"We're mostly hoping to learn more about Louise by talking to her roommate, Vanessa Sawyer," Lee explained, scratching his jaw. "Get a feel for what was going on in her life."

"Is the roommate not a suspect?" Allison asked, glancing at Lee. "The person who killed Louise in my dream was a woman"—based on the long hair and higher, softer voice, at least—"who seemed pretty familiar with her, so a roommate could be exactly who we're looking for."

Lee chuckled. "You know as well as I do that your dreams aren't always exact, and more importantly that they aren't admissible in court. For now, Vanessa Sawyer is nothing more than an average person of interest in this case. And hopefully a good source for information on Louise." He winked at Allison. "But you'll be the first to know if anything changes."

Allison shook her head, amused. "Thanks, Lee."

They pulled into the parking lot of the victim's apartment complex not long after. Sharona and Monk had already arrived and were standing outside next to Sharona's station wagon.

"Thanks for coming," Lee said to them as he climbed out his car, Allison following suit. He gave their guests a quick nod. "Hope we didn't keep you waiting."

"Oh, we've only been here five minutes," Sharona said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "Even we can keep ourselves entertained for that long." She shot Monk a flat look. "If in very questionable ways."

Monk shrugged. "It's only 17 cars."

"'Only 17.' Do you hear yourself?"

Allison exchanged a bemused glance with Lee, who chuckled before gesturing to the entrance of the complex. "Shall we head inside?" Upon receiving three nods of confirmation, he led the way.

Allison fell into step beside Lee, taking general note of her surroundings as they all headed up to the second floor. Monk muttered something about the rickety metal steps probably being a safety hazard, to which Sharona replied that he was being ridiculous. But other than their muted conversation from behind her, nothing caught Allison's attention—neither in a normal nor a psychic fashion, as it were.

When Lee gave her an inquiring glance as they arrived at the appropriate door, Allison could only respond with a helpless shrug. She had no control over what she did and didn't see.

Of course, maybe her subconscious was still caught up in her most recent dream. Allison couldn't hold it against herself if that was the case.

"Alright," Lee said, keeping his voice low as he stood outside the victim's door. He removed his notebook from his jacket, flipping to a clean page. "When we first get in there, I'm gonna ask most of the questions. Afterwards, I'll let you all know when you're up to the plate."

He once again waited until he'd received a nod of confirmation from everyone before rapping his knuckles on the white door.

When the door opened, Allison had to bite her tongue to hold back what would've been an audible gasp. Although based on the curious glance Monk sent her, she wasn't sure she'd succeeded. But her reaction was understandable, because the woman who stood before them had long auburn hair and piercing blue eyes—identical to the perpetrator in Allison's first dream.

This woman had killed Louise Boudreaux. Allison knew it.

Now all that remained was proving why and how she'd done it. Which also meant convincing Lee and Devalos, which half the time ended up being Allison's biggest challenge.

"Are you Vanessa Sawyer?" Lee asked, and the woman nodded.

"I am." She paused, eyes flickering over each member of their group. "And… you are?"

"Phoenix PD," Lee replied, pulling his jacket aside to reveal the badge clipped to his belt. "My name is Detective Lee Scanlon." He dropped the fabric to gesture to the three behind him, one at a time. "This is Adrian Monk. He's working as a consultant on the Boudreaux case. This is Sharona Fleming, his assis—"

"His associate and partner," Sharona interrupted, and Lee shook his head in mild amusement. "Nice to meet you, Ms. Sawyer."

After Vanessa greeted Sharona with a brief nod, Lee continued. "And this is Allison Dubois. She's a representative from the district attorney's office."

"Pleasure to meet you," Allison said, offering her left hand for Vanessa to shake. The woman started to reach out with her right hand, blinked in surprise, and switched to her left. When she shook Allison's hand with a firm grip—

Nothing. No visions, no feelings, nothing.

Allison didn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed. What she did confirm, however, was that a jagged scar ran down Vanessa's left thumb—the same scar Allison had seen in her dream.

It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't be!

"We're here to talk about your roommate, Louise Boudreaux," Lee concluded, clicking his pen. "Mind if we come in?"

Vanessa shook her head. "Not at all." She held the door open as she stepped aside. "I'm happy to help in any way I can."

She closed the door with a quiet click once they'd all entered her apartment. "Uh, forgive me for asking, but"—Vanessa pursed her lips, puzzled—"I thought Louise died in a car accident? What's with the cavalry?"

"We have reason to believe Ms. Boudreaux's death may not have been an accident," Lee said. "You understand I can't be more specific."

Vanessa nodded. "Yes, of course."

As Lee began by asking Vanessa generic questions about Louise's life, how long Vanessa had known her, where Vanessa had been around 2 to 3 this morning, Allison focused her attention on her surroundings. The information Lee was presently collecting was nothing she couldn't learn from the case file later on.

Monk and Sharona must have come to a similar conclusion, she noted, as they, too, were examining a desk pushed to the far wall of the room instead of listening to Vanessa's responses.

The apartment was fairly small, though it was one of high quality. The main room they stood in had a TV fitted against one wall with a couch facing it, while two of the other three walls were lined with shelves. Most of these shelves contained books, picture frames, and various knick-knacks, though others contained trophies and plaques—awards for violin, Allison realized upon taking a few steps closer. The ones from recent years were inscribed with Louise's name, but the older awards all had Vanessa Sawyer engraved across them in curved font.

Against the fourth wall of the room was the desk Sharona and Monk were looking over. It had some kind of machine atop it, though Allison had no idea what said machine was for, as well as a few small boxes strewn carelessly beside the strange contraption. Monk kept pushing at the boxes with his pinky while Sharona hissed at him to stop touching what wasn't his.

Another glance around the room revealed no violin, Allison was surprised to find. Or not find, she supposed. But since Vanessa's awards were so much older than Louise, maybe she'd stopped playing years ago.

"Would you say Louise had any enemies?" Lee asked, snapping Allison's attention back to their conversation. This was a part she didn't want to miss. "Anyone who might have wished her harm?"

Vanessa sighed, wrapping her arms around her chest in a self-embrace. "I mean, I don't think so? People weren't happy about her and Marcus's arrangement, but I'd never have guessed someone would kill her because of it."

Allison paused. Marcus. She'd heard that name before.

Now you and Marcus are both getting what you deserve.

If her dream was accurate—and Allison suspected it was—then this 'Marcus' was somehow connected to Louise's death. Maybe not the cause, but possibly in danger himself. And based on how Lee shot her a brief glance, it seemed he remembered the name from her dream, too.

"Who's Marcus?" Lee asked, flipping to a new page in his notebook.

"Oh, he's the conductor," Vanessa explained. "The music director for the Phoenix Symphony. Marcus Jackson."

Lee nodded, jotting down what Allison presumed was Marcus's name and position. "And you said Ms. Boudreaux had some kind of arrangement with him?"

Vanessa sighed. "Louise is—I mean, was a fantastic violinist. She wouldn't have been part of the orchestra if she wasn't. But…" She pursed her lips. "Well, I'm sure you've heard of the casting couch. Louise and Marcus had a… similar arrangement, putting her at first chair. Guaranteed."

"'The casting couch'?" Allison heard Monk whisper to Sharona. He was still poking at the colorful cardboard boxes on the desk, seemingly distressed by their disarray.

"She was sleeping with the guy for the position, Adrian," Sharona muttered in response, and Monk paled, his hand pausing in its prodding.

"Ah."

"Mhm."

"Are you suggesting other people disapproved of this relationship?" Lee continued, and Vanessa shrugged.

"I don't know. I really only heard orchestra gossip through Lou"—Allison tensed at the nickname, but Lee either didn't see or chose to ignore the pointed look she sent him—"and most of that was related to her and Marcus's little 'thing.' But last week, she was actually talking about ending their relationship."

Lee made a note on the same page. "Did she mention anything about Marcus's reaction to a breakup?"

Vanessa snorted. "Uh, yeah. He wasn't too pleased with the idea. I got the impression he would have done anything to keep her. Pretty nasty."

She lowered her voice and leaned toward Lee, as if she was afraid someone would stop outside her apartment and listen in. "Lou started sleeping with a knife under her pillow, you know?"

This girl was lying, Allison knew it. At the very least, Vanessa Sawyer was telling a heavily modified version of the truth. The problem, as usual, was that Allison's conclusions were all rooted in her dream—not foolproof, and never permissible as evidence.

Still. There had to be more she could do.

Monk rolled his shoulders, as if contemplating Vanessa's latest claim. Allison watched him continue to push around the small boxes on the desk into what she was starting to recognize as a rectangular—no, a square arrangement. Monk didn't react even as Sharona shot him another glare.

"Ms. Sawyer," Monk asked after a pause, "did Ms. Boudreaux ever indicate to you that she was planning to leave the orchestra?"

Vanessa stared at him, confusion furrowing her brow. "Not that I can recall. Why?"

Monk shrugged. "No reason in particular." He paused in his prodding a second time. "Prior to her untimely passing, then, there would have been no available seat for violinists in the symphony?"

Vanessa watched in bewilderment as Monk gave up on his not-so-subtle nudging and instead began to actively stack the cardboard boxes into a cube next to the mystery machine on her desk. "Uh, I guess not."

Monk nodded. "Thank you."

"Adrian, leave the boxes alone," Sharona hissed, swatting him on the shoulder as he continued to adjust and rearrange the small cardboard containers. When he still didn't stop, she grabbed his forearm. "Adrian. Those are not yours to touch."

"No, it's okay," Vanessa reassured her, though confusion continued to permeate her features. "I have to throw those out anyway."

Sharona frowned, releasing Monk's arm. He seized the moment to smooth his sleeve back down.

"Really?" Sharona said, her tone tinged with such genuine surprise that Allison suspected most people were not so forgiving when Monk fiddled with their belongings. "What are they?"

"It's plastic for my 3D printer," Vanessa explained, gesturing to the machine next to the boxes. "I custom make pieces for instruments, and other bits and bobs. Made some for Louise, Angela, Jeongin—I even made a few for myself, back in the day."

Huh. That was… pretty impressive, in Allison's opinion. Apparently murderous behavior didn't negate creative talent?

"Unfortunately," Vanessa continued, shaking her head, "this brand has issues with brittleness that I didn't know about when I bought it. Those boxes are all pretty useless to me now."

Allison watched as Monk at last finished stacking the boxes to his satisfaction. Seconds later, something else on the desk seemed to catch his eye.

A key ring, Allison realized when she herself took a step closer, although the attached keys were almost completely covered by a white rag.

"Excuse me, Ms. Sawyer?" Monk said, poking at the key ring with his silver pen. "Do you own a Nissan?"

Allison froze. A Nissan. That was the type of car she'd seen run Louise Boudreaux off the road in her dream!

Vanessa's jaw clenched almost imperceptibly. The sharp reaction disappeared as quickly as it had come, however, replaced by her previous calm facade.

"Yes, I do," she said, crossing over to grab the key ring. She kept the fabric from the desk wrapped around it as she clutched the keys in her left hand.

Monk frowned, tilting his head as he returned his pen to the inside of his jacket. "But there are no Nissans in the parking lot of this apartment."

Vanessa's eyes narrowed. "And how do you know that?"

"We got here five minutes before Detective Scanlon and Mrs. Dubois," Sharona said, rolling her eyes. "That was enough time for Adrian to memorize the make and model of all 17 cars in the parking lot."

Allison bit back a laugh—of course he'd managed such a bizarre task. No wonder Sharona had been so exasperated with Monk's idea of "entertainment" when she and Lee first arrived.

"It's a gift… and a curse," Monk muttered, fidgeting with the cuff of his left sleeve.

"Well, my car is in the shop," Vanessa said coolly. "So you're right, there isn't a Nissan in the parking lot at this very moment."

After a pause, Allison decided to put in her own two cents. "If you don't mind me asking, Ms. Sawyer, is your Nissan red?"

"It's blue, actually." Vanessa gave them all a skeptical look. "What does my car have to do with Lou and Marcus?"

"Nothing, ma'am," Lee said, flipping his notebook shut. "Thank you for your time. We'll be on our way."

"I have one more question, actually," Monk said. He smoothed down the front of his jacket. "You're planning to audition for Ms. Boudreaux's position in the Phoenix Symphony, aren't you?"

Vanessa stared at him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You're a very talented violinist." Monk gestured to the awards on the shelf to his left. "First chair material. It's perfectly understandable for you to be interested in claiming the position, despite the… unfortunate circumstances by which it has become available."

"Sir, I haven't performed in years," Vanessa said, clearly on the fence as to whether she should be offended or amused by his presumption. She lifted her left hand. Though she was still clutching the key ring, the scar that ran down her thumb was clearly visible. "I had a major surgery several years ago. I couldn't even pick up my bow."

Monk touched the rim of a lamp resting on a small table beside the couch. "You haven't performed since," he agreed, "but you have been practicing again."

"What are you talking about?" Vanessa demanded. She glanced at Lee, who was observing the conversation with silent interest. "Detective, what does your consultant think he's doing?"

"You have new calluses on your right fingertips," Monk explained.

Allison looked down at the woman's right hand. Sure enough, Monk was correct.

"One of them blistered," he continued, "and is now healing. You've been playing your violin again." Monk paused. "Unless I'm wrong. Which, you know. I'm not."

A smirk pulled at Sharona's lips, and Allison had to fight down a too-pleased expression of her own. Lee hadn't been lying—this guy really was the best of the best.

Vanessa didn't respond at first, simply staring at Monk with tension riddling her upper body.

"If you don't mind, I'd like you all to leave now," she finally said. "I'm trying to help Lou's father with funeral arrangements. He expected a call from me five minutes ago."

Lee nodded, tucking his notebook into his jacket. "We'll be going now. Again, thank you for your help, Ms. Sawyer. We'll be in touch if we have any further questions."

Vanessa gave them a fake smile, an expression nowhere close to reaching her eyes. "I'm sure you will. Goodbye, detective."

With that, all four of them were ushered out the apartment, the door closing and locking with two consecutive clicks behind them.

"She's the guy," Monk said the second they were out of Vanessa's potential earshot and were heading down the same metal stairs from before. "Vanessa Sawyer killed Louise Boudreaux."

"Adrian always says someone's 'the guy' when he knows they're guilty," Sharona explained, and Allison nodded.

"I agree. She's definitely the guy."

Monk gave her a small, appreciative smile. Perhaps he wasn't used to such immediate support. Allison knew she hardly was.

Lee shook his head, amused, as they reached the foot of the stairs and began walking through the parking lot. "I agree Vanessa Sawyer's behavior was suspicious, but what has the both of you sold on her guilt already?"

Allison sent him a dubious look. He knew damn well where her certainty originated from.

"She's clearly hiding something," Monk said, holding his hands before him in a way that almost formed a triangle. "Her story just—it doesn't add up."

"What do you mean?" Sharona asked. They all slowed to a stop beside her car.

"For one, she said the conductor would have done anything to salvage his relationship with Louise," Monk said, pinching the thumb and forefinger of his right hand together. "If that's true, why would he kill her? That's a pretty ineffective way to keep someone you love in your life."

"Well, maybe Louise was just trying to scare him by saying she'd leave," Sharona suggested. "You know, use their relationship against him for her own benefit."

"Here's the thing," Monk said. This was the most animated Allison had seen him act since his arrival in Phoenix. "Their relationship was for her benefit. The roommate said Louise was sleeping with the conductor to maintain first chair, right?"

Lee nodded, and Monk continued.

"Well, the roommate also said Louise had no plans to leave the orchestra. So why would she try to call things off? She'd be putting herself out of a job!"

Allison somehow managed to hold back an impressed grin. How was it fair that San Francisco was keeping this genius to themselves?

"She could have misspoke or been mistaken," Sharona pointed out, and Allison grimaced, because that was unfortunately as plausible as Monk's theory.

"Maybe," Monk said, but it was clear he wasn't convinced. "But I don't think so. I am 87% sure Vanessa Sawyer killed Louise Boudreaux to take her spot as first chair violinist in the Phoenix Symphony. She's just trying to deflect our attention onto the conductor. I don't know how she did it, but she did it." He nodded, looking at them all expectantly. "She's the guy."

Lee sighed, one hand falling to rest on his waist while the other rubbed his forehead. "Look, that's a solid theory. And it's a theory I'm honestly inclined to agree with. But where's the proof? Where's the physical evidence?"

Monk hesitated. "I… don't know."

Sharona turned to Allison. "You said you agreed, right? Was there something you noticed in the apartment that Adrian didn't?"

Allison remembered Sharona's words of advice about Monk's less-than-positive feelings toward psychics, and so refrained from bringing up her initial dream. "Not really," she said apologetically. "I just… have a similar hunch to Mr. Monk."

Lee shrugged. "Then we'll put a pin in this hunch for now. There's nothing more we can do with Vanessa Sawyer until—unless we get physical evidence connecting her to the crime. Or at least probable cause for a search warrant."

"You'll check out her car, right?" Allison asked, recalling Vanessa's excuse that it was in the shop. Although the woman had claimed it was blue, Allison couldn't help but wonder if there was a layer of red paint beneath.

Lee nodded. "Yeah, I'm gonna take care of that later today."

Allison thanked him, wishing he could do it immediately but knowing she had to take what she could get from Phoenix PD. Patience was a virtue.

"Well, what now?" Sharona asked, shouldering her purse.

"Now," Lee said, "I'm gonna take Allison home, then head back to the station so I can log everything we learned from Ms. Sawyer. I'll check out the car situation and do some digging into our lover, Marcus Jackson. I know you guys have your heart set on Vanessa being guilty, but that doesn't mean Jackson isn't involved in some other way."

Sharona nodded. "Is there anything else you need from us?"

"For now, no. I'll call you if that changes. You're free to go back to your hotel, explore downtown, whatever you want to do today. Thank you for the good work."

Sharona beamed. "Great! Thank you, detective." As she started trying to convince Monk that they should go out to a late lunch, Allison pulled Lee aside.

"Vanessa Sawyer is the woman I saw run Louise Boudreaux off the road in my dream," she said, keeping her voice low to ensure Monk wouldn't overhear. "I'm sure of it."

"And I believe you, Allison," Lee said, "but my hands are tied until we get concrete evidence."

"I know, I know." Allison sighed, frustrated. "I just hate that a murderer will be walking free."

"Well, look on the bright side." Lee unlocked his car, holding the passenger door open for Allison. "If Monk's theory is right, and Vanessa only killed Louise for her place in the symphony, that means she probably isn't looking to kill again."

Allison snorted as she climbed into the car. "Wow. Thank you, Lee. Your optimism never ceases to brighten my day."

Lee winked at her. "It's what I do."

After that, Lee drove her home, as promised. Allison used the few hours she had to herself to unwind. A concept also known as taking a long, hot bath.

At one point, Joe texted her to check in and explain he'd be home late tonight, and Allison responded with the reassurance that she was fine. She also repeated her desire that he not drive himself home. Allison could picture Joe rolling his eyes when he got the message, but thankfully his only reply was the promise that he was indeed in the process of finding alternate transport.

Considering the action-packed morning Allison had experienced, from her three dreams to meeting Monk and Sharona to the interview with the guilty roommate, her afternoon was far less eventful. The only interruption, as it were, was when she had to retrieve the girls from school.

After thoroughly checking her car inside and out for any kind of explosive or fluid leak, Allison drove and picked up her three kids without issue. Well, save for one minor disagreement with Ariel, who didn't understand why her mother refused to let her drive home.

"Dad always lets me drive on the way back," Ariel protested, earning a sharp glare from Allison.

"I'm not your father, Ariel," Allison snapped. She put the car into drive before pulling out of the high school parking lot.

A beat later, she sighed. "I promise I'm not making a habit of this, okay? Just… trust me. Let me drive today."

A concerned frown tugged at Ariel's lips, but she nodded. "Fine. Whatever you say."

Thankfully, that had been the end of that, and from then on out all complaints ceased. Ariel and Bridgette didn't even argue during the drive or upon arriving home. Instead, Bridgette worked with Allison to prepare dinner while Ariel helped Marie with her homework.

"I love you girls," Allison said when they were all sitting around the dinner table, earning her three brilliant smiles in return. She was the luckiest mother in the world.

"You sure you don't want anything to eat, Mom?" Bridgette asked, and Allison shook her head.

"No, sweetie. Mom's had a long day and isn't hungry." Her dream, the car bomb—the shock had stolen her appetite for the time being. She hoped that seeing Joe alive and well would restore it.

"So, what's happening at school tomorrow?" Allison asked her kids after a pause, and despite the questioning look Ariel threw her, the topic of conversation was successfully shifted.

Joe arrived home while Allison was doing the dishes. "Hey, sorry I'm so late," he said, dropping his bag onto the table before pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. "Turns out I was the second carpool drop-off tonight."

Allison cringed, her relief at seeing Joe soon replaced by the gnawing guilt that she'd been the one to throw his entire evening in disarray with her request.

"Where are the girls?" Joe asked, and Allison blinked back to attention.

"Uh, Ariel is doing homework in her room, and Bridgette and Marie are getting ready for bed." She scrubbed the grease off the last of the pots she'd used to cook before rinsing and placing it in the strainer to dry. "I made a plate for you. It's in the fridge."

"Ooh, thank you." Joe headed to get his food. "Wow, seems like more leftovers than usual." He crouched down to survey the other shelves in the fridge. "Did you make extra?"

"Hmm? Oh, no," Allison said as she registered his question. She wiped her hands dry before hanging up the towel above the sink. Joe slid his plate into the microwave, clicking the automatic minute. "I just didn't eat anything tonight."

Joe spun her way so quickly he probably should have been concerned about whiplash. "Excuse me? You didn't eat?"

"Don't worry," she said, rolling her eyes and giving him a cheeky grin as she tried to play off his concern. The last thing she needed was to add to his worries—her voicemail had been bad enough. "I promise I'll have something tomorrow."

Joe ignored her comment, stepping forward to rest one hand on her waist. The other cupped the left side of her face, his thumb gently tracing beneath her eye. Allison wondered if her bags were showing through her concealer.

"That dream really shook you up, huh?" he murmured.

Allison sighed, leaning forward to wrap her arms around him. She buried her face into his chest, and Joe stroked her hair in response.

"Maybe a little," she finally admitted, the microwave beeping in the background.

Joe chuckled. Allison loved how the sound vibrated through her when she stood pressed against him. "Seems like an understatement." He kissed the top of her head, and Allison released him so he could retrieve his plate from the microwave.

"It was so vivid, Joe," Allison said once they were seated at the table and she'd recounted the gist of her dream. "You turned the key and… boom." Her fists clenched and unclenched helplessly in her lap. "But I'm sorry I scared you with my call earlier. I'd just woken up, I wasn't thinking straight."

Joe took a sip of his water. "Well," he said, wiping his mouth after swallowing, "with a dream like that, I think I can see why."

Allison gave him a puzzled look, though the corners of her mouth twitched upward in an amused smile. "You're being surprisingly understanding about this for someone who was forced to leave his Jeep at work and carpool home. Where's my Mr. Science-and-Reason husband?"

Joe snorted. "He heard his wife didn't eat dinner, and based on the lack of dishes in the dishwasher, realized she may not have eaten breakfast or lunch, either, so he's been temporarily replaced by your supportive and empathetic husband."

Allison's gaze softened. Lucky for her, these men were the same person. "You really don't need to worry," she repeated. She reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "Now that you're home, I'm already feeling better."

Joe raised an eyebrow, nudging his plate forward with his free hand. "Better enough to eat some of this lasagna?"

Allison laughed, relief seeping into her bones for the first time that day. "Sure. Thank you."

Their dream-related conversations were put on hold as they shared the rest of Joe's dinner, washed his dishes, and got ready for bed. After a few minutes spent discussing their days at work and Joe's progress on his solar cell, Joe brought up her dream again.

"So, how do we want to deal with it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as they sat down on their bed. "Check my car for explosives every day? Never let me use parking garages when we go to the movies?"

Allison groaned, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the wooden backboard behind her with a dull thud. "Don't ask me that. I've been wracking my brain all day and still haven't come up with a feasible solution."

Joe pursed his lips. She could tell he wanted to keep pushing, but thankfully he let it slide. No words could describe how grateful Allison was for that decision. Besides, knowing what she did now about the fate that had befallen Adrian Monk's wife… She hoped to God her dream had been a distorted recollection, not a premonition.

"Want to talk about your case instead?" Joe asked, and Allison laughed, reaching over to knock his shoulder with the knuckles of her left hand.

"First you act all understanding about my dream, now you want to know about my case? Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" She shook her head, clicking her tongue. "I can only assume you're a ghost in Joe's body."

Joe snorted. "Oh no, honey. That's a problem unique to you."

Allison snickered even as Joe sent her a flat look.

"To tell you the truth," she continued after a pause, shifting so she sat cross-legged on their bed, "I think my dream about you and the case are related. I don't know how, but… there's a connection."

Joe frowned. "Really? I thought your case was dealing with a car crash, not an explosion." He raised an eyebrow. "Unless the car exploded as it crashed. Unlikely, but not impossible."

"No, no, not connected like that," Allison said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "The girl was run off the road by her roommate, no question about it. We just need some physical evidence tying her to the crime."

"If you don't have any physical evidence, how are you so sure the roommate's responsible?"

Allison gave him a dubious look. "I saw it, Joe. I even saw the roommate take her wallet afterward."

Which she'd told Lee that morning, if memory served. Allison hadn't thought to look for it at Louise's apartment, but… If they found that wallet in Vanessa's possession, then she was as good as convicted.

Maybe Allison would remind Lee of that tomorrow.

"You dreamt it," Joe corrected. "You know that's not the same thing."

As exasperated as this age-old argument made her, Allison wouldn't deny it was a fair point. Even if Joe was completely wrong. But this time—

"Maybe," she admitted, "but Adrian Monk agrees with me that the roommate is guilty, so we honestly don't even need my dream to justify pursuing her as a suspect."

Joe raised a brow. "'Adrian Monk'? Should I know that name?"

"Probably not. But I think he's the connection between this case and my dream about you and the—ugh. You know." Allison didn't necessarily believe in the idea of speaking events into existence, but she wasn't about to risk it here. She'd discussed that nightmare in enough detail already. "He's a former homicide detective from San Francisco, apparently the best in the business. Right now, he works as a consultant. Lee and Devalos hired him to consult on this case after he and his assistant happened to be the ones who found our victim's body."

Joe nodded slowly. "Okay… And?" He threw his hands up in mock surrender. "Sorry, I'm just not seeing how this relates to the dream you had about me."

"Slow your roll, I'm getting there."

Allison tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to recall everything she'd read about Monk that morning. She didn't want to flub some critical detail. "The reason Monk is no longer a detective is because he had a breakdown and was discharged from the San Francisco police department several years ago, after his wife was murdered. That's the one case he's never been able to solve." Allison tilted her head. "Guess how his wife died."

Joe's eyes widened. "Car bomb."

Allison nodded. "Exactly. I don't think it's a coincidence that I met him this morning, then had that dream about you when I came home."

Joe lifted their sheets. He slid down beneath the fabric and motioned for Allison to join him, which she did without complaint.

"I agree," he said, dropping the covers as Allison rested her head on his chest, "and in a way, I think this not-coincidence is a bit of a silver lining."

Allison frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well"—Joe began stroking the back of her head, and tension drained from Allison's body with each touch—"I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say odds are your dream actually had to do with that detective, not me and my car. I mean, I rarely use parking garages, Al."

Allison's frown deepened. "You don't know if that's true."

It was one thing for her to consider the possibility. It was quite another for her skeptic of a husband to do so. Joe had a habit of being more dismissive than she liked when it came to dreams related to their family.

"And you don't know it isn't," Joe countered, earning an eye roll from Allison. There was Mr. Science and Reason, the man she both loved and loathed. "Al, maybe you're just—"

"Shh, we're done talking about this." Allison rolled over onto her right side, facing the edge of the bed. "We can continue in the morning." She yawned. "Maybe I'll have another dream that miraculously clears everything up."

Of course, when had she ever been lucky enough for that to happen?

Joe snorted, switching off the lamp on his nightstand. "Has that ever happened?"

A laugh escaped Allison's lips despite herself, and Joe took that as his cue to scoot closer, fitting his body around hers so his chin could rest atop her head. Allison hummed in contentment, pulling his left arm over her. Soon, she drifted off to sleep.

xXx

The plot thickens… See you next Sunday! As always, I'm on Tumblr thinkingisadangerouspastime :)