AN: Stephanie Meyer owns everything Twilight.

Edward wiped the still-fresh blood from the pipe onto Peter's suit jacket. Crumpled in the corner of an alley between a rub n' tug and a landromat, odds are that the body wouldn't be found for at least 48 hours. That is, if Peter's secretary was up to scratch. As a secretary she probably wouldn't file a missing persons report for a couple days, but as an occasional lover and a frequent spender on Peter Dossier's expense account, there could be one as early as tomorrow.

Marching down East 56th Street with swift, confident strides, Edward reached into his leather duster and pulled out a thin 2"x5" notepad.

Jackie Q. Pinkerton

Terrance Godfrey

Hans F. Planck

Nathan Orion

Peter Dossier

Crossing out Peter's name, Edward reminisced about the month's previous jobs. Jackie had been interesting. He had been so fixated on finding out what the Q stood for, that he'd actually taken her out for dinner beforehand. He picked her up at a bar the night before, charmed her into a frenzy, and made a date for the following evening. He offed her on the way home from the restaurant.

Queenie. Ridiculous fucking name.

Heading over to Madison Avenue, Edward was ready to collect his retainer. This month's list hadn't been particularly challenging, especially considering some of the projects he'd undertaken in the past.

Edward walked straight past the building numbered 150 – an innocuous townhouse sandwiched between a corner shop and a nail salon. He stopped only at the telephone booth on the end of the block. He picked up the receiver and pressed it to his ear, neither expecting nor receiving a dial tone. He inserted a quarter, dialed a random string of seven digits, and began to carry on a one-sided conversation with himself while subtly checking out the scene.

Three young black men stood on the opposite corner of the street, too immersed in their own dealings to be concerned with Edward's. Coming over the slight hill two hundred meters to his left was a young woman, barefoot, dangling a pair of heels from her right hand. She wove slightly as she made her way down the street – drunk. Edward hoped the men across the street wouldn't notice.

With a last quick sweep of the area, Edward hung up the phone. Every Thursday Edward would make a fake phone call at this payphone that hadn't functioned as long as he could remember, and every Thursday Edward would use the fake call as an opportunity to case 150 Madison Avenue.

With a quick turn, Edward walked briskly back the way he had come, this time turning into the short walkway leading up to the front door of his destination. Hopping up the grey stone steps with speed and grace, he pulled open the screeching storm door and turned the knob of the heavier metal door inside. It turned and opened easily, and Edward allowed himself a small sigh of relief. He was on time.

There was only one thing his boss liked more than money, and that was punctuality. Edward remembered the first time he had been late for a meeting – it was the first and last time that mistake would ever be made. Shuddering at the memory, Edward stepped into the foyer and closed the door behind him with a

Click. Edward tried again. Click. The knob still wouldn't turn. It was January – it was possible that the workings of the lock had frozen. Edward jiggled and pushed the knob with frustration that quickly turned to desperation when he realized that the door was, indeed, locked.

"What the fuck? I told Carlisle yesterday that I'd be here at midnight."

The storm door leaned uncomfortably against his back, and he could feel the handle digging into him, even though the thick leather of his coat. He stood still, staring at the knob, as if willing it to turn with his mind.

The cold was beginning to get to him. He hadn't noticed it until now because he had been moving, but he vaguely remembered reading in the paper that the city was expecting record-breaking low temperatures for the week.

Edward's "appointment" that night had taken longer than anticipated because of traffic – fucking traffic – and he had had to run most of the way here, even foregoing his routine phone-call-slash-search of the area.

One last time he tried turning the unrelenting knob before huffing with frustration and turning to bound down the front steps. He paced along the short and narrow walkway anxiously, reaching inside his jacket for a pack of cigarettes. He lit one and inhaled deeply, pacing all the while. Edward checked his watch. 12:09. What the hell was going on?

Flicking his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, Edward hurdled up the steps once again. He wrenched open the storm door. His fingertips had barely grazed the doorknob when the door was pulled open before him. Carlisle stood in the doorway, a look of amusement on his face.

"Edward," he breathed, with deadly calm. "Do come in, you look quite…cold."

Carlisle's stillness made Edward uneasy. His words were just a touch too measured, too polite. This was not to say that Carlisle lacked manners or intelligence – on the contrary, he was easily the smartest and most well-kept man Edward had ever met. But something about the way he was acting tonight put Edward on high alert.

"Cold's right, it's fifty below out there," Edward joked, trying to lighten the mood while getting a feel for the situation.

Carlisle stared at Edward intently and remained silent for several seconds after the young man had finished speaking. Turning, Carlisle walked into the sitting room of the small, yet lavishly furnished townhouse, and took a seat on one of the many lounge chairs.

"Come then, Edward. Warm yourself by the fire."

Forget cold – Edward was sweating now. He and Carlisle always carried out their transactions in the basement, never in the sitting room. Edward had never so much set foot in it before, and here he was, being delivered an express invitation. He awkwardly meandered over to an overstuffed leather sofa.

"Sit, Edward."

Edward sat.

Several terse moments passed between them, as Edward ran through a million possibilities in his brain. Then, suddenly, Carlisle stood, and began walking slowly back and forth in front of the fireplace.

With his hands clasped behind his back, Carlisle's face remained rigid and unreadable. Just as Edward thought he couldn't take any more of the silence, Carlisle spoke.

"Edward, what time is it?"

Stupefied, Edward snapped his head up to look the older man in the eye. Carlisle now stood as still as a statue, framed by the blazing fire, expression as stony as before. He wasn't fucking around.

Slowly, Edward looked at his watch. "It's 12:16, Carlisle."

"12:16, very good, very good," Carlisle nodded, recommencing his pacing in front of the fire. "And at what time did we agree to rendezvous this evening?"

"Midnight, but -"

"And at what time did you arrive?"

"12:09, but - "

"Ah, now, Edward, do you see the error of your ways? Our meeting was for midnight and you arrived at 12:09. Actually, it was 12:06, but you insisted on having a smoke." His tone turned frigid. "I do not like to be kept waiting, Edward."

Edward stood at this comment, advancing on the man who must have been pushing 50, and yet could crumble a man half his age and twice his size – all the while passing for 30. Now face to face with his employer, Edward spoke quickly. "The Mortimer job got…complicated at the last minute and I had to think quick. Finished the job by hand in his bathroom. Clean-up was no easy-"

Before Edward could finish his defense, Carlisle had snatched a length of pipe from the side pocket of his smoking jacket, and bashed Edward on his left temple with impressive, yet controlled force.

Edward crumpled to the ground unconscious, the small gash on his head bleeding liberally. Carlisle leaned down and wiped the blood from the pipe onto Edward's shirt and walked out of the room.

***

Edward woke the next morning, head pounding, slightly dazed, and puzzled by his surroundings. Last night's events came rushing back as Edward rose unsteadily, gingerly touching his head wound, which was now caked with dried blood. As he made it to his feet, a note that had been resting on his chest fluttered to the floor.

Cleanliness is next to godliness, but punctuality is the soul of business. Don't keep me waiting again, Edward.

Below this message lay five new names. Five strangers for whom Edward's acquaintance would be the last they would ever make. He was grateful for these names because they meant food, warmth and most importantly

"Security? Have you gone mad? I'm a professional hit man, not some sort of, of bouncer!" Edward spit out the last word with distaste. "Carlisle, you know I'm grateful. I'm grateful for everything you've ever done for me, but I just can't take this job!"

"You can and you will, Edward."

"Please," Edward whispered, on the verge of begging, "Please Carlisle, just give me a list. Give me a list like always and we'll pretend this never came up. We can pretend it never happened. Find something else and I'll never breathe a word of it to anyone. Just not me, Carlisle. Not me."

"You're the only one capable of pulling it off, Edward." Carlisle chuckled. "Believe me, you weren't my first choice either, but I went through my rather – extensive – list of employees, and yours was the only name that fit."

"Carlisle, why? How? How did you come across a job like this? This isn't your style, it isn't - "

Wrong move. Edward had overstepped his boundary and Carlisle turned on him, eyes blazing.

"Since when do you find yourself in a position to question my authority, Edward? Or my sources, for that matter? You will take this job and you will complete it in a professional manner."

"But Carlisle, I-I've never done security before."

"Then I think it's about time you expanded your horizons."

The was an unquestionable note of finality in Carlisle's statement, and Edward knew that any further protestation would not turn out in his favor. With a look of pure malice, Edward violently snatched the piece of paper from Carlisle's outstretched hand and stormed out of the house. Not until he reached the safety of the lobby of his apartment building did he dare look at the name neatly penned on the sheet.

Isabella Swan.

Shit. This broad was going to be the end of his career – if not his life.

I'm going to post the first couple chapters of this all in a row, so that the ball gets rolling. Please review, and let me know what you think!