A/N Twilight series and all recognisable characters are owned by Stephenie Meyer.

CHAPTER 3

EPOV

Two months.

Two months had passed since I had first given into my shameful addiction, since I had crossed the line and gone beyond accidental observer to full-blown stalker.

It had been raining when I first saw her, Seattle painted in a glossy grey and black by the all-too-frequent downpour. I had been huddled in the doorway of my favourite coffee shop, collar upturned and neck hunched against the cold wind.

It was the bright flash of light that first drew my attention. Across the road, my vision blurred by rain and the damp rush of cars, another flash burst through the twilight. Curious, I leaned forward and squinted.

A slender dark-haired woman sheltered from the rain in a doorway, mirroring my own position. But while I huddled from the chill wind, she was seemingly oblivious to the elements as she crouched beneath the fluttering shop canopy and....was she taking pictures?

She lifted the heavy black camera again, twin flashes echoing in quick succession. I could see her long pale finger tap the button, then expertly twist the lens before returning it to her eyes and capturing yet more images of Seattle, rain and twilight. What was she doing?

The beginnings of my obsession were born then, a tiny bud that would soon grow into a creepy, borderline-criminal oak tree. But she fascinated me, even though I knew nothing about her and could barely see her features. She was a petite blur of white skin with a spill of brunette, darkened by the rain. Her clothes and coat were deep hues, the only splash of colour to this waif the sharp ruby of the red scarf tucked around her neck.

She took a couple more pictures, wholly oblivious to her voyeur, then packed the camera away. Then, she just stood there; motionless, blank. I could not move away, could not tear my gaze from her figure.

Then, as abruptly as this elf entered my life, she was gone. Dashing through the rain, long hair flying behind her and arms clutching her coat tight to her. I watched her hurry and stumble away and desperately suppressed the urge to chase after her.

~*~

I saw her again a week later.

Each day since I first spotted the mystery woman I had walked the same route home from work. Not because I was hoping to see her again, but because the route was familiar and convenient.

Even though it added twenty minutes to my journey. Plus the ten minutes wasted standing in that same doorway.

I couldn't even have a convincing argument with myself.

While Jasper or Emmett had yet to notice my strange behaviour, I was almost certain Alice was watching me more closely than usual. There had been something in her eye that morning when she'd ordered that Jasper and I both wear the fedora hats she'd picked out, insisting they were only appropriate for our image as PIs. When I pointed out we were not in the 1920s nor in a film noir, her only response was to threaten with me a trench coat.

The photographer walked out of the door of the coffee shop, my coffee shop, hands curled around a steaming cup of joe. Her scarf was like a ribbon of blood, her camera hanging from its bulky bag around her neck. I was thankful for the scant cover the fedora offered me now, and later wondered at the light in Alice's eye when she pressed it over my messy bronze hair.

The woman walked right by me, close enough that I could have touched her by simply raising my arm. She was beautiful, pale heart-shaped face with large liquid doe eyes and a sad mouth the colour of rose petals. But she looked like a ghost. So pale, as fragile as silk stretched over glass. Dark shadows bruised under her eyes and her expression was like one lost at sea.

As she passed her fragrance swirled around me, a synergy of spring blossoms and summer fruit and musk. I ceased breathing for a moment, head whirling as I fought to lock the scent in my lungs, in my mouth. I could taste her on my tongue. I leaned back against the wall, stunned, eyes wide and blinking. I watched her retreat down the street with the steady click click click of her heels.

And so the obsession burst within me, a trickle now a raging torrent that had to be sated. I would find out who she was.

Even then I was in denial. I convinced myself I would just discover her name, then I would leave this fragile beauty alone. I would cease this decadent obsession.

That was the first night I followed her home, trailing her heavenly scent through the grime of Seattle like a vampiric bloodhound.

Three days later I knew her name. The day after I followed her to the cathedral for the first time, witnessing her pain and grief and hatred.

That same day my denial fractured and I knew I had to have her.

~*~

I awoke from my semi-stupor, thick with the memory of Bella Swan, to hear my apartment door being unlocked. Immediately recognising the light tap of stilettos accompanied by the familiar heavy tread of her partner in crime, I groaned and buried my head further into my pillows and sheets.

My bedroom door opened. The stilettos danced lightly across my floor, past the bed and to my closet without a word. I could hear the clicking of hangers and rustle of cloth as the little pixie rifled through my wardrobe.

Cautiously, I unburied my face from the pillows and looked up. Alice was ignoring me completely, my clothes her sole focus as she pulled items and outfits out and stuffed them into one of the bags she carried.

"Alice, it's six in the morning. What the hell are you doing?"

"Hunting." Her tone implied, isn't it obvious?

A low, warning growl. "Alice."

She giggled lightly at that, a soft tinkling of bells. An answering deep chuckle from the doorway drew my attention to Jasper, who was leaning casually against the frame as he watched his wife decimate my closet with terrifying speed. His eyes were dark and hooded as he watched her, as if her form of closet-hunting was their personal brand of foreplay.

The thought made me shudder and re-bury myself into my bed. Until...

"Edward!! What the hell is this? Why, Edward, why do you hate me so much when all I try to do is help you?"

I groaned and grumbled something incoherent that thankfully was lost in the covers before it reached the pixie's ears.

Tiny hands with the strength of the Terminator gripped my sheets and prepared to rip them from my body. "I wouldn't do that Alice," I warned, smirking, "Not unless you're desperate for a glimpse of Edward Jr."

The hands released immediately with a soft, "Ew," but then firmly yanked the covering from my face, twisting my head to meet her gaze with a sadistic grip on my ear.

"Ow, Alice! What the hell is the matter with you?"

She waved a shirt in my face. "Polyester, that is what is wrong. I gave you those beautiful silk Gucci shirts last week, and you have a polyester monstrosity from Walmart sharing precious wardrobe space with them."

"It's just a shirt, Alice, not a political statement."

She scoffed. "Don't even joke about that. This is much more serious." She looked around the room with a sniff. "The rest seems to be acceptable though. You can wear the gray Italian bespoke suit with the Geiger loafers today."

"Right." Like I had any clue what she was talking about.

She sighed dramatically, rolling her eyes at me as if I brought home a dead rat as an anniversary gift, then prepared the outfit herself and lay it across my bed. "Now get up. Coffee and bagels are in the living room. We'll see you at the office."

"Whatever, Alice." I smirked then, relishing my petty revenge for her early morning invasion. "Besides, you're not even a real detective."

"No, not 'whatever'. And I am a real detective!" For a moment it looked like she was going to stamp her foot like a petulant child, or possibly stamp her stiletto into my head. She compromised by turning to Jasper and unleashing the devil-pout. "I am a real detective, right Jazz?"

"Of course you are, love."

I snorted at that, but ceased as soon as Alice slapped the top of my head. Ow.

Jasper spoke then, his voice low, "We need you to be in by seven forty-five. Staff meeting."

I frowned at him, surprised and slightly unsettled by this. As the agency only had one other employee outside this room our 'staff meetings' were rare and informal things, usually spontaneously conducted in one of our offices or in the bar. "Why are we having a staff meeting?"

The look Alice shot me made me gut clench. There was a dark knowledge there, but also a savage amusement.

"Oh, I think you know why, Edward."

Shit.

A/N Reviewers get stalked by Fedoraward ;)