Six

Leah, please, talk to me—Emily, 1:00 pm

I know I don't deserve your forgiveness, but can we just talk—Emily, 1:01 pm

For heaven's sake, Leah. We can't go on like this. Almost five weeks of silence? We're family—Emily, 2:17 pm.

Are we?—Leah, 2:50 pm.

Leah, please—Emily, 2:51 pm.

I'm at work—Leah, 2:51 pm.

There's nothing to discuss—Leah, 2:53 pm.

"I can't believe you've made it!"

"Yeah, I am, too," Leah said, giving the captain a genuine smile. Coming here had been wise; she needed to get her mind off the Dahlia case. She needed to get her mind off of Emily, who didn't seem to understand the fact that her cousin didn't want to see her ever again. She needed to get her mind off of Sam—It was nice to get out the house and spend time with some of her coworkers, even if Sam would there (wisely avoiding her), and Seth—

Oh Seth, no matter how much Leah wanted to talk him out of it, she couldn't convince her brother not to apply to join the police department. And it didn't help that the guys, including Paul, were treating him as if he was already a rookie.

"I need a beer," she told Paul. "Or Two."

Paul grinned and pointed at the bar table, located about fifteen feet from him and Leah. "My buddy, Quil, over there, will hook you up. Just give him your name."

Leah thanked the captain and followed his advice. After greeting everyone, including those she didn't know, she headed to straight to the bar and asked for Quil. Luckily for her, "Quil" was one of two guys making the drinks behind the bar.

Leah gave him her name.

Quil recognized it.

Leah told him her order and asked, "How much do I owe?"

"Your drinks are on the house," Quil said. "But don't get carried away because you will be on the news." He shook his head. "My bar doesn't need any more news story."

Leah blinked a few times, wondering if she had misheard the bar owner. He seemed dead serious, though. Clearing her throat, she glanced between the increasingly boisterous crowd and Quil. "But why?"

Quil chuckled. "You're asking me why you don't need to pay for your drinks." He laughed again. "The first time I've ever heard that. Anyway, Paul said you'd need it, and I owe Paul a lot of things so… drinks on the house. One cold beer coming up."

As Quil turned away to fetch a cold one, Leah quickly pulled out her wallet and smacked a ten on the bar table. When Quil returned, he noticed the bill, glared at it as if it had personally offended him and his mother. "Hey, you don't—"

"Tip," Leah said, leaving absolutely no room for discussion. She smiled triumphantly when Quinn finally saw the light, relented, and thanked Leah for the tip, low enough for Paul not to hear. "Thanks again."

Quil reluctantly pocketed the money. "Yeah, no problem."

As Leah walked around the bar, striking small conversations with everyone, including most of Paul's unit, Jacob, Embry (Jacob's "protégé"), and Jared and their respective significant others, she stole a glance at Sam. He caught her eyes, and it seemed that time had stopped. The spouses had arrived at the bar separately, at vastly different times. They could both blame it on their shifts; it wouldn't have entirely been a lie.

Leah forced a smile—they needed to be civil; it was the adult thing to do—and Sam raised his beer bottle. She supposed everything would be fine for the rest of the night. But a part of her, a selfish part, wished that Paul hadn't extended the invitation to her husband. She understood why Paul had; the two had been acquaintances for years. Paul probably didn't want to make the situation even more awkward.

Leah and Sam hadn't discussed their plans for the night; they had a shared understanding that the less they interacted, the better their experience at Quil's and life would be.

It was fine. Sam could spend time with the guys and her little brother (who still purposely didn't know about his sister's situation). He appeared more relaxed than he had been in weeks; nothing in his features showed stress about his marital woes or the Denali case.

It was also fine because Leah wasn't alone. She was sitting across from her old friend, Aisha St. Pierre, a fellow detective working on the west side. A lovely woman in her late-thirties with more energy than half of the rookies on the force. And a dear friend. Leah liked her; Aisha wasn't a bull-shitter like most of the people she worked with. And she knew how hard it was for women to break the glass ceiling of the department, especially minorities. Especially with her being black, and with Leah being Native American.

"How are you?"

"I should be asking you that question," Aisha said, grinning and pulling Leah into a hug before sitting back down. "I'm fine, by the way. For the past couple of years, I haven't had anything resembling a social life until tonight— which I completely accepted, given my line of work. And you?"

"It's been good, even with the Dahlia-shit storm," Leah said. "I mean, I still have to deal with the never-ending paperwork and the occasional assholes. But I got a new partner. Been with him for a little over a month and I haven't thought about shooting him once."

"Impressive," Aisha said, nodding. "He should be honored."

"He should."

"Is he still mooning over Bella?"

"He insists it's just a crush," Leah replied. "Claims he has no intentions of pursuing her."

"Yeah, his last marriage ended pretty badly... also as bad as yours at the moment."

"Thanks."

"That's not what I meant," Aisha insisted. "I mean, you know... there was a lack of communication going on, and you know how much Jacob loves to play Captain Save-Everyone with complete disregard for his well-being. She couldn't take it."

Leah wondered if Jacob's former wife knew about him. The real him.

"She was a nice lady, just wasn't a cop-wife," Aisha mused and shrugged. "It ain't easy."

"That's for damn sure."

A comfortable silence fell between the friends, until Aisha spoke up, "Still good with French?"

Leah raised an eyebrow as she drank some of her beer. "Oh, it's gonna be one of those conversations."

"Those guys over there have some inhuman sense of hearing," Aisha pointed out, already switching languages. "I should know. Anyway, I think the only person over there who has some background in French is Jared, and apparently, he only took it in high school." She switched back to English. "So, how about it?"

"Fine," Leah replied in French. She was practically fluent. Fluent enough to pass the force's language test with flying colors. She was a bit of a Francophile, studying the language in high school and college. Going abroad for a couple of years. Seriously considered teaching English in France, but then she had received a call back from CPD about heading to the police academy. She couldn't toss that opportunity aside.

"Have you two talked?"

Leah didn't have to ask what her friend was referencing. After another swig of her beer, she said, sighing, "I've tried."

"And?"

"He's avoiding it at all costs," Leah replied somewhat bitterly. "Said he doesn't want to talk about. At least, not now."

"Ah, he doesn't want to talk about him sleeping with your cousin. When does he want to?"

"Good question," Leah replied in English, and then switched back, stealing a glance of her husband, who was conversing with Quil about the hockey game. "Good question. And with my case going on and his, the talk is not going to happen anytime soon. We barely see each other anymore."

"What about her?"

"Haven't spoken to her since finding out," Leah said, shaking her head. "I'm not ready for that."

"Understandable," Aisha said. "Does your mother about this?"

"She knows what happened?'

"Does she about her?"

Leah couldn't tell her mother. At least, not anytime time soon. Not with the wedding happening in two weeks. Not with the fact that the happily-married Uley's were expected to share the table with the Clearwater's and Emily and her small family.

She could only imagine the chaos that would bring: her mother would try to confront Emma. Seth would try to fight Sam because even though Seth loved to annoy his older sister, Leah was still his sister.

"No," Leah said, adamant. "For heaven's sake, Aisha, we have a family wedding in a few weeks. My entire family, from both sides, is going to be there. That's the last thing I need."

Aisha put her two hands up, backing off. But Leah could tell she had many questions. Heck, she had some for herself, but this wasn't the place to talk about her failing marriage. Not when Sam was at the other side of the only-so-big bar, doing everything in his God-given power to avoid his wife's gaze— It could've been worse, Leah concluded, he could've been bold enough to invite Emily.

"I think he's an idiot for doing that to you, not suicidal," Aisha said, eyes flickering past her friend and onto Sam. She shook her head and sighed. "Did he give you a reason? An excuse?"

"It's complicated," Leah said, deadpanned. "His words."

Aisha raised both eyebrows as she took another sip of her beer. "Woo, good luck to you, girl."

"Thanks, I'm going to need it," Leah said, and then, "Okay, no more about me. What's up with you?"

Aisha's expression turned solemn. "Tiffany is heading to Afghanistan."

"What?"

"Yeah, another tour..." Aisha muttered. She stopped to put her almost black, medium-length, thin braids into a bun. "She got the orders a couple of days back. I've been pretty calm about it, but you gotta give me a few more days before I start panicking. I highly advise you to clear your calendar on that day."

Leah reached out and took Aisha's hand in hers. "I'll do my best," she softly replied. "Everything'll turn out fine."

"I sure hope so... Anyway, so I got new orders from my captain a couple of days back. I'm going to be working with Paul for quite some time. Probably until the end of the year."

"What?"

"Only temporarily," Aisha said, glancing behind her where Paul was, as expected, destroying Seth at the pool table. "For a case. Apparently, my brief stint at the ATF means I'm an expert in everything illegal arms-related."

"Yeah, I heard it's getting hot over there."

"Yes, it is," Aisha said. "I know I shouldn't be mentioning this, but you know about the Deal, right?"

"Yes."

"Good. Makes this job easier to know how people operate differently depending on whom they're dealing with. Paul told you about what's about to happen?"

"It's not a sure thing."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Aisha said. "I know how these people operate. Give it two weeks."

"So quick?"

"You've heard about Demetri?" Aisha asked, and said after Leah shook her head, "A pair of detectives back in my district is handling it. He was found dead with a bullet to the head. He works for the Volturi, you know, and they aren't going to be happy."

Demetri. He was an enforcer of some sort. He was known around northern Illinois as the one to go after those who were indebted to the Volturi. He was also rumored to "recruit" young women into the Volturi.

This was even worse than the Denali murders, Leah thought, finishing the last of her beer. "So, what's going to happen with that?"

Aisha shrugged. "Don't know. I'm just going to carry on with my work. But Paul…." She sighed. "God bless him, is all I have to say. And the ATF's having a field once again. Word on the street is that there's a new weapon in town."

"Ultra-violets."

Aisha nodded. "Ultra-violets. Bullets made out of the sun. Literally." She scoffed. "Who would've thought?" She lifted an eyebrow. "You know about them?"

"Let's just say it's come up during our Dahlia investigation."

"Huh, interesting. So, the rumors are true after all?"

It was Leah's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Rumors," she leaned closer. "What rumors?"

"That her death was a mob hit," Aisha said. "I know a guy. An informant with a complete disregard for self-preservation who may or may not run a particular agency that pair off pretty, unsuspecting young folks with the rich men and women with less than savory backgrounds. Shady, but knows his shit. You want his contact?"

Leah glanced to her right where she could see Jacob showing Seth the best ways to beat Paul; both men appeared to be having a great time. She smiled at the sight, and then asked Aisha, "Do I need it?"

"Your victim, based on what you've told me, was probably a sugar baby who got caught up with the wrong people," Aisha pointed out. "Yeah, you're gonna need it."

"Does this person have records of interactions with Jessica?"

"I highly doubt it," Aisha said. "Everything's off the books, and he has a strict no-testifying policy." When Leah gave her a look, she further explained. "He's valuable. Valuable enough to make some concessions." She pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket and quickly scribbled on it. "Here."

Leah thanked her friend. "Alistair," she read out, trying to see if the name rang a bell. It did. "I thought he got deported after the St. Patrick's dumpster fire?"

"Yeah, but he has friends in high places," Aisha said. "I don't know how, but he managed to snag diplomatic status with an understanding that he has to help the police department, well, me, in return."

Leah slowly nodded. "The superintendent got a hold of him..."

"You know how it is around here," Aisha said. "Hey, call the man."

"Alistair?" Jacob questioned, studying the piece of paper with the information provided by Aisha the night before. He brought his eyebrows together. "Wasn't he deported?"

Leah buckled her seatbelt. "The bass got a hold of him before ICE could," she explained. "I guess a deal was made."

"Oh... oh. And you want to do what? Talk to him?"

Leah nodded. Jacob wasn't too keen on the idea, and she had her reservations, but Leah had faith in Aisha's intel. The detective had spent the past several years butting heads and working closely with the criminal underworld. She had been the one to introduce Leah to Mike Newton. "Aisha said it was a good idea."

Jacob respected Aisha as well; he had worked with her on a couple of illegal arms cases back when he was in the contraband unit. But he had his doubts about Alistair. "Yeah..."

"Jacob, it's for the case," Leah stressed, practically seeing her partner's blood pressure skyrocket. She wasn't expecting this reaction. "Aisha had reached out to him earlier this morning. He said he would be willing to talk somewhat—you know how it is with informants."

"I know, but…" Jacob noticed Leah's eyes on him and did make a concerted effort to relax, but he didn't entirely succeed. "I don't like his kind."

Leah blinked. "Kind?" Before Jacob could respond, the realization hit her. "He's a vampire," she said with a gasped, and when Jacob gave confirmation, she slowly nodded and suggested, "For now, let's make-believe he's only human."

"Easier said than done."

Leah frowned; that wasn't the answer she wanted, but instead of pressing the issue, she changed the subject. "Heard anything about Bella?"

"She said she was fine," Jacob said; the tone of his voice suggested otherwise, at least in his opinion. "No more late-night visits from Edward—everything's fine except for the new body that came in yesterday."

"Demetri from the Volturi." Leah nodded. "I heard about him."

"She's catching on."

Leah raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Bella," Jacob curtly replied, shaking his head. "She's noticing that the bodies: Demetri's, Sasha and Vasili's are reacting differently to decomposition than humans."

Leah tilted her head. "She doesn't know?" She couldn't believe it. "How does she not know? She literally works with the dead."

"She's only been in this city for a few years," Jacob reasoned. "She has enough on her plate—"

"You have to tell her."

Jacob let out an exasperated sigh. "Yeah, I know," he said, giving his partner a dirty look. "Now, I don't have much of a choice."

When they reached the downtown hotel lobby that house Alistair's residence, Leah decided to address her partner's moodiness. Grabbing onto one of Jacob's arms, she held him back from entering the elevator bank. He didn't put up much of a fight. She looked straight into Jacob's eyes. "Are you going to tell me what's up with you, or do I have to force it out?"

Jacob looked away with a frown; his attention rested on the hotel only twenty feet from where he was standing. He was tense again, just as much as he was back in the park. "It's a long story," he admitted after a huff.

Leah held back any desire to question him further about the matter. "But you'll be fine in there?"

Jacob's frown was quickly replaced by his usual grin, except it wasn't genuine. It was the stop-questioning-me-I'm-fine smile. "I'm a damn cop, Leah. I'll be fine."

Leah wasn't entirely convinced, but she released her partner's arm and patted his shoulder. "Good." As she entered the lobby, she was held back by her partner. "Jacob, what—"

"Leah, listen to me," Jacob said a stern, authoritative voice. He had Leah's attention. "No matter what he says or does, do not pull out your weapon.

Leah raised an eyebrow, moving aside as some guests walked past her; this was the first time she had received such a request since joining the force; she didn't like it. "What?"

"None of those bullets are going to harm him; they'll only get in the way. Antagonize him." Jacob explained. "Don't worry. I won't let him touch you."

"No offense, but I think we have the same gun. Your bullets aren't going to work either."

"Who said I was going to use them?"

The entire 30th floor belonged to Alistair, furnished with dimmed lighting and sound-proofed hallways. An attendant stood obediently in the elevator bank, essentially keeping track of the detectives' movement; no one was allowed on the floor with an appointment, the young human man informed them before walking the guests to his employer's front door.

The front door was monitored by a guard, standing just as tall and strong as Jacob. Jacob didn't seem fazed, and Leah tried to fix her face as expressionless as possible, but deep inside, there was a sliver of her that was worried. She was meeting a vampire, a man she knew was a vampire. Not a man who she assumed to be human, and then later discovered to be a vampire—no, he was relatively out of the supernatural closet.

"Weapons," the guard demanded.

Leah took a step back, her hand on her Glock, looking up at the guard, taken aback. She couldn't give up her issued-weapon to a man who was most likely operating on the other side of the law.

"It's fine," Jacob said, pulling out his gun and placing it into the guard's hand. "Not going to work on him anyway."

Leah reluctantly followed his lead.

Because she trusted Jacob.

"Detective Black and Detective Uley, I have been expecting you," Alistair greeted, standing a few feet behind his door with his guard still standing at the doorway. Alistair gave Jacob a once-over and smirked. "It's been a while, hasn't it, Detective Black?"

"It has."

Leah glanced at her partner, taken aback. He hadn't mentioned anything about knowing the man in the past. She couldn't think of that now. "Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet up with us," she said. "We really do appreciate it."

Alistair raised an eyebrow, seemingly amused. "Do you? I thought I would never see the day the Chicago Police Department thanks me. Please, come on in," and then abruptly, he leaned in and deeply inhaled, eyes closed. "Your perfume, your scent, it's to die for. Exquisite…" He opened them, revealing the change from amber irises to red. "What brand are you wearing?"

Before Leah could forcefully remind the man to maintain personal space, Jacob stepped into between them and growled at Alistair, "She's not interested."

Interested? Leah raised an eyebrow. In what?"

Alistair seemed to get the point; he backed up, and his eyes returned to their normal color. "Hm… such a waste," he said, resuming his walk, occasionally glancing back to Leah, smirking while completely disregarding Jacob's heated glare.

Leah avoided eye contact with the man as she tried to suppress the shudder traveling throughout her body. Alistair made her uncomfortable, not because she feared, but because he had a dark aura about her. A snaky aura that couldn't be trusted— but Aisha had sworn by him, and she had to give the vampire the benefit of the doubt.

She had to do so for herself and her partner because Jacob had a skeptical glint in his eyes. He watched Alistair's movements, even the subtle ones, like a hawk, scowling.

Leah became very interested in the history between Jacob and Alistair; their behavior towards each other seemed too personal.

She stayed behind Jacob as they finally entered the suite, a penthouse, more than anything. Alistair's residence reminded Leah of the one Jessica Stanley had been murdered in, except much larger, and instead of the baroque-style decorations, the room screamed Edwardian-era. Like Downtown Abbey, a show that Leah had adored until the very end.

As she followed Jacob and Alistair, Leah caught sight of a large, chilled crystal jug full of red, thick liquid. She told herself it was tomato juice, forcing down any desires to vomit. It wasn't the first time she saw the red liquid, and it would not be the last, but never in that circumstance.

When the detectives finally entered the living room space, glamorous in its style and the numerous, priceless paintings on the wall, Alistair turned around, facing the detectives, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No," Jacob said. He could feel Leah's curious eyes on him, but all he did was glance back to give her the look. She got the point.

She had never seen Jacob so on-guard before. It was as if the two had been walking into a den full of gangsters, all armed, all ready to shoot at them at every moment. Alistair didn't look like the average gangster, though. His presence screamed pretentious, especially his outfit, all probably costing more than her salary.

Alistair didn't appear to be, by the slightest, bothered by Jacob's behavior. He didn't seem surprised at all. He gave the detectives a small but forced smile. "Please, sit," he offered, eyes focused on the detectives as they took his offer. He sat down himself and continued, "So, I was informed by Detective St. Pierre that you wanted to speak to me. I hope you don't have a subpoena on you—it won't work."

"Yes, we've heard about your diplomatic connections," Jacob said. "Don't worry; we ain't gonna arrest you."

Alistair clapped. "Great! What can I help you with?"

Leah's eyes roamed around the living room, still amazed by the decorations. The place was beautiful. "What do you do for a living, Mr. Alistair?" she asked. The man had to be loaded to afford all of those paintings. "If you don't mind me asking."

"I run a match-making, talent-orientated business."

Jacob snorted. "You run a brothel."

Leah cleared her throat.

"What I do to finance for my lifestyle isn't illegal," Alistair insisted. "I am in the contraband trade. I am not in the business of killing humans or extorting anyone—none of that."

"But you're a pimp," Jacob accused.

"Oh, pimp is such a… dirty word." Alistair said with a dismissive wave. "I like to believe that I run a talent agency or a matchmaker one, depending on how you see it. I do not force any of my employees to do anything they do not wish to partake in. I introduce them to clients who have different and legal demands, and I take a commission. Not all of their money. I am certainly not a pimp."

The man's answer didn't move Leah. In her eyes, he should be arrested for something, but unfortunately, there wasn't a reasonable cause. He was absolutely right; a "talent agency" wasn't illegal.

"Your employees," Jacob said. "Girls?"

"Girls?" Alistair shook his head, seemingly taken aback, apparently offended by the accusations. "Goodness, no, Detective. If you have not noticed, there is a lovely law on the books regarding statutory rape and solicitation of minors. Not worth the consequences—I have a strict adult-only policy."

Leah stole a glance at her partner's slightly puzzled face. Jacob hadn't actually meant girls, but she supposed it was nice to know that Alistair wasn't involved in child exploitation, at least, not at face value. "So, just women, then?"

"Oh no, have an open mind, Detective. Women are lovely, no doubt about it, but not everyone… requests their services. Exclusively."

"How many?" Jacob asked.

"That is not relevant to this conversation, is it, Detective Black?" Alistair said.

"I suppose not," Leah answered for Jacob. "So, Mr. Alistair, we are not here to talk to about your business, we're here to talk about your knowledge of the Dahlia case."

"The Dahlia case? I didn't know the Black Dahlia case was under the jurisdiction of the Chicago Police Department. I thought I was strictly LAPD's problem… and hasn't it been more than seventy years?"

Leah gave Alistair a dirty look.

"Oh, come on, Alistair," Jacob snapped. "You know exactly what she's referring to."

Alistair smirked. With a snap of his fingers, his butler arrived, holding a tray with a glass full of "tomato juice." The vampire took it, drank a lot of it in seemingly one gulp, and returned it to the tray, waving away his employee. "Sorry," he said, amused by the badly-masked look of disgust on Leah's face. "I was a bit hungry—Now, where were we? Ah yes, the Dahlia murder. The Chicago Dahlia murder. I know about the case, perhaps even the circumstances, but I cannot give you many details."

"You can't or you won't?" Jacob asked.

"Cannot," Alistair said. "I have inklings, but nothing's been confirmed. I like to stay out of people's business; it makes my job so much easier—"

"Did you know her?"

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

After sharing a knowing look with her partner, Leah dug into her pocket and opened a half-folded piece of paper. She handed it to the vampire. "Her."

Alistair studied the photo. "Ah, her…. Jessica Stanley."

"So, you know her?" Leah asked.

"Define: know, Detective."

Jacob grumbled under his breath.

"I do not see the point in lying," Alistair admitted, handing the paperback to Leah. "She was one of my girls."

"Women," Jacob corrected, just to be snarky.

"Women," Alistair said. "She was one of my women. A relative novice. I've been working with for… I suppose, not even two years. It is such a shame what happened to her. So violent and unfortunate."

"So, you can admit that she worked for you?" Jacob wanted to clarify.

"Yes."

"Why hire her?" Leah asked.

"Why not?" Alistair said with a shrug. "She was an attractive, little thing. A college student looking for adventure, more excitement in her life, and money. She was also quite liberal with her tastes…"

"She came to you for money?"

"She came to me for a little help," Alistair clarified. "She had a friend from her school or workplace who was having some monetary issues—something about her father and investors—and she wanted a loan. I do that, you know, issue loans, but with a fixed low-interest rate," and then added, "I am not a loan shark."

"Nice to know," Leah replied, deadpanned. She glanced to her left; Jacob's suspicious eyes were solely on the vampire. He wasn't going to ask the questions, so Leah asked another one. "Why didn't you give her the loan? It could've been a one-and-done thing. You wouldn't be receiving a visit from us."

Jacob leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms.

Alistair took one look at the detective, raised an inquisitive eyebrow, and replied, not only removing his eyes from Jacob. "I did give her the loan," he said. "But she wanted more. She wanted, no, needed, companionship with benefits. See, she was one of those ladies—and men—who thought that money and luxury items and exclusive trips would solve their problems. I made her an offer; she took it, quite eagerly."

"And with whom was she seeking companionship?"

"Well, the only people who could afford her tastes."

"And in the wealthy, you mean criminals," Jacob said.

Alistair shrugged. "Not necessarily."

"And I suppose you can't disclose your client-list?" Leah asked.

Alistair cleared his throat. He was evasive with the names, to no one's surprise; honestly, Leah would have been personally disappointed if he had. He was in the escort business, and that business demanded secrecy. If Alistair had told her the name, Leah didn't think she would possess one ounce of respect for him.

"Of course, not."

The Cullens.

The family must have been one of Alistair's clients, Leah thought. The head of the family must have spent time with Jessica—Perhaps Mike knew what he was talking about after all.

Leah nodded and then rose from her seat with Jacob following suite. "I think that'll be all for today," she said after checking with Jacobs. "Thank you for all of your help, Mr. Alistair—actually, there is one last question. In your honest opinion, Mr. Alistair, who do you think did it?"

"Well, I'm sure you've heard of the saying: all that glisters is not gold," Alistair said. "That came from Shakespeare, I believe. From the Merchant of Venice, Act II, Scene Seven. Fantastic play. Have you read it?"

"In college," Leah said. "Do you have a suggestion, an actual name?"

Alistair chuckled. "I know you both are only doing your jobs, and I have to say, I think you are doing such splendidly. However, it would be advisable for you to let the case run cold. Not only for your sake. For the sake of this city, as well as your employer. Even if you find the young lady's killer, you won't be able to do much. Not with the Deal in place. It would only be a waste of time. Let the families battle it out for themselves."

"That's not going to happen," Jacob said.

Leah told Alistair. "It's our job to get to the bottom of this case." She paused—there was something that Alistair had mentioned. About the families. This whole thing was a part of a dispute between the families. The Cullens and the Denalis versus one of their adversaries—she cleared her throat. "Mr. Alistair, answer me this: why would the families battle it out, as you say it, ever Jessica? A mere human? A college student with no connections?"

Jacob waited for the vampire's response.

Alistair's eyes locked with Leah's. "Who said it was about her?"

"Are you saying that Jessica Stanley served as collateral?"

"There's a dispute among the Olympic and the Volturi crime families," Jacob explained to his captain. He and Leah had left Alistair's residence a few hours ago. "There's been one for years, and Jessica, sadly, was caught in the middle of it."

"Why would she do such a stupid thing and get involved with them?" the captain asked.

"She liked the lifestyle," Leah explained. "She liked the money, the name-brands, the trips. I mean, she was just a waitress. Maybe she thought that being involved with them was the only way she could get money. The type of money she wanted."

"A deal gone bad," Paul suggested.

"So, it was a set-up," the captain concluded.

"No," Paul said. "No, Jessica's death wasn't a part of the plan. Wasn't a part of the Olympic's plan."

"Someone must've interfered," Leah offered.

"The Volturi…" Jacob provided.

"Or maybe the lovely Chicago Dahlia was playing for both teams. Willingly or unwittingly," the captain said, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his seat. "Say she was going through on a deal for the Olympic. The Olympic only does business with a select number of organizations. Therefore, the person on the other side of the deal had to have been an Olympic ally."

"The ally could have been playing on both teams," Jacob added, using his captain's vernacular.

The captain snapped his fingers. "Could be. That's why I said it was a set-up. The two-timing ally must have notified the Olympic's enemies about the transaction, and they decided to crash the party."

"But why the violence?" Leah asked; the image of Jessica's slain body remained fresh in her mind. "If whoever wanted to get Jessica out of the way, even if she was just collateral, why disembowel her? Why cut her up after killing her?"

"Why does anyone do that?" Paul said with a nonchalant shrug. "To send a message."

"To whom?" Leah bounced back. "To the Olympic? To—?"

"Us," Jacob suggested. "It was for us. It was to tell us, the police department, the press, the general population, to stay the out of their business." He leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his thighs, resting his chin on her palms. He carried on as everyone exchanged wary looks. "For us, the main crime was Jessica's murder. Of course, it was. But for them, she was nothing. She just got in the way— whoever did this was after something else."

"And Jessica was just collateral," the captain said.

An uncomfortable silence fell among the cops. They had a lead, nothing they could bring into court, nothing that Jenks would accept, but they had a lead. They might have even had a motive or at least a part of it.

Paul was the first one to speak again. With his attention solely onto the captain, with a look of determination in his eyes, he asked, "Have you decided on the new… mission starting in a couple of weeks? This investigation is eventually going to be placed under my unit. You know it's just a matter of time."

"It could be a joint-initiative."

"Whatever you call it. Doesn't matter to me," Paul said.

"Uh, I don't mean to interrupt your side meeting," Jacob jumped in. "But what is this new mission you're talking about? It sounds dangerous. Like beyond Leah's and my pay grade- dangerous."

Leah rolled her eyes.

Paul smirked.

"Your detectives, Black. Veterans at this job—you'll be fine," the captain said. "As far as I know, it's no more dangerous than your other high-profile cases. And Captain Lahote has assured me that you will not be going on an undercover assignment—is that right, Captain Lahote?"

Paul's smirk didn't falter. "Absolutely."