PART ONE:

Chapter Seven

Leah, please. Talk to me.
Emily, 01:02pm

I know I don't deserve your forgiveness. But can we just talk?
Emily, 01:03pm

For heaven's sake, Leah. We can't continue on like this. Almost five weeks of silence? We're family.
Emily, 02:15pm

Are we?
Me, 2:50pm

Interesting concept.
Me, 2:50pm

Leah, PLEASE.
Emily, 02:51pm

I'm at work.
Me, 02:55pm

There's nothing to talk about.
Me, 02:57pm

Leah, I'm sorry. You gotta understand how sorry I am. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.
Emily, 4:27pm

Tell me what to do to fix this. I'll do anything.
Emily, 05:33pm

"You can start by leaving me the Hell alone," Leah grumbled. This was her fault; she should've never opened the text in the first place. She thought about blocking Emily's number but ultimately decided against it. Instead, she locked and pocketed her phone. "Screw it."

She wasn't going to respond to Emily.

She had a long enough day. She didn't have to deal with another headache. No, she was going to have fun tonight. She going to attend Paul's Happy Hour, probably get a couple of drinks in, and engage in some friend conversation. Her Friday night was going to end on a positive, and the following week would hopefully be free of all drama.

"I honestly didn't think you were going to show up."

Leah shrugged off her coat, draping it over her arm. "I appreciate your faith in me, Captain," she quipped before sincerely thanking Paul for the invite. She needed this. She needed to be out on this Friday night. She needed to get her mind off the Dahlia case and the dumpster fire that was her marriage.

"Not a captain tonight," Paul laughed. "I don't want to think about work. We're not thinking about work. Tonight? Just Paul."

Leah nodded. She certainly shared the man's sentiment. "Paul, it is." She looked around the establishment; she saw a lot of familiar faces. "I need a beer," she announced, watching from the corner of her as her little brother, who arrived before she had, bumped chests with Jared. Of course, they were now friends. Seth was a goddamn magnet.

Oh, Seth. It didn't matter how many times Leah tried to talk him out of applying for the police academy, Seth remained adamant about following his sister's (and their father's) footsteps. And it didn't help that the guys, including Paul, were treating him as if he were already a member of the Chicago Police Department. (Leah blamed everything on Sam and his attempt to bond with his brother-in-law. The husband had introduced Seth to plenty of folks within the department throughout the years).

With another hearty laugh, Paul pointed at the bar table about fifteen feet away. "You see my buddy, Quil, over there? He'll hook you up. Just give him your name."

Leah thanked the captain and followed his advice. As she walked around the establishment, Leah engaged in small talk with everyone, which mostly consisted of members from Paul's Unit Five, Jacob, Embry Call (Jacob's other protégé), and Jared with their respective significant others.

When Leah eventually reached the packed bar, she asked the nearest bartender for "Quil." The bartender smiled at Leah and jerked her head towards the other side of the bar, to where another bartender stood, taking orders from a rather rowdy crowd. He didn't appear overwhelmed though, remaining calm and collected as the patrons shouted their orders.

"The boss is quite popular tonight."

Leah quietly chuckled. "Yeah, I see that."

"Want anything?"

"No, I'm good." Leah glanced at the other bartender presumably named 'Quil' as he hastily took drink and food orders. This bar was going to make a lot of money tonight. "I'll wait for him."

"Sounds good," with that, the bartender looked over at the "boss," and gave a wave, catching the man's attention. She pointed at Leah before walking away to tend to the other patrons. Quil took one look at Leah and then went back to work.

Leah sat down on a stool and pulled out her phone as she waited.

"Brenda said you wanted to speak to me?"

Startled, Leah looked up, then over at "Brenda," who gave her a thumbs up. She turned her attention to the man in front of her, dressed in flannel and jeans with a bar towel slapped over his shoulder. She gave him a small wave, then gave him her name.

"Leah?" Quil blinked, then his face split into a wide grin. "Oh, it's you!" He held out his hand. "Quil Altera the Fifth," he eagerly introduced; his grin somehow managed to widen even more as Leah took his hand into hers. "So, you're the Leah Uley. Wow, it's nice to finally match a face to the name."

Leah was a bit taken aback by the spirited reaction, but she didn't question it. Instead, she gave a quiet laugh. "Yes, that's me." She peeked over her shoulder to where Paul stood, joking around with the others over beers. "Paul said you could hook me up?"

Quil nodded. "Yeah, of course." He pointed in Paul's direction. "He talks about you quite a bit," he told Leah, startling her once more. "Him and Jacob. Actually, Jacob, a lot. Practically all the time." The duo then briefly looked over to Jacob, who was chatting it up with a group of patrons. "What can I get you?"

Leah ordered a beer.

Quil gave her a thumbs up.

"So, they talk about me?"

Quil chuckled. "Sure do."

"Everything they told you is a lie."

Quil raised an eyebrow. "About how amazing you are?"

Leah made a note to tease both Jacob and Paul about this.

"How much do I owe you?"

"It's on the house."

"Why?"

Quil chuckled. "That's the first time I've ever heard someone questioning a handout," he said. "Anyway, don't worry about a thing. You don't owe me a thing." He clapped. "Alright, one Corona coming up."

As Quil turned away to fetch a cold one, Leah quickly pulled out a five from her compact wallet and slapped it on the bar table.

When the bartender returned, he immediately noticed the dollar bill and glared at it as it had personally offended him and his entire bloodline. He handed over the beer. "Hey, didn't I say – "

"Tip," Leah insisted, leaving no room for discussion. She smirked triumphantly when Quinn finally relented and pocketed the money, quietly thanking her.

It wouldn't be long before Leah caught up to her dear friend, Aisha St. Pierre, who was sitting at the other end of the bar, nursing a Sangria while having a hearty conversation with a patron.

A detective assigned to District Four out in Lincoln Square, Aisha was a lovely woman also in her mid-thirties, who had more energy than half of the rookies on the force and common sense than the vast majority of the population. And she was well aware (and never in denial) about how hard it could be for women like her and Leah to break the department's glass ceiling. Especially with her being Black and with Leah being Native American.

Leah took a stool right next to Aisha's and said once she was alone, "Hello, stranger," she greeted with a smile. "Long time, no see. How's it been?"

Matching Leah's smile, Aisha pulled her friend into a tight hug before sitting back down. "I should be asking you that question." Aisha knew about Sam and Emily; she knew all about the drama with Leah's last partner. "I'm fine, by the way. Same shit, different day. You know how it goes. And you?"

"It's been alright," Leah said, "I mean, yeah, I still have that case from Hell and still have to deal with the occasional assholes…" She trailed off with a shrug. "It's looking up, personal life aside, of course. I got a new partner, and I haven't even thought of shooting him once."

Aisha clutched her chest. "Impressive," she said with a dramatic gasp, "Wow, not even once? He should be honored," and then, "Is he still mooning over that medical examiner?"

Jacob's crush on Dr. Isabella Swan was a secret to absolutely no one. Except, perhaps, for Swan herself. Or maybe she did know?

"He claimed that he has no intentions of pursuing her," Leah said with a shrug. "Who knows?"

"Well, I hope everything works out for the guy," Aisha said, stirring her Sangria a few times before having a taste. "His last true relationship didn't exactly end well."

Leah glanced at Jacob from the other side of the room. She waved when they made eye contact. Leah quickly turned back around. "Did you know his ex?"

"Met her a couple of times. At events and stuff. She seemed nice enough, but…" Aisha took another sip from her drink. "It… didn't work out."

"I see."

A comfortable silence fell between the friends until Aisha spoke up, "Still good with français?"

Leah raised an eyebrow, then blew into the mouth of her beer before taking a swig. "Oh, it's gonna be one of those conversations."

"It's probably best. I swear, it's like those guys over there have a weird, inhuman sense of hearing or something," Aisha pointed out, already switching languages. Huh. Did she know about…? "Anyway, I think the only person over there who has a background in French is Jared, and apparently, he only took it in high school and only remembers almost nothing." She switched back to English. "So, how about it?"

"Fine," Leah replied in French.

She was fluent enough to qualify as an interpreter. Being a Francophile, she took the language in high school and majored in college (along with Literature because, why have a social life?). She even spent a couple of years abroad and seriously considered teaching English in France, that was until she had received acceptance into the police academy, an opportunity she couldn't pass up.

"Did you have an actual conversation?"

Leah didn't have to ask what her friend was referencing. After another swig of her beer, she replied with a long, drawn-out sigh, "I have tried."

"And?"

"He is avoiding me," Leah said somewhat bitterly. Fuck that, she deserved to be bitter. "He said he does not want to talk about it. At least, not now."

Aisha snorted. "Ah, so he has a problem with having a conversation about his affair with your cousin?" She snorted again. "Then when does he want to have this talk?"

"Good question," Leah replied in English, and then switched back to French, "and with how my case is progressing and his just starting, I doubt that this conversation is going to happen anytime soon." She paused. "We barely see each other anymore."

"What about her?"

Leah let out a humorless chuckle. "What about her? I have not spoken to her – at least, face to face – since that night." She shook her head. "I do not think I am ready for that confrontation."

Aisha nodded. "Understandable," she said. "Does your mom know the whole story?"

"She knows what happened."

"But does she know about her?"

Leah should tell Sue; she didn't have a fundamental reason not to. It wasn't that they had an estranged relationship. And it wasn't like her mother would blame Leah for anything. It was just that – It was just that there was a family wedding occurring in a couple of weeks. And the supposedly happy Uleys were expected to share the table with the Clearwaters and Emily and her small family.

She could only imagine the chaos that would ensue if the truth came out: Leah's mother would try to confront Emily, and Seth would likely confront Sam because even though Seth loved to annoy his older sister, Leah was still his sister – Leah loved Sue and Seth dearly, but she wasn't ready for that headache.

"Did he give you a reason?" Aisha asked. "An excuse?"

"It's complicated," Leah said, deadpanned. "His words."

With both eyebrows raised comically high, Aisha took another long sip from her beer. "Woo, good luck to you, girl," she breathed out in English. She shook her head. "The absolute nerve of him."

"I guess there's nothing else to add to that," Leah replied in English. She ran a hand across her forehead. "Okay, enough about me and my drama. What's up with you?"

"Same old, same old." Aisha's face dropped. "Tiffany's heading to Afghanistan."

Leah nearly choked on her beer. "What?"

"Yeah, another tour..." Aisha muttered. She paused to put her medium-length, thin braids into a ponytail. "She got the deployment orders this morning. I've been pretty calm about it, but you gotta give me a few more days before reality hits – I highly advise you to clear your calendar when that time comes."

Leah reached out and took Aisha's hand in hers. "You don't even have to ask," she softly replied, squeezing her friend's hand. "Everything'll be fine."

Aisha's smile was small but grateful. "Well, I sure hope so." She took a deep breath. "Anyway, I got my new orders yesterday. Seems like I'm going to be working with Internal Affairs' favorite captain for quite some time. Most likely until the end of the year."

Leah hadn't expected that. "What?"

"Only temporarily," Aisha said, glancing behind her to where Paul was gleefully destroying Seth at the game of pool. "For a case. Apparently, my brief stint at the ATF means I'm an expert in everything related to illegal arms."

"Yeah, I heard it's getting hot over there."

"Yes, it is," Aisha said, switching to French. "I probably should not be discussing this, but you know about the Deal, yes?"

Leah nodded.

"And Paul told you about what is about to happen?"

Leah switched back to French. "It's not a sure thing."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Aisha said. "I know these people's M.O. Give it two weeks."

"So quick?"

"To be honest, I think it's already started. You heard about Demetri Karlov?" and when Leah shook her head, "Well, yesterday, he was found dead with a bullet to the head. He works for you know, and I am sure that they are not going to be happy about this new development."

Demetri Karlov.

Yes, Leah knew the name. Demetri Karlov. Demetri Yuryevich Karlov was known around northern Illinois as someone who went after those indebted to the Volturi. He was also rumored to "recruit" young women into the Volturi; women that were almost always never seen again.

Russian. Tall white male. Aspiring model –

Leah the thought of her head. Yes, the description matched Demetri's, but it was such a general description. It didn't mean Jessica's maybe-beau was the Demetri. And anyway, Demetri had worked for the Volturi, the Olympic's arch nemesis.

There's a possibility that Jessica was playing for both sides.

Leah cleared her throat and reached for her beer. No, she wasn't going to go down that road. At least, not now. But Demetri… Goodness, his demise was even worse than the Denali murders, Leah thought as she finished the last of her drink.

"So, what is going to happen with that?"

"Honestly, I do not know. I am just going to carry on with my work, but Paul…" Aisha sighed. "God bless him, is all I have to say. Rumor has it that there is a new bullet in town."

"UVs?"

Aisha blinked then nodded. "Ultra-violets. Bullets made of sunlight." She scoffed. "Who would have thought?" She looked at her friend with a raised eyebrow. "You know about them?"

"Let's just say they've come up in my case."

"Huh, interesting." Aisha paused. "So, the rumors are true after all?"

It was now Leah's turn to raise an eyebrow. "Rumors?" She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a whisper, "What rumors?"

"That her death was a hit," Aisha replied in a low voice. "Listen, I know a guy. A not-so-confidential informant, who may or may not be running an agency that pairs off pretty, unsuspecting young men and women with rich benefactors. The man's shady as hell, but he always has his ears and eyes open. You want his number?"

Leah glanced to her right where she could see Jacob showing Seth the best ways to beat Paul; both men appeared to be having a great time. She slightly smiled at the sight, then asked Aisha, "Do I need it?"

"Based on what you've told me, it seems that your victim was living the fast life and got caught up with the wrong people," Aisha said in English. "So yeah, I think that you're gonna need it."

"Does this person have records of his interactions with her?"

"Knowing him, I highly doubt it," Aisha said. "Everything is off the books, and he has a strict no-testifying, no-leaving-a-paper trail policy." When Leah raised an eyebrow, she further explained, "He is valuable. Valuable enough to make some concessions." She pulled out her phone. "Voici, his info."

Leah thanked her friend. "Alistair Wallace," she read from her phone, wondering if the name rang a bell. Oh, it certainly did. "I thought he got deported after St. Patrick's?"

Aisha downed some of her drink. "Yeah, well, it appears he has friends in high places," she said, "I do not know how, but he managed to get some kind of immunity with an understanding that he has to be a resource for the authorities in return."

Leah slowly nodded. "Someone got a hold of him."

Aisha gave a half-shrug. "You know how it is around here," she said. "Do yourself a favor and give that man a call."

Approximately one week into their partnership, Leah and Jacob had established a "no discussing work outside of work" policy that was to be strictly enforced on the weekends and unworked holidays. Their shifts were traditionally Monday through Friday from 7:00am to 3:00pm, and as Leah had pointed out numerous times, "If they're not paying us OT, then we're not working OT."

However, on Saturday morning, Leah decided to go against policy after realizing that holding onto the news about "Alistair Wallace" should not be wait until Monday morning.

"Didn't he get shipped off to the UK?" Jacob asked over the phone. From the sound of it, Leah figured he was moving around in the kitchen. "After St. Patrick's?"

Leah took a sip from her tea. The morning was a pleasant one. Despite the cold temperatures, the sun was shining bright enough to illuminate the entirety of Leah's living and dining room. Even the birds, who still should be down south, were chirping.

And once again, no Sam in sight.

Well, he did stop by the previous night. He had stayed for a bit, more to gather clothes for the weekend than to reconcile with his wife. The married couple had managed to have a civil, small conversation before he left for the weekend. Leah hadn't asked exactly where Sam would be residing, but she had a feeling he was at Emily's.

Fine.

That was perfectly fine.

"It sounded like someone got hold of him before ICE could," Leah said between sips. She didn't know what it was, but there was something about this particular cup of lavender-infused green tea that was exceptionally good. Or maybe it had to do with the fact that today was her first relatively peaceful Saturday morning since the first week of December. "Sounds like a deal was made."

"Of course," Jacob said with a snort. "So, what do you want to do? Talk to the guy?"

Even over the phone, Leah could tell that Jacob wasn't too fond of the idea, and to be fair, she had her own reservations. However, Leah had faith in Aisha's intel; the detective had spent years working in organized crime and crossed paths with dubious individuals involved in shady business practices. She had been the one who first introduced Leah to Mike "Swiss" Newton.

"Aisha said was a good idea." Leah took a bite out of her avocado toast. "She even reached out to him earlier this morning. She's waiting for a response, but she's optimistic that he'll take the offer."

There was a moment of silence, that was broken by a rather frustrated groan coming from Jacob. "Fine. We'll talk to him," he decided, sounding like he'd rather have both of his arms sawed off with a serrated knife.

"I take it you don't like the guy."

"He's an asshole."

Leah could not help but laugh. "Aren't they all?" She took another bite from her breakfast. "Did you get any more information from Swan regarding her unfortunate encounter?"

"You mean, Bella?" Jacob scoffed. "I think you two have known each other long enough to be on a first-name basis."

"Fine, Bella," Leah relented. Though, she supposed Jacob had a point. "Any news about Bella and her late-night visitor?"

"She still maintains that she's fine," Jacob said; the tone of his voice had suggested otherwise, but that could've been his worrisome nature talking. "No reports of another late-night visit from Masen. She did mention about the new body that arrived."

"She's a medical examiner. She's always dealing with a new body."

"Yeah, but I think she's catching on."

Leah blinked. "On what?" and then, "Wait, who?"

"Bella. I think she's starting to catch on about… well, you know. She told me about how fascinating it was to see Demetri and the Denali decomposing. How about how they're not reacting like the others."

"I thought – " Leah sat up straight in her chair. "Hold up, she doesn't know?" She couldn't believe it. "How does she not know? She literally works with the dead for a living."

"She's only been in this city for a few years," Jacob reasoned. "I'm sure she didn't – "

"You gotta tell her."

Leah could picture Jacob running a hand down his face.

"Yeah, I know." He emitted an exasperated noise. "I don't think I have much choice."

With Aisha's assistance, Leah and Jacob were able to score a meeting with the notorious Alistair Wallace, which was scheduled for Monday morning at his downtown residence.

Jacob, who was still not keen on the idea of speaking with Alistair, griped about the upcoming meeting throughout the entire ride downtown, all the while refusing to provide any context. Leah was admittedly getting irritated with her partner's crummy attitude. Yes, Alistair was… Alistair, but this was work. Leah and Jacob had a job to do.

Hoping to nip whatever-was-going-on-with-Jacob in the bud, the moment the duo entered the building's empty elevator bank, Leah grabbed onto Jacob's arm, holding him back from walking through the opened elevator doors. Although he could've easily freed himself of Leah's hold, Jacob didn't put up a fight.

"What is going on with you? Is everything okay?"

Jacob frowned. "What do you mean?"

"About you not wanting to want to talk to Alistair?" Leah asked, and when Jacob gave a pained groan as a response, "What's your issue with him?"

Jacob attempted to demonstrate his nonchalance with a shrug, but the barely masked, aggravated look in his eyes revealed everything. "Like I said: he's an asshole."

"And like I said: aren't they all?" Leah crossed her arms. "Well?"

"I just don't like people like him."

"What, assholes?"

"No, like him."

It was when Leah realized and begrudgingly accepted that she would not be getting much information from the man anytime soon. He was purposely being obtuse, but instead of calling him out on it, Leah placed a hand on her forehead and closed her eyes for a hot second. "In any case," she said, dropping her arm, "you'll be fine?"

Jacob looked almost offended that Leah would dare to ask him such a question. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" He rolled his shoulders while his frown remained in place. "Of course, I'll be fine."

Leah still had her doubts, but she ultimately released her partner's arm. She reached up to pat his shoulder. "Good," but as she turned to walk away, she was stopped by Jacob, who held her back by the arm, "What the…?"

"Listen to me," Jacob abruptly demanded in a stern, authoritative voice that not even Leah could contend with. "No matter what he says or does, you can't draw your weapon."

Leah glanced down at Jacob's grasp, then up at the man, blinking a couple of times. "What?"

Jacob tightened his grip. "Promise me."

"Jacob – "

"None of those bullets are going to do a thing to him besides making our lives a helluva more difficult," Jacob explained. After finally letting his speechless partner's arm go, he went to press the up-elevator button. He looked down at Leah, replacing his grimace with a small, reassuring smile that did anything but. "Don't worry. I won't let anyone lay a finger on you."

Leah had so many questions.

She took a step forward. "Unless I'm mistaken, we carry the same exact gun with the same kind of bullets."

Jacob did not appear to be too concerned. "Who said I would need them?"

Alistair Wallace owned the entirety of the luxury high-rise's 35th floor. According to the signage hanging in the elevator bank, half the floor was his residence and the other for his rather lucrative, shady but still technically legal business. The floor was lively on the business-end, the detectives noted as they walked down the dimly lit hall towards the residence-end. Hordes of customers and employees were coming in and out; they were all dressed to the nines, made-up, and groomed.

The sight made sense. Alistair was involved in the high-class matching-making business that might be a front for an upscale escort service.

Allegedly.

When the detectives reached the end of the hall, they were met by an armed guard, who stood just as tall and as strong as Jacob – Leah tried to keep her face as unbothered and heart rate as stable as possible to shield her apprehension. She wasn't easily frightened, but the man did resemble a heavyweight boxer-turned-bouncer-turned-muscle, who had a gun attached to his left hip and a dagger on his right.

Jacob, on the other hand, was completely unfazed.

"Identification," the guard demanded.

The detectives displayed their badges.

"Weapons."

Leah jerked back, looking up at the guard as if he had lost his mind. "Excuse me?" she questioned hotly, hovering a hand over the standard-issued Glock safely secured on her side. Like Hell was she going to give up her weapon to someone, who was most likely operating on the other side of the law.

"It's fine," Jacob calmly reassured his partner. He removed his gun from his holster and dropped it into the guard's opened hand. "It's not like it's gonna work on his boss anyway." His brown eyes bore straight into amber ones. "Or you, for that matter."

The guard narrowed his gaze, but he didn't say a word as he received the other from a very reluctant Leah.

She could have ignored Jacob; she could have pitched a fit about handing over her weapon, but she chose not to because, in the end, for better or for worse, she trusted Jacob.

If the man said it was fine, then it was fine.

She only hoped she wouldn't regret her decision.

"Detective Black and Detective Uley, I have been expecting you," Alistair greeted the detectives in the penthouse's foyer. He looked just as expected, clean-shaved, and dressed in a neat gray suit that must've cost an arm and leg and tailer with his dark hair neatly styled with not one strand out of place. His aura was just as elegantly sinister as Leah had remembered.

Alistair offered to take his guests' coats, which was denied.

"Thank you for being punctual," he said, turning his focus to Jacob. "It has been a while." He gave the detective a once-over with a smirk on his face; he held out his hand for a handshake. "Has it not, Detective Black?"

Jacob glowered at Alistair's extended hand. "It has," he said, voice as cold as a Midwestern winter.

He didn't shake the man's hand.

Never in her life had Leah seen her partner behave so antagonistically towards another, not even towards an uncooperative perp. She figured if the circumstances had been different, Jacob would have no problem attempting to bash Alistair's face in – There was clearly a history between the two men, and it wasn't a pleasant one.

"Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to meet with us," Leah said diplomatically. She shook Alistair's hand when offered and instantly noticed how cold and dry the man's hand was. Huh. "We appreciate it."

Alistair was amused. "I never thought I would ever see the day that the esteemed Chicago Police Department would ask me for assistance." His eyes flickered down to Leah. He tilted his head as he zeroed onto the detective, leaning in slightly as slowly licked his lips. "Quite enticing…" He then took a step forward. "Your scent," he breathed as the color of his irises shifted from amber to red. This had to be a trick, or maybe a hallucination because irises were not supposed to change colors in a blink. "It is most certainly to die for, is it not?"

The fuck?

Before Leah could forcefully remind Alistair of the importance of maintaining personal space, Jacob stepped in between them. "Knock it off, Wallace," he growled; his hands tightened into fists. "She ain't interested."

The double fuck?

Unlike Leah, Alistair appeared to fully comprehend the meaning behind Jacob's words. With another chuckle, he backed off and his eyes returned to its normal color. "Such a wasted opportunity," was his flippant response as he resumed his stroll. He would occasionally take a sly glimpse of a very confused Leah while disregarding Jacob's heated glare.

Okay, Leah might be out of the loop, but she was not dumb.

Clearly, there was something going on.

But instead of calling anyone out, Leah decided to continue following the men around, taking in her surroundings. The penthouse was beautiful in a classic horror movie kind of way. The type of house that would be used as a haunted mansion, especially with the limited lighting and the large paintings of folks dressed in Victorian-era attire.

As she walked past the medium-sized bar, Leah eyed the numerous bottles of red liquor, lined up neatly on the shelves. She wondered –

Shit.

She forced a smile when Jacob peeked over his shoulder, raising an inquisitive eyebrow at her.

Did he notice her rapidly beating heart?

Shaking her head, Leah took a breath as she tried not to react to the startling realization that had only dawned on her moments before. Suddenly, everything made sense: the standard-issued bullets being deemed as useless, the dimmed lighting, the oddly colored eyes, the chilled hands, the red liquid. Which had to be blood because that was what vampires fed on, right?

So, Alistair must be a vampire.

The guard must be also a vampire.

Oh, you've got to be kid –

"Would you like something to drink?" Alistair asked, startling Leah, who hadn't been paying him much mind for she had more pressing matters on her psyche. Like the fact that she was standing feet away from a vampire.

Leah shook her head and Jacob emphatically declined the offer.

There was an amused glint in Alistair's eyes, but he didn't press the issue. He continued to lead the detectives around until he stopped at the common room.

"Please, sit," he offered, gesturing to the brown leather couch. His forced polite smile remained as he watched the detectives take their seats. "I was informed by the lovely Detective St. Pierre that you both wished to speak to me," he said, sitting down on the loveseat across from the detectives. "I hope you are not in search of an informant."

"We're not," Leah assured him. "We are well aware of your conditions."

"Not gonna arrest you either," Jacob added, although he clearly wished he could put the shady businessman in handcuffs or a headlock. For goodness' sake, Alistair wasn't even supposed to be in the US, let alone Chicago. "Only here for a little chat."

Alistair eyed the detectives through slitted eyes, perhaps in an attempt to pick up on a nonexistent lie, but eventually, he relented. "Great!" He clapped. "What can I help you with?"

"Mr. Wallace," Leah began with her notepad and pen ready, "Can you explain what exactly you do for a living?" then added, "If you don't mind me asking."

Not that she truly cared if he did.

Alistair crossed his legs. "I operate a matchmaking business," he said in a steady voice, "Simple as that."

"You operate a brothel," Jacob accused.

Leah cleared her throat, waiting for a rebuttal.

Which Alistair would give in his typical manner. His artificial politeness returned; he didn't appear upset or offended, just looked at the detectives like this whole thing was one big misunderstanding. "What I do for a living, Detectives, is not illegal," he maintained, "I am not in the contraband trade. I am not in the business of killing humans or extorting anyone. None of that. My trade is honest."

It took a great deal of self-control for Leah not to snort.

"But you're a pimp," Jacob said, refusing to let the supposedly honest businessman off the hook. "Simple as that."

Alistair dismissed Jacob's accusation with a wave. "Simple? Of course, it is. Matchmaking, at the core, is rather simple. I do not force any of my employees to engage in anything they do not wish to partake in. I introduce them to clients who have different and legal demands, and I take a percentage of their commission. Not everything, of course." His expression hardened. "I am certainly not a pimp."

The matchmaker's answer didn't move Leah. However, unfortunately, despite the detectives' desire to arrest Alistair for something (they were certain, there were some laws broken… somewhere), Alistair was right: running a matchmaking business wasn't against the law.

"Tell us about your employees."

Alistair scoffed at Jacob. "What could you possibly want to know about my employees?"

"What kind of lady works for you?"

Alistair scoffed again. "Oh, please have an open mind, Detective. Women are lovely, no doubt, but not everyone requests their services. Exclusively."

Leah gave a curt nod. "How many?"

"I do not see how demographics and numbers are relevant to this conversation," Alistair said; his cool exterior was starting to show some cracks. He was getting defensive. Yes. That was perfect. "Are they, Detective Black?"

"I suppose not," Leah answered for Jacob. "Let's get back on track, shall we?" Jacob showed no indication that he wanted to protest. Good. "We would like to discuss any knowledge you would have pertaining to the Dahlia case."

Alistair raised an eyebrow. "The Dahlia case?" He brought a hand to his chest. "I was not aware that the Black Dahlia case was under the jurisdiction of the Chicago Police Department. I thought it was strictly Los Angeles Police Department's problem… and has it not been over seventy years?"

Leah could see why Jacob had called Alistair an asshole.

But before Leah could professionally give Alistair a piece of her mind, Jacob let out an obnoxious snort. "Oh, come on, you know we're not talking about that cold case from the forties."

Alistair's smirk told the detectives everything they needed to know. With the snap of his fingers, he got the attention of his butler who soon arrived and poured more of the red drink into Alistair's wine glass. The man downed most of it, and after placing the glass on the table, he waved away his employee.

"Apologies," Alistair said once the butler was out of sight. He caught sight of Leah's surely disgusted expression. That was not cranberry juice. "Now, where were we?" He smacked his lips a couple of times. "Ah yes, the Dahlia Murder. I know about the murder, perhaps even the circumstances to an extent, but I cannot give you many details."

Leah tilted her head.

"You can't, or you won't?"

"Cannot," Alistair responded to Jacob's question. Though – Leah couldn't believe she was even considering this – it appeared that the businessman didn't want to say anything because he didn't have permission. Like he was afraid of the consequences of speaking out of turn. Odd considering who the man was. "I have my inklings, but nothing has been confirmed. I prefer to stay out of others' business. It makes my job and life much more peaceful – "

"Did you know her?"

Alistair looked at Leah. "Who?"

Leah pulled out a folded piece of paper from her coat pocket and handed it over to the businessman. "Her."

Alistair studied the photo, expression blank. "Ah, the Dahlia," he said, voice detached. "Jessica Stanley."

Leah scooted to the edge of her seat. "You knew her, then?"

"Her?"

"Yes, Jessica Stanley."

Alistair took another sip of his drink and leaned back against the couch. He was relaxed, which meant that he wasn't intimated by the detectives' presence. That might not be a bad thing. "I do not see a point in lying to the authorities," he started, throwing in a dramatic sigh. "I have nothing to hide. So, yes, Detective Uley, I knew her. She was one of my ladies."

Holy shit.

"She had been in my stead for, I suppose, two years. It is such a shame what happened to her." Alistair shook his head. Perhaps, he was trying to convey empathy and sorrow. If that were the case, Alistair was doing a terrible job. "Such an unfortunate fate."

"So, you admit that she worked for you?" Jacob wanted to clarify. "Do you mind putting that in a statement?"

"Yes," Alistair said, "and no."

Jacob's eyes narrowed.

Well, Aisha did say Alistair didn't like to have anything on record.

"Why hire her?" Leah asked.

"Why not? She was an attractive, little thing. A university student looking for adventure, more excitement in her life, and money. She was also quite libertine with her tastes."

"She came to you for money?"

"She came to me for assistance," Alistair stated. "She was having trouble paying rent and tuition, and she wanted a loan that did not require a credit check," and then, "I will have you both know I am not a loan shark. I only issue loans for those in need with a fixed low-interest rate."

And something else, Leah thought. The man was not fooling her. "Nice to know." She glanced at her partner to her left; it appeared that Jacob wasn't interested in asking the questions. That was fine. "Did you issue her a loan?"

"I did not."

"Why not? It could've been a one-and-done thing. Why take her on as an employee?"

Jacob crossed his arms over his strong chest, eyeing the businessman hard as if anticipating Alistair to make a move, to attack. Jacob's animosity didn't escape Alistair, who found the whole thing amusing, which infuriated the detective even more.

"We are here for a conversation, are we not?" he asked, almost in a taunting manner that angered Jacob even more. "I did give her the loan," he said, "but she desired something more… fulfilling. She desired companionship with benefits. See, she liked the finer things in life, which, with her present financial situation, she would have never been able to… I made her an offer, and she took it. Quite eagerly, may I add."

So, Lauren was right about Jessica being a "sugar baby" of some sort.

Leah jotted down some words before asking, "And with whom was she seeking companionship?"

"The only people who could afford her tastes."

Alistair's unhelpful and obvious reply made Jacob grumble. The detective sat up in his seat with his arms still tightly crossed. "And I suppose you can't disclose your client list?"

"Discretion is expected in this business, Detective Black."

"Yes, of course, it is."

As the conversation reduced to silence, Leah considered the potential candidates: It had to be someone from the Cullen or Denali Family. Jessica had their marking tattooed onto her wrist. Edward Anthony Masen, the man who wanted her autopsy stopped, was a member of the Cullen Family –

But something told her it wasn't Masen.

No, it had to be someone bigger. Someone who had sent Masen to do their dirty work. The boss? Carlisle Cullen?

But while the Cullen patriarch had a youthful appearance, perhaps as someone in his late-twenties to early-thirties, he had always been blond. And although Carlisle was attractive enough, he didn't have that typical runway model look.

Or maybe she was thinking about two different men?

Leah was the one who ultimately broke the silence, "I think that will be for today," she said, checking with her partner, who seemed to agree with her. "Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Wallace – Actually, I'm sorry. There is one last thing: in your honest opinion, what do you think happened to Jessica Stanley?"

Jacob looked at the so-called matchmaker expectantly.

"Well…" Alistair stopped to let out a dramatic sigh. "I am sure you have heard of the saying: All that glisters is not gold. That comes from Shakespeare, I believe. From the Merchant of Venice, Act II, Scene Seven. Fantastic play. Have you read it?"

"Back at school," Leah quickly replied then asked, not wishing to change topics, "How about a potential suspect, in your opinion?

"I know you are only doing your jobs, but it would be within your best interests to let this case run cold. Not only for your sake but for the sake of this city, the sake of the Chicago Police Department." Alistair emitted a low, menacing snicker that caused a shiver to run down Leah's spine. "Even if you happen to find Miss Stanley's killer, I doubt you would be able to do much. Not with the Deal in place. I advise that you allow the families to handle it for themselves.

Families?

Was Alistair talking about the Olympic and the Volturi?

"That's not going to happen," Jacob hotly replied. "You know that."

Then Leah followed up with, "Mr. Wallace, answer me this: why would the families battle it out, as you say it, ever Jessica? A mere human? A college student with no connections?"

Jacob waited for a response.

Alistair chuckled darkly as he poured a glass of the red liquid. Blood. He took a long sip, making a satisfied sound as the blood entered his system. He then placed the glass on the table, separating him from the detectives before slowly licking away any lingering red droplets off his lips.

"Who said it was about her?"

As soon as the detectives returned to their car, Leah finally asked Jacob a question that had been on her mind for the past hour, "What's the deal between you two?"

Jacob glanced up at the high-rise through Leah's passenger window. The meeting with Alistair ended about fifteen minutes before, and Jacob was still in a mood. He then looked at his partner. "A few years back… he got a damn good C.I. killed," he said, turning the key in the ignition. "He gave us bad intel. Claimed it wasn't his fault."

"Was it his fault?" Leah asked; perhaps that was a dumb question. "The bad intel, did he give it on purpose?"

"Does it matter?" Jacob tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "He's an asshole. Always has been."

There was more to the story, but Leah wasn't going to pry. "I'm sorry," she would end up saying, "about the C.I."

Jacob shook his head. "Nothing to apologize for," and then softly, "Thanks."

"Are you telling me that Jessica Stanley was involved with a member of the Olympic and someway ended up in the crosshairs of a dispute between the Cullen, Denali and Volturi families, which might have led to her untimely death? Not only that, but you believe that she was one of Alistair's girls and was possibly intimately involved with a member of the Olympic?"

"Yes," Jacob told Captain Morris. The detectives were in the middle of yet another meeting with their supervisor, and to the detectives' surprise, Paul. Again. Apparently, Captain Lahote had some news for them. "Yeah, pretty much."

Before Morris could remark, Paul asked, "Do you know which member of the Olympic she was involved with?"

"No," Leah said. "Our source remained tight-lipped about that." She noticed the frustration on her captain's face. "I figured it had to be someone higher up. I mean, why else would a member of that crew try to convince Dr. Swan to stop Jessica's autopsy?"

"That member," Paul told Morris. "Edward Anthony Masen. Not much on him, but he's not some henchman."

"Given his circumstances, I doubt there would be," Leah said. "Like Captain Lahote said: he's a member of the Olympic." She took a deep breath. "Someone, I assume his boss sent Masen to the Medical Examiner. Someone wanted Masen to keep Dr. Swan quiet."

Morris rubbed his hands together before folding them on his desk. "How is the good doctor, by the way?"

"In good spirits, considering," Jacob said. "She hasn't reported anything else out of the ordinary."

"That's good," Morris said, barely masking his disinterest. "Alright, back to the Dahlia: Why on earth would she want to be involved in the Olympic? That's simply asking for trouble."

Because she was a fool, Leah wanted to say, but she didn't want to vocalize any victim blaming.

"She liked the lifestyle," she said instead. "She liked the money, the name brands, the all-exclusive trips. I mean, she was a part-time student and waitress. Maybe she thought being involved with them would take her places she had never been. Make some serious money. The kind of money she could only dream of. Leah paused. "I doubt she actually actively sought out the Olympic."

"Just had some bad luck," Jacob added. "Chose the wrong group of people."

"Understatement," Morris remarked, raising both eyebrows. "So, the Dahlia might have been caught in the middle. Who was the actual target, then?"

The detectives could not produce an answer.

"It's obvious that we're missing something big," Paul said. "The way the Dahlia was killed and displayed after the fact? That was personal. Like someone's sending us a message."

"A message?" Leah twisted her face. "For whom? The Olympic? I'm sure there are easier, less gory ways to – "

"No," Jacob said, "I think it was for us."

"Those people hate when we get involved in their mess," Morris reminded everyone. "That was part of the reason why the Deal was established. Why on earth would they want our attention now?"

That was actually a very good question.

"I mean, you're not wrong," Jacob argued, "but who else would the message be for? Whoever did this had to know that the police were going to get called. That this – what happened to Jessica – was going to be in the news."

"Like a said," Paul muttered, shaking his head, "it's obvious we're missing something." He turned his attention to the other captain. "Captain, I think we need to bring up our conversation from earlier. About Detective Black and Uley?"

The detectives shared a quick, puzzled look.

"What about us?" Jacob asked. "What are you – "

Morris held up a hand. "It has come to Captain Lahote's and my attention that this investigation may be more… complicated than we initially realized, and perhaps outside of the scope of this Violent Crimes Unit," he said with Paul nodding beside him. "Therefore, we have both decided that it would be best for you two to work alongside Captain Lahote's unit for the duration of this investigation."