A/N It's been a while, guys. Sorry. I write when I can, and when I feel up to it. Thank you to all of you for being patient and supportive while I wrestle with my health demons. I WILL finish this story, so bear with me.

Thanks to Team Prey, beta extraordinaire, Saritadreaming, and pre-readers Popola and RubyLou, for all your hard work and insightful advice. This chapter has undergone many revisions and rewrites, additions and deletes, so please note mistakes are a result of that and not a reflection of their skills or competency.

Special thanks to Fernleaf for early reading and always being so wonderful, not to mention making me laugh and smile on Twitter. xo

. . . . . .


Prey for the Wicked

~xx~

And we cling to the past
to deny and confuse the ideal.

Chapter 19

Ayartma

. . . . . .

Bella stands in her bedroom staring blankly at the bag she placed on her bed. She finds it comforting to be home, surrounded by familiar objects. Since nothing's changed except her location, she realizes it's a false sense of comfort. Still, it's a step above being at Edward's. His giant old house felt like an empty mausoleum, filled with secrets from a past she still can't fully comprehend. Her mind refuses to wrap around Edward's true age or the new knowledge that events that took place over a hundred years ago are true—werewolves and vampires and treaties and Jake, God, poor Jake...

Bella pulls out the clothes she wore yesterday, the rain-stiff fabric stirring up an onslaught of memories, only adding to her emotional turmoil.

Edward's hands on her in the meadow. Her back against that tree, his teeth in her neck...

Last night, in his house, in his bed. Such tenderness, so much feeling and pleasure.

Her nipples pull tight beneath her bra, and a sweet ache settles between her legs.

She moves to shove the clothes in the hamper, vowing to do laundry as soon as she can, though she doubts Tide and vanilla scented Downy fabric softener will wash away the inescapable fact that, for whatever reason, her mind and body cannot agree about Edward.

Even now, standing here in this room with him only steps away, moving around her home like he owns the place, she feels the ache in her chest—a dull reminder that should she get any farther from him, the slight discomfort she feels right now will quickly become a vast sucking cavity of unease and pain.

The ache already seems worse, as though her body wants to punish her for not leaving this room and going to him.

She tries to breathe through the constriction, but the stuffy air feels like it isn't giving her the oxygen she needs. Moving to the window, she shoves the curtains aside to yank it open, grunting as the old wooden frames stick in their humidity swollen casings. The muggy air now pouring inside isn't worth the effort she expended or the beads of sweat that trickle uncomfortably down her spine. Huffing, she lets the curtains fall back in place, feeling a sudden tightness in her throat that heralds self-pitying tears.

Screw that, she thinks angrily, refusing to succumb to useless crying. Bundling the heavy mass of her hair in a messy knot, she returns to emptying her bag, agitated, her movements jerky.

Dumping the last of her belongings, she tucks them tidily away, taking another measure of comfort in the familiarity of having her deodorant and toothpaste back in her bathroom's cramped little medicine cabinet, her toothbrush back in the holder, standing solid and solitary.

Would Edward put his toothbrush beside hers?

Do vampires brush their teeth?

She washes her hands and dries them, staring at her reflection in the mirror, bothered by this strange turn in her thoughts. Is she already to the point where thinking of Edward as a vampire doesn't send her off the proverbial deep end, she wonders?

She stares hard at herself, searching the familiar lines of her face. Her fingers skim over her lips, feeling how sensitive and warm the flesh is. She can still taste Edward on her tongue, still feel the cool marble-like glide of his mouth against hers as he kissed her so deeply the breath spilled right out of her lungs, slipping out in little mewls and pleas she never knew she had in her.

In Edward's arms, when he's taking her, driving her past any point of pleasure she's ever known in her life, demanding she give him everything…God. It's like nothing she's ever learned about sex and lust. Like all she knew before was a weak facsimile of real desire and passion. She's never truly understood the dark cravings in her sexual nature—definitely never explored them. They were only just...there. Little whisperings of unease, tight, tender-sensitive longings for something more than what she shared with Jake.

Sex with Jake was...good, really good, but...polite. A meeting of bodies, each cognizant of the others needs. You touch me here... I'll touch you there... an exchange, a warm tumble, usually ending with mutual release that was...satisfying and sweet. It was...nice.

With Edward, nice does not exist, only heat and need and her complete submission. She gives him everything he demands. She doesn't have any limits. There's nothing 'polite' about any of it. She blushes. Merely thinking about it now makes her tremble.

Bella shakes her head, watching her reflection do the same as she reflexively swallows and battles the need battering at her.

There is so much more to this than...sex. She has to remember that.

This is her life, not some reckless affair. And Edward's not a man. He's an inhuman predator, a killer, someone who's toyed with her and turned her world upside down.

He's stripped away her right to make choices.

All her life she's fought for control, the right to govern her life. Her independence is the trait she respects most about herself, and even more, it's the only thing that saved her in a world where it was imperative for her survival to be strong and in charge.

Her autonomy was forged to steel in the fires of a childhood navigated by a mother with a mental illness. She could never control where Renee might lead them, but she could control how they arrived and survived once they got there.

She reminds herself of that now as she stares at her reflection. She's no longer a child. She's a grown woman.

Was she ever really a child? The face has changed, the body, but the eyes staring back at her seem exactly the same, though perhaps a little more haunted.

No, she was never really a child. Fate saw to that when they gave her parents who met too young, married too young, had a baby too young, then sent it all to hell by divorcing and never caring much about the daughter they made suffer through their mutual dysfunctions. Charlie and his inability to see Renee's problems as an illness and not just the selfish desires of a woman he no longer cared to live with. Renee and her inability to accept the help offered her time and time again from multiple sources.

Bella spent her entire childhood learning to fend for herself and care for Renee, her youth balanced on the whims and moods of a disease you couldn't see and couldn't truly fight. She learned to do what she could, to be the one that called the shots, to trust only herself. She managed the money so they wouldn't get evicted from the endless apartments they'd lived in; she managed Renee and her medications and endless extreme moods. She kept Renee alive until Phil came into their lives, finally giving Renee the incentive to properly manage her illness.

Nothing changed all that much when Bella came to live with Charlie at the age of sixteen. Charlie lived in some strange stasis of time, the house untouched from when Renee had lived there. It seemed he barely managed to take care of himself, a sad bachelor who never used the dishwasher because he didn't know how and couldn't be bothered to learn, his cholesterol through the roof because he ate almost solely from diners and fast food joints.

Bella moved in and took over, shopped and cooked for him, washed his clothes, cleaned his house, managed the household bills and chores.

Nothing changed at all when she left and moved in with Jake. She just learned to manage two households, and she took care of them both. She stayed in control. Life was dull and predictable, but it was safe, steady, constant, hers.

Until now.

Until Edward.

Feeling a shiver of unease skate down her spine, Bella forces her thoughts away from her past to present matters. Like Charlie and Jake and how she's going to handle them. More importantly, how she'll explain her new houseguest once they inevitably discover Edward cohabitating with her.

She closes her eyes, feeling lost and hating it. How does she control the uncontrollable?

When she opens them, Edward is there as if her worries conjured his presence. He stands in the doorway, casually leaning one shoulder against its frame, his expression closed. As she watches and waits, something flickers in his eyes, changing him from a cold observer to someone warmer, more human. He has so many facades. She wonders which one is the real Edward.

He moves into the small bathroom and into her space, eyes narrowing on hers, studying.

"What are you thinking that brings such sadness?"

He's too observant. Bella shifts away, attempting to gain a little space between them without being noticeable. "I wasn't thinking anything." She's not ready to let him in. He hasn't earned the right to her private thoughts.

His eyes flash. She notices the red rings around his pupils seem darker today and wonders what it means. It's such a subtle change, and yet she notices where others probably wouldn't. He's a chameleon, constantly adjusting his colour to fit his mood.

"So many secrets behind those pretty eyes," he murmurs, more to himself than her, frowning like she's a lock he longs to pick.

She moves around him and back to the bedroom, disconcerted that he reads her where so many others simply think she's introverted or boring. The pull of him is stronger now when he's closer. She's not giving into it, though. Not with so much uncertain. What they shared last night hasn't changed his refusal to let her have free will.

She works hard to hide the desire she feels. Being back in this room, the still-rumpled sheets twisted across her bed, only serves to remind her of everything that's happened in the last week. God, has it only been a week since her life went off the rails?

A slight shiver works down her spine despite the heat. Warmth spreads everywhere else, centering between her legs with a sudden and intense pulse of want.

She knows her cheeks are red, so she keeps her head down. Edward laughs softly and quietly behind her, a short amused sound that conveys he knows where her thoughts went even if he can't read her mind. Bella picks the now empty duffel bag up off the bed, making a pretense of checking one of the zippered pouches on the side.

"I need to call Charlie and… Jake. Let them know I'm home. Buy a little time before they come banging on my door demanding answers," she tells him, risking confrontation to avoid questions about her mood, avoiding eye-contact.

Edward reaches out, taking the bag from her hands and tossing it to the corner of the room where it lands haphazardly. He spins her to face him, pulls her in tight until she's pressed so close she has to tilt her face up to see his. His expression isn't hard to read. He's fuming, and the hissing sound he makes proves it.

"I dislike the sound of Jacob Black's name coming from your mouth." One of his hands moves from her waist to the nape of her neck, burrowing through her hair to get to her skin. His grip is tight and possessive, yet the thumb that spans out to stroke the flesh over her pulse is, as always, contradictory and gentle.

Bella remembers his bite in that exact place, and her breathing quickens. Her pulse seems to have him mesmerized. At the sound of her drawing in air, his eyes flash back to hers, darker now. It makes her shiver, again, though not in the way she knows it should.

His gaze drops to her mouth, and he grins. The smile has an edge to it that does startling things to the nearly painful ache between her legs. It's like he's touched her. She gasps, closing her eyes, fighting the pull of him though it hurts. Oh, how it hurts—sharp like talons in her chest, yanking her open.

The hurt surprises her—it's new, different, sharper. Somehow directly related to the physical pull of him she's trying to resist.

She exhales, masking what she feels behind exasperation.

"I can't help you don't like it, Edward. I do need to call him and Charlie both. Unless you want them to show up here? They'll do that anyway, but maybe I can delay the inevitable."

Edward frowns, his eyes scanning her face. She wonders if he noticed her momentary pain, then decides he probably did. Rather than explain what she doesn't understand, she attempts to step back. Of course he doesn't let her go.

"I haven't figured out how I'm going to explain you," she says, testing the strength of his hold by leaning away. It's like iron. "Or…you haven't told me how I'm supposed to explain you." She lets the bitter frustration she feels leak into her tone, frowning at him. Her hands move, flattening against his chest. His muscles are like stone, defined, impossibly solid, no give at all. He could break her in half, crush her, yet last night when he moved over her, inside of her, he was so gentle, so attentive to making her feel good. Better than good...

A slow grin tweaks his slightly cruel mouth. "How would you like to explain me, Isabella?"

"I don't have a freaking clue," she snaps, losing patience with the way she can't seem to stop wanting him to do bad, bad things to her. She knows he can read how she's feeling. As if to prove this, Edward presses her closer, his right leg pushing forward until she's forced to open her legs to accommodate him. The pressure against her sex sends little darts of heat curling upwards into her belly and breasts.

His head dips, and he nuzzles her mouth, breathing in the air that escapes her in a needy rush, part whimper part moan. His lips move to her cheek, leaving a cool path that feels deliciously good. Bella's hands fist in his shirt.

"You should tell them who I am, lamb. Truth is best, don't you think?" He's teasing her. She should be infuriated, but his lips whisper across her earlobe then drift lower, skating down her throat to her shoulder. Light kisses and soft drags that make her tingle all over.

"That you're a vampire?" she asks incredulously, tone caustic, her hands clenching more shirt. She's equal parts frustrated and turned on, so conflicted she's trapped, unable to pull away or allow herself to move closer.

She feels Edward smile against her skin. His fingers move from her nape to grip the messy knot of her upswept hair, gently pulling so her neck is more exposed, slipping kisses back up.

"Perhaps not quite that level of honesty." He leaves her neck, lifting his head to look down at her. She tries to appear unaffected and fails miserably, or so she believes if the continued darkening of his eyes and the heat of his expression is any indicator. His thigh presses upward, right where she hurts for him. It's all she can do not to moan and rub herself against him like a cat in heat.

His smile grows, like he knows she's struggling with her resistance. "I think we'll delay a face-to-face meeting with the half-mongrel from your past for a day or two. It's probably best he lives in denial of what he is for now. Your father, however, only needs to know what I am to you."

"What exactly are you to me?" As soon as she asks, she wishes she could take the question back. How many times does she need to hear she's a possession, an object he thinks he owns?

Edward stays amused. "Such a loaded question, beautiful lamb. In simplest terms, I'm your master and your lover. How you choose to phrase that to your father, I'll leave up to you. Boyfriend, perhaps, will work nicely. That is how humans today define the male in unmarried pair bonds, is it not?"

Bella jerks her head back and resumes pushing on his chest. His answer is a step above pet at least. Still, the title of "master" puts her far beneath him, again. She's surprised how much it stings.

Surprisingly, Edward loosens his hold, giving her room to breathe easier. Unfortunately, the wickedly appealing smell of him goes straight to her head, muddling up all her intentions of resisting.

"You want me to tell Charlie you're my... boyfriend?" She sounds choked, and it seems to amuse Edward further, though she catches something else in his expression as well. Pleasure, she realizes. He seems as though he likes the word—or the idea at least.

"It's the easiest explanation," he replies.

"There is nothing easy about you or any of this," Bella snaps, wiggling to see if she can get free now that he's not holding her as tightly.

He chuckles, the hand on the back of her neck sliding down her back. When he reaches the base of her spine, he exerts pressure, regaining the space he let her have.

With her body once more pressed to his, Bella quits fighting, giving in to the fact he's stronger, and she's only squirming like a fish on a hook. That she likes the way being this close to him feels doesn't help her mind frame at all.

Sighing, she shakes her head, planting her palms firmly against his chest again, striving for clarity. "Boyfriends aren't masters," she mutters, aware she sounds petulant and not caring.

Edward smiles again, evidently finding her all kinds of entertaining, a fact that's making her a little crazy.

"Look. I'm just not sure that'll work." She strives to reason with him. "Charlie is going to be suspicious. I don't date. I haven't dated...since...well. I just haven't. And this is a small town. Everyone knows everyone else. It's going to seem weird if I'm suddenly in a relationship with you." She bites her lip, worrying the flesh. "It might be better if I just tell him we're friends."

"And when he drives by late at night and sees my car in your driveway, all the lights out?" he asks, running his thumb over her bottom lip in a slow back and forth touch that shouldn't feel as good as it does.

She pulls her head back, trying to evade the maddening sensation. "I'll tell him you're staying on my couch for a few days while your house is being... I don't know... worked on, whatever."

The grin Edward flashes at this is electric. Bella wants to lick the thumb he's still stroking lazily over her lip, draw it in her mouth, suck on it, bite it. The urge is strong. Resisting it makes the ache in her chest return. It's all she can do not to wince.

"The explanation for why I'll be staying with you has merit, truth works well after all, but 'friend' is an unacceptable misnomer. I won't have him, or anyone for that matter, mistaken about my claim on you, Isabella."

Her stomach tightens at the idea of telling Charlie that Edward is her boyfriend. His grin grows at her noticeable dismay.

"Come, lamb. Surely you cannot object to calling me your boyfriend. Not after the night we shared."

"Charlie doesn't need to know about that," she replies, horrified, trying hard to keep her voice even.

"What he does or does not need to know aside, lamb, he will know."

She can almost feel the colour drain out of her face. "What? Oh, my God. You can't mean to tell him!"

"Of course I wouldn't speak of it."

Bella barely has time to relax before he continues.

"I won't need to tell him, Isabella. One look at you and he'll know, if he's any kind of man that is."

"How would he know? That's ridiculous. You haven't left marks on me. I checked. And speaking of which, where are the marks? Shouldn't there be marks...scars...something?" She waves her hands around her neck before letting them smack back down against his chest, aggravated by the endless mysteries surrounding whatever this is between them.

"No marks, Isabella. Not ever," he answers, his expression hard before softening into something tender. "I wouldn't scar your beautiful skin. I enjoy the unblemished loveliness of you far too much to chance marring a single inch."

She ignores the flowery compliment that should make her roll her eyes, demanding, "Then how?"

"I'm more careful of you than you realize," he answers flippantly, his features settling back to that closed-off look he seems to favour. "Back to the topic at hand." He taps a finger to the tip of her nose playfully, yet another disarming move that throws her off kilter as he flashes a stunning if practiced smile. "You cannot hide the flush on your skin or the desire in your eyes when you're in my presence, lamb. He won't believe platonic friendship with you standing beside me radiating sexual satiation."

Embarrassment at the way he says that, the way it makes her feel, and at the fact he's probably right, combine to make her furious. "You're such a smug...bastard." The instant she says it, she wonders if she's gone too far. He's dangerous. Despite her preconceived notions that he won't hurt her, there are others to consider. Besides, he's completely unpredictable.

He proves it by smiling, untouched by an insult most would be pissed about. "I'm never humble about things I know beyond a shadow of a doubt.

Bella shoves against his chest, this time with marked insistence. He disregards her completely, sweeping down and claiming her mouth in a soul-stealing kiss that melts all her arguments. She quits struggling, and the ache in her chest evaporates instantaneously. Edward growls like he senses it as he licks the little uninhibited moan she can't repress from her lips. She can feel herself melting into him and both hates and loves the way it feels. Abandonment is so simple, so easy, so dangerous.

Edward breaks from the kiss slowly and with noticeable regret, making her less self-conscious about the way she's clinging to him.

"As much as I'd like to continue this, little beauty, you've made demands I agreed to meet."

"I did?" She didn't think he was agreeable to anything, let alone anything she might have asked.

"Calling your father and the halfling dog. Going to your place of employment? Any of these things ringing a bell, lamb?"

"Right," she answers, taking a step back from him, regaining control of her faltering willpower and senses. The ache returns, and she rubs her chest, distracted by her nerves. He misses nothing, following the movement and frowning. Dropping her arms quickly, she feigns an all-is-well attitude she doesn't feel.

"I should call Charlie first."

Edward produces her cell from his pants pocket, turning it on for her. "Use this. Do not use your land line. Tell him you're on your way home. It will delay any confrontation until you're ready to see him."

Bella accepts the phone, taking instant issue with Edward's rapid fire instructions. A part of her wants to argue while another part recognizes the futility. She takes a deep breath, surprised at how nervous she is, and dials quickly before she can lose what little nerve she has.

Charlie answers on the first ring, and judging by the way he says her name, he's not happy.

"Bella?" He also sounds worried, and she instantly feels guilty.

"Yeah, Dad, it's me."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at home." She stares at her feet on her worn bedroom carpet as she blatantly ignores Edward's instructions, palm sweating around the phone casing. She'll handle Charlie and this situation her way, regardless of consequences. Besides, she's a lousy liar, and Charlie has a tendency to see straight through her. The closer she can stick to the truth, the better.

"Sit tight," Charlie barks, oblivious to her inner turmoil and adding to it greatly. "I'll be over soon as I can."

"I won't be home." Bella nervously rushes the words right over Charlie still talking. He can't show up here. She's not ready for that.

Edward smirks, clearly listening, clearly willing to watch her struggle with the consequences of disobeying him.

"Bella…"

Ignoring Charlie's warning tone, she keeps going, turning her back on Edward who is only making her nervous and mad. "I have to go to work. I just wanted you to know I'm back. You're probably wondering about Jake's truck…"

It's Charlie's turn to cut her off. "Damn right I'm wondering. You take off, no warning, no explanation…"

"Dad…"

"You don't call, you don't answer your phone, and you let some stick-up-his-ass detective from Seattle PD inform me Jake's truck got stolen…"

"Dad! Listen. I'll explain everything later, okay?"

"You're not going to work at that place, Bella Marie."

His abrupt topic change throws her.

"What?"

"You heard me. I'm still trying to find Mike Newton. This is an active police investigation. You stay away from that store."

It's all she can do not to scream even though she knows Charlie is making a valid point. She's just so fed up with being told what to do.

"I have to at least speak with Mr. Newton," she tells him, striving to keep her tone calm because Charlie only responds well to logic and reason. "I've worked for him since my senior year. He's not Mike, Dad."

Charlie exhales roughly, and Bella continues.

"I also need to pick up my last paycheque. If I'm unemployed, I need the money."

Charlie huffs again, but Bella can tell she's won, money and its necessity something Charlie can't argue about.

"And listen. I'm tired. It's been a long few days. I need some space, but maybe I can come by the house tomorrow, okay?" She sweetens the pot, hoping to drag Charlie into a complacent place. "I'll make you dinner. Lasagna, your favorite. And I'll explain about the truck and…everything else."

Bella dares a glance over her shoulder at Edward, then instantly wishes she didn't. He hasn't moved an inch. Everything about him is intimidating and compelling, including the mocking stare and the upward curl of that sinful mouth. He's either amused or contemplating retribution—probably both.

Bella looks away and listens as Charlie grunts an agreement, heart in her throat.

"Fine."

She breathes a little easier until Charlie continues.

"I'll call Jake. He can take you to Newton's."

Behind her, Edward reacts for the first time, a low sound coming from him that can't be mistaken for anything except pure lethal menace.

Spinning, Bella holds up her hand, like she can somehow control Edward, pleading with him silently not to react as she keeps trying to reason with Charlie.

"Dad, no, don't do that."

"Bella…"

"I'm serious. I'm exhausted. I have a headache. I'm not in any mood to deal with Jake right now. Please, Dad." She hates resorting to pleas and playing on Charlie's poor weak-little-woman theories, but she has to keep him from calling Jake.

"I don't want you going to Newton's alone."

"I won't go alone," she responds quickly. Her eyes meet Edward's, and she feels herself beginning to cave to the inevitable. It's like crumbling on the inside, the feeling unpleasant as the pieces of her prized independence fall around her like so much rubble and dust. "My...friend is here."

"Right. Guess she drove you home?"

Bella's heart stutters. She wonders if Charlie truly assumes the made up friend she was supposedly staying with in Seattle is female or if he's fishing. There's something about his tone of voice that makes her think it's the latter, which is weird. Charlie has been steadfast in believing it's only a matter of time before she gets back together with Jake. As far as she knows, other than that brief moment where he worried it was possible all those pictures of her in Mike's bedroom might have indicated there was something between them, Charlie's has never entertained the idea that there could be anyone else for her.

Dropping her gaze from Edward, Bella chooses to ignore the opening to come partially clean. Charlie's inadvertently given her another choice, and even though it's a blatant lie, she gratefully accepts a temporary way out of explaining Edward, even if it means once again ignoring what he told her to do. Trying to stay as vague as possible, she settles on replying with a simple "Yeah," confirming only - in her mind anyway - that the 'friend' drove her home.

Charlie's quiet for longer than seems right, reinforcing her concerns, then he huffs out a short breath. If he really is suspicious, he's letting it go for now. "All right then. You make sure this friend sticks with you. Keep your talk with Mr. Newton short and to the point. Don't get into any kind of a discussion about Mike or those damn pictures. You hear me?"

"Yeah, Dad. I hear you."

"Good. And call Jake later," he orders. "I get you want some time, but he's been worried sick. I'm not going to lie for you if he calls me first, got it?"

Edward makes another sound of displeasure, this one louder. Combined with the fact she thinks Charlie might have added emphasis to the word "lie," Bella knows she needs to get off the phone, fast.

She can't tell for sure if Charlie suspects anything, but her conscience isn't resting easy telling half-truths. Her throat hurts as she hurriedly mumbles something agreeable sounding, then hangs up. The disconnected call creates a hollow, empty sound on her end. Closing her eyes, Bella turns the phone off, feeling small and incidental under the pull of so many forces.

She opens her eyes to see the most prominent force standing in front of her, and wonders how the hell she's going to deal with any of this. And just how much trouble she's in for not doing what Edward told her to.

The thought that she's bought herself a little more time is a small victory. At least Charlie is safe for now, and maybe, just maybe, if she can figure out how to tame a volatile vampire, she can keep him that way.

. . . . . .

Jake wakes up with a crick in his neck and a shitty taste in his mouth. The musty old sofa probably wasn't the best place to crash. Given his other choices of driving all the way back to Forks and the cramped little apartment above his garage, heading to Billy's to cram himself into his childhood bed, or to Leah's to face her wrath for dodging her calls all day, Jake opted for musty and uncomfortable.

Seth, banging away on his half-dozen keyboards and squeaking the wheels of his dilapidated chair, actually made a pretty soothing background track.

Rubbing sleep out of his eyes, Jake stares at his watch, surprised to see it's nearly nine in the morning. He's been out for nine hours?

"Shit."

The garage is a weird combo of damp and stuffy; it's also quiet. Seth is nowhere to be seen. One of the monitors is lit up brighter than the others, and Jake reads the words on the screen.

Program's running background checks.

Gone home to get some sleep.

Folder on the desk has the info you want.

Jake gets to his feet, shaking his head at the way Seth operates. God forbid the kid use pen and paper.

His curiosity on high, he gets the folder and opens it on his way to the fridge where he nabs a Pepsi, hoping to Christ the caffeine and sugar help him kick the lingering exhaustion out of his system. He takes it back with him to the sofa, sinking down and flipping it open, rapidly perusing the contents.

Not much there, but there is a name.

Edward Masen.

Not Cullen.

Interestingly enough, Jake almost feels let down. He might not believe in the treaty or anything else, but it would've made things pretty damn interesting if some Cullen descendant had shown up to reclaim the house. Jake grins. Billy would have shit a brick.

Makes sense it's not a Cullen, given the fact according to what Seth found, this person is renting the property at a steep monthly price. A Cullen wouldn't need a rental contract.

Instead, it's some guy from Maine. Seth didn't find out much. Info on the renter was sparse. Guy paid a hefty deposit and signed a lease for a year, apparently agreeing to oversee extensive renovations.

No personal details at all.

Info on whoever actually owns the house currently is even sparser. In fact it's nonexistent, buried under legalities Seth either can't or won't breach.

Fucking typical, Jake thinks scathingly. Information like that either way wouldn't be floating around for anyone to find. Especially when money isn't a factor, which it obviously isn't with property as huge and prime as what the Cullen mansion sits on.

Jake glances at the monitors. Two have gone black, one still has Seth's message to him, and the other's seem to have some kind of auto-program running, obviously searching the "background" Seth mentioned in his note.

Probably looking for more details on this Masen, Jake surmises. Seth is like a dog with a bone once he gets going. He won't be happy with the paltry bits he managed to unearth on this Edward dude.

Edward.

Jake searches his memory about the treaty the reservation is so up in arms about. Wasn't there an Edward listed as one of the names? He spins the small snatches of remembered facts through his head but can't come up with anything. He's just never really paid close attention. Not that it matters. Edward isn't exactly an uncommon name—a little old-fashioned maybe, but generic. Though he imagines whoever this Ed is, he's either old or some nerdy professor type.

All Jake knows is, learning the name hasn't given him answers about why Charlie's nosing around the Cullen house in the first place.

Jake drains the last of the soda, a headache already building behind his eyes. He drops the papers back in the folder and pulls out his phone, his head spinning with more questions than answers.

Another missed call from Leah, two from Billy.

Nothing from Bella or Charlie.

No news is good news, he thinks, trying to ease that tight core of worry he generally feels about Bella, but for obvious reasons is worse now. He shoves his phone back in his pocket, thinking about all the things he needs to get done this morning.

Regardless of the "no news is good news" feel, he needs to touch base with Charlie, but that can wait till later. And Leah's probably so far beyond pissed it won't matter if he doesn't call her right away, either. Stopping by Bella's is a priority. Jake knows he'll be crossing a line he can't uncross, but he wants a look at the address book he recently remembered she used to keep in her nightstand drawer. It might just contain a number for this mystery friend in Seattle. He's a little pissed at himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Right now, though, all that's going to have to wait because he needs food and a hot shower, not necessarily in that order.

"Two birds with one stone," he mutters, getting to his feet and grabbing the folder to take with him. He might as well head to Billy's for that shower and, in the process, get his father off his back for a little while. Not to mention get up to speed on whatever the hell vibe is going down with the tribe worrying over who's in the Cullen house. It wouldn't be the first time shit went off the rails thanks to superstitious beliefs.

After that, Jake plans to track down Quil. He's had enough of Quil dodging him. Whoever this James and crew are, they just might help him find Newton. And if it's true Newton was running drugs, no one better to know the what, where, how, and who than Quil. He just hopes to hell Quil's not involved in any of that. Growing marijuana and selling to recreational users is one thing, but the shit Mike was into, sounds like something else entirely. As he looks around at all the expensive tech gear, the feeling Jake has that Seth and Quil are into shit their naive asses shouldn't be in, only gets worse.

He takes one last look at those monitors Seth left running and the streams of unreadable text and images flashing at vision blurring speed across their screens. He feels as if he's missing something. Overlooking some tiny piece of the puzzle that could prove crucial... It niggles at his consciousness, but whatever it is, it's slippery, like trying to grab a damn eel. He shakes his head, chalking the feeling up to the crappy night's sleep and the shitload of problems on his plate. The lowest item on that list as far as his priorities go, is anything to do with the Cullen house.

He tosses the empty Pepsi can and leaves the garage, hitting the lights on his way out and locking the door, stomach growling, his mood deteriorating by the second. With everything he has to do today, it'll be a miracle if he gets to his shop before late afternoon to run the business that should be his only damn priority.

Maybe if he trusted Charlie and the law to actually find Mike Newton and keep him from hurting Bella...

Maybe if Bella hadn't run off and gone off the radar...

Quil thinks Bella is moving on, and that she isn't Jakes to protect anymore. Quil, and anyone else with that opinion, is missing the damn point. From the day Jake first met her, two months after his mom died and he found himself back on the res, just a scared, lonely kid, Bella has been his one and only constant.

She was his friend first, eventually his girlfriend, finally his lover, but always his inspiration and his anchor in every storm

She was with him when he discovered his passion for auto mechanics fixing up two old dirt bikes for them to ride. She helped him pass his small business course, staying up with him till all hours in the weeks before his finals. She was there by his side when he opened his shop.

She's the only person who knows he crawled into a hospital bed with his mom and held what was left of Sarah as she slipped out of this world, just a scared fifteen year old kid trying to help her leave the world with love and some kind of fucking dignity. The only person who's seen him cry when he visited Sarah's grave on his twentieth birthday with his mechanic certifications and business degree in hand, wanting to show his mom he did what she asked and made something of himself. Bella stood there with him in the pouring rain, and she held his big hand with her little one so tight the ring she wore left an imprint on his flesh that lasted for hours. When he broke down, sobbing so hard he couldn't stay standing, Bella knelt on the soaking wet ground, wrapped her arms around him and cried with him.

She was his first crush. His first kiss. His first love. His first broken heart.

So it doesn't matter if she's his or not. She's Bella, and that's all she needs to be for him to move heaven and hell to make sure she's safe.

His stomach clenches hard, frayed nerves making him wish he had time to go for a run or hit the gym. An hour with a punching bag, or better yet a sparring partner who could take a serious beating, would probably help clear his head.

Jake grits his teeth as he crams himself into the Rabbit. When Bella gets home, he'd vow to turn her over his knee and spank her heart-shaped ass red if he didn't know she'd punch him in the mouth for it.

Might just be worth it, though...

Christ, just, please let her be okay. At this point, he doesn't even give a shit if she's with some other guy, just so long as she's safe.

. . . . . .