A/N Thank you to everyone for the great feedback/reviews from last chapter. You guys are amazing! Thank you to Saritadreaming for wrangling my commas and keeping me from making a total fool of myself with crimes to grammar. Thank you to Paula for pre-reading and always making me laugh with her wonderful comments. Thank you to Amy and Jo for keeping me sane and holding my head above water. Cry me a river, and I'll build you a boat. Come sail into the safe harbour of my arms... ;)


Prey for the Wicked

. . . . . .

Laughing as these lies unfold...

Chapter 14

Спокуса

. . . . . .

Jake watches time tick by. He sits on Bella's couch and stares at his phone, flipping through his contact list, pausing on Charlie's number. Twice now a patrol car has passed the house, slowing down to a near stop to survey the property. He thinks it's Embry. If it is, Jake plans to kick his ass for being so completely unobservant. It sends a cold rush up his spine that the person Embry is supposed to be checking on isn't here and no one except Jake seems the wiser.

Imagining what could happen to Bella under the supposed watchful eye of her father and his small town deputies, clenches Jake's guts into a painful knot.

Yeah, like you're so much better? His conscience mocks him. You let her walk out the door, and you know damn well something is up with her—something more than just her wanting to get out of town for a day.

He runs an unsteady hand through his close cropped hair, making a mental note to get it cut soon. Billy will scowl. Leah will tell him how hot he'd look with long hair.

Tradition. Roots. Heritage. They all dictate a male his age in the Quileute tribe should wear his hair long.

Fuck that. One more way Jake finds to thumb his nose at the way of life he wants no part of.

He stares at Charlie's number on his cell phone, thinking about the message Charlie left on the answering machine ten minutes after Bella walked out.

"Hey, Bells. Just checking in, but you're probably still sleeping. Call me when you get up. I'm gonna crash soon myself so if I don't hear the phone, leave me a message so I know everything's good. Okay?" A long pause followed, like he expected an answer. "Okay, well..." A gruff throat clear is followed by a terse and almost muttered "love ya, kid," before the line disconnects, the machine clicking off.

That was four hours ago. Charlie must be asleep or else he would have called back by now. Jake runs his fingers through his hair some more, torn. He feels loyal to Bella, but Charlie has always been his ally. He doesn't like that Charlie isn't taking this situation with Newton serious, but keeping Charlie in the dark about Bella ditching town doesn't sit right with him either.

Still, Charlie is too fucking complacent. He always has been. It's why he left Bella with her nutcase of a mother for years, and Jake isn't too impressed with how Charlie is handling this Newton mess.

His thumb moves and scrolls back up the list to Bella's name. He's already called her three times. She's turned her phone off. Not surprising. Her stubbornness and independence are out of control, like always.

He scrolls back down and hits send on Jess's number. Like the last time, it rings twice and ends up on voice mail. He wonders if she's ignoring his calls. Unlike him with Charlie, Jess doesn't suffer from loyalty conflicts. She's on Bella's side, and Jake wouldn't put it past her to lie to him even if she did answer her phone.

"Fuck," he mutters, hanging up without waiting for Jess's overly friendly entreaty to 'leave a message.'

His own voice mail is empty. Seth hasn't returned his calls. Neither has Embry. Leah hasn't called once.

"Fuck," he mutters again, letting his head fall back against the couch. It's hot in here and he's sweating, but that's not what makes his stomach turn. Worry about Bella does that. Anxiety about Leah doesn't help.

Leah was weird last night. Jake replays their night together, trying to put his finger on her mood. Something he realizes he should have done last night instead of being in such a damn hurry to bury himself in her body and forget all his shit. Showing up at her place late and without warning, pretty much guaranteed she wasn't happy to see him, though she did let him in. When he tried to pull her in for a hug, she twisted away and went to sit down. He made an attempt to ask if everything was okay, watching her shrug and pick at a loose string on her cut-off sweatpants, but the truth is, he wasn't in the mood to talk or placate her. He went there to forget his shit, not bring on more. When all he got in response from her was a head shake, he let it drop.

When Leah stood up and went into the bedroom, he didn't stop her. When she paused in the doorway and pulled her well worn t-shirt up and off, baring her smooth back to him, he didn't stop her. The shorts followed. She wasn't wearing panties underneath. She glanced at him over her shoulder then disappeared into the bedroom, and Jake didn't stop her.

What he did was follow and watch as she laid down on the bed, bringing her knees up, feet flat on the sheets, toned thighs falling open as she tucked one hand behind her head. She dragged the other over her soft, silk-skinned stomach, dipping down to touch herself, stroking over her pussy, opening herself for him, rubbing softly with a purring moan that made him instantly hard.

Jake knew shit was off, knew this wasn't necessarily the right moment for sex. But he was a red-blooded male, and so he stripped off his shirt, took her by the ankles and dragged her closer until her ass hit the edge of the mattress. Pushing all thoughts about everything away, he dropped his head. She moved her hand up away from her smooth flesh and tangled it in his hair, lifting her hips to his mouth with a breathy "yes" of approval.

Later, after they were both sweat slick and sated, she rested her head on his shoulder and ominously told him they needed to talk in the morning. He was too tired then to ask why, and he regrets that now, particularly since he walked out on her. He's never promised Leah anything, but lately he's getting the impression she wants something more from him.

He doesn't know how he feels about that. He likes her as a person. Even though she can be a bitch, Jake gets her. He understands that having her feelings trampled and betrayed by a past relationship left scars. Jake can commiserate; he has scars of his own, though Bella never truly betrayed him. Not the way Leah was betrayed. In Leah's case, her scars make her defensive and aggressive, a way of guarding what's left of her heart.

Leah's smart, and when she lets the guard down, she's funny and caring. Okay, she's a little too into Quileute beliefs and legends, siding with Billy when the old man nags about Jake's refusal to be part of the 'tribe,' but she's always there for him when he needs her. Then there's the sex, which is nothing short of amazing. He feels a familiar tinge of guilt at that thought. Sex with Leah is hot and uninhibited. As much as Jake loved Bella, still loves Bella, and as much as he loved making love to Bella, it was different. She sure as shit never wanted him enough to strip, lie on the bed, and touch herself while he watched.

Making love with Bella was all about connection, and it was incredibly special. They were each other's firsts, and damn what they had was good, pure, right. But it would be a lie if he said he never wanted more out of their sex life towards the end of their relationship—more exploration, more desire, especially on Bella's part. More than once he felt the attraction was one-sided, like he'd wanted her more than she'd wanted him. He realizes now that was all about her pulling away from him.

"Shit." Jake bangs his head repeatedly against the back of the couch, guilt tugging at him with the tangled influx of memories, both ancient and recent. He's always held a lot of respect for Bella. Now, though, he's starting to realize that there was more wrong with her, not to mention their relationship, than he wanted to admit at the time.

Jake sits forward on the couch, muting the TV before running his hands over his face with a grunt. He feels like shit as he gets to his feet and drags his sorry ass into the kitchen. The fridge is nearly empty, and his stomach growls a complaint, reminding him he hasn't eaten in hours.

The snarl of his belly only reminds him of the breakfast Leah would've made him if he stuck around. She makes a mean omelet and watching her fine ass wiggle as she dances around her cute rooster-themed kitchen singing off-key to whatever is on the radio always makes him grin, setting a good tone for the day ahead.

"Fuck," he mutters yet again, slamming shut the fridge. His lip curls in distaste, and he's kind of glad he found nothing to eat. The stink in this house is getting on his nerves. Last time he was here, he thought Bella had some dead flowers rotting in vase somewhere, but the smell is still here and he hasn't seen any. Maybe it's some kind of new air freshener or cleaner, though why she wants the house to smell like rotting flowers, he has no goddamn idea. The stink reminds him of funeral homes or something. Whatever. All he does know is between the heat, the smell, and his tangled, stressed out thoughts and nerves, his desire to wait here till Bella is home and safe wanes.

Besides, he's thinking more and more that Bella lied to him about where she went and why. As he looks around, he wonders vaguely whether he should search for clues about that guy Quil saw her with, or just head straight to Jess's house and grill her for information. Bella was acting too weird before she left this morning, and Jake feels like he needs more answers about what's going on with her before he makes a decision whether to head out after her or call Charlie.

He stares at his phone again, hoping for answers and getting none, finding himself scrolling one more time through his contact list. When he pauses on Leah's name, his empty gut clenches a little harder. He feels like the biggest ass in the world for leaving like he did, and he wonders when shit between them became complicated.

As he walks out the door, resisting the urge to call Leah and check on her, he also wonders when exactly it was that the scales tipped, changing how he sees her. Not that it matters. Whatever feelings he might be developing for Leah, Jake can't and won't allow them to continue.

He's got more than enough on his plate, and the last thing he needs or wants is another tie to the Quileute and their crazy legends.

Descendants of wolves, protectors against cold ones, tribal elders... Billy, constantly riding his ass lately about accepting who he is. Yeah, not happening. Life is crazy enough without that bullshit.

Jake closes the door, scowling momentarily at the lock that's re-broken, this time for good. He makes a mental note to replace it tonight and engages the flimsier screen door lock before jogging down the stairs to the sidewalk.

Time enough for that later. After he's figured out what Bella is doing—or who.

. . . . . .

Edward says nothing. His focus is on the road and the silence eats at Bella with every click of the odometer.

She feels shocked and shaky. She also feels full up and deliciously free of the empty ache that plagued her worse than ever since she left Forks. She has no idea how to assimilate the relief and mesh it with the overwhelming abundance of other emotions. Her chaotic thoughts can't focus on anything singular. Not the rage at how he so casually blew up Jake's truck in a parking lot full of innocent witnesses. Not the way his smell makes her skin itch with the need to be touched and touch in return. Certainly not the weird sense of relief and pleasure she feels that he came for her. All these miles, and he came for her.

She ignored his patronizing question about whether or not she enjoyed her 'little adventure,' choosing instead to stare out the passenger side window at scenery that passes without her noting a single detail. They could be anywhere; her mind over filled and unable to decipher geography.

Edward doesn't seem to need an answer anyway. He drives with single-minded focus, ignoring her now completely.

Bella checks the time and tries to take note of her surroundings. Where are they? Where are they going? It's been only a half hour, but it feels so much longer. Is he driving her back to Forks? Should she be relieved if he is, or disappointed?

She shifts in her seat, the long day of driving and stress taking their toll in her stiff muscles and joints. She feels achy all over, like she's recovering from an illness. Or maybe just becoming ill; that would make more sense.

Does madness have physical symptoms?

She notices a rest stop sign and bites her lip, looking at Edward fully for the first time since getting in the car.

"There's a rest stop just ahead. Can we stop?"

He doesn't answer, and she chews her lip nervously. Aside from the aches and pains she really wants to stretch out, she's uncomfortably reminded by a painful bladder that she never did get the opportunity to use the rest room on her last ill-fated stop.

Her throat is parched as well, and though she still isn't hungry, a little food might go a long way in helping her overcome the shocked, shaky feeling. She wouldn't doubt being a little hypoglycemic.

The exit is coming up fast, but Edward doesn't slow at all.

"Edward?"

Again, no answer. His eyes don't even flicker her way.

"Please?" It goads her to have to plead, but it would be worse if he keeps driving. She doubts she can hold her bladder all the way back to Forks, or wherever they're going—though it might serve him right to have his perfect leather wrecked.

Frustration makes her snap. "I can't just drive for hours and hours. Human, remember?"

Finally, he deigns to look at her. His expression confuses her. She expects his usual smug disdain, maybe even anger or condescension. Instead, his look is an unfathomable mixture of longing and pain.

It changes instantly to one she recognizes as oddly tender and mildly amused, making her wonder if she's capable of reading him correctly at all. As though he has no need to pay attention to the road—and truthfully, the way he keeps course and speed it seems he doesn't—he draws a line down her cheek with one cool finger, pausing on her jaw.

"How could I forget?" he queries, his tone soft and careful. "Your mortality is always at the forefront of my thoughts, Isabella."

Swallowing a sudden lump in her throat, and the strongest, most wrong urge to crawl into his lap and be held by him, Bella pulls back a little so his finger falls away. Despite the action, her tone of voice is equally as soft and careful when she responds.

"I need you to stop so I can use a restroom, Edward."

Despite being nearly on top of the exit, Edward executes a perfect turn, merging onto the off ramp without disrupting traffic or jarring her. She'd marvel at that if she wasn't so aware by now of how he can make even the most impossible task seem effortless.

He finds a parking space close to the doors, leaves the vehicle, and is at her side before she even has her seatbelt off. He extends his hand, and despite herself, she takes it, allowing him to help her out of the car. Her muscles protest and she knows he notices her wince, though he merely waits for her to move and makes no comment.

This rest stop isn't as busy as the last. With no gas station and only washroom facilities, a tiny gift shop, and a chain sandwich shop, it seems deserted in comparison. A weary couple with two cranky toddlers in tow exit as they enter, and inside, only a handful of customers can be seen.

Still holding her hand, apparently oblivious to the way the man frowns slightly and gives him wide berth, pulling the woman and children closer as they leave, Edward instantly makes his way to the door marked Ladies. Bella attempts to tug her hand free only to gasp as Edward ushers her inside.

"What are you doing?" she asks angrily, her voice a low hiss in case anyone hears. "You can't come in here."

He gives her an amused look, and she quickly inspects the room, relieved to see no one else is in there. The usual sights greet her; a line of stalls to the left, a bank of sinks to the right. The room is neither overly clean nor overly dirty. Used, damp paper towels overflow a garbage can, and two of the sinks have drippy faucets and leaky soap dispensers. Someone has left a paper coffee cup on the counter, and someone else has doodled colourful and explicit male genitalia on a condom dispenser.

Edward ignores this, or takes it all in long before she does, and makes his way to a small window Bella hasn't noticed until now. He runs a finger over the lock before turning to regard her with a cocky lift of an eyebrow, as if challenging her.

"You think I'm going to try and escape out that window?" she asks, wondering if he thinks she's that stupid or desperate. The opening is barely wide enough to let a child crawl through. Besides, where would she go on foot, running from a vampire? One who managed to find her when she was in a vehicle no less, with no witnesses, and all while being careful not to leave any trail. Despite there being no one else in the room, she pitches her voice low, scowling at him, fury building up inside her until she's certain she's going to go postal.

"Don't be ridiculous. Get out, before someone else comes in."

Stepping in front of her without seeming to have moved at all, Edward grips her chin between his fingers. "I put nothing past you, lamb. Trust is earned after all."

"You're not seriously going to bring trust into this are you? Because I bet my list of reasons to not trust you would make yours look pretty pathetic in comparison." She takes a step back but he moves with her easily.

His eyes narrow. "Much as a debate on trust would amuse me, I believe we're here so you can use the facilities. Or are you no longer in need?"

She is "in need," badly in fact , still she crosses her arms over her chest, refusing to let him humiliate her. "Get out," she repeats.

He laughs, but the sound is without humour and it makes her skin prickle with gooseflesh, the uneasy attraction flaring under her flesh. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy challenging me."

Bella feels tears burn and press behind her eyes. She blinks them back, determined not to cry in front of him, no matter how overwhelmed she feels. "Seriously, Edward. I just want some damn privacy. Is that so hard to understand? I'm not going to run. You've already shown me that it's pointless by finding me so fast. I get it, okay? Or is this power play just you getting off on embarrassing me?"

Edward studies her, his dark eyes intense and focused as he seems to peer right into her mind. It's a disconcerting reminder of his freaky ability. His facial expression softens, the grip of his fingers loosening on her chin, stroking now, tender and oh-so-contradictory. His touch slips down to her neck, settling against her pulse.

"You are so very...human, little beauty." He exhales raggedly then turns in an obnoxiously graceful way, heading to the door. "Try not to be long, Isabella. I'm not going to risk you hurting yourself in a second escape attempt just to humour your delicate sensibilities."

When the door whooshes closed behind his parting warning shot, Bella can't resist checking out the window. Suspicion confirmed she storms to a stall and slams it shut with enough force to rattle the walls.

"What is it with him and locks," she snarls under her breath, though in truth, her quip is bravado and bluster. The sight of those metal components meant to interlock perfectly now resembling a misshapen blob, makes the bottom of her stomach quake.

She takes care of business quickly, not even the lessening of pain in her full bladder making her feel better. Outside of the confines of the car, away from Edward's intense presence, her mind is clearer. She knows it's useless to try to get away from him, and she's willing now to admit she doesn't truly want to get away from him, wrong as she knows that is.

So what's left? What's in between?

As she washes her hands and stares at her reflection, noting the dark circles under her eye and the pale washed out complexion of her skin, she wishes she had answers.

. . . . . .

Edward is in a state. His body aches with wants and his mind whirls. Thoughts and desires, both rampant and unfulfilled, temper his mood until it's foul. He did not think beyond finding Isabella, and now that he has found her, he's finding it hard to think beyond the now as well.

She ran. The thought eats at him. He's seen fear in her eyes. That eats at him more.

His thirst is a beast roaring at him—his desire to touch her and fuck her, yet another beast just as greedy.

He needs to think and think clearly. She makes it impossible.

The new knowledge that she is his mate only confounds the issues. His instincts roar at him to claim her and take her far from everything she knows.

He thinks of his acreage in Scotland in the Western Isles. The only place he considers a true home. The sprawling stone medieval estate, surrounded by lush forest and rolling hills, is far from nosy, interfering civilization. It would be the perfect place to take a bride, to change a bride.

Because, yes, she will be his bride, and yes, oh yes, eventually he will change her, make her immortal like him. For the thought of losing her to some human frailty like age enrages him, despairs him.

And yet the complexities of what should be so simple assault him like the pummel of fists. He will draw attention to himself by taking her now. He hasn't been careful enough, he realizes. Too many witnesses! He's dealt personally with the contractor and crew currently refurbishing his house! Her father, the Chief of Police, has met him!

Edward's jaw clenches at that foolishness. When Isabella was meant to be his plaything, his game with her father was simply part of the enjoyment. Now the man is a witness; one with connections and human law that will empower him to make a search for Isabella public.

He curses mentally, barely noting the wide berth and trepiditious glances given to him by two teenaged boys leaving the men's restroom.

The Volturi rulers have spies everywhere, highly trained to search out any news story pointing to a tale involving their kind. Secrets must be kept and the Kings are quick to deal with rule breakers. Edward can hide Isabella easily from human-kind, but he cannot hide himself from vampire-kind. Aro and his brothers will put their henchman and guards on his trail, and they won't be thwarted.

If, at this point, he were to merely kill Isabella, his kings would simply clean up his mess and reprimand him for his bad behaviour. Taking a human, however, running with her, leaving family members behind to search for her, keeping her without changing her... No. The penalties for such a thing are much greater.

They'd have his head, or at the very least his servitude, not to mention what they would do to Isabella.

No human is allowed to live with the knowledge Edward has given her.

Then there are the legalities of travel. Edward needs time and resources to get Isabella forged identification and passports so he can take her where he will without concern of her being tracked. More than that, he needs time to convince her that her life is with him now. Dragging a reluctant human through airport security and outside of the country she belongs in, isn't something Edward relishes. Especially not now that he's seen his human mate is willing to run from him.

Not just willing. Eager. He cannot wrap his mind around that. Does she feel nothing of the mating bond?

Then there is his former family, hot on his proverbial tail, already meddling and interfering, prepared to pester him into insanity.

His jaw clenches as he paces outside the washroom doors, infuriated at being banished and even more infuriated at the latitude he gives her. A few unshed tears, a trembling chin, and suddenly he's gallant? Ridiculous. Her precious privacy is a farce anyway. He can hear every move she makes, count and note her every respiration. The sound of her body making water rang as true to him here as it would if he were by her side, where he should be. Her muttered comment about his penchant for breaking locks did make him smile, though...but no matter and no more.

As he listens to her heartbeat steadily mingling with the background melody of the running water she uses to wash her hands, Edward smiles, relaxing somewhat. Regardless of where he takes her, it's time she understands her fate. Her life is not her own. She will be his completely, body, soul and lovely crimson-wet heart.

It's just a matter of time.

. . . . . .

The heat and sticky humidity feels like a brutal weight on Jake's shoulders as he exits his air conditioned car. The grass blades under his feet are stiff and dry, baked yellow and brown by an unfamiliar and unrelenting amount of sun. It shimmers off the asphalt, and even the weeds in the cracks of the gutters bow their heads in misery.

He takes the steps leading up to Jess's house two at a time and bangs on the door with a heavy fist, the painted surface feeling like a lit stove top. Jake listens and waits. He knows she's home. Her car is in the driveway and according to the time, that makes Bella a full-fledged liar. No way could she be meeting Jess for dinner. Not that he hadn't already figured that out with a few quick phone calls.

He bangs again, scowling. "Jess, I know you're home. Open the damn door." His voice is loud, drawing the attention of a neighbour—a busy-body old lady who pokes her nose out from the adjoining condo. She looks at him with alarm and then hurries back in when she spots his less than friendly expression.

Finally Jess opens the door. She's dressed in skimpy, denim cut-off shorts and a skin tight tank-top that displays boobs he's pretty sure are fake. They aren't outrageous, but she sure as shit didn't have those kinds of assets a year ago, so either she's had an epic growth spurt or invested in some silicone. She has her hair wrapped in something that looks like a plastic bag. The smell of chemicals is strong, hitting him like a punch, more potent because of the stagnant heat. He curls his mouth in a grimace and glares at her. He knew she was a fake blonde.

Her glare is equally as angry. "Why are you here banging on my door like a maniac, Jake?"

"Don't act like you don't know," he barks back. "Damn it, Jess, I've been calling you all day."

She rolls her eyes and walks away, leaving the door open so he can follow at least. The air inside is icy in comparison to the outside. Jess obviously isn't a fan of keeping her air conditioning at a reasonable temperature to help cut the strain on the electric company. Jake follows her down a short hallway and into a cluttered, messy kitchen. He pushes aside a shopping bag full of frilly, lacy shit and leans against the small island counter.

"Where is Bella? And don't lie to me, Jess," he cuts her off as her mouth opens, no doubt to spout off something snarky or misleading. "I lent her the truck, and she told me she was meeting you for dinner in Port Angeles, yet here you are." He waves a hand at her. "Obviously you aren't meeting anyone with that gunk on your hair, so what gives and where the hell is she?"

"What makes you think I know?" she snaps.

"Are you saying you don't?"

Sighing, Jess sits down on a chair at the small kitchen table. She rubs a hand over her face and looks at her watch, probably trying to keep track of time so she doesn't fry her hair.

Little late for that, he thinks unkindly.

"Look, Jake, despite what you think, I'm not Bella's personal keeper."

"So you weren't supposed to meet her for dinner?"

Jake can tell he's caught her off guard, and a guilty look flickers over her pursed, annoyed expression.

"I didn't say that," she snaps.

"Well?"

She looks around the room, anywhere but at him, her posture angrily defensive and stiff like she's put out by being grilled. Except her inability to meet his gaze is telling. She's nervous.

"We...were going to meet for dinner. But...I...cancelled. I have a...headache, so..." She picks at her nails, flaking bright pink nail polish all over her tanned legs.

"You're lying to me, Jess." He steps closer, crowding her in the chair with nowhere to go. He talks quietly, but that doesn't make the tone less harsh. "You might think you're doing her favours, but with Mike Newton out there..."

"So that's true?" she cuts in, looking at him, her eyes sparking in interest. "Mike really was stalking her or some shit?"

Jake frowns down at her. "She didn't tell you?"

Jess shakes her head, lips pursing in new annoyance. "Bella's been weird as hell lately. Distant. I heard it from Ben who heard it from someone else. I tried to ask Bella about it this morning when she called, but she just blew me off."

Seeing a new in—Jess might be loyal but above that she's vain and self-centered—Jake presses his advantage.

"Yeah, she's been doing that a lot lately."

Jess scowls. "Yeah, well, it sure as hell isn't pleasant to hear stuff like that. I mean Mike and I dated, you know?" She looks a bit lost saying that, and Jake would feel bad for her if she wasn't missing the point. Her and Mike were a couple back in high school if he remembers right, but that's ancient history and hardly anything to whine about. The fact that the creep was stalking her best friend with a single-minded sick-as-fuck obsession should be a higher priority of worry.

"And then, my so-called best friend doesn't even tell me? I have to hear about it through the grapevine?" She sniffs, not deciphering the disgusted look on his face. She looks away, her eyes glossy.

Jake smoothes out his facial muscles and nods in fake sympathy. Figuring he can catch more flies with honey, he sits down beside her.

"Is it true no one knows where Mike is?" she asks, picking at the knot holding the bag on her head while keeping her eyes downcast.

"Yeah, he's done a complete disappearing act, which is why I'm worried about Bella taking off the way she did."

Jess finally looks back at him, her emotions once again in check. "His mother called me last night, thinking I might know where he is."

"Do you?" Jake doubts she does, but remembering they once dated, he now realizes Jess might know Newton well enough to have an idea where he might be hiding out.

"No," she answers, her eyes wide and honest. "God, Mike and I never talk anymore. Guess that's a good thing," she adds under her breath.

"Look, Jess. I know you and I have never been great friends, but Bella's safety is more important than any shit between us. If you know anything, anything at all, about where she is or what is going on with her, tell me, please."

Jess exhales softly and stares at him for a minute. He stares back, trying to convey with his expression that he only has Bella's best interest at heart.

"You used to be good for Bella," she says, then can't seem to stop herself from sarcastically adding. "Once upon a time." Another pause and then she stands up and gets her phone, flipping through her menu screen.

"Okay, look. I honestly don't know what's up with her, but I agree, something is. This whole last week she's been avoiding me and not returning calls or texts. When she does, she's been off and keeps saying she's just not feeling well. She's quiet, short. You know?"

He nods and she continues. "So this morning, I get a phone call bright and early waking me up. She tells me she's going out of town; that she needs to get away for a bit. I asked her where, but she wouldn't tell me. She did say you and Charlie might come asking about her and asked if I would cover for her, just for today."

"What do you mean, just for today?"

"That's just what she said, Jake. I'm quoting." She gives him an exasperated look, and he nods for her to keep going.

"She wanted me to say we were meeting for dinner tonight at Bella Italia. I told her fine, I would, but I wanted to know why. She just blew me off again. I tried to talk to her about Mike, but she hung up saying she'd talk to me later."

Jess hands him her phone, tapping the screen. "I texted her a half dozen times today, worried about her, this is the only time she answered." She pulls her finger away and lets Jake read.

Can't talk now.
I'll call when I know where I'm going.
Sorry
.

"Shit," he mutters under his breath. Jess takes her phone back.

"I think she's been seeing someone," he states, nailing Jess with a glare that lets her know he's not messing around or willing to listen to lies. "A guy. Who is he?"

Jess snorts derisively and gets up again. A timer on the stove goes off, and he watches her pull a section of hair out of the bag, examine it, then tuck it back in, resetting the timer for additional five minutes.

"Like I know?"

"Jess, don't screw around," Jake warns, but she just snorts again.

"Jake, are you forgetting? I thought it was you! The hickey, the whole weird, sick, hangover thing she had going last Saturday? I thought you and her hooked back up."

Standing, Jake curses viciously. "Why is this fucking guy such a mystery? She's seen with some guy, you think she hooked up with someone, and suddenly everything goes to shit, including Bella's attitude. That can't be a goddamn coincidence."

Jess shakes her head at him, her demeanour wary now in the face of his anger. "I personally never saw her with anyone. I just got suspicious when she was acting weird. I asked her, but she let me think it was you."

"Yeah, well, it wasn't fucking me."

Silence falls between them, and Jake realizes Jess knows nothing helpful. She's only confirmed what he already knew but didn't want to admit. Bella's on the run. Question is, from who, or with who?

"Okay, Jess. Thanks, for talking to me and not lying. If you hear from her, will you call me, please?"

She scrapes her teeth over her lip, a Bella reminiscent move that hits his sore guts in all the wrong ways.

"Jess?"

"Okay," she answers, back to being brusque and irritated. "But only because I'm worried about her, too. As soon as she comes home, you are back to being on my shit-list, Black."

He can't help but grin a little and nod. "Fine, Stanley."

As he heads for the door, he thinks about Newton again and turns back, taking her off guard as she nearly collides with him from behind.

He catches her and keeps her steady, weathering her bitchy glare. "Jess, about Newton. He's dangerously fucked up, okay? If you hear from him, call me or Embry or Chief Swan right away. Do you have my cell number?"

She nods, looking put out but hopefully smart enough to do what he asks.

"Good." He pauses for a minute, studying her. "You don't have any clue where he might take off to, do you? Any friends outside of town or someone you might know of that he keeps in touch with?"

She thinks about if for a second, shrugging as if to say no, when suddenly her expression changes, becomes speculative.

"There is this guy. His name is James. I don't know his last name, but he comes into town every few months and always stays at Mike's. Ben says he runs drugs and that Mike has been known to buy from him from time to time. Mike likes to brag he can get anything anyone could ever want from James."

Jake ingests this new information with interest. Drugs around Forks is a small-time business. Quil has been known to supply pot, but other than that, Jake hasn't encountered much, and Quil grows his own product in an abandoned shed on the outskirts of the reservation.

Still, Quil might know this James.

"Anyone else?"

Jess nods. "James hangs out with a guy named Laurent. Scary dude. His eyes are always red, and he has these dirty dreads and a bad attitude. I don't know their last names, and honestly, I've only ever met them a few times at Twilight Tavern when Mike was hanging out with them." She readjusts the plastic on her hair, frowning as she thinks. "James had a girlfriend the last time he was here, too. Red head, pretty but scary, too. Um...I think her name was...Vanessa or Valerie...No wait, Victoria, that's it. Total skank."

Jake rubs at the new tension in the back of his neck, his mind spinning. "What does James look like?"

"Medium height. Scruffy, dirty-blond hair he wears in a ponytail. Good looking, but a little intense in a not good way."

Jake compares that to the description Quil gave him of the guy he saw Bella with at the Twilight Tavern and realizes they don't match. The guy Quil saw was clean cut, well-dressed, tall with darker hair. He feels a little relief at that. Bella getting caught up with a drug dealer would be bad news indeed.

And shit is bad enough as it is.

He gives Jess a last nod, thanking her and heading out with one last warning about calling him if she hears from Bella. He crams his long legs back in his vintage Rabbit and checks his messages again.

One missed call, one voice message.

Billy.

Fuck.

He listens to the message and growls a rich line of expletives under his breath as his father demands to see him—now. Because Jake doesn't have enough to worry about, now he has to go see his old man and deal with more shit.

Wonderful.

Guess he can kill two birds with one stone, though. The James information sounds like something he should follow up on, and he knows just who to ask. If someone is selling drugs in this area, Quil will know.

He probably won't be too eager to impart the information, but Jake can be persuasive when he sets his mind to it.

He plans on being very persuasive.

. . . . . .