Thirteen

"You'd think for a case with so much heat we'd have more information by now."

Leah had to agree with Jacob.

It was the end of the March, about two and a half months since the inception of the Dahlia case, and it seemed that the detectives were at a standstill. The issue with this case was that it was no longer a strong one— Leah shook her head. No, she wasn't explaining herself right. The problem was that the undisputed number one suspect was dead. Demetri Karlov, a coveted member of the Volturi, had been killed off by an unknown assailant from an unknown organization.

Jessica deserved some justice. Her murder shouldn't run cold like that because of a technicality such as the death of a suspect. Leah had fully expected for Riley to give her and Jacob some insight into the murder; after all, he had seen the woman before, but he had only solidified the belief that it had been Demetri—

But why? Why would Demetri, a predator known for hiding his tracks, just leave Jessica like that? So vulgar. So violent... Just whom was he sending a message to? According to Officer Jared Cameron (Leah's new POC for the "Unit that shall not Be Named" while Paul was fuming away, butting heads with his supervisors, the ATF and the goddamn FBI), no one had talked about Jessica. Not the Cullen's. Not the Denali's and certainly not Victoria's people.

As far as the "Unit that Shall Not be Named" was concerned, Jessica had just been a naive college student who ran in with the wrong crowd— but this couldn't and didn't make any sense to Leah.

Because if she had just been that, then Edward Masen, a known member of the Cullen family, wouldn't have sought an injunction for the autopsy. She had to be important to someone somehow for some reason.

Leah grumbled under her breath as she reviewed the Dahlia's files and reports for the umpteenth time. She was missing something that was most likely so obvious, most likely right under her nose, but her mind wouldn't let her find it.

She soon pulled out a transcript of Jessica's text messages, stemming from a few months back. She had seen this page countless times; reviewed it countless times, but had been frustrated to know that the woman had been smart enough to speak into code.

"You know, the Black Dahlia case was the most popular homicide in L.A. for years. It was a media sensation, still full of conspiracy theories, and it's still unsolved," Leah reminded her partner. "We just have to trust Jenks, and find out why the injunction had been stopped."

"The Cullens didn't kill her."

"Well, they're making every effort to cover it up," Leah said, turning the first page of the transcripts. Nothing of value was mentioned on the first page, just "thank you's" to numerous birthday wishes.

Jessica: Feeling like the Tit girl, but this time, I ain't throwin it in the ocean. Thnx babe. XOXO.

Leah's eyes widened as she remembered the first conversation she had with Jessica's very cooperative roommate. "The Heart of the Ocean," she said.

"What?" Jacob asked from behind his computer monitor.

Leah quickly highlighted the text and handed the page to her partner. "Read the highlighted. Jessica was talking about that necklace."

Jacob examined the page. "Sulpicia's?"

"Remember when we talked to Angela for the first time? When she showed us Sulpicia's necklace? She referenced the Heart of the Ocean," Leah explained. "The Tit girl— the girl from Titanic. Rose. Didn't she throw the necklace into the ocean at the end of the movie?'

"All I remember thinking how stupid that was," Jacob muttered. "You know how much that shit costs?"

"It was symbolic," Leah said. "You've watched that movie far too many times to be healthy, and you didn't know that?"

"Oh, shut up—Okay, so we have confirmation that she received it. As a gift from a lover of some sort. Who just happened to have a burner."

"Demetri?"

"Most likely..." Leah trailed off as her eyes stopped at a group of text messages dated January 8th, approximately one week before Jessica's murder.

Unknown: How much light?
Jessica: To make a sun.

"She's talking about the UV's," Leah concluded, amazed at how much clues she and Jacob had missed. Granted, the last time they looked at it was before they had realized that Jessica was double-crossing two rival covens and might have been involved in the ultra-violet trade.

"Oh, look at the next page," Jacob suggested, skimming the rest of the page from his copy of the transcripts before turning to the next one. "The Saturday before her murder. Jessica: heading out to the bitch's warehouse to check out the sun."

"That must be referring to the night Riley had seen Jessica," Leah said. "I just don't get it. If she was dealing, why didn't she use a burner? She must have known these texts were traceable."

Jacob frowned as he shifted through the rest of the pages. Once done, he threw the papers onto his desk and leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms, deep in thought. "She only had one burner," he said. "That was confiscated from her apartment. That must have been provided by the Cullen's. This right here," he pointed at the transcripts. "Was from her personal phone."

"So, she wasn't on the Volturi's payroll after all," Leah concluded. "All of her trysts with Demetri were off the books... which explains a lot."

"That's why the Volturi isn't making any movements about Jessica," Jacob said. "I mean, if Jessica were an associate of theirs, they would do everything in their power to cover it up, and there is no evidence of a cover-up..."

"If the Volturi had killed Jessica, they wouldn't have left her there."

"No, they wouldn't."

"So, Demetri..."

"He was there," Jacob said. "That's for damn sure."

"But you don't think he did it?"

"If he had, he couldn't have been alone," Jacob said, shaking his head. He had that expression on his face, a pained one. That told Leah that he had an inkling about something, but he just couldn't prove it.

"This case is a crapshoot."

"Or maybe a part of something bigger."

"Hence Paul's task force," Leah said. It seemed like everyone was aware of Paul's plan, but no one truly knew what it involved. It had to be something serious because she had a feeling that the captain was going to get both the ATF and the FBI involved—which Paul only did at the very last resort. "Whatever we do. No matter how long it takes, we can't let this case run cold."

"I agree."

"Demetri couldn't have been the only one who had seen Jessica the night of the murder," Leah said. "They're had to be someone else. Someone who is probably still alive—"

"C'mon," Jacob abruptly said, sitting up in his seat. "We're visiting Mike."

"Mike, my fellow friend."

"We ain't never been friends," Mike grumbled as he let the two detectives inside his office. He motioned his guard to step out and shut the door behind him. He offered the detectives a drink; they both declined.

"Really, Mike, after all of this time?" Leah taunted, sitting down.

Mike rolled his eyes. "I don't want to talk to either of you."

"You don't exactly have much of a choice," Leah told him. None of the detectives took Mike's irritated statement to heart. "It's either you talk or your get sent downtown."

Mike was flailing. "Wait— on what grounds?"

"I'm sure the feds can hit you with some RICO violations after we charge you for illegal gambling, conspiracy with the mob, harboring—"

"Okay, okay, okay," Mike said, putting his hands up in defeat. "Damn, can you let me think?"

"We've been letting you think for the past ten years," Jacob reminded him. "So, fess up, or you'll be hand-delivered to the Office of Assistant State Attorney Jason Jenks."

"What do you want?" Mike grumbled. "If you want answers about the slaughterhouse murders, I ain't got anything."

"We're not here for that," Leah said. "We're here about the Chicago Dahlia case."

Mike scoffed. "You're still on that case?"

"You think I'm playing?" Leah challenged, narrowing her eyes. "Tell me about the victim."

"Okay, f-fine," Mike sputtered and then contained himself. "I've met the girl before. I wasn't anything special or shit. She was following Carlisle around like a lost, desperate puppy—"

"She was his mistress," Leah said. "We know that."

"Well, she had no business being there. She seemed out of place. Overwhelmed and awed by everything. I overheard one of the Cullen boys, Emmett, the loud one, talking about her. About how she needed to stay in her place—"

"In Carlisle's presence?" Jacob asked.

"Oh no, the man's a knucklehead, but he ain't dumb," Mike said. "Carlisle had a VIP section upstairs; he took her with him to... you know, relax."

"They were fooling around upstairs," Leah verified.

"I was trying to be more PC about it, okay?" Mike shook his head. "Anyway, then the other Cullen-boy, the pretty boy—"

"Edward?"

"Yeah, he started talking about how Jessica was messing everything up, and how even after telling his boss this, Carlisle wouldn't let her go."

"Did he love her?"

"Hah! That one? I'm pretty sure she wasn't around for emotional stimulation..."

"Did the wife know about this?" Leah abruptly asked. The wife of Carlisle Cullen wasn't on any of the cops' radar, not even Paul's. She was known for staying out of the limelight, occasionally volunteering at charity auctions, doing appraisals for priceless art, and maintaining an extravagant garden up in Evanston. On the outside, she was like a perfect Stepford, mob wife.

"I guess," Mike replied with a tense shrug. He quickly poured himself another glass of liquor; he was getting nervous, Leah observed, but not necessarily because of his involvement. There was something else; he didn't want to talk about Esme. "She knew about the others."

"Describe Esme Cullen for us," Leah requested.

Mike glanced between Leah and Jacob. He sat up in his seat and loosened his tie. He appeared confused and taken aback about the mention of Esme. "Wait, you think she had something to do with it?"

It was not outside the realm of possibility, being killed because of a betrayal. She knew, from personal experience, that if it weren't for prison or the fact that would lose her job, she would have seriously considered going after Sam and Emily.

"Jilted wife targeting her husband's lover," Jacob added. "It wouldn't be the first time."

"She literally wouldn't hurt a fly," Mike insisted.

"Sure, but doesn't mean she couldn't have asked someone else do the dirty work for her," Leah pointed out. "I mean, she's the matriarch, right? She must wield some power. Some influence over someone willing to do anything for her."

"She knew what she was getting herself into," Mike said, still not convinced. "She seemed fine with it."

"Seemed. Sometimes us women have to adapt to survive or put up an appearance that everything's time. That we should bottle everything and walk around with a smile on our face. Be happy that we simply have a ring on our finger," Leah explained, leaning forward, ignoring her partner's gaze. "But eventually... we can't just brush it off. Endure it further... Surely, you must understand."

Mike glanced at Jacob and gulped. "I've, um... never been in that position. Sorry."

"Oh c'mon, Mike," Jacob said. "You've never been jealous?"

"Of course, I have."

"And how did that feel?" Leah asked.

"It sucked." Mike eyed Leah, suspicious. "Wait, are you accusing... me?"

"No," Jacob said. "If we thought you had something to do with it, you'd be sitting in Cook County right now. We just wanted to explain to you have it's not..." He shrugged. "Out of the realm of possibility that Carlisle's wife might have had a hand in his mistress' murder."

"You're naming Esme Cullen as a suspect? As in Carlisle Cullen's wife? Since when did she get involved?"

"Well, sir, no hath fury like a woman scorned," Jacob told the captain.

It such an over-used saying, but to be honest, Jacob was right.

"Esme is married to Cullen, who was having an affair with Jessica, the victim, who, according to our sources, was sleeping with Demetri," Leah added.

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Wasn't he your primary suspect?"

"He's dead," Leah reminded her supervisor, "And we can't charge dead people. Anyway, we believe that this wasn't just a one-person thing."

"It's basically an episode of Jerry Springer," Jacob added. "But deadlier, and the mob's involved."

The captain gave Jacob a look. "It certainly looks that way, doesn't it?"

"We don't have much information about the status of the Cullen's marriage," Leah carried on. "For all we know, they may have had an open relationship—"

"So, why would Esme be mad then?" the captain asked.

"Because Jessica didn't know how to, as they call it: stay in her lane," Jacob explained.

"Even if there's an agreement or some sort," Leah said. "People usually draw the line when it comes to PDA. Some would ignore it or simply forget about the other person, but they have to hide in the shadows. From what our C.I. has told us, Jessica wasn't doing that."

"Esme must have felt disrespected," Jacob added. "After all, she's the matriarch of a crime family. She wasn't going to just let some college girl upstage her and get away with it."

"I doubt Carlisle was going to leave Esme for Jessica," the captain said.

"That's not the point," Leah argued. "I'm not trying to say that Jessica deserved her fate, but she may have been a victim was misplaced anger. Esme couldn't possibly kill her husband, so she might have gone after the next best thing."

"Do you really think she did it?"

"We won't know until we speak to her. She may not have delivered the fatal blow. But maybe she knows something."

"Right."

"And also, we need to bring a Cullen in. It's been two weeks, and no one has bothered to bring Edward in. I know Jenks' been working on it, but need something."

"I just realized something: we went to see Mike about Demetri and the necklace. And now we're going after Esme."

"Welcome to life, Jacob. It's always full of surprises. You wanna get a very late lunch?"

"Show me the way."

"After some deliberation, I have decided to change my mind," Jenks announced. He had called the detectives to his office, right after their lunch that day. "Bring that bastard in. I'd like to see what excuse he and his lawyer can come up with."

The detectives shared a puzzled look.

"Who's this bastard?" Jacob asked.

"Edward Masen," Jenks spelled out.

"I thought you said we shouldn't bring him in because of the Deal?" Leah asked.

"Oh, you're not going to arrest him. I'm not in the mood to deal with Sorio, the DA, or the superintendent," Jenks clarified, rubbing his chin. "You're going to bring him for a chat. As a person of interest."

"You want to be there?" Jacob asked.

"No, I don't want to scare him off."

"You think your presence will frighten him?"

"Detectives, no one. No matter the species wants to deal with the law," Jenks said. "He'll either cooperate or give you some bullshit story. Either way, it's better than nothing. Oh, and I heard through the grapevine that you're looking at Mrs. Esme Cullen as a suspect?"

"Jessica was messing around with her husband," Leah explained.

"Yeah, I guess that'd piss some people off," Jenks said, nodding. "Brought her in yet?"

"The captain's hesitant."

"Can't exactly blame him," Jenks said. He rolled his eyes. "I'm sure she'll complain to the Sorio, and Sorio, being Sorio, would be Sorio."

"You have any other ideas?" Leah asked.

"Actually, I do. You'll be happy to know that she's going to be in court this upcoming Thursday," Jenks said, smirking at the detectives' amazed reactions. "Civil court, outside of my realm, but she's promised to be there. You can catch her before she testifies."

"Defendant or plaintiff?"

"Expert witness, actually," Jenks replied. "It's a breach of contract case regarding art pieces. But you didn't hear that from me."

Edward wasn't going to be an easy person to reel in. The Deal protected him and his family; if Leah and Jacob were going to pull this off, a simple arrest warrant wouldn't do. And forget calling him directly; it would only be a waste of time and effort. And of course, then there was Sorio.

According to some of Jenks' contacts, it was apparent that the judge was doing anything in his power to make sure the Cullens, and by extension, the Denalis wouldn't sniff prison or even a hefty fine.

"Are they dangling a goddamn sex tape over him or something?" Jacob wondered.

Leah honesty wouldn't be surprised. That was one of the grave disadvantages of being in public office. Everything was the public business unless some deals were made. "You don't think it's just the money?"

Jacob pulled up another court decision made a few years back. A goddamn mistrial regarding aggravating assault. "The only time those assholes got to trial ended in a mistrial."

"They try vampires?"

"No, this was a human associate apparently," Jacob grumbled, searching through the court documents on an online database. It had been a couple of days since speaking to Jenks. "He's been dismissing subpoenas, arrest and search warrants and cases regarding the Cullens since 2000."

"Two years after getting into office," Leah said, shaking her head. There were times when she wondered if all of the laws and police work would make a difference in this damn city. This was one of these times. "The feds gotta know about him."

"Maybe it's like what Jenks had said: timing is everything?"

"Yeah, but almost twenty years?"

"Federal cases take time. I wouldn't worry about him, though. I'm sure Jenks creams every day just thinking about Sorio behind bars."

Leah's face scrunched up in disgust. She liked Jenks; he was one of her oldest friends in the justice system, but the thought of him doing that. "Thank you for the mental image."

Jacob tried to look apologetic, but Leah knew underneath the facade, he was amused. "I'm just saying. So, do you have a plan about bringing Edward in without having us both demoted?"

Leah looked beyond her computer screen and gave her partner a smirk.

As a matter of fact, Leah did.

Hours later, while sitting inside her personal car parked in the station parking, Leah pulled out her personal cell and dialed a number she hadn't used in years. "Yes, it's Detective Leah Uley," she said when the call was answered. "We need to talk."

Leah had first met the infamous Rosalie Hale in 2010.

She and a former partner had been investigating a homicide involving an obscure mob informant's children; both kidnapped from their daycare, both found inside a train Tunnel used by Amtrak trains somewhere in the Southside. In laymen's terms, the case had been a "hot mess". Even with all of the evidence, the killers couldn't be brought to justice. And it was all because of Rosalie Hale and her band of associates.

Leah had hated the woman then. She had spent a good portion of that year searching for anything that could implicate the lawyer in anything. She had eventually discovered Rosalie's connections with the Cullen's. Back in '09, the lawyer had represented Carlisle for a dismissed extortion case involving an unpopular alderman—but no matter what she found, nothing had been strong enough to arrest Rosalie.

They would meet several more times in the next couple of years, all involving criminal cases. It wasn't long before Leah began to appreciate Rosalie's field of work. Was she infuriating? Yes. Was she arrogant? Of course. But then again, maybe Rosalie had every right to be. She had a knack for magically having cases dismissed.

As far as Leah knew, Rosalie hadn't been litigating since St. Patrick's (that shit-show had resulted in many people from both sides of the law questioning their life choices). She ran a consulting agency downtown dedicating to fixing anyone who could foot the bill's problems. Politicians. Mob associates. Businessmen—she did it all and with amazing results.

She even worked with the Chicago Police Department now and then.

They weren't friends. Their work wouldn't allow them to be, but they no longer hated each other. And occasionally, when they realized they had no other choice and the circumstances were right, even helped each other out—that was why Leah had called Rosalie.

"I thought you'd want to continue this conversation on the phone."

Leah snorted at Rosalie Hale's words. "So that this conversation could be tapped?" she said, sitting inside the downtown office of Hale and Associates with a glass of wine in her hand. She could have a drink right now; she was no longer on the clock, and as far as everyone knew, she wasn't here. "Never."

Rosalie made an approving sound as she sat down on the couch across from the detective. Her office wasn't the standard. Couches everywhere. Wine everywhere—Leah supposed this had been done on purpose, to provide clients comfort. No one came to Hale and Associates unless some shit was about to hit the fan. "You're far smarter than most of your compatriots."

"I suppose that's a compliment."

"What brings you here, Detective?" Rosalie asked.

Leah took another sip as she watched the fixer's every move. She wasn't attracted to women, but she would be damned to say if the woman in front of her wasn't one of the most striking women she had ever laid eyes on. It explained a lot, Leah concluded, about the rumors of Rosalie being a human "succubus" and how she used her looks and her personality to attract clients—it wasn't fair to her. Rosalie knew the law inside and out; she knew how to manipulate her opponent and the jury with her words.

"Detective?"

The detective quickly snapped out of her thoughts. She was here to get some answers out of Rosalie, nothing else. "Edward Masen."

Leah studied the fixer's reaction. The woman recoiled, but only for a second. If Leah's attention weren't concentrated on Rosalie, she would have never seen it. After clearing her throat, Rosalie crossed her legs and folded her hands on her lap, expression impassive. "And what makes you think I know anything about him?"

Leah snorted. This was just a part of the fixer's same. "Miss Hale, seriously, I thought you had more respect for me."

"I do. If I hadn't, you wouldn't be here."

Leah finished off her wine and carefully placed the glass on the table in front of her. She sat up in her seat and looked up at Rosalie, who was watching her intently. For the first time, Leah truly noticed the color of Rosalie's eyes, amber, and the paleness of her skin. And how the woman made a concerted effort to conceal her teeth.

She didn't want to make assumptions, but given the events of the past couple of months, she found herself questioning every person she encountered. Were they human? Vampires? Shape-shifters? Trolls? How could she tell?"

Leah's attention shifted to the glass in Rosalie's hand; the liquid could pass off as a Bloody Mary at a glance, but Leah had a sinking feeling that the red came from someone else—she didn't comment on it.

"I know you've been snooping around numerous law offices and police stations," Leah said. "I also know you're well aware of what's been going on since the start of the year—the Dahlia case, the Denali case, Demetri's case, and the slaughterhouse case. And I know you're aware of the injunction your favorite judge had placed on Jessica Stanley's autopsy."

"It's not exactly private knowledge," Rosalie maintained. "Sorio isn't my favorite judge."

"Your previous clients may think otherwise."

"Hm." Rosalie took another sip of her Bloody Mary. "There isn't much I can tell you."

"Bullshit."

Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "You must understand my position, Detective. I cannot confirm or deny anything."

Leah leaned forward. "Not even off the record?"

"There is no such thing," Rosalie said. Her gaze dropped to her lap as she sighed. "Anyway, I have my allegiances."

"I thought you didn't have any?"

Rosalie leaned against the couch, taking another sip. She was holding back, Leah could feel it. But it did seem that she wanted to get something off her chest. "I suppose a better word would be: obligation. As stated in the letter of retainer."

Leah cocked her head. "You're back to practicing?"

"I have never stopped," Rosalie said. "Just took an extended break."

"And surely you're representing the Cullens," Leah realized. She didn't wait for Rosalie to confirm or deny anything. But from the look in the lawyer's eyes, Leah knew her assumption was right. "Well, I guess there's no point on beating around the bush: We have evidence that someone associated with the Cullen's business tried to obstruct an investigation by threatening a government employee. Edward Masen."

"Oh?"

"Oh, come on, Hale, haven't you noticed the spike in body count?"

"I was under the impression that the city murder count only includes humans."

Leah nodded. "The official report that's released to the public: yes—Think of this as a courtesy request. Either your client speaks to us, or your client speaks to the feds."

Rosalie narrowed her eyes. "And why would the feds want to speak to us?"

"Because there are a lot of eyes in this city because of the murders. Your clients' friend made a grave mistake by messing with the Dahlia case. You know someone is going to complain to the feds about that."

"Do you honestly want to go down this road?" Rosalie asked moments later, serious. Leah supposed the fixer was just doing her a favor, subtly informing her about the dangers of getting involved with the Cullens.

Leah's eyes reached Rosalie's, unwavering. "Yes."

Rosalie texted Leah three hours later, long after their meeting had ended.

10:00 am tomorrow on 2620 Dearborn. Ste. 403.

Leah figured Rosalie wouldn't let Edward step on foot inside an interview room, inside of a police station. Leah was fine with it. It wasn't as messy.

See you then.

"If I kiss you, would you report me for harassment or shoot me?"

Leah laughed. "Shut up, Jacob."

"Seriously, I think I'm in love," Jacob said. He stole a glance before the traffic light turned green. They were returning to the precinct after another morning visit to the Office of the Medical Examiner. "But really, how did you...?"

Leah turned on the car radio, stopping at an AM news station. "Jacob, I've been a cop for just as long as you. Don't you think I have connections of my own?" She glanced at her partner, who was still gripping the steering wheels, eyes widened in amazed. "Seriously, it's only a meeting. You're acting like we've arrested a shit ton of people."

"In all honestly, it has the same effect," Jacob grinned. He deeply breathed and relaxed as if all of his stress suddenly just disappeared the moment Leah had told him the news. "Can I get you dinner then? Your choice."

Leah couldn't decline a free meal. "Sure."

She was in the mood for some bar food. Preferably something on the healthier side, which now that she was thinking about it, was essentially an oxymoron.

Jacob just laughed but took his partner to the bar, operated by Paul's childhood friend, Quil. Leah was growing to like this place, partially because of Quill's insistence not to let her pay for her drinks. She still provided tips that the bar owner still begrudgingly accepted.

Jacob ordered Leah her favorite dish while she used the restroom.

Fifteen minutes later, Leah found herself staring at her plate. Right in front of her was a massive fried fish sandwich, overloaded with tartar sauce and a large side of onion rings. Her stomach jumped for joy as her arteries groaned. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Murder by food seems like too much like work," Jacob joked. "Oh, come on, I know you're on some no-carb, no-fat diet thing, but we've had a shitty past couple of months. You'll be fine. And no offense, you did pick a bar for dinner."

"After tonight, I'm going to be eating salad until the end of the year," Leah grumbled despite eagerly reaching for her onion rings.

By the time Leah finished off of a quarter her rings, had a bite of the delicious sandwich, and leaning back against the booth, Jacob already downed two of his half-pounders. "I don't understand; where does it all go?" she wondered, leaning back against the booth, reaching out for her beer.

"High metabolism is a beautiful thing," Jacob said, grinning before taking a large bite of burger number two. He washed it down with beer.

"You say that now," Leah said before taking a swig. "But just you wait. Twenty years from now, you're going to be wishing that you ate more salad."

"I do eat salad," Jacob defended, though poorly. "Occasionally. Maybe once in a blue moon, but you know, wolves need their meat. Have you ever heard of a vegetarian wolf?"

No, she hadn't.

Speaking of wolves, I have been doing some research..."

Jacob stopped mid-chew and raised an eyebrow. "Should I be concerned about where this conversation is heading?"

"Don't be so dramatic." Leah lightly chided, shaking her head. "I'm trying to learn more about the supernatural since I've been dealing with them for the past couple of months."

Jacob grinned, "And hopefully for many years to come," he said, adding a wink. "Alright, ask away."

"Are you a part of a pack? Or is that strictly an actual wolf thing?"

Jacob blinked. "I'm an alpha."

"So, I take that as a yes."

Jacob shrugged. "I guess…"

"You guess?"

"It's complicated," Jacob said. "Extremely complicated."

"Do I know any of your packmates?"

"It's not my position to say—Sorry."

Leah gave a dismissive wave. She completely understood; it wasn't any of her business. From the corner of her eye, Leah could see Quil watching her. She looked his way and waved. He waved back, flashing her a slight, reserved smile. "No need to apologize," she said. Jacob had told her enough. "I'm just being nosy."

"I don't mind the questions. It's just that we have to live on the low. It wouldn't be right for me to out anyone."

"I get it."

"Any other questions?"

"How is it made?" Leah asked. "A pack?"

"There are many nuances to it... but in layman's terms, it's just like a vampire coven," Jacob explained, "Packs generally made of people you've either turned and don't hate you for doing so or attracted others who, for some reason, have a connection with you..." He paused to clear his throat. "Like I said: it's complicated."

"So, you're like responsible for them, being that you're an alpha?"

"Yes… Some people are born alphas; some are made."

"And you?"

"I'm not too sure," Jacob admitted. "Everything just happened so fast..."

"Do you like your position?"

"Like everything, it has its pros and cons," Jacob said with a slight shrug. "But it's not the end of the world. I have competent, relatively level-headed people behind my back; it makes life easier."

"Why didn't you tell your wife?"

Leah immediately regretted asking that question. It was too personal. During their previous conversations, usually about her problems with Sam, she had received snippets about Jacob's former marriage; each time, she learned more and more, but the man was still being invasive about it.

It was completely understandable, and just when Leah was going to apologize once again for entering uncharted waters, Jacob took a deep breath and motioned Quil to get someone to give him another beer.

Leah felt bad.

And the pair's conversation would stall until Jacob received his second beer. He opened it, slurped down about a quarter of it, and said before slamming the bottle on the table.

"I wanted to tell Monica," he quietly said. "I wanted to tell her back in high school. She had the right to know. Every fucking right, but I chickened out. Thought that I could just wing it. I was born with this, you know. No one else in my family has it. At least, the ones who are still alive. I mean, it's a genetic thing. People in my tribe are known for it, but the only advice I'd ever received about it was from people outside my family. Not that I blame them, you know. I mean, they can't possibly personally know how it feels to transform. They were supportive, but—"

"It wasn't the same," Leah whispered.

Jacob shook his head. "I hadn't met one who was my age until I joined the force. And most of them were on the wrong side of the law." He rolled his eyes, most likely at himself. "I didn't want Monica to think that I was some monster."

"Yeah," Jacob said, and then, under his breath, "But I don't think I loved myself at the time."

Leah cleared her throat, reaching over for her fries. She leaned forward and said in a whisper, "Secrets don't do marriages any good." She didn't know if her words made the situation worse; she was practically criticizing her partner. "You may think you're making a smart decision, and then it blows up in your face."

"Don't I know that," Jacob replied, staring down at his beer.

"Is that why you told me?" Leah asked. "About yourself?"

Jacob looked up at her. "You're my partner. I thought you'd find out eventually." He sighed. "So... you've talked to Sam?"

"I told him I wanted a divorce."

"You don't sound so... I don't know, sure about it."

"Oh, I am," Leah insisted. "But Sam's... he's hiding something from me. I know it."

"Besides the mistress and the incoming child?"

"Believe it or not, yes. I just have this gut feeling."

"Stemming from what?"

"How long did it take you to get a divorce?"

"Uh, about a year, once everything was finalized. First, we had to live separately for six months to prove that the marriage was never going to work, and then we had to deal with all of the legal shit." Jacob nodded. "Yeah, about a year, and ours was an amicable split."

"You didn't wait?"

"Why would we? Waiting wasn't going to change Monica's mind. Why you ask?"

"Sam wants me to wait until the end of the year."

"Oh." Jacob raised both eyebrows. "Why? If anything, that makes him look like shit during the proceedings. Isn't Emily going to have her baby by then?"

"That's what I'm saying. Do you think it's work-related?"

"The only way I can see that if he's going to go undercover. Then, I get it. You don't wanna go through all that divorce bullshit while you're supposed to be playing someone else. Too complicated. It's too much pressure.

"He would've told me if he was going UC."

"You'd think."

Leah shook her head. "Sometimes, I don't know what goes on in his head..."

"We all can't be mind-readers. Look, Sam has made some very questionable decisions, but he ain't dumb. There has to be a good reason, at least, in his mind, what he wants to wait until the end of the year—"

"But he won't tell me."

"He will have to eventually."