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"Oh my God…" she's gasping for air; I'm gritting my teeth. "I...Jesus…" she's trying to breathe, but I think I'm making it pretty difficult for her. "Oh...oh fuck."

Weber has been laughing at me for a solid ten minutes at least. She's on the phone, so I can't see her, but I know if I could, her face would be beet red, and she'd be wiping her tears away.

"Ang, it's not that fucking funny," I breathe, exasperated with her behavior while I'm trying to get dressed for my date.

I have an actual date … with a potential murderess. But anything to do my job and save lives, right?

"I just...I can't believe...fuck!"

"I know, I'm an idiot. But it got me the date, so, whatever." I reach into my closet to get the white button-up I planned to wear with my black slacks. I'm taking Isabella to a pretty nice place, so it'll be the first time she's seeing me in anything but what I wear to the bar.

"No, not that one. Wear the charcoal Henley," Angela says through her laughter.

"But I'm wearing a suit jacket with this," I mutter, glancing at the shirt she's talking about. "Wait a minute, how are you seeing me?"

My phone is on my bed, Angela is on the call and put on speaker, so I could get dressed while she cackles, but even if she tapped into it, she'd only be seeing my ceiling. Looking around the room, I see that my laptop was left open from researching where to take Isabella, and the tape I keep over the webcam seems to have fallen off.

Rookie fucking mistake.

"Jesus fuck, Ang, how long have you been watching me?"

She breaks out in a new round of laughter, and I glare at her through the camera I know she can now see me in.

"Long enough to know you're a boxer briefs guy, not long enough to know if you're packing more heat than just the gun you're about to strap on."

"I'm packing more heat than a strap-on, I assure you. You ever decide to leave Ben; I'll be glad to show you." Turning back to my closet, I yank the Henley off the hanger and over my head, then reach for my harness that crosses across my back, so my gun can nestle on my ribcage. Easy access, but hidden under the suit jacket.

I am going on a date with a potential serial killer, after all.

"I don't know; some of those strap-ons are bigger than I would ever want near my pristine puss."

Bitch is still laughing; in case you were wondering.

"Pristine puss? What are you, a Bond villain?" I scoff, finally pulling on my jacket and checking myself in the mirror. I tried to tame my hair, but it's no use. It has a mind of its own.

"Perfect!" Angela squeals. I toss a glare over my shoulder towards the camera.

I'm nervous. So fucking nervous I feel like I might shit my pants. I have to play it fucking cool on this date, and being around Isabella makes that damn near impossible.

I like her. A lot. But more importantly, I need to see this case through. I need to settle once and for all if she is capable of murder, and if she is if she's out for me. And in the meantime, I have to make sure she doesn't off me before my mission is complete.

I have no fucking clue how I'm going to pull any of this off. It'll be nothing short of a miracle if I do.

"Oh, and Edward?" Weber's voice comes from my phone.

"Yeah?"

"Do some squats before you go. She's right; your ass is a little froggy."

I don't bother saying goodbye as I slam the laptop shut and end the call to the sound of more of Angela's laughter.