Bella has never known when to leave well enough alone. But then, in her defense, things haven't been well enough since she arrived in Forks. Is she digging for answers? Digging herself deeper into the hole? She doesn't know.

This week's chapter coming early because I have a busy weekend!

It had been long enough since I'd driven the truck regularly that I killed the engine on my way to the Best Western. It was almost enough for me to give up and go home. But…

I need to know.

I knew I wasn't being very rational. But it was the only thing I had.

The hole in my chest ached. I leaned my head against the steering wheel and just breathed for a minute. Then I pulled into the far end of the parking lot.

I didn't know what, exactly, I was waiting for. I tried to picture myself as a plucky reporter on a stakeout. That was the future I wanted a few months ago… why is it so hard to imagine now?

I knew the reason. The only future I wanted was one that was no longer possible.

Around me, the sun was setting. Streetlights turned on. I found myself thinking about the last time I'd been out and around by myself after dark. That night in Port Angeles, when everything about my life had changed forever.

I didn't know how much time had passed. It seemed to be elastic these days. Hours passed in minutes and minutes stretched out into hours. But at some point, minutes or hours later, a car pulled into the lot. I ducked down, shielding my eyes from the headlights.

When I peeked out the window again, I saw Agent Downey walking into one of the rooms with a brown paper bag under one arm. My heart thumped.

Okay. I know where he's staying… what now?

There didn't seem to be a good answer. I hadn't really thought past the first step.

Something rapped sharply on the window of the truck. Startled, I whirled to see Agent Downey framed in the glass.

"I thought that was you, Miss Swan," he said, sounding completely unsurprised to see me lurking outside of his hotel room. "Would you like to come in?"

I would not. But how was I supposed to explain the fact that he'd caught me lurking outside of his hotel room?

He sighed. "Look, it's been a long day. I don't bite."

I remembered my purpose. I need to know why he's here. What he knows. If… if he gives up and goes away, maybe…

I couldn't let myself think that. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

Agent Downey slumped dramatically to one side. "D'we have to do this through the window? I could ask you the same thing. Come inside and let's both unburden ourselves over a cup of tea."

"Fine," I said, surprising at least one of us. I opened the door and he hopped neatly to avoid it, then offered me a hand. I ignored it and clambered out myself.

"Right, then," he said, and gestured toward the hotel as if he'd meant to do that the entire time. "After you."

We walked across the parking lot in tense silence. Agent Downey opened the door for me and waved me in.

Inside was… well, a hotel room. There were no computer arrays or corkboards dotted with pushpins and red string. I wasn't sure what I had expected, but it wasn't this. The agent's jacket was slung over a chair and the paper bag sat on a small table. He had unplugged the microwave and replaced it with a little portable burner. It wasn't at all untidy, but it gave the appearance of being lived in.

He's probably spent a lot of time in hotel rooms, I realized. A little knot started forming in my stomach, composed equally of I have walked into the room of an experienced FBI agent while in possession of a lot of secrets that he appears to want and how sad, to not have a place to call home.

"Can I use your bathroom?" I asked abruptly, as much to stall as because I was now realizing that I'd been sitting in the truck for a while.

"Be my guest." Agent Downey set a little pot over the burner. "English breakfast okay?"

I hesitated in the doorway. "I prefer Irish, but English is okay."

His eyes lit up. "Ah! A connoisseur! Can I interest you in a Scottish breakfast? You'll find it even stronger than the Irish."

So he is an actual person, huh? I felt myself in danger of liking him in spite of everything. "Scottish sounds good."

The bathroom was also neat. There were little empty toiletry bottles in the trash. A towel was draped over the shower curtain. Another perfectly pressed white button-up hung on the door.

He's trying to build a connection with you so he can get you to talk, I warned myself, staring at my face in the mirror. He's not a nice guy.

After I washed my hands, I left the water running and crept to the door, pressing my ear against it to see if I could hear anything.

"… I am not going to Seattle." Downey was talking in a heated whisper. "Brian and Kelly are more than capable of handling a couple of disappearances by themselves. I don't even know why the local yokels called the Bureau in the first place. I'm close to something here, Pugs. I can feel it."

I heard him walk to the other side of the room. He must be on the phone. I felt a little chill run through me at the passion in his voice.

"She walked into my room, Pugs," he hissed. "I'm so close I can—Christ, man. Her father would shoot me in the street. He still might. He's been stonewalling me at every turn. I'm trying not to scare her away."

I felt a flash of anger. Charlie's been hiding this from me this whole time, I thought, followed immediately by I've had the water running for a suspicious amount of time. I limped quietly back, turned the faucet off, and then dried my hands as loudly as possible. Outside, everything was silent.

Tea was brewing in identical white mugs when I walked out. The smell made the room feel… friendlier, somehow. Agent Downey smiled at me from where he sat on the bed. He'd discarded the tie and rolled up his sleeves.

"Please, have a seat." He gestured to the chair.

I sat down. "Why do you want to talk to me?"

"Why are you here?" he rejoined pleasantly.

I shrugged. "I dunno." Why am I here? I should just get up and walk out.

A timer went off and he hopped up, gliding over to the table. "Cream? Sugar?"

"No thanks," I said. I was already beginning to regret taking him up on his offer. But I was here, and I might as well not waste the opportunity.

He handed me a mug and resumed his seat. "Well?"

I took a sip of the tea. It was good, if still a little too hot. "Well?" I repeated.

Downey's eyes flashed. "You shouldn't take drinks from strange men, you know," he said, not ungently. "I'm surprised your father hasn't taught you better."

I felt cold. I hadn't even thought of that. He leaned forward and a little device peeked out of his shirt pocket. A light was blinking red. I stared at it, feeling even colder. I'm in way over my head.

He followed my gaze and laughed a little. "Sorry. Force of habit." With two fingers, he plucked the little device from his pocket and hit a button. The light turned off and he tossed it carelessly onto the bed.

"Just between us," he said, leaning forward again, "how did you break your leg?"

I blinked. That was not the first question I had expected to hear. "Sorry?"

"Cliff diving? Messing around on ATVs? I know what kids are like." He winked at me. "Don't worry, I won't tell the rangers."

I felt completely off-balance. To cover my confusion, I took another sip of the tea. "I was hiking. There was a landslide." I shrugged, trying to sound casual. "I don't know. I hit my head pretty hard. I don't remember most of it."

Downey nodded thoughtfully, although I couldn't tell if he believed me. "I've had my share of head injuries," he commented conspiratorially. "They can do a real number on you."

I sipped again. The tea was still too hot, but it didn't matter.

"You seem to be healing quickly," he commented cheerfully. "How's Forks treating you?"

I blinked again. "Good? I mean, I guess I like it here."

"How does it compare to Phoenix?" He must have seen my surprise, because he added, "I talked to your mother. D'you know, I was just at the field office there last year. We might have run into each other."

I'm pretty sure I would have remembered meeting someone as slick as you, I thought, but I kept it to myself. "There are things that I miss, but I like it here," I repeated.

Downey blew on his tea to cool it, then finally took his first sip. "Tell me. What do you like?"

This isn't what I expected at all. He sounds more like… Phil, taking an interest in me, than… FBI Agent Downey.

"I've gotten used to the weather," I said cautiously. "I think I do like the rain." He took another sip and I mirrored him. "The school is better. No metal detectors."

He laughed like I'd told a joke. "Is it the subjects or the people?"

"Both." I wrapped both hands around my mug. Across from me, so did Downey. "My English teacher is great. Trigonometry… not so much."

He laughed again, and this time I let out a little chuckle of my own. "I always hated math," he confessed. "My dad thought I should go into accounting, but I'm too much of a people person."

I bet. "How did you end up in the FBI?"

"One of my friends applied and I tagged along for a joke." He shrugged. "It stuck."

"I see." I was almost halfway through the tea already.

"What about you?" he asked, gesturing to me with the tea. "Do you have plans for after you graduate?"

The empty space inside me yawned. "WSU has a good journalism program."

"Ah," he murmured over the edge of the mug. "I see. Hence the parking-lot stakeout." His eyes were smiling.

He looks a lot… nicer… when he smiles, I thought to myself. Maybe he isn't that bad.

"Have you been following the news about the missing girl?" he added. "Or is true crime not your area?"

I hadn't, really. "I've heard a little," I said, "but I've been pretty housebound. You know, what with the…" I gestured to my leg.

"Was she a friend of yours?" He sounded exactly the right amount of interested, like an old friend catching up over coffee.

My heart started beating a little faster. I have nothing to do with that. Why would he be asking me about it? "Not really. We hang out with very different crowds."

He nodded. "You sound like you didn't get along."

Is it that obvious? I knew I was blushing. "I'm sorry. She hasn't always been very nice to me. But I don't wish her any ill. I've heard people say that she might have run away. Apparently her parents kinda suck."

"Kind of a mean girl, huh? You ever watch that movie?"

I had no idea what he was talking about. "Maybe?"

"I've heard it's pretty good. Who did Lauren hang out with?" He connected the two sentences seamlessly, like it was perfectly natural that one should follow the other.

I laughed helplessly. "I dunno. The jocks. The cheer team. She has her little clique. I don't know any of them all that well."

"Oh?" He sipped from his mug very casually. "Who are you usually hanging out with?"

Nobody, lately. I thought of unread texts and unreturned calls. "There's a bunch of us who hang out together. It's pretty assorted. Nerds, outdoorsy people. Student orgs. I don't know. We all get along."

"Toss some names at me," he suggested, beckoning with his free hand. "I've been meeting a lot of people lately."

"Um. Jessica. Angela. Samantha. Mike. Tyler. Eric."

"Eric," he said thoughtfully. "Is he the one you're dating?"

"I'm not dating anyone," I muttered, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"Oh? You broke up?"

"I was not dating Eric," I said, a little more snappishly than I wanted.

"My bad," the agent said, gesturing apologetically. "But you are dating someone, surely? Excuse my boldness, but you're a very pretty young woman. I can't imagine that none of the locals have noticed."

I opened my mouth, teetering on the edge of a lie. We weren't really keeping it a secret… if he asks someone, they'll tell him.

"I was dating someone," I said finally. "We… broke up… a few weeks ago."

More than a few weeks. I realized. It happened just before spring break, and… finals was last week. I really lost track of time.

Downey made a very sympathetic sound. "I'm sorry to hear it. Who should I carry an unprofessional grudge against?"

I hid my smile in the tea. "You don't need to do that."

"All right," he said agreeably, "who should I pity, then?"

He probably already knows. "Edward Cullen."

He put one hand over his heart. "What a fool."

I realized that his accent had faded. I wonder why? "You sound… different than when we met."

Downey looked surprised. "Good memory. I've always been a little bit of a chameleon. I end up with whatever the local accent is if I stay long enough." He eyed me surreptitiously. "You know, that kind of attention to detail is exactly what the Bureau looks for. You should add Quantico to your list of career options."

"I'll think about it," I said neutrally. I had hit the bottom of my tea and it felt like a sign that it was time to go. I had been there for too long already. "Look, my dad will be wondering where I am."

"Runs a tight ship?" Downey smiled. "Don't let me keep you. But I'd love to chat again sometime. About Quantico, if nothing else. I can put in a good word for you."

"Maybe," I said. It was a good excuse to come back. I felt like I was no closer to figuring out why Agent Downey was in Forks. But I knew the information was there, if I kept digging for it.

"Drop by anytime," he said companionably. "Here's my card."

I took the card. He walked me to the door and waved goodbye.

I waved back. I wish I knew what you wanted.

"Take care," he said, with a smile. "Wouldn't want you to break another leg."

I worried about that comment—and his first question—the whole way home. Does he know the landslide was faked? Has he found something linking me—us—to what happened with James? What does he want? Why is he really here?

I was no closer to answers by the time I pulled up in front of the house.