Chloe woke up with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Was it just a dream―or had Trixie run away last night? The fact that she didn't know the answer had her waking up fast, and she got up and got dressed in record time, feeling very, very sober. Opening her door, she saw Trixie standing by the door, getting ready for school.

Damn dreams.

"Good morning," Chloe said, frowning when her daughter suddenly wouldn't meet her eyes. "Uh, are you okay?"

"Sure I'm okay. Why not? I mean, why wouldn't I be?"

"Well...sweetie, that is my jacket."

Trixie turned her back to her and placed the jacket back on the coat rack; then continued facing away as she retrieved her own.

"Would you like to talk? I can drop you off."

"No!"

Confused, Chloe watched her hastily leave the house; then she stood there for a moment, contemplating if she was sober enough to go to work. Deciding she wanted her cheque, she began getting ready. Late was better than never. Still, she couldn't shake Trixie's unusual behavior from her mind. The weirdest part was when she was making her lunch, she saw that Trixie still hadn't touched the cake.

Demons, angels... Aliens? Well, after everything she'd seen, why not?

"Whoever killed this woman knew what he was doing. All I got is some head trauma."

"You do? Well, that explains a lot," Ella muttered.

Corbett held out his hand. "You know what, I want a refund on our tickets to the Caribbean."

"Oh. Sorry, yeah. Of course you do. Here." Ella took out her ticket and pretended to hand it over, but instead ripped it in half. "Oops! Gosh, guess I'm a little addlebrained today. Sure hope I'm not coming down with a bug."

"Do you realize how much those tickets cost?"

"Do you realize how little I care? Victim has some skin under her finger... Guess which one."

"Shut up and test it." Corbett continued checking under the victim's clothes. "No scratches, no bruising... Oh, here. This could be something."

"That's a C-section scar. I mean, it is something." Ella sighed, releasing the victim's hand. "Uh, never mind. It's just onychauxis. No sign she was a nail-biter, and no manicure, so I'm thinking melanoma."

"No ID on this woman. We should do a Buccal swab."

"You go ahead and do that; I'm going to do something important and ID our killer."

"Hey," they turned quickly at the captain's voice, "I can hear you from the second floor. Lopez, you're with me. Corbett, I want you working the Estrada case with Decker."

Ella meekly pulled off her gloves and followed the captain from her office. Chloe watched them pass by, then turned to find herself looking at Corbett. "Oh. Hi, Carol," she said hesitantly, assuming the Goddess in him was dormant considering he was at work.

"Hey. Boss says I have to help you instead. So, uh, what's up?"

"Well, I was just thinking about my daughter, but I guess I'm not paid to do that. So, um, have a seat. And..." Chloe continued using her computer, with multiple programs already running. "Uh... Oh, okay. My victim, Afonso Estrada... I just called him my victim," she chuckled. "He's not."

Corbett sat down, noticing the faint smell of alcohol on her breath and the tired look in her eyes.

"Anyway, the victim checked into The Four Seasons the night after he died... I mean, before. Uh, and arrived by taxi. Surveillance camera caught him getting out of the car without paying. If you don't have enough for a car ride, you don't have enough for a hotel room."

"Afonso Estrada used to be a celebrity. But last I heard, he was a cashier."

"Where?"

"Ironically, Target."

Chloe nearly smiled as she nodded at him. Trying to maintain her professionalism, she turned back to the computer screen. "Uh, Estrada just checked into The Glendale Galleria."

"Beg pardon?"

"Check his Facebook, okay?"

"On it." He pulled out his phone and tapped a few times. "Uh, yep. Latest post was an hour ago."

"Stolen phone. Or the coroner messed up, big time."

"Nope, new post. 'Oops, my bad. Thought I logged out. RIP Estrada, thoughts and prayers.' Older post says the account's being managed by his legacy contact."

"Huh, okay," Chloe said, absent-mindedly twirling her pen. They stood up and began walking towards the exit. "So maybe the receptionist killed him for booking a hotel suite he couldn't pay for. Or had no intention of paying for."

"Couldn't, is my guess. You don't steal a taxi ride for the hell of it."

"You and I don't. But someone who went to auditions looking for stardom and ended up putting tampons into bags...who knows? Maybe he blamed the whole world."

Corbett tilted his head in acknowledgment.

The Four Seasons was beautiful, to say the least. The light from shiny, translucent chandeliers reflected in the polished floor, and there were plants and flowers throughout the lobby. Pictures were hung in gilded frames and a fireplace was lit. Trying not to gawk, and feeling like royalty, Chloe forced herself to concentrate on the weight of her gun as she approached the receptionist. "Hi. We're, um, we're not here to book a room. We're here about the murder of Afonso Estrada. He booked a room on the 28th and was dead the next day."

"Ah, yes, I remember him. He booked our presidential suite."

"How much?"

"$9,000 a night."

"Okay, the night he got here, he skimped out on a taxi ride. According to my partner, Estrada lived close by...implying that he didn't need a hotel, he didn't need to embezzle, and he could have walked here."

"I don't know what to tell you, Detective. Estrada paid for the room in cash."

"Do you know how many nights he would have stayed?" Corbett asked.

"Uh, twelve nights. He said he had to stay until the tenth."

"Had to?"

"That's oddly specific," Chloe murmured. "And a lot of money. Drugs?"

"And an angry drug lord." Corbett paused, inhaling sharply.

"Carol...go home. Get some rest."

"For the time being, I'm your partner, right?"

"You're hurt."

"You're pregnant. Now I can't believe I'm saying this, but we need to go find some dealers."

Chloe gave a rather serious smile. "I might know someone who can help."

"Great. Who?"

"Maze."

"Maze... Wait, the scary chick from Lux?"

"Yeah! Lucifer does drugs, and she stays on him like a shadow. Even if she doesn't do drugs, she's got to know everyone he knows."

"That's...uh, that's creepy. Is she a stalker?"

"I...honestly don't know the answer to that. But I wouldn't put it past her. Probably wouldn't put anything past her."

Corbett nodded slowly, turning away from the front desk. "What about murder?"

"Oh! Oh, Carol, don't worry. She didn't kill Afonso."

"I'm not talking about Afonso," he muttered, walking to the exit. Chloe trailed after him in confusion. Hearing her footsteps, he slowed down, checking over his shoulder until she fell into step beside him. "I kinda got a different case. Body showed up at Lux last night, and Maze sort of confessed to murdering her."

"What? Is she in custody? Was she interrogated?"

"No. She also told me I'm possessed. I figured she was crazy."

"She is crazy. And she's right." Chloe stopped, putting a hand on his arm. He turned to look at her with a puzzled, hesitant smile. "You have a goddess inside you."

Only seeing a smart, serious, trustworthy friend, he frowned at her as a chill ran down his spine.

"It's okay, my baby has wings. We're both freaks." Chloe brushed past him, trying to ignore a sudden rush of vertigo that made her see double and the room spin. "Uh, um...so we find Maze, we find our drug dealers. We find our drug dealers, we find our drug lord and solve the case. And, question her about your mysterious corpse." She smiled apologetically at a young family walking by to check into the hotel. The father held the door open and she thanked him, then held it open for Corbett.

"Yeah, ideally. Or we don't. You know, I really don't want to talk about work right now. Goddess? Angel baby?"

"Yeah, I know, creepy, right?"

"You okay?" he asked, as she stumbled a little.

"Fine. Okay, so when we're interrogating Maze, we'll get short, simple answers. The hard part will be finding her."

"Unless she's shadowing us," he muttered, and slowed down as he peered around the parking lot.

Grateful to stop moving, Chloe halted beside him. "No, believe me, she could be right beside you and you wouldn't notice. It's what makes her an excellent bounty hunter."

"A bounty hunter. You know a bounty hunter. That's just perfect."

She smiled at his flustered shock. "Hm, I guess we have a lot of catching up to do." Chloe sighed then, checking with her wrist to see if she was sweating. "Uh... You know, actually I have her on my phone. Duh, I'll just call her."

"And what―beg her for a confidential statement?"

She hesitated, looking up at him. "We could fake her out."

He tilted his head, already reluctant. "What do you mean?" he asked, his tone implying he knew.

"I mean we hire someone to be her mark. I, um, I actually know a lot of actors, too."

Though the parking lot appeared otherwise abandoned, he moved in a little closer and spoke quietly. "I don't know a lot about Maze, okay? But I do know she doesn't seem to care very much about...well, anything. You say someone, I say a poor victim she hurts or kills or...tortures, even. I'm telling you as a friend," he continued as Chloe hesitated, "It's the worst idea you've ever had."

"You're right," she said shortly, and looked up at him.

His tone was regretful. "You're going to do it anyway, aren't you?"

"What? No. No, I agree with you... Why would you say that?"

"It's just, every other chick I know would do something they said they wouldn't. Not that you're like everyone else," he quickly backpedaled, "Or that I know a lot of other chicks. I mean, I do, but it's entirely professional. Uh, I mean, the job. The work. Have you seen my children?" he asked, and then paused as Chloe tried to process. "Uh, I'm... I have no idea where that came from."

"I know where it came from," she muttered, and met his gaze. "Your feminine side."

"The goddess. Oh, this is getting too weird, I-I don't― Oh, crap. Maybe I killed that girl."

They stared at each other in silence.

"No, but Maze..."

"She's given a false confession before."

"Really?"

"Yeah, she's a little..."

"Unstable. She's unstable, she's psychotic, she has drug connections, you wouldn't put murder past her, and―you're friends with her. You lived with her, your kid lived with her."

"Well, I'm... Reluctantly."

"And now you want to 'create' an outlaw and trick her into violence. I... We're supposed to be working on the Estrada case."

"We are. I said you were right."

Not satisfied with her answer, he turned and continued walking to the car. "When was your last drink?"

"Are you honestly thinking of reporting me? I have been doing this job much longer than you have, Carol."

"Well, maybe it's starting to wear you down a little."

She hurried to fall into step beside him, straightening her blazer. "I haven't touched it since last night."

"You shouldn't be touching it at all in your condition," he pointed out.

"If I was carrying a human baby, I'd be a little more concerned."

"You know, as much as I want to talk about that, I really...I can't go there, okay? I can't deal with it, it's too much."

"You think you can't deal? You're not the incubator for a ten-pound bird."

He pulled open his car door, then rested his hand on top of it as he turned his eyes back to her. She gazed back at him, quiet and much too composed. "It's only out of sheer mortification that I'm not even going to ask. Here's the deal; you stay far away from this case, and I won't report you to Wells."

"I'll call a cab," she said decisively, when he started moving closer to the car door.

"Fine. And get it together."

She smiled. "You're going to crack first. They all do."

"They all? How many people know about this?"

She was quiet, still smiling as she walked away.

When Eve stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the dance floor, there was only one person standing in Lux. She would recognize his tall, powerful body and shiny dark head anywhere. Her pretty face twisted into a scowl as she realized that the almighty Amenadiel was sweeping. She turned and descended. Remaining silent, she sat in the nearest chair, folded her hands, and watched him as she gathered her thoughts.

Then, though he hadn't looked at her, his displeased voice broke the silence. "Thanks for meeting me."

"Are you okay?" was her response.

"Actually, no. No, I'm not." He turned around, releasing the broom, which continued to stand eerily in place instead of clattering noisily to the linoleum. "You look well."

She smiled, leaning forward and putting her head in her hands. "Need someone to listen?"

"Actually, I do. But it's not about me."

She raised her brows in that endearing, lopsided grin. "Who's it about?"

"You."

She sat up straight, her smile gone.

"Don't worry, the worst you've done is break out of heaven and accidentally break a felon's wrist. What I'm about to tell you, it...will be painful," he continued. "It's about Maze."

"What about her?"

"Last night she asked if I would remove her soul."

"You didn't comply, did you?" she asked, and scrambled noisily to her feet when he was quiet. "A soul was all she ever wanted. She broke up with me because―"

"I know." Amenadiel tried not to look away from her huge eyes. "You know you're going back to heaven. But Maze... She didn't stand a chance."

Eve sighed. "She didn't want to be tortured."

"With you watching."

"So then...don't send to heaven."

"It's not my choice, Eve. I'm sorry."

She stared tearfully at him, then turned and began going back to the stairs. Pausing, she turned back around in a flurry of dark hair. "Where is she?" she asked, and when he looked away in silence she demanded, "Where's my wife, Amenadiel?"

"Hell," he muttered.

She breathed sharply, averting her eyes, then meandered to the stairs and finally sat down on the bottom steps. She raised her hands to her face, trying not to break down, give up, or freak out. Amenadiel spared her a glance, making the unfortunate connection that she and Linda were pretty much in the same boat. Or ark, as the case may be. He turned away and continued sweeping, wondering how he could comfort a friend if even Linda had rejected him. But seconds later, when he turned back around, the steps were abandoned; the door leading to the first floor closing.

At least helping strangers was easy. He sighed and stopped sweeping, looking over at the bar.