AN: Stephanie Meyer owns all things Twilight.

2:17. If Edward loved nothing else about his line of work, he loved the lenient hours. 2:17 in the afternoon was a damned good time to wake up, in his opinion.

Edward groaned, rolling over to face his picture windows, framed in red drapes to match the bed linen. The sun was warm on his face, and he allowed himself a small grin of pleasure as he ground the heels of his hands into his eyes. His face fell a moment later, however, when he remembered what today had in store.

Begrudgingly, Edward hauled himself out of bed and padded into the bathroom, scratching at his chin along the way. Peter's ring hadn't left too deep a cut after all, so perhaps Edward would be able to shave tomorrow.

Twenty-five minutes later, Edward exited his bathroom still glistening with moisture from his life-giving shower, and wearing only a towel. He padded slowly, barefoot, into the kitchen, to see a fresh pot of coffee sitting on the stove.

"Bless you, Marta," Edward mumbled as he poured himself a cup.

Edward grabbed the stack of mail that Marta had brought up and arranged in a neat pile on his kitchen counter. This woman was like a fairy godmother – his apartment was always spotless, he always had fresh coffee, and he saw her only once a year, to give her her Christmas bonus.

Not wasting time with the paper, Edward selected a large manila envelope from amongst the pile. No postage, no return address – Carlisle had, of course, had it hand-delivered.

Taking his coffee and the envelope into the living room, Edward settled into his recliner, gearing up for some background research. He dumped the contents of the folder onto his towel-clad lap, and was surprised to find how little there was.

Usually Carlisle delivered several thick envelopes to his apartment, each containing the life history of a future mark. Hell, as Edward beat Peter Dossier to death, he wondered if Peter still remembered any lines from Romeo and Juliet, his ninth grade play. Carlisle didn't miss anything.

However, it looked like Bella Swan was an elusive target. There wasn't even a photograph paperclipped to the front page, as there almost always was. Regardless, Edward would take all the information he could get, and began to read Carlisle's file in earnest. It was rare that Carlisle would send Edward instructions regarding his work – he usually trusted Edward's intuition and skill when it came to how a job should be done. But Carlisle's message in this case was clear. It was written in red ink across the bottom of the last page of the package.

Don't fuck up.

"You don't say," Edward muttered sarcastically. Having completed his scan of the information, Edward now went back to absorb the details.

Though he himself had never heard of Isabella Swan, from what it looked like, this was a pretty high profile case. She had established quite a name for herself. Arizona, born and raised, danced at NYU for two years before going out on her own. After briefly headlining with a cabaret group, she was offered her own show, and had been performing cross-country ever since. This was the final leg of her tour: five shows in twelve days. It was also a homecoming of sorts, since New York had been her place of residence for a short time. Edward's job was simple: protect the girl without her being aware of his presence.

Protect her from what, he wondered. Edward flipped the page. Ah, her personal life. The juicy stuff.

Isabella – Bella, as she preferred, apparently – had been quite the free spirit in her college days, brief as they were. She had flunked out of any class that lacked a dance component. Though she shone vibrantly in every class that involved movement, it looked like dropping out had been a good decision. With such meager grades, it did not look like she would have been readmitted.

Bella had only had a few public relationships since making it big time; first with her manager – surprise surprise – but that ended when she fired him. Following that were a few minor affairs with B-list celebrities, and then a long dry spell that had continued until just recently. Rumor had it that Bella and her dance partner, Jacob Baronovski, were quite the item. In fact, just a short time ago, Jacob had been spotted on the Fifth Avenue, perusing jewelry shops for engagement rings.

Baronovski…the name sounded all too familiar.

A quick search through his file cabinet provided Edward with his answer. The Baronovskis were a very influential mafia family that could be traced back further than it was wise to question.

If the Baronovskis were so well-off, what was their eldest son doing marrying some dancer? Furthermore, what was he doing dancing himself when he could be – should be – getting ready to inherit the family business?

There were dangerous undertones to this job, which was perhaps why it was offered to Carlisle and his agency as opposed to a regular security outfit. Moreover, it explained why Edward's guardianship was to be kept on the down-low. Any additional muscle on the job would be looked at as insecurity on the Baronovskis' part, and reflect badly thereupon.

The job itself seemed straightforward: follow the bint to work, make sure she doesn't get killed while dancing, follow her home, and make sure she'd doesn't get killed while sleeping.

However, the lack of information on his mark – were they still a mark if you weren't killing them? – made Edward uneasy. What was in Isabella's past that not even Carlisle could find out?

The next twelve days will be interesting, Edward thought as he rose from the recliner, leaving his towel where it lay. With confidence, poise, and not a scrap of clothing on him, Edward strode to his room to dress for the day.

AN: I promise, Bella is coming! Maybe even in the next chapter... Please review!