Beta: Fran

Prereaders: Jill, Ariel, and Pearly

My heart: Yours

Things I don't own: Twilight or the FBI


-41-

Angela Weber has her elbows leaning on my desk, her fingers buried in her hair with her head in her hands. I've been standing in front of her like this for...quite some time.

I get how she's feeling. Really, I do. I'm an exasperating fuck even when I'm not actively emoting. Apparently that's even more prominent when something is making me fucking care. Who would've ever thought, huh?

"Edward. I could lose my job for this. You could lose your job for this," she mumbles, her face still pointed toward the top of my desk.

"That won't happen. I'll make sure of it. But we have to stop her, don't you think?" I ask frantically.

"Yes, of course, but we have to do this the right way, Cullen," she shoots up from my seat, replacing her elbows with her hands, leaning closer to me as she lowers her voice. "I have to go back to my office and pretend I found this shit on my own."

"I can't let you do that." Why? Because even after everything I just found out, I still feel some weird sort of ownership over Isabella Swan.

"I'm not asking you! What is the matter with you, Edward? You're usually all about serving your country, protecting people, following the rules to a T to dish out justice the way it's supposed to be. This is...well, quite frankly, this is a little pathetic."

"I bet Ben loves when you two fight, doesn't he? You're hot when you're mad," I quip, attempting to cut the tension that's settled in the air around us, filling up my office. Pressing down on me.

"You're not fucking funny right now, asshole."

She goes to storm out of my office, but the panic in my chest doesn't leave room for me to allow that. I do, at least, have enough control to make sure when I grab her arm, I do so gently.

For the first time in my life, I drop my mask. I let her see everything when her dark brown eyes, much darker than Bella's, look into mine. She's a beautiful woman, and I tease her about it a lot, but this isn't about that. This is about the fact that she's the only person I can confide in. The only friend I truly have.

"Ang, please. I can't let anything happen to her. Even if she's a murderer, I have to be the one to make sure. I can't pass her along to risk some over-excited rookie rushing into things and nailing her for something that may not be happening."

She glares up at me, narrowing her eyes. I can see the wheels turning in her head, how she's weighing her options; seeing how everything could potentially play out. It's part of what makes her a great detective.

"Fine," she says after a best longer than I appreciate. "But we do this my way, do you understand?"

"My way clearly isn't working, so yes. Of course," I answer calmly, releasing her arm.

She's a little too calm when she walks back to my seat, waving her hand for me to take the couch.

"Sit your stubborn, lovestruck ass down. We have a sting to plan."

I don't even object to the "lovestruck" comment this time.