Hello again, readers! Some abbreviations, for you in this chapter:
MMA—Mixed Marital Arts
CI—confidential informant
GSW--gun shot wound
GSR--gun shot residue
I think that was all of them, but if I am wrong, please, don't hesitate to PM me with questions. Enjoy! :)
I.
"How can I help you two?" he asked. The smaller one, he was wiry and looked like he would be easy to take out if need called for it. He was already itching to hurt him, to kill him for the way he had touched her, like he had any goddamn right, like she belonged to him. The truth was she belonged to one person, one who had taken her in the first place and it was not this Edward Cullen.
But good sense and judgment told him to leave well enough alone. The big one, Emmett McCarty he said, he looked like a right motherfucker, the kind of guy that went down fighting, and even if you beat him left you with a fair share of damage to be dealt with. If at all possible he would avoid being involved with McCarty. Cullen he could handle. Adding someone the weight and built of a few MMA fighters was not something he thought would do well in the mix.
He had to listen to his head now, when really he was just aching to provoke Cullen.
"Well, our captain has us doing a few little inter-departmental interviews with some cops who were on the force back in Seattle back when that string of kidnappings was going on. It's frequently referred to as the Isabella Swan case; you remember the one, right?" McCarty questioned. There was innocence, even naivety in his eyes, but it a façade. He was smarter than he looked, there was something strangely wise and quick witted about him, lumbering oaf though he might have appeared.
"Of course I remember," he answered. "I was just a patrol officer at that point. I was working for the vice unit in Seattle as a uniform, but everyone who worked there in those months remembers that."
"Good. Well, we were wondering if we could ask you some questions about your work in Seattle. There have been some things popping up that might have something to do with that case and we're tracking down anyone we can find locally that might know something."
Might have to do with that case? They weren't that stupid. They were playing him, thinking he didn't know their game. He couldn't help but notice that it was always McCarty who spoke to him. Was Cullen too sullen, too worried over her after what happened at her apartment?
It had been easy to get into her apartment, he wanted to tell him. He had just flashed his badge and in he went without a problem. And he had been on the job long enough to know how to pick a simple tumbler lock. The chain on the door was easily broken and then it was a piece of cake.
Of course, once he was in the apartment he had lost track of time for a while. He had escaped into somewhere in his mind where nothing but the urge to destroy the things that were hers, the things that shouldn't even have existed was present. When he felt thoroughly sated, his urge to rip things apart, he backtracked to what his original plan had been, to write on her walls all the things he knew about her, because he had been watching her for years now and knew all her idiosyncrasies. But as he was writing he felt the rage swelling back underneath him somewhere and felt it break free as he scribbled desperately all the awful things he thought about her, told her what a bitch and a whore she was for fucking that cop, for letting him take what wasn't his to take nor hers to give.
But he resisted the urge to tell that story, or of his future plans, because he wasn't about to ruin years of planning and waiting all because he wanted to goad a detective. He was sorely tempted, but his patience and discipline eventually won out.
"I don't know what help I would be, guys. I just walked a beat in those days; I didn't have anything to do with Bella's case," he insisted. Cullen's eyes widened marginally. Something he had said had interested him. Fuck. What could he have said in such an innocuous sentence to have warranted interest?
"We understand that Detective Alistair, we have gotten the same story from a lot of the cops we've talked to, but you know how it is, captain says you have to do something and what choice do you really have? He has this idea in his head that the Black murder has something to do with her case. I told him that was just grasping at straws. It was a robbery, plain and simple. I mean the guy looked like he had been in a struggle and his wallet had been cleaned out, how much more do you need to pin something down, you know?" McCarty inquired.
James thought for a moment. Maybe this cop wasn't as smart as he had originally supposed he was. He was a detective, but there were a hundred reasons a cop could be promoted to detective these days, it didn't necessarily demonstrate any level of skill or intelligence.
James produced the necessarily chuckle at that part of the conversation, the one necessitated by social standards that he had learned to observe over the years. McCarty grinned at him while Cullen kept that sour look on his face, like someone had stuck a lemon in his mouth and he couldn't get the taste out.
"I heard about the Black case. He was in Seattle back when I was too; he was the head detective on Bella's case, wasn't he?"
"He sure was," McCarty answered.
"It's a damn shame about what happened to him. He was a good cop."
"That he was. So you're sure you don't have anything to offer us about the Isabella Swan case?" McCarty asked. James thought for a moment. Should he give them something, just a tidbit of information for them to waste their time on, if only for a little while, to give him time to finish what needed to be finished? Would they take the bait even if he did? Cullen was a smart man. He had read his jacket and looked into his background, and it was nothing if not impressive. The kid had been top of his class at Harvard for their criminal justice program, and he had continued to excel out of college, in the academy. He had made detective after only four years on the job, which was practically unheard of, but his performance on the exam was also almost unheard of, and so he wasn't surprised. Even if McCarty wasn't as intelligent as he had once surmised he was, Cullen was certainly a bright kid, and would be able to pick up a trail faster than McCarty. He decided against trying to keep them busy.
"I wish I had something to tell you guys, but honestly, all I did back then was patrol some neighborhoods and some industrial districts, answer distress calls, that sort of thing. I got moved to the Vice unit after the first kidnapping and I worked with CI's there until I put in to transfer," James said carefully.
McCarty nodded, Cullen continued his troubled look, but stayed silent. James nodded his head at them in an informal goodbye and turned to leave, but immediately upon turning, he heard a different voice, must have been Cullen, call out to him.
"Yes, detective?" he asked. His voice had gotten an edge to it that he had to remind himself to quell. Now wasn't the time.
"Why did you transfer from Seattle?" he asked flatly. If there was an accusation in that question—and James was almost certain there was—he wasn't hearing it in his tone.
"I was tired of the rain."
Cullen nodded with a pensive look on his face and then both he and McCarty left his station house without another word. James watched them walk away and made a mental note that when he was done with Bella, he would make Edward Cullen suffer for what he had done.
II.
Bella was pacing. She hadn't been allowed to go back into work after she found out her apartment was broken into, in case the person after her was planning on attacking her that day. As Edward had warned her, she had been dropped into a middle of the road quality motel with a uniformed officer inside the room and an undercover patrol car outside in case anything went wrong. But she knew, somehow she knew, that three officers, two so far away they couldn't get to her immediately if they had to, would not be able to save her if the man after her decided to find her and finish the job.
They went to a deli to get her lunch, and she ate it at the tiny circular table in her room. For a while she tried to distract herself with television, but daytime TV was notoriously bad, and Jerry Springer could only hold her attention for so long. She wanted out, she wanted to go home, and she wanted Edward. But she remembered that out meant unsafe, that she had no home to go back to and that Edward was probably out doing what he did best, which was try to catch the psychopath that was after her in the first place.
She started to think herself in circles, wondering whether she would have rather have never had the most horrible thing in her life happen, and thus never have met Edward or could she bear the memories she was saddled with, the appropriated fears from those experiences, all because she was able to hear his voice and feel a kind of calm that it was impossible to describe in words. There was something in his eyes that made her feel like she was floating in some warm sea, like all her troubles would be gone if only she asked.
But would she even have that need for safety if she had never known true fear the way she did? Would she have ever met Edward if she hadn't demanded to see someone at the police station that day? She had to tell herself in this hypothetical world she was in, that she would have met Edward another way, because the idea of forgoing torture to never meet him was something she was struggling to imbricate.
Eventually she decided to lie down and rest for a while, to try and sleep away her fear and unease and the distinct feeling of longing that was piercing her with undiluted force. She made herself kick off her shoes and settle onto the less than comfortable bed she was provided with while the uniformed officer in her room glanced her way in a cursory way and then picked the newspaper he had been reading back up and continued reading it. She put the television on in the background to break up the silence that hung around her like a heavy fog and closed her eyes. She imagined that she was back in her bed, still tangled with Edward's warm limbs, still coming down from the euphoria of love making, drifting into a world of mist and happiness where she felt sleep drag her under like a strong tide.
When she woke up she thought she was back in her bed and immediately sat up, relieved that it had only been a nightmare, that things were still all right, only to see where she was and feel the burden settle back onto her. She felt her heart get heavy when she saw there was only the uniformed detective with her and not Edward, not Edward sitting at the little table setting down a paper with a smile, not Edward in her bed, arms wrapped tightly around her with a languid smile, not Edward holding her, making her feel safe, certainly not Edward making love to her in her bed, making her whole body shake until she thought she would never be still, until she thought she would forever be an earthquake in the wake of his affection.
So she instead flopped back down and covered her face with her hands, listening to Law and Order start to sound from the television quietly and drew a few deep breaths. There was just so much time now, so much time to think and wonder and remember what was written on her walls and what he had done to her apartment. It wasn't the names he had called her, or even the things he told her about her life that scared her, it was the way he had ended it, promising to see her again soon. The idea shook her to her very core. If he could get into her apartment any time he wanted, it meant that he could have come at any time, he could have tortured her, killed her, done anything he wanted for as long as he had known where she was, but he didn't.
The idea that he was waiting for some specific time, that there was something he was anticipating, some specific moment he was waiting for made her more fearful than she thought it would. It was terrifying knowing that someone could get to you any time they wanted, it was more terrifying knowing that they chose not to for their own reason.
"Are you hungry, Ms. Swan?" the uniform inquired. Bella looked at the clock above the television for a moment. It was six o'clock already. Had she really slept so long? But she shook her head. She didn't want to eat. Her body felt like it was going to cease its regular functions until further notice. There were more moments of silence, of contemplation in which she tried her utmost to think of anything but fear, anything but words written on her apartment wall, anything but torture and death.
She was pulled from her reverie with a light sound on the door, the slightest of tapping. Fear beat into her blood with each pump of her heart for a moment, until the uniform went to the door and demanded the identity of the person on the other side.
"Detective Cullen," a voice announced.
"Show me your credentials," the uniform requested. There was a sound like rustling on the other side of the door, and then a moment of pause where the uniform stared through the peep hole. Then he slid the chain lock aside and undid the dead bolt and opened the door.
"Sorry about the whole credentials check, Detective, but you can't be too careful," the uniform said.
"Nonsense, officer, if you hadn't checked I would have chewed your ass out for it. Why don't you take a break while I talk to Bella here for a little while?" he asked. But his tone, while inquisitive, made it clear he wasn't really asking. The officer nodded and disappeared through the door. Bella contained herself for the most part upon seeing him, ignoring the way her whole body seemed to vibrate upon his arrival. She could feel every cell in her calling to her that she should just cross the room and propel herself into his arms. But she knew that doing so in front of the officer present would have been a very misguided idea. So she waited until the door was closed and locked behind him, and then did exactly what her body was telling her to do.
Edward knocked back into the wall with a surprised 'oomph' and then wrapped one arm around her, returning her embrace as best he could. She looked down at why he wasn't holding her the way she wanted and noticed he was carrying a large brown paper bag in his other hand.
"What is that?" Bella inquired. Edward took a deep breath and met her eyes.
"I made you dinner. Why don't we sit down and eat. There are some things we need to talk about."
III.
Edward was brooding. According to Emmett it was what he did best. But there was nothing else for him to do until they got back to the station. He needed to call Captain Whitlock, and he didn't have the number on his cell phone and so there was nothing he could do until they got back to the station. He and Emmett hadn't said a word since they left Detective Alistair's station house, but he could feel the curiosity emanating from him. Emmett had known, just like Edward had known, that he was their guy, that James had been the one to do it all those years ago and he was the one stalking and scaring the shit out of Bella now, but probably for two very different reasons.
Emmett was a very good cop, and he had learned how to read people a long time ago. Little things would tip him off, like waiting too long to respond to an easy question. Not to mention, something Edward could identify with, he could just feel it, somewhere in his gut and he could just know. But for Edward, accompanying that overwhelming certainty that spread through his veins as soon as James opened his mouth were two little things he had said, probably things he hadn't even realized he had said.
He had called Isabella Bella, something he should not have known she preferred if he didn't know her, and from his own vehement protests, he claimed he didn't. It was small, and certainly not something he could tell to the captain or to anyone other than Emmett as to why he was getting the bad vibe from him, but it was something.
The other thing was the comment he made about his job back in Seattle at the time of the kidnappings. He said he had been a patrol officer, and his beat had included a few industrial districts.
Edward would have bet his entire salary that one of those industrial districts was a warehouse complex that had been abandoned.
And so he brooded, until he could get back to the station and inquire about what his beat had been back then. Emmett parked the car and took a deep breath.
"That was him, Edward," Emmett said quietly.
"I know it was," Edward replied.
"I don't need to remind you that while you may want to go beat the man to a bloody pulp there are things we have to do, protocol to follow, regardless of how you might feel personally."
"Fuck, I know, Emmett. And I do want to go beat him until he stops breathing, but if I can link him to the kidnappings in Seattle somehow, hell, if I can only link him to Bella's, I would happy to see him go down for it, and to get the needle for it. So I am all for protocol. I just need to go work this out so I can stop seeing his fucking smile in my head, like he knew something we didn't."
They got out of the car and Emmett locked it behind them. They began walking back toward the station house when Emmett stopped him again.
"Edward…should the time ever come where you do need to beat the shit out of him, if he slips through this or gets off somehow…you know there is nothing I would like more than to help you quickly and quietly dispose of him," he said somberly. Edward said nothing. He nodded and they continued walking. Sometimes, between partners, no words was the better option.
As soon as he was back at his desk, Edward flipped through the mess of files to find the number for the MCS in Seattle. When he finally found it he realized his fingers were shaking as he dialed the number. He was so close to nailing him for this, so close to taking him out that he could almost taste the relief of knowing it was over. But he also knew that getting ahead of himself would only lead to more trouble. The clock was still ticking away with the DNA evidence from that condom. There might not be enough evidence to convict him, even if they did make an arrest. Bella might still not be safe. He needed to slow down and catch his breath before he made some rookie mistake because he thought he had it all in the bag. If you think you have it all figured out, Emmett always told him, check your facts again because I bet you eight ways to Sunday you missed something.
So the phone was ringing in his hand as Emmett went to get them some coffee. A secretary picked up and Edward requested to be put through to Captain Whitlock. She told him to hold on moment and he was eventually patched through.
Alice's tiny soprano answered the phone, managing to still somehow command authority regardless of her pitch.
"Captain Whitlock, it's Detective Cullen, from the Boston MCS," he said quickly.
"Of course, Detective, what can I do for you today?"
Edward explained what he was hoping to find out and she told him it would be no trouble t have one of her detectives look it up for him and get back to him ASAP. It was top priority she told him. She also said that her husband was supposed to call him with a preliminary match on the handprint they found at the warehouse. Edward thanked her profusely and then shared the news with Emmett when he set a coffee cup down on his desk.
"I hate this part," Emmett replied when he was done explaining.
"Which part?"
"The one where we wait and hope it's good news."
"Hello?" Edward asked with impatience and urgency. It had been an hour since he had spoken to captain Whitlock and it was killing him to just sit. His and Emmett's desk phones rang at the same time and it had scared the shit out of him after sitting in such tense silence for so long.
"Detective Cullen? This is Detective Stanley, at the Seattle MCS? I am calling regarding the inquiry you made earlier today," the voice answered.
"Thank you, Detective Stanley, do you have anything for me?" he asked, trying to sound polite, even though what he really wanted was to just know what she knew right then so he could move forward.
"Well, when we looked into Detective Alistair's beat, we found that he worked a rather large area, but I have a feeling you are only concerned with whether or not he worked one specific location, am I right?"
"Precisely."
"The answer is yes, he worked the warehouse complex you visited when you were out here, and he was even called into it a few times to break up some drug rings, which is where he got his start in vice. Specifically, that warehouse you showed particular interest in was a location he was called to three times over the six months prior to the first kidnapping."
"Were there any more calls to that location after the kidnappings started?" Edward asked.
"I was curious about that myself, and it turns out there were not, however, one of the people that Detective Alistair arrested on drug charges several times from that location and a few others turned up dead after the third kidnapping. It was a single gunshot wound to the head, from a .22 we found right next to the body. The serial number was filed off and the only prints on it belonged to the victim. The confusing thing is how there was no GSR on the victim's hands and the angle of the GSW would have made his shooting himself impossible. Someone killed him and tried to make it look like a suicide, hoping no one would look too closely into it. And no one really did, to be honest. Of course there is no evidence to suggest that the two crimes are linked in any way, but I thought the coincidence would interest you."
"It certainly does. Good work, Detective, that is more helpful than you can imagine," Edward replied. Her professionalism broke when he heard her giggle.
"Thank you, Detective Cullen. Do you think you will need to come back to Seattle for this case at all?" she inquired. Edward's brow furrowed for a moment.
"No, I don't think I will. But should I need to return to the area, I'll be sure to let you know. Have a good day, Detective Stanley."
He didn't wait for her to respond before hanging the phone up.
"Good news?" Emmett inquired, looking up from whatever he had been doing at his desk, already having put down his phone. Edward grinned.
"Very good news—Detective Stanley from the Seattle MCS just called me, and it turns out that Alistair used to walk a beat that included the warehouse complex that we investigated, and he used to bust drug rings in that complex, more than once at the specific location we checked into. Not to mention a druggie who used the place as his haunt for years turned up dead after the kidnappings started."
"You think the druggie showed up to his usual hang out, caught Alistair in the act and got himself knocked off?" Emmett inferred.
"You're damn right that's what I think. The son of a bitch had a witness that he had to get rid of, so he murdered him, and he knew that no one would much look into the death of a junkie, especially not with the media hype around the kidnappings going on. Seattle was an out and out clusterfuck at the time, the death of junkie wouldn't ring a bell, even if it was under suspicious circumstances. No one would make the connection, hell, we probably wouldn't have made the connections without all the other digging we did."
"Well this is all well and good, but we don't have anything solid connecting James with that murder, the kidnappings, or anything else," Emmett replied darkly.
"Well not yet, but Jasper Whitlock is supposed to call and have the finger print analysis from the door in the warehouse," Edward said, shuffling papers together on his desk in a pleased, though not wholly victorious way.
"He already did," Emmett responded. "That was who called my phone when Detective Stanley called yours. He said he had a definitive match on the handprint, but you weren't going to like it much."
Edward's expression grew sour.
"Just tell me."
"It was Bella's," he told Edward.
"How could that be? She was too young when she was there to have a handprint big enough to match the one Jasper found at the scene. And I know she didn't touch the door with her flat open palm like that when we were there. I didn't take my eyes off of her for a second," Edward argued.
"While I don't doubt that for a second, Whitlock said it wasn't a fresh print. He doesn't know how old it is exactly, but it was left within the year, he said. The amount of degradation of the print and the size of Bella's hands makes him pretty sure he could say it was left within the year. It was placed there, planted most likely, since Bella hasn't been back to Seattle since she was in middle school. Fingerprint planting is possible, we both know it, and we both know it wouldn't be above the psycho to fuck with us."
"That son of a bitch…wait…within the last year, he said, is he sure?" Edward asked.
"As sure as he can be, given that there is no exact science to aging a fingerprint," Emmett replied. "Why does it matter?"
"Travel records, comrade, travel records—if James went to Seattle in the past year, it will be somewhere, plane tickets, gas fill ups for his car, something."
"But that still wouldn't prove anything."
"Emmett," Edward said desperately, "I know. I know it wouldn't prove anything. But we are treading water here and we don't have time for that. Bella might be in danger this very second, the clock is running out for me as for how long I still have on her case, or on the force, if I don't have something, if I can't be doing something to feel like maybe I'm making some headway I'm going to go crazy."
"And I understand that feeling, but Edward, you need to slow down. You need to think. Do your thing, get into his head. Think about what his next move would be. Stop going backwards, you are only going to come up with an interesting story that leads to nowhere. Think about him now, what he is going to do next, what he wants, what he needs, what is driving him. That is the weird skill you have got, so use it," Emmett told him.
Edward took a deep breath.
"Why don't you have another look at the profile the FBI did on the kidnapper back in the day while I call some friends from a few major airlines and I can chase down this half assed lead we have here," he suggested, handing a thick manila folder over to Edward. He took it in his hands, felt the weight of it before setting it down. He had read the file before, several times, but he opened it again and set to work driving through it again.
It was the same as it had been the first time he had read it and every subsequent time after that. But this time when he was reading he was getting the feeling he was missing something, that there was something about him he should have been getting and was tripping over it every time he tried to figure it out. He was sitting with his head leaned back, eyes closed, just trying to think when he heard Emmett put the phone down with a satisfied click and call his name.
He looked up at Emmett who then proceeded to tell him that he had it on good authority, although that authority wished to remain nameless that James Alistair had in fact made a trip out to Seattle in the December of the previous year. He had left December first and returned on December fifth, having flown Delta airlines. Emmett had looked into it and he had checked into a Hyatt hotel upon his arrival, but didn't pay for anything other than his stay there, no room service, no phone calls, no late night pornos. Edward nodded along to his explanation and thanked him, still feeling far away.
"You look like you are trying to solve a Rubik's cube or recite pi to more than three digits, what is going on in your head?" Emmett asked.
Edward just sat there for another moment. What was with him that he was missing? What had he not seen, or what had he seen that he wasn't putting together? What was it about him that made him need to chase down Bella, why couldn't he just find someone else after she had run? He was obsessed, obviously, but what was it about her that had latched onto him the way it had?
And then like an explosion, things rushed through his head with startling rapidity. The things he had written on her wall, the words he used were all so possessive. He called her Bella, like he was familiar with her, like he had some sort of privileges. In his mind, she was his. It was why he couldn't get past her; it was why her running had only made him follow her.
And it occurred to him that the reason her bedroom had seen the most damage, and her bed in specific, had been because he knew that she had slept with someone else. He knew that she and Edward had been together and it infuriated him, the idea that someone had touched something that was his. It was why he had left the condom untouched in the trash, why he had left the two cups in the drying rack; he had been furious and he wanted Edward to be punished for what he had done. Bella was his and anyone who thought they had the right to touch her, to claim her, was wrong, and deserved to be penalized for it.
That inspired two separate thoughts. The first was that James must have a vantage point to look into Bella's apartment. They had been trying to figure out how he had known so many things about her, but the idea of him being able to watch her from some private space made sense. The apartment building across the street from Bella's would act perfectly, whether he watched from an apartment or from the roof.
The other was that he knew exactly how to draw out James and do it in a way that would direct his anger not at Bella, but at himself. If he could find a way to provoke James' possessive nature, to antagonize him about Edward's own intimacy with her, he had a distinct notion that James would have to retaliate. And when he did, Edward would be ready.
"I know that look. What did you figure out?"
"We need to look at the building across from Bella's," Edward announced. "That is where he has been watching her. He knew about…us, Emmett. He knew. It is why he destroyed her bed like he did, why he didn't even knock over the trash can or smash the two coffee cups in the kitchen. He saw it, he saw us, and it infuriated him. I wondered what was with all the insults, especially his calling her a whore so many times, there would be no reason for that unless something had set him off, and obviously it did. The best vantage point would be from the building across from Bella's. From several rooms in that building and the roof you could see right into several rooms of her apartment. He would have been able to see her every day, into her bedroom, into her living room; anything he wanted to know, he could have seen."
"So we need to stake out the building then," Emmett said. But Edward shook his head.
"No, he knows Bella won't be back there any time soon. He won't go back there now. We need to draw him out. He isn't going to show his colors unless we make him."
"Edward, I know I told you to get into his head, but I don't like where you are going with this."
"What other choice do we have? You said it yourself, we can backtrack and come up with nothing, or we can think forward, anticipate what he is going to do and take him down on our own terms," Edward argued.
"Anticipating his next move and provoking him into doing something dangerous are two different things. The difference being that one of them does not involve antagonizing a serial murdering sociopath into violent, potentially lethal retaliation."
"I don't know what else to do, Emmett. I don't know how else to make her safe than to try this, than to make him come after me so he won't go after her. Do you have any idea how scared I am right now? Being away from her terrifies me because I know something could happen and I wouldn't be there with her to keep her safe. Imagine being away from Rose when you knew something bad could happen to her, something bad was going to happen to her; would you be able to think sanely?"
"Edward, I get that you love her, I get it, I probably got it before you did, being the idiot that you are. But you aren't talking about tricking some petty thief into a dummy theft, you are talking about goading someone who is very clearly insane, not afraid to kill anyone who gets in his way, not to mention smart, careful and a fucking cop. And maybe you're right, if it were Rosalie I would think the same thing, but we need another plan of attack. There has to be something better than this," Emmett argued.
Edward looked at him for a moment.
"What then, what is better than this?" he asked.
"I don't know. Shit, kid, you're the one who makes up the plans, I just come along for the ride and act tough," Emmett joked. But the joke fell flat as soon as it left his mouth and he knew it. His smile faded immediately.
"Fuck, you mean to do this, don't you?"
"I don't want to, but we don't have a lot of time, and it is the only thing I know will work," Edward answered. Emmett paused for a long moment.
"Can it wait a day? Can we have one night to think about this, to figure out the particulars before we go jumping off the ship of sanity into the sea of idiocy and probable death?"
Edward smiled humorlessly.
"Listen, tomorrow is Friday. The chances of him going after on a day he has to work are slimmer because he won't have as much time to work with. But the weekend would be a prime opportunity. The unis would be distracted, wanting to go home to their families or college football or whatever else. He would have as much time as he needed to make sure everything went right. And I might be wrong, but I have the feeling he is going to act soon, days, this weekend if I am onto him the way I think I am. He wants her, and he wants her now, more than ever because of what happened last night. So let's take tonight and all of tomorrow to sort our shit out and then Saturday we can regroup. Is that a more acceptable plan?"
"If by more acceptable you mean it sounds like something I would like to do less than get my appendix taken out without anesthesia but more than just jumping blindly into annoying a serial killer, then yes, that is more acceptable."
"I knew you would come around," Edward joked darkly. Emmett only shrugged and made an indistinguishable noise in reply.
"I'm going to go home to Rose, and I suggest you go find Bella and make certain she knows what your plan is. She isn't going to like it, but she would like it even less if you didn't tell her," Emmett suggested.
Edward nodded in silent assent. He knew she would hate the idea of him putting himself in danger, especially after what had happened to Jake. But he also knew that what he had said to Emmett was true—they were running out of time faster than he would have liked to admit and he didn't have any other ideas.
So he went home, walking slowly down the street, forgoing the train for the moment and just taking in the late summer air. He had promised to bring Bella dinner this morning, before all these things had happened, back when she had just been Bella and he had just been Edward and they could talk like people instead of him having to be a detective and her a victim.
So when he finally got back to his apartment he immediately went to the kitchen. He needed to make something that wouldn't take too long that she would want, so he remembered one of their many conversations and got out a skillet, and proceeded to make two of the most perfect grilled cheese sandwiches on earth. He heated up some tomato soup and put in one of his travel thermoses and along with the sandwiches in a Tupperware, put it all in a large brown paper bag and headed out the door.
On his way over to the hotel Bella was in he stopped at the liquor store and bought a rather sizeable bottle of vodka, and put it too in the large brown paper bag before continuing on his way. When he arrived he said hello to the uniforms in an undercover car in the parking lot and had to show his credentials to the officer inside the room. He was glad he asked, and told him so. If he had let anyone in the room without asking he would have wanted to knock his teeth in.
And then he remembered that the person after her was someone with credentials just like his to show at the door and his stomach bottomed out. The uni left and as soon as he was gone Bella launched herself at him, colliding with his body, and forcing him to collide with the wall, with more force than he expected, so much that he almost dropped dinner and a thirty five dollar bottle of alcohol. He wanted to surround her completely, but managed only a half hug with his package in his other hand.
She didn't look too pleased when he told her they needed to talk about some things, but she did looked perfectly happy to eat a grilled cheese and a cup full of tomato soup while Edward just drank from the thermos. They were able to spend a few moments without any real difficulty or pain or fear passing between them or behind her eyes. He felt like he was lying to her, just sitting there not telling her what was going to happen. But she seemed happy to eat dinner with him, to act as though everything was normal even though it wasn't.
"So," she said after having finished her grilled cheese and polished off the cup of tomato soup, "what do we need to talk about?"
Edward capped his thermos with a sigh and pushed aside the napkins he had brought with him, spreading his hands flatly across the table. After a few false starts he managed to tell Bella much of what he had told Emmett, and had to add a few details of which she was unaware, such as that the man they suspected was a police officer with the vice unit. He told her what he had figured out and his plan of action, tentative as it was.
At first, she sat in silence and said nothing at all. Edward, during her silence, pulled out the bottle of vodka he had bought and put it on the table, looking for something like a cup he could use since he had forgotten in his rush to get to Bella, to get some from his apartment. But she just took the bottle off the table, pulled the cap off and tipped it back into her mouth. She handled the swig like someone might have taken a pull of beer or a sip of wine.
"I have to tell you, that might be one of the sexiest things you have ever done," Edward said. She glared at him.
"Now is not the time for joking, Edward Cullen, about anything, especially how sexy I may or may not be. You just talked about going out and annoying, no, not just annoying, deliberately provoking a serial killer. He's a serial killer, Edward. I appreciate the sentiment, but I would rather you not get killed because of me."
Edward took the bottle out of her hands and took a drink just like she had and put it down after.
"I don't intend to get killed, Bella. And that isn't what I am doing; what I am trying to do is get his attention so he will leave you alone. If I can draw him out, maybe I can get to him before he gets to you. That is what I am trying to do."
Bella took the bottle from the table and took another swig.
"That is beside the point, and you know it. You are purposefully putting yourself into a dangerous situation when we don't even know if he is going to try anything," she argued.
"But he is, Bella. I am not trying to scare you, but he is. And soon. Probably in the next few days. If I don't do something, he is going to come after you. And if that happens…if he gets to you and I could have stopped it, if there is something I could have done, and I didn't do it, even if it is dangerous, I would never forgive myself. You, Bella…you are my life. You are everything that is good in my world, whether that is wrong or right, too soon or whatever, I don't care. I know this seems desperate, but I promise I will be safe. Emmett said he will be there to help―"
"Emmett is in on this? I cannot believe I am saying that one would think he would have more sense than you, but I was hoping he would be the sane one in this situation."
"That is what you are taking away from this? Bella, I am trying to tell you that I love you! Too much to let something happen to you, not now, not after I just found you," Edward said. His voice had started off loud, almost agitated, but it ended soft. He couldn't be angry with her. He knew why she was protesting. He could see why, from her point of view, the idea would be terrifying. Hell, from his point of view it was terrifying. But it was no less terrifying than the idea of having to live without her.
"Oh, Edward," Bella said, reaching across the table and touching his face. He closed his eyes and turned into her hand. "You know…I…of course I love you."
"Then let me help you," Edward insisted.
"I couldn't ask you to, Edward. Because I love you."
"You aren't asking."
"You're right. I'm not asking. I am telling you not to do this."
Edward stood up, turned toward the window and said nothing. He heard Bella sigh and heard her rise and join him at the window.
"Someone who helped me has already died, Edward. Someone who helped me when I was a child, when I was eight, thirteen years ago. He is dead. Because he got mixed up in all of this he is dead. I didn't really know him too well. I was just a little girl and everything. Other than to call on my birthday and make sure I had survived another year, we didn't keep in touch. But he is dead.
"You, Edward…you have come closer to figuring out the what and who of what happened to me than anyone else has been. You know who it was. You understand better than anyone what he is capable of. You know how to get inside his head. And I love you. I didn't love Jake. He was a great man and he did a lot for me, but I didn't love him. But I do love you. Do you know what it would do to me if you died? Do you have any idea how long it has been since I trusted anyone enough to let them in the way I let you in? I had sex once before being with you, not because I didn't want to, but any time anyone touched me I would have a panic attack and have to be taken to the hospital and given a tranquilizer. The only time I have ever felt really safe, the only time I have ever felt really comfortable since I was eight years old is when I am with you. Why would you take that away from me?"
Edward stared at Bella for a long moment, her hands on her hips, looking both furious and terrified. He took her hands off her hips, and brought them to his face, pressing his lips to the backs of her hands and then to her palms before pulling her gently to him, wrapping his arms around her when she stepped against his body. He felt her breathe out a sigh as he held her tightly.
"Didn't I tell you that I would always come back to you?" he inquired. She drew back enough to look up at him.
"Yes, I am just worried you are going to come back to me dead."
"Should I amend my promise, then? I will always come back to you, alive and well and fully functioning," he said quietly.
"This isn't funny."
"I wasn't trying to be funny."
"Promise me, Edward. Promise me you won't do this," she begged. Edward set his mouth.
"I can't promise you that, because I would be lying to you. And I don't want to lie to you."
She frowned and withdrew from him completely.
"After everything I just said, you are still going to do this? You are still going to go after him?"
"Before he goes after you? Absolutely. Bella, believe me, I don't like this any more than you do. But the options are either you definitely get abducted and tortured and killed or I maybe get hurt. Just trust me, can you just trust me? This is how it has to be, if I want to keep you safe."
She crossed her arms and glared at him for a moment before pulling her fingers through her hair with her bottom lip between her teeth.
"I am going to be okay," he said, his voice lower.
"You can't know that."
"I know. But the more I say it, the more I believe it. Can we just spend some time together and not think about this? I want to be with you right now and not have to be angry at each other or scared."
"You just want me to forget what you just told me?"
"That's the idea, at least, for a little while."
Edward held out his hands for her and she took a tentative step in his direction. He could tell she was still tense, probably unsure if she was angry with him or not. But he put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her close, took her face in his hands and pressed his lips to her forehead and her temples and her cheeks and the line of her jaw and then up to her mouth. Her lips parted immediately and he felt and heard her sigh as she twisted her fingers into his hair, her arms up around his neck.
"Make me forget it, Edward," she supplicated, breathless, into his ear as his lips turned down her neck. She tasted like salt and sugar and the ambiguous taste of joy and love and heaven. "Make love to me please."
"Oh Bella," Edward said, bringing his mouth up to hers for another kiss, "you will not ever have to ask more than once."
They went to the bed and Edward did make love to her, just like she asked. He was going to ask about protection, but she retrieved a condom from her bag, saying she took some with her on the off chance they might need them. The red tint to her cheeks only made her look lovelier and Edward dragged her back into bed without another word. Even though it wasn't under the best of circumstances, he was happy, more than happy, to get to show her how much he loved her, to get to be close to her, skin on skin. He didn't feel as good as he did when he got to just touch her. They took as much as they dared reveling in skin and kisses and touching, unsure of when someone was going to come to get back on shift to watch over Bella, or wonder what was going on, or want to check in.
Clothing was found again, under the bed, across the room, and put back on with immeasurable reluctance.
Almost immediately after they were dressed a knock came to the door, and a female officer was there to check in for her shift with Bella that night. Edward let her in and Bella said she wanted to walk to the vending machine for a candy and Edward said he would walk her so they could have a few minutes to themselves.
They walked down the hall to the vending machine and Bella put money in it and stared at the case, deliberating.
"Do what you have to do, Edward. I don't like this, but I know I couldn't stop you even if I wanted to. If you think this is right, then I am going to trust you, even though I don't agree," Bella said, never taking her eyes off of the selections in front of her.
"Are you going to be angry with me?" he asked. She hesitated.
"No," she eventually sighed. "I'm not good at being mad at you. Just please don't get hurt. That sounds so stupid considering what you are going to do, but I have to say it."
"I understand. I promise you, Bella, I promise I will be as careful as is humanly possible. I will come back to you and I will be fine."
Bella pressed a combination of buttons and down fell a Twix. She opened the package and handed one stick to Edward, immediately biting into the other. They stood in silence eating candy and then walked back in a similar fashion. Edward picked up his brown paper bag, with his thermos and still mostly full bottle of vodka that he planned to put a rather large dent into when he got home. He gave the officer instructions not to let anyone into the room unless it was him, Emmett, their captain, or the officer meant to relieve her in six hours. She nodded, seeming to understand his severity.
He said goodbye to Bella and they lingered for just a moment after their words of parting, in which he told her without words how much he loved her, and promised again to come back to her.
She smiled at him, her lip between her teeth and it was that expression that Edward remembered as he was walking home and as he was getting into his apartment and as he opened the bottle of vodka and sat at his kitchen table and had a drink.
It was her smile, her sweetness, her kisses, her love, that he remembered as he planned how to draw out the bastard trying to kill her.