E Pov:

"It's my neighbor, Morgan."

I heard the words Isabella uttered from my covert position in the middle of the forest where I crouched on a branch thirty-five feet off the ground.

"That's your neighbor?" Detective Newton asked her incredulously. I didn't give a damn about his thoughts, but I was watching Isabella through his perspective. I took in her countenance from his thoughts; she looked defeated, guilty. Her shoulders were slouched, her head drooped, and her eyelids were heavy.

I didn't know if Isabella had put two and two together yet, but it was no coincidence that her neighbor was now strung up from a tree branch.

"Yeah," she confirmed with a sigh. "I don't really know him, he just moved in at the beginning of August. I used to live in his apartment, but when one on the outside wall opened up, I took it. He took my old apartment."

C'mon, detective, that's too big of a coincidence.

And speaking of coincidence, I'd taken to following the detective around after our 'chance' coffee shop meet-up nearly two weeks ago. Just as we were saying our goodbyes, I smelled another vampire. A vampire who was very interested in my human.

His thoughts weren't initially malicious, but he recognized Isabella from her television and newspaper appearances and the connection to the serial killings. Was he a rival for her attention? The thought enflamed me, made me see red and made venom pool beneath my tongue.

I wanted to protect what was mine. It was very juvenile, and she didn't truly belong to me—yet, but I had to protect my interests. I hadn't violated any personal space, but I wanted any interested parties to know someone else was interested. I visited her apartment building, the police department, and her car.

I'd tried tracking him as well, but he had evaded my attempts at contact. However, the body of Isabella's neighbor reeked of his scent, and it confirmed what my family believed to be true—a rogue vampire was hunting in our territory.

I wasn't about to leave Isabella Swan unprotected. Not anymore. I might be a huge risk to her, but I'd rather bear the guilt of killing her because I couldn't stay away than having her killed by a serial killer because I did stay away.

I knew my family was skating on thin ice with the Rochester Police Department as it was. Granted, there was always a way out of a mess, but this time it wouldn't be easy. It would definitely involve a big move, name changes, tampering with police evidence, and God knows what else. It would cause even more tension in the family. Was it worth it?

I had a feeling she was worth it. I'd stand by that until the end if necessary. I couldn't stay away from her anymore, and if it put my family in the spotlight, I'd risk it. Together, we would have to figure out if all the victims were murdered by the same killer, and we would have to devise a plan to keep Isabella Swan safe. Maybe the vampire had only fed on the 'leftovers' and hadn't necessarily killed the victim. I knew that was a stretch, but the injudicious murder of vampires wasn't exactly sanctioned by the Volturi unless they were on the end doling out justice. We'd need to do our homework before taking action.

The three detectives stood waiting as the scene was photographed and the crime scene investigators looked for clues. They wouldn't find any.

"Bella, we can't ignore the fact that your neighbor was a victim. I think you should consider protective custody."

That was the first intelligent thing I'd heard Detective Newton say.

He noticed the change in her expression as her guilt and fear gave way to obstinancy. "No fucking way. It'll be fine, Mike. Who knows how my neighbor got wrapped up in this? Maybe he was abducted from work or the grocery store. There's nothing to say the killer knew where he lived."

Oh, but he does, dear, sweet Isabella.

If the vampire was in her neighbor's apartment, he could smell her delicious nectar from that short distance.

Newton shook his head. "That's not up to you to decide anymore. I'm telling the Chief. He'll decide."

He watched as Isabella's impassive face turned into a scowl, and she turned and walked away from him. Detective Newton couldn't hear what she was saying, and neither could I, but I continued to watch her through Newton's thoughts. She was animated, angrily gesturing and mumbling to herself.

"Whatever, I'm leaving," she said apropos of nothing. "Do what you have to do. Tell the chief, I don't care. Handle things here. I'm out."

Detective Newton watched as she began to walk away, not looking back as she trudged through the field and to her car at the edge of the pumpkin patch.

I had to follow her.

I scrambled through the trees, leaping over limbs until I was far enough away from the detectives to drop to the forest floor and run. I had no idea where she was going, but I could follow her more easily in the country and in the forests where I had some ground cover. Once we got into the city it would be tougher. Running through the underbrush, I raced a hundred yards behind her car, desperately trying to read her thoughts for the hundredth time. I lost her for a while when we reached the city limits, and I called Alice begging for help. She agreed to meet me with my car and to start watching Isabella.

..::..

A little more than an hour later, I was parked outside a bar called 'The Dive' in the grittiest part of the city. It was dark now, and the lights illuminating the parking lot glowed orange.

I needed a story because there was no way on earth I'd ever visit this establishment on my own.

There was no one around even as the lighted sign out front flashed that it was 'Happy Hour.' Maybe I could tell her I was looking for someplace quiet to have a drink. Oh God, I'd probably need to have a drink to keep up the story. There was nothing worse than consuming alcohol—until I needed to bring it back up.

Why was Isabella Swan here, and what would I tell her when she asked me why I was here?

Against my better judgment, I got out of the car and walked to the door.

Inside the bar it was another world. Possibly the late 1960s or early 70s—because that's the last time the bar got a makeover.

The carpet was a swirling geometric pattern in reds and greens, muted by about thirty years of dirt. Wood paneling striped the walls and green glass pendant lights hung over the tables and the bar. One bulb was burnt out, and underneath it sat Isabella Swan.

Or maybe slouched was a better term. She was slumped over on her barstool, and her head rested against the faux wood bar top. She didn't react to the squeaky hinge on the door when I entered, and were it not for my vampire senses, I'd have no clue if she were alive and merely passed out, or if she were dead and now a permanent fixture at 'The Dive.'

Thankfully, in addition to the sound of her heart pumping her now-tainted, formerly delicious-smelling lifeblood, I could hear her mouthing along with the song on the old Jukebox in the corner.

"Oh mother, tell your children not to do what I have done. Spend your lives in sin and misery in the House of the Rising Sun."

I couldn't help but smile as I approached her. I pulled out the barstool and sat next to her. She didn't acknowledge the movement.

The heavy bartender lumbered over from his barstool and the television in the corner and stood in front of me. He said nothing but looked on expectantly.

I settled in next to Isabella, careful not to disrupt her as she continued to hum along with the song, the tune muffled by her arms folded around her head.

The bartender coughed gruffly and pointed to me. "What's your poison?" he asked in a thick voice.

Ha! Old man, you have no idea.

"Well, I'd say whatever the good detective here is having, but it might be a bit too strong for me."

Isabella sat up at the sound of my voice. Her eyes were bloodshot, her forehead was damp with perspiration, the tendrils of her hair were sticking to her face, and an extra button had opened on her shirt, allowing me quite the intimate view. It was too tempting to ignore; I couldn't look away.

She cleared her throat and narrowed her eyes. "Did you follow me here?"

I ignored her instead of lying to her face and turned back to the bartender. "I'll have what she's having."

He sniffed and poured a double measure of scotch and set the glass down heavily, causing some of the gold liquid slosh over the side. He walked away without wiping it up.

I turned my attention back to Isabella, hoping she'd forgotten her previous question. "Good evening, detective, rough day?"

She either didn't catch that I deflected her question or didn't care. She snorted and shook her head. "You can't imagine." Her eyes looked sad and exhausted.

"Enlighten me?" I offered, tenting my fingers over the rim of my glass.

I was surprised to discover I genuinely meant it. Tanya had suggested I get to know Isabella, and though I feared the process and had no clue how to begin, she surprised me by revealing some of the details of her life at the café. She told me about MSU and the academy. It might seem like small details, but she volunteered them, and I wanted to know more.

Isabella narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing me and then looked away, back down to her empty glass. Her eyes slid to the right, eyeing my drink.

"What the hell," she resigned, sweeping my hands aside with the back of her hand and grabbed my glass, downing it with one gulp.

In the brief moment our skin touched, I could feel the heat of her blood and flesh, and my eyes traveled from the bar top to the exposed pulse point at her neckline. I was pleased that I noticed the swell of her breasts pushing up and out of the cups of her bra before I noticed the place where her vulnerable blood throbbed in her veins. Her touch was positively electric, the sensation pulsing over my skin in a charged current. Her eyes darted between my eyes and the place where our hands touched as she downed the drink.

"My neighbor is dead," she blurted out, setting the glass down as she gulped air breathlessly after slamming the scotch. She shielded her eyes with her hand.

"Jesus," I gasped, recovering from the heat of her touch. I'm sure she thought the reaction was genuine and about the death of her neighbor. I quickly redirected my attention to her admission. "I'm sorry. Was it the serial killer? Were you and your neighbor friends?"

She shook her head, still hiding behind her hands. "I didn't know him well. At all, really. Just typical pleasantries, you know? Yeah, it was our killer, but you didn't hear that from me. Next of kin hasn't been notified yet."

I shook my head even though she wasn't looking. It was beyond unfortunate—even though it was natural and inevitable for my kind. I didn't want someone near my human. The death of this man I didn't know made me guiltily acknowledge what I already knew—taking a human life affected so many people. Not only the family left behind, but friends and neighbors, even detectives assigned to the murder or missing person's case. It incited fear in the general public and made people worry about their own families. Only now that someone I knew and… cared for was in danger, could I see what made Carlisle choose a different lifestyle so many centuries ago.

"Would now be a good time to provide you with my alibi?"

She dropped her hands and looked over at me. "Do you think you should?"

I shook my head. "I didn't kill your neighbor, Ms. Swan, but if you need me to account for my whereabouts—"

She scowled and shook her head as though she was annoyed. If I could read her mind I was sure I'd discover I was right. "No, I've got nothing. Absolutely nothing," she grumbled.

I wished that I could tell her she was wrong about me, but she had labeled me correctly from day one. I was a killer. I had a history, and no matter how I tried to run from my past, it was forever blemished. My scarlet letter would have read 'A Positive.'

She looked at me with a burning intensity in her eyes, catching me totally off guard with her boldness. I watched the way her lips formed the words. "Buy me a drink."

It was an order, not a request.

I knocked on the bar to get the bartender's attention away from the TV in the corner. "Two more."

He grunted and nodded at the bottle.

I leaned over the counter and retrieved the bottle of low end liquor from the shelf behind the bar and poured half a glass for Isabella and half a glass for myself.

"So why The Dive, Ms. Swan? How did you stumble upon this treasure?"

Her lip hitched up a little but fell just as quickly. "When I first moved here, I lived in this shitty apartment down the street. I didn't have a car, and this was the closest bar within walking distance."

I nodded and pretended to take a drink. "So you moved here from Michigan? Is that home?"

She tipped back her own glass and drained it, wincing and twitching as she set the tumbler back down. "Man, that's rough. Um, no, not home, just where I went to school."

More info! It was no problem to remember the tiny details, so I filed this piece away too. "So where's home?"

She looked at me skeptically, arching an eyebrow as though weighing if the decision to tell me was prudent.

"Washington."

"Seattle?"

"No."

Okay…

Were we through with sharing?

Her expression softened a little, and she angled her body to face me, exposing the Glock on her right hip. "What about you, are you from Rochester?"

This was normal, right? Conversing? I was walking a fine line with how much I could share, but I still wanted to talk with her.

"Don't you know, detective? Didn't you dig into my history?"

I had to force her hand a little and find out what she knew.

She snorted. "No, I just did a simple background check."

I turned on my stool to face her and pretended to take another drink.

"I'm from Chicago."

"We used to go there on weekends in college sometimes. We'd hop the train."

I tried to imagine her with a group of giggling sorority girls, but I couldn't. There was something off about her. She was wounded somehow.

"So what made you decide to be a detective anyway?" I couldn't wait to hear this story. I gave her my full attention, propping my elbow against the bar and leaning against my hand.

She shook her head emphatically. "No. You don't get to ask that."

She turned away from me again and seemed to get even smaller than she already was. She drew in on herself and looked back down to the bar top, scratching her nail into the faux wood.

Damn.

We sat in silence for some time as I struggled to figure out something to say. Could I pretend as if it didn't happen? Pursue it? Would I ever be able to put together the puzzle that was Isabella Swan? Normally I had humans figured out in mere moments, and I usually didn't like what I saw, but this woman was different. Not only could I not read her mind, but I could tell she was unique. I wanted to know why and what made her that way. I wasn't privy to the expression on her face—her wavy hair separated me from her expression—but I watched as her broken fingernail traced the word 'FUCK' carved into the bar.

I needed to break the ice again.

I realized the same song had played on the Jukebox for the seventh time in a row. "There must be something wrong with the jukebox. The song has played over and over," I observed, jerking my thumb over my shoulder at the Wurlitzer in the corner with the glowing façade.

She tucked her hair behind her ear and smirked. "No, there's no mistake. You can get a million plays for a couple bucks."

Clearly, I was batting a thousand with Isabella tonight. "Fan of The Animals, are you?" I remembered when the song was first popular… in 1964.

The smile disappeared and the curtain of hair separated us once again. "Sorta. It just reminds me of my dad. He died when I was seven. My mom died in a car accident when I was twelve."

Oh hell.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—"

She shrugged. "It's okay. You couldn't have known."

This explained the sadness in her. The deep wound. It was a wound I bore too, but I didn't really remember the pain I felt; the pain that still haunted Isabella every day. We finally had common ground. I might not remember the details, but I could imagine what my life would be like without Carlisle, Esme, and my siblings. I had experienced a life without them, and I was no good. It was time for me to reveal a piece of my puzzle too.

"I lost my parents too," I confessed.

She angled herself toward me once again. "One of my co-workers told me that. I'm sorry too. The Cullens seem nice though."

I nodded. We were far from ordinary, but there was something special about us. "Yes, I'm lucky to have them. Where did you go, you know, after?"

"I refused to stay in the town where I lost my dad, so my mom and I moved around a bit. We went to California near where my grandma lived. My gran died the year before my mom, so after my mom was gone I went into foster care."

She was alone in the world. I couldn't hide the sympathy and sadness I felt for her.

She seemed to pick up on my pity, and her eyes locked onto mine for a split second before blushing and looking away. "Foster care wasn't awful, just lonely. Did you go into foster care?"

I shook my head. "No, I met Carlisle before my parents died. He took me in right away." I felt guilty admitting it. I felt even guiltier for how horribly I'd treated my family at times. They'd always reached out to me, and I'd retreated in on myself more times than I could count. Someday I would make it up to them.

She nodded in understanding, and I felt like she could understand. Emmett, Rose, Alice, and Jasper all left their families behind, but they were alive and well. I lost my family.

"You didn't have any family either?" Isabella asked quietly, tracing her finger around the rim of her glass.

"Nope."

She simply nodded again. I liked that she didn't need to fill the void of silence with apologies. I'm sure she'd heard them all before too, half-hearted sympathy from strangers who didn't even know her family or situation. This time we fell into a much more comfortable silence. I had no idea what she was thinking, but I couldn't help but wonder about the details. She didn't tell me how her father died.

"You're kind of a lightweight, you know," she teased, a slight smile on her lips as she pointed to my drink.

I smiled in return and pretended to take another sip. The smell of the alcohol was strong and bitter but like the coffee at the café, it helped mask the scent of the human blood ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry. I'm distracted, Detective Swan."

She grabbed the bottle of scotch and began pouring. "By what?" she asked.

I reached for my drink and gently swirled the smoky, earthy-smelling liquid around in the glass. "You," I answered, looking sideways at her.

She blushed the most delicious shade of red and spilled some of the liquid on the bar when her hand trembled. She tried to bite back a smile but her eyes still registered the delight of the compliment. "You can call me Bella if you want to."

"There's nothing I'd like more."

..::..

An hour later, Bella was two sheets to the wind. She nearly fell off her barstool when she came back from the Ladies Room.

"Yooo know, yur kinda priddy," she slurred, reaching for the almost-empty bottle of scotch.

I laughed. "So I've been told. Thank you. I think it might be best if I saw you home now, Bella."

The rational part of sober Bella would be appalled, but I would follow her home with or without her permission. Having her permission, however, would make me feel like far less of a pervert.

She looked at me skeptically, arching her eyebrows as she weighed my offer. "Awright," she relented, "but no funny bidness."

I placed my right palm over my dead heart and looked directly in her eyes. "I can assure you, Bella, the business I want to take up with you is anything but funny."

She didn't seem to pick up on my double-entendre as she patted her pockets and looked around the floor for, I assumed, her purse. I indulged her momentary panic while I retrieved a hundred dollar bill from the money clip in my suit jacket pocket and set it under the almost-empty bottle of liquor. It covered the cost of the cheap scotch five times over.

"Come, Bella, let's go." I took her by the elbow and began to lead her out of the bar.

"What? But—" she protested, digging her heels in and attempting to turn back around.

I waved to the bartender and he saw the cash I'd put down for the scotch. "I paid the tab. Let's look in the car for your purse."

It felt good to have my hands on her. It was the most contact we'd ever had, and I could feel the warmth of her skin through her shirt and the jacket.

She stumbled several times and weaved as she walked next to me. Under ordinary circumstances, I'd probably be angry and impatient, but with her I found it endearing. She staggered out the door with me into the night and wrapped an arm around my waist, leaning her head against my shoulder. I felt lighter despite carrying her extra weight.

Thank God hers and mine were the only cars in the gravel lot; there's no way I could let her 'lead' me to her car in the state she was in.

"Give me your keys, Bella."

I held onto her tighter as she fished through her pockets again. I could smell the metal and hear the faint jingling sound with every step as they shifted against her left hip.

"If you drive me home, how are you going to get home?" she mumbled, producing the keys.

I took them from her, letting my fingers linger on hers in the exchange. "No worries, Bella," I said, depressing the unlock button on the key fob. "A Chevy? You do your Michigan heritage a justice."

She wasn't listening. Instead, she separated herself from me, pressed her face to the windshield of the car, and cupped her hands around her eyes and peered in.

"It's there!" she hollered triumphantly with a lazy fist pump.

"Spectacular," I answered dryly and opened the passenger door.

She climbed in, flopping down on the seat with a loud "Oof!"

I chuckled, shutting the door behind her as she settled herself, and I walked around to the driver's door. I let myself in, feeling nearly-uncontrollable fear and an illicit excitement at being in a confined personal space. Could I be alone with her when she smelled so delectable?

I adjusted the seat and noticed that she had slumped against the door and rested her head on the window. I reached over her body to the seat belt. Inhaling deeply, I drew the safety belt across her chest and secured it at her hip. The relative warmth and closeness of the car made me excited as a vampire and as a man. I could hear and smell her pulse beating and see all the still-exposed skin from her gaping shirt. The swell of her breasts rose and fell with every breath. She was intoxicating.

"Bella, where is your apartment?" I asked, feigning ignorance.

She mumbled out some convoluted directions and, had I not known where she lived, there'd be no way I could follow her instructions.

As she dozed, I drove faster than I should have with a cop in such close proximity. I looked over at the woman sleeping against the door. There was so much I didn't know about her, and vice versa, but tonight made me fully realize that I wanted to know everything; I wanted her to let me in.

Hearing that she too was an orphan went a long way to explain the pain behind her eyes, but I felt Ms. Isabella Swan still had a secret or two.

I parked in the same spot I'd seen her car every other time I'd stopped by. I thought the jarring motion of putting the car in park would awaken her, but it didn't.

Quietly, I crept from the car and shut the door with care before walking around to the passenger side. I warily cracked the door and reached in to steady her. Again, I thought she'd awaken, but she continued to snore softly. I gently lifted her from the seat, situating her gently in my arms and grabbed her purse from the floorboard.

I inhaled deeply, seeking out an unfamiliar scent—the scent that lingered on the discarded body of Bella's neighbor. The rain earlier in the morning had washed away anything concrete, but perhaps I could smell something upstairs.

I carried Bella up the stairs at the rear of her building. There was no gate, and anyone could have access to the upper floor. This left me unsettled.

I retrieved the keys from my pocket and unlocked her door, careful not to disrupt her sleep. I toed the door open, noting how dark it was inside. I didn't need the light, but I didn't like that she lived in darkness either; dark creatures lingered where light was absent. While more light couldn't sway a determined vampire, a well lit apartment might keep her safe from human criminals.

I turned on the nearest light, mindful not to jostle Bella too much and looked around. It was the first time I'd seen the interior of her apartment.

It was beyond neat. Spartan. There were few personal touches of any kind—no artwork on the walls, no knick-knacks, no pet to greet her at the door. The only details that hinted that the woman in my arms lived there was an empty wine bottle on the counter top, a magazine subscription to Guns and Ammo, and a pair of running shoes, still tied.

Again, it seemed like a sad life.

I felt guilty. How many times had I bemoaned my own existence? At least I had a family who cared for me and who could forgive my mistakes.

I dropped Bella's purse on the coffee table by the couch and softly lowered her to the brown leather sofa. I simply stood, watching her sleep. Even in slumber she held my rapt fascination. She looked uncomfortable in her jacket and holster. There was little I could do about one, but I could do something about the other.

Slowly, cautiously, I reached for the weapon on her hip, letting my fingers trail over the curve of her hipbone. I afforded myself a momentary fantasy, imagining my hands curled around her pelvis as she straddled my body. I flipped open the leather strap securing the gun to its sheath. Before I could react to the accelerated heart rate and change of breath, Bella's hand was on mine.

"Don't. Touch. My. Gun."

Her voice was firm, serious, and she was suddenly quite sober.

I was taken aback. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—I was on my way out—you were—I didn't think you should sleep on it."

I'd stammered. Fucking stammered.

She scrubbed her hands over her face and tugged at her hair. "Thanks."

I noticed she didn't apologize as she rose and unbuckled the belt from around her narrow waist. Without a second glance, she moved to hang the belt from a shelf by the door.

"Thanks for the ride home. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have drank so much." She shook her head and walked to the door.

It was true, she shouldn't have. There were men out there who could harm her—wasn't I proof enough?

"Of course," I said, picking up on her hint that I should go. "Thank you for the enlightening evening. You're still an enigma, Bella Swan."

She smirked and opened the door. "Good night."

I returned her smile and gave her a wink as I stepped past her and into the hall. "Good night."

She bit back a smile and closed the door behind me. I stood in the corridor until I heard her lock the door. Silently, I listened to Bella and her neighbors go about their evening routine. I heard Bella shrug out of her jacket and stumble down the hall before flopping down on her bed. It was only a few minutes before I heard the rustle of covers and her heart slow and her breathing even out, indicating she was asleep.

A quick listen told me that the majority of the other tenants were also sleeping or too busy to care what someone on the second floor was doing.

Silently, I crept back to the stairwell and looked around to ensure no one was looking before I scaled the building up to the roof. I ran along until I found what I guessed was Bella's bedroom window, and then I went one window more. I jumped down onto the narrow ledge. I suspected another vampire would go through the window and it would still be unlocked. Furthermore, most people who lived on upper floors didn't bother locking their windows; especially if they didn't have a fire escape.

I slowly pushed open the window and slipped inside the dark apartment of Morgan Parker.

The first thing I noticed was the absence of blood. Whatever happened to Mr. Parker, it didn't happen here. I did notice a distinctly vampire smell; different than the scent on the body however.

As I moved from room to room in the relative darkness, I contemplated the options. Were there multiple vampires feeding? Were they just sloppy? Was this human killed because of his affiliation with vampires?

I knew two things for sure. If the Rochester PD showed up they wouldn't find any clues. Vampires didn't leave behind any DNA: no hair, no finger prints, no saliva. While vampires had some sort of biological essence in their venom, humans couldn't analyze it with the technology or knowledge they possessed. They wouldn't know what the venom was, or where it came from, if they had a gallon.

The other thing I knew was that the Volturi, if they caught wind of this sloppy rogue, would be making a visit to Rochester. I didn't want them here while Bella was busy poking around in a case that involved vampires, even if she wasn't aware of it. The Volturi would waste no opportunity to take her out if they thought she knew anything.

I slipped back out the window and crouched on the ledge as I gently slid it shut behind me. An unbidden thought came to me suddenly, and I tried to resist the dangerous notion even as it began to solidify in my mind.

I had two choices: demonstrate my personal strength or give in to my weakness.

I gave in.

I leapt across to Bella's window ledge to press my luck.

Like Morgan Parker's, her window was unlocked. I was floored a detective didn't know better.

I quietly lifted the old window and eased inside Bella's bedroom. I could hear her slow, even breaths made even slower by the amount of alcohol she had drank. I stood listening to the rhythm of her heart, allowing each beat to increase my resistance to her. Instead of focusing on the smell, I listened to the melody. At first it had merely been something physical. The way my body reacted to her was unlike any other. I'd wanted her physically for my pleasure, and I knew she would taste better than any human I'd ever encountered, and I had the taste of bad blood on my tongue. I wanted to taste her first one way and then the other.

But something had changed since she began sharing the minutiae of her life. I was craving her now in an entirely different way. I wanted to keep her talking, I wanted her to know me—the real me—and I wanted to know the real her and win her over at any cost.

Resisting the temptation to look at her, I crept through the apartment to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I found several narrow bottles of water—and little else—and retrieved one. Taking a deep breath, I smelled what else I needed.

In the cabinet above the sink were pill bottles, dozens of them. Some were over the counter drugs, some prescriptions. I quickly read the labels; pills for depression, for pain, for dreamless sleep. Yes, Ms. Swan had secrets. I located a bottle of over the counter pain relievers.

Before returning to the bedroom, I took the opportunity to snoop a bit. A black and purple invitation was tacked to the calendar and bulletin board on the side of her kitchen cabinet. An invitation I'd seen before. The annual Policeman's Ball was being held October 23, and my family had an invite as well. Bella's R.S.V.P. was marked with a hasty-looking 'X' to confirm she was attending and where the number of attendees was questioned, she indicated '1.' Well, I guess it was time to make sure my tuxedo was still in vogue.

A leather briefcase leaned against the leg of a small dining table between the kitchen and living room. It might be my one chance to see if Bella had any insight into the case she wasn't sharing with me and my father or with the media. I retrieved the bag and set the files atop the counter space, lazily flipping through the manila folder looking for something to catch my eye.

She'd interviewed any and everyone who had close connections with her victims, and while all of them had skeletons in their closet, nothing tied multiple victims together. She had some theories that were far-fetched… or were they? An email exchange with her friend Angela about a Chupacabra wasn't all that far off.

The last page in the file related the day we'd first encountered one another in the café. I inhaled deeply, remembering the day.

As I packed up the papers, I realized the detective had nothing on me except her own intuition, and that was far more accurate than I'd like. At least I knew my family was safe—for now.

I took the bottle of water and the pills and returned down the hall to Bella's bedroom. I tread softly over the floor and deposited the hangover remedy on the table next to her bed. It was only then that I afforded myself my first look at her in slumber.

She was on her back with one hand in the middle of her chest, the other resting on the pillow beside her head. She had shrugged out of her jacket and left it on the floor. Another of the buttons on her shirt had popped open and revealed a black bra underneath. She'd kicked off the covers—and her jeans, leaving her legs bare. She wore bright green underwear with zebra stripes. The revelation of so much skin not only made venom pool beneath my tongue and my pants get tight, but it offered more insight into the enigma. I could see two tattoos I'd not previously seen. The number 328 was inked in navy blue with gold accents over her heart, and a pair of handcuffs was tattooed on her left hip.

My body had no choice but to react to her. I stifled a groan and adjusted myself as I forced my eyes away from the intimately-inked places. I curled a lock of her sweaty hair around my index finger and swept it aside. Bella whimpered and turned her head. She was beyond beautiful and addicting; I needed to leave.

I climbed back through the window and eased it shut behind me. I needed to hunt, but I would stay until dawn. I prayed that if I hunted it would be easier to be around Bella.

I was eager for my eyes to return to their formerly golden hue.

Author's Note: EPIC thanks to kisbydog08 and duskwater2153 for the WONDERFUL beta work. Your work is so appreciated.

A side note, someone nominated me for a Hopeless Romantic Award under my other id: Scarlett71177. I was nominated for my Carlisle-centric fic "Radiant Possibility." To whoever nominated me- THANK YOU. Seriously, a BIG thank you from the bottom of my heart. This means the world to me. If anyone cares to vote for me, you can find the Blogspot here: www (dot) hopelessromanticawards (dot) blogspot (dot) com Voting begins July 18.