Fear turned out to be a worse supplement for insomnia than I expected. As the sun crept into the sky, I found myself wide-awake, Lissa having fallen asleep beside me in her Milan-runway clothes, clocking out hours ago while I stayed on patrol. I sighed and passed a hand over my weary face, reluctantly getting out of bed. I must have damned Dashkov a hundred times as I headed to headquarters.

It didn't help that mornings were a bitch to begin with.

Sporting a plain tee and black slacks, I walked down my unit's hallway, barely having stopped for necessities. And by necessities, I meant a double order of mochas. Pushing in the door, I heard a familiar voice jab almost instantly, "Jesus, Hathaway, you look like you slept under an overpass."

Two steps into the office earned me that charming greeting. No surprise, considering the source. I shook my head, in no mood to play with him today, my sharp tongue lively despite my dragging feet. "How are you still single?" I asked in wonder, maneuvering past Stan as he popped closed a vanilla envelope. The only reply I got was a smug smirk. I knew homicide detectives were known for their ego (and, yes, that included me), but by God did Stan set the bar to a whole new level.

And trust me, I knew what I looked like. It wasn't runway material. Insomnia wasn't exactly an equivalent remedy to beauty sleep and not even a rare, healthy dose of mascara and foundation could help me today.

Even Mia had something to say, her ocean-kissed irises going wide at my approach. "God, what, were you on neighborhood watch all night? You look like you got hit by a truck."

Warm welcomings. My coworkers were the supportive type.

"Good morning to you, too," I said dryly, setting down the other cup of coffee in my hands, this one balancing two packets of sugar and two creams on top. I knew how Mia took her coffee back from when we were the dynamic duo. I half-sat on the corner of her desk, holding my own Styrofoam cup.

I'd gotten a grand total of two hours of sleep at the Dragomir's apartment, even without a cuddling session with Bass. Adding in what I got the night before, I was running on 5 hours for the past 48. Coffee was probably the only thing reanimating my corpse, against Lissa's doctoral advise. I glanced at her screen, currently running a DNA analysis. "Get anything?"

"Not much," she said, glancing down at her papers, her tone suddenly turning bitter. "I was too busy being distracted by your partner."

Uh-oh. Internally, I groaned. I knew that tone. Mason was picking fights all over the place lately- however, I had a strong suspicion he hadn't been the one to throw the first punch this time. I glanced around for him, and, finding the office dead, murmured to her quietly, "For God's sakes, Mia, are you really going at this thing with Mason again- now?"

She didn't dignify that with a proper response, only saying, "Don't know what you're talking about." She blatantly feigned ignorance, scanning her computer screen instead. I sighed. Mason and Mia weren't exactly buddy-buddy. Despite us being on the same team, Mia was still a rank ahead and Alberta had assigned Mason as my new partner a year ago to compromise. To say Mia wasn't thrilled with the addition would be an understatement. It left her partner-less and me constantly running off with Mason instead of her. She was great at what she did, but the situation still left her with a not-too-warm-and-heartfelt edge toward Mason.

And man could she seriously hold a grudge. Leave it to my partners to start an internal war well I was juggling with a serial killer. They were probably going at each others throats in the car last night.

I thought I'd been childish before but Mia was putting that act to shame. At least it matched her appearance more than her typical, snide police cover. "Look, it's not Mase's fault he got paired up with me," I told her.

She pretended not to hear me "The hiker's clean, we just did another scope of the area where Gabe was found. There's nothing."

I gave her a look, knowing she was changing the topic on purpose (a habit she'd picked up from me), before pushing forward her cup. She didn't bother hiding her annoyance, looking up from her report. "You want to hear what I got for the lab or not?"

"Yeah, you want to drink the coffee?"

She held my gaze for several seconds, jaw set tight, before her eyes flickered to her cup. "I take three sugars," she finally said.

I could have thrown my hands up in defeat. "Oh for Christ's sake, since when?"

"Since I don't know, for a while," she defended before accusing, "and you would know that if we were still partners."

We lapsed again into a silent stand-off. I knew by one look that she wasn't completely liable for going after Mason and I. I could see rings under her eyes as well and knew this case was just as stressful for her. I'd snapped at Mia repeatedly over the past two days; I shouldn't be that surprised she was lashing out at us reflexively, too. Silently, I damned Dashkov for the thousandth time. Not only did he want to drag me down, but he was intent on taking everyone else along for the ride. He was damn good at it, too.

"Fine," I said with only a slight edge, sipping my drink in compensation for both of us. "What about the semen we found?"

I could sense some of Mia's own anger disperse as she glanced back at the screen. She hated when her childish side spoke for her, and hated even more when we were mad at each another because of it. It didn't stop her from telling the sweet-and-short truth though. My hand stopped cold as she said point-blank, "No hits."

I stopped and stared at her, disbelieving. "That- how is that possible?"

"Easy, our unsub isn't in the database," she said. "We found two fingerprints on her wrists, too, there's nothing. Our unsub's a ghost."

Well, there goes his apprentice's ID. "Great," I muttered, the pit in my stomach deepening. The one solid lead we had had gone up in smoke overnight. Mornings really were a bitch.

There was another stretch of silence and Mia's initial irritation ebbed away like the tide as it dragged on. After a few moments of clicking around on her computer, she paused and sighed. "Look, I'm sorry," she said quietly in the silent room, the only other noise the distant hum of ringing phones three doors down. "I know I shouldn't be going at this now. And I'm sorry about the other day. I should have given you a heads-up." She paused before adding, "About both things."

An apology from Mia, even a lame and choppy one like that, was rare. My tense shoulders relaxed. "It's okay," I told her truthfully, already over it.

"No," she said, to my surprise. "It's not."

I held her gaze for another moment before glancing down at my hands. With all the insanity going on, a "sorry" here and there went a long way. I knew I wasn't going to get an apology letter from the guy bent on killing me but it was nice to hear it from someone. I looked around, noticing that Mason wasn't the only agent missing in action. "Where's our Men In Black consultant?"

Mia looked puzzled now. "Dimitri? He didn't tell you? I thought you were keeping tabs on him."

We stared at each other dumbly, equally out of the loop. Oh lord. We sounded like a couple wondering where our runaway puppy had went. But come to think of it, I hadn't seen Dimitri since the security tape of Dashkov came into the evidence room and then he'd vanished out the room with Alberta. I didn't have the faintest clue where he was now.

Well damn.

I'd lost Dimitri the puppy.

The ringing of the land line distracted me from that train of thought before I could post signs around the neighborhood. I jumped down and walked over to my desk, the chord unraveling like a snake as I answered. "Detective Hathaway."

It was local PD. I could feel Mia's eyes on me as I breathed out not-so-peacefully, exhaustion rising to the surface as they gave me the scoop. "Yeah, I'll be right there. Page Mason." I hung up before addressing Mia, "Keep checking the database." I grabbed my gun and badge, my prize-stealing mocha disregarded on the corner of my desk. Mia saw that as an instant cue for trouble. She was right. I tucked my pistol into my belt. "They just found another victim."

The soft clinging of medical utensils and the aroma of aftershave mixed with the salt-laced air greeted me at the crime scene. Lissa and Dimitri were already with the victim. Looks like I wouldn't have to put a bolo out on him after all. Dimitri's presence both relieved and surprised me, based on Mia's blank intel, but as it always was these days, there were more important things at hand than wondering where he'd been for the past 18 hours. It was probably on an FBI need-to-know basis anyway.

PD officers meandered through the living room, jotting down notes and snapping pictures, but it was clear the medical examiner and FBI head had the spotlight here. Walking in, hair tied up and gloves snapped on, I took in the scene. It was definitely a far cry from our last one. The beach house was sprinkled with shell decor and splashes of baby blue. The immobilized, duck-taped male half-glistening red in the sunlight kind of broke the warm, homely vision.

A gaudy, seashell-lined frame caught my eye as I tried to ignore the building wave of nausea. It was a photo of our victims- or so I assumed, seeing as we only had the guy currently. I snagged it from the side and walked over to Lissa, flashing the happy couple. "Let me guess, the girl is missing?"

Lissa straightened from her work, leaning over. Both of us took in the photograph as she nodded. "Yes, his name is John Grant." She pointed to the brunette beside him. "That's his wife, Emmaline." She was pretty and small with a heart-shaped face. I hated to even think of where she was now.

"Well that's not predictable at all," I murmured, scanning the perfectly-polished floor panels. "No tea cup this time?"

"No, he didn't need a warning device," Dimitri said, still sporting the FBI suit off to the side, much to my annoyance. It was hard to do my job with the distraction of a 6'7" god in the room. "He had an accomplice this time. And his work is already trademarked."

"Yeah, well," I said, handing off the frame to Lissa who set it down on the couch. "Dashkov loves to be thorough."

"Rose?" Our group's attention diverted to Mason, the red-haired detective stopping on the step right before the foyer.

I angled toward him, in the middle of rolling up my sleeves. "What's up, Mase?"

I could see him hesitate, struggling with words for a moment before gesturing back behind him, lowering himself a step. "You better come see this."

I frowned. Lissa and I shared a quick, tale-tell glance, guessing the others thoughts. This wasn't going to be good news. From an outsider's point of view, we probably looked like we were mentally linked with our syncracy. Mason led us down the side of the house where a police officer was in a battle royale with a middle-aged man holding a flower bouquet. "Look, all I know is I got a delivery for a Hathaway," he said gruffly, clearly irritated he couldn't just drop his load and scram.

In my career, the last thing I got were flowers on the job. "That's me," I affirmed, stepping off the staircase, a little weirded out by the strange scene. The deadpan deliverer handed over the styled bouquet of thorn-laced red roses. I didn't take it. A card sticking out of the stems distracted me, the cover imprinted with a familiar logo of a national flower company. There were at least 10 of their shops in Boston alone. I plucked the condensed letter off of the stand, opening it and sliding out the note inside. Lissa read it alongside me, Dimitri hovering on the sidelines.

Prickly on the outside, succulent on the inside. Just like you.

Best- Henry Deduboto

I rolled my tongue under my teeth, restraining myself from crumpling the note. Victor really did love to toy with me- not that it packed a huge punch anymore. "How much you want to bet Dashkov wasn't in the poetry club in highschool?" I muttered, only slightly stirred by the memo. I'd gotten (cliché) rose bouquets from guys since I grew into my C-cup in 9th grade. Dashkov would have to try harder to get under my skin- though I definitely wasn't keen on him knowing where I was 24/7. Feeling like you were being watched, and by a serial killer at that, was hardly comforting.

Lissa frowned to the side, focused on the second strange aspect of the letter. "Who's Henry Deduboto?"

Another, more important realization dawned on me. This time I flashed the card like it was a winning lottery ticket, showing a little Stan-worthy smug. "Now how much you want to bet it's his apprentice?"

Lissa caught on instantly. Anagrams, playing off the letters in one name and rearranging to form another, were common in our field. Obviously a killer wasn't going to give us his signature and name wrapped in a small bow, but messing with us was definitely in their quota. And definitely in Dashkov's.

"I'll send it to Mia right away," Lissa said, already taking off her latex and reaching for her Blackberry as she trotted back up the staircase, texting Sargent Detective Rinaldi our latest lead.

I could see the deliver getting more impatient by the second. Yeah, he had a rough job. Shoving down the urge to roll my eyes, I took the basket from him, leaving the original officer to deal with him. I glanced at the blood-red petals. If they weren't considered evidence, I'd already be throwing the roses away. Evidence or not though, I wasn't keen on keeping a hold onto them. I glanced up as Dimitri strode over from the end of the staircase. "Flowers?" I offered.

He studied the bouquet for a moment before saying, "Hybrid tea roses. One of the most common around."

"What, you're a florist now?"

A faint hint of a smile played on his lips, but I knew he wasn't the kind to smile on the job. "No, just knowledgeable." He looked at me, his humor sobering in an instant. A frown crossed his face instead. "You're exhausted. Have you been sleeping at all, Rose?"

Mentally, I swore. My foundation was really failing its job at hiding the rings under my eyes. "Here and there," I answered evasively. "I've been a little busy recently, getting hunted and all."

I knew that was a bad answer as soon as I said it. Dimitri was still doing well at keeping a blank face, but I could see his frown deepen, worry underlining his stoic visage. He also happened to be the type to take things on himself, like the fact I wasn't sleeping was somehow his fault. He didn't deserve to beat himself up over this though.

"Hey it's fine," I told him, trying to veil that lie with my emergency, off-hand flippancy. "Mason and Mia are already babysitting me overnight, I'll catch up on my sleep in no time with the delta team outside." No need to tell him I wasn't at my apartment most of the night. I handed him the roses. "But in the meantime, I have to follow up with Mia. You can take that for printing if you want- or give it to your niece for prom, whatever works."

Knowing I was going to blow my carefree attitude if I stuck around any longer (if he hadn't already seen through it), I headed back up. As I ascended the stairs, I couldn't help a glimpse back, able to ignore temptation for only so long. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dimitri open the lid to a rusted trashcan lined against the porch's concrete- and promptly dump the roses inside. An echo rang out as he shut it closed, merciless to the poor plants.

Guess it wasn't important evidence after all.

The list of names was endless. I scrolled through, my lips pressed against my knuckles as I leaned on them. "Bundy Theodore... Ted Bundy!"

Lissa looked up from handing a pen to Mia, frowning. "That's 5 letters too short for that anagram."

She was almost faster than the computer. "How do you do that?" I clicked again, a new name splayed across the screen. "Fine, how about Theodore Bundy?" I asked, Lissa's heels clicking as she walked over, opting for dark pumps to match her navy dress today. "He was fascinated with necrophilia, just like the apprentice."

"Could be," she said. "It would explain Gabe's positioning back in the wood's, just like a lover."

"So he could go back and visit," I confirmed, Gabe's profile now maximizing onto the screen. "But we found her," I said slowly, fitting the pieces together, "so he had to go and kill again, this time with Dashkov to get a new subject." I looked at Lissa for objection. I got none. It was a theory, but it didn't leave us with much.

My phone rang on my desk, the tone belonging to Mason's cell. Lissa looked startled. "Is that a death march?" she asked, the impending-doom organ blaring through the office.

"Are you kidding, I saved that for my mom's ringtone." I picked up, noting that Lissa wouldn't be happy to know she got assigned theJoker's laugh from Batman. Mason was working the field this time around; after the tensions with Mia, he was happy to steer clear of the office until she diffused. "Find anything?" I asked, closing the laptop's reports. My finger froze over the touch pad, Mason's voice only slightly muffled by sucky reception. "What? Where?"

He told me. I stared at the set background on my computer, a picture of me at a coffee bar with Sydney. I was the only one sharing smiles that day. In the background of my background (if that was politically correct, which I doubted), there was a bouquet of roses, similar to what Dashkov and his partner had lovingly sent. It was strange what things you noticed- and what things you could connect. A plan, quick and sudden, threaded together in my head as Mason's information spilled in, pairing with the theory Lissa and I had devised.

It was a long shot. A really long shot. But everyone has to take a leap of faith sooner or later, right?

"We'll be right there." I snapped my phone shut, standing. Eyes flickering to Lissa, knowing she'd have to change footwear for our next adventure, and worse, knowing her usual professional ways, I told her without sugarcoating it, "You are not going to like what we're about to do."

From the look on her face, she already didn't.