AN: Thank you for your reviews! I appreciate all of your feedback! :)
The first hints of morning crept through the gaps in the curtains, dappling the room in muted hues of amber and gray. The air was calm, holding the quiet intimacy of a world not yet awake. Bella stirred, her body sinking deeper into the plush comfort of her mattress as the pleasant ache between her legs reminded her of the night before. A faint, satisfied smile tugged at her lips.
Four orgasms will definitely do that to you.
She stretched languidly, her fingers brushing the edge of the sheets. Beside her, Edward's chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, his face softened in sleep. His arm was draped loosely over her waist, anchoring her to him even in his dreams. Bella turned her head to watch him, her gaze tracing the sharp line of his jaw and the way his hair fell messily across his forehead.
Bella's heart swelled as she watched him. She reached out tentatively, her fingers lightly tangling in the wild mess of his hair. The strands were soft, and she smiled as they slipped between her fingers. He looked so different like this, so open and vulnerable.
She was overcome by a wave of emotions, her chest tightening in a way that felt both terrifying and exhilarating. Bella had been in relationships before, but she had always kept a part of herself locked away, too afraid to let anyone see the depths of her soul. No one had ever made her feel safe enough to let those walls down—until Edward.
It hit her, all at once, like a quiet, but powerful storm.
This is love.
Not the kind of fleeting, surface-level infatuation she'd convinced herself was enough in the past. This was deep, unrelenting, and rooted in a sense of safety and belonging she had never experienced before. It wasn't just that Edward made her feel seen or cared for—it was the way he understood her without needing words, how he carried his own pain but still found room for hers.
Bella swallowed hard, her fingers brushing lightly against his temple. She'd never said those three words to anyone before, romantically. Never even come close. But now, in this quiet moment, she knew the truth. She loved him. Fully, deeply, and without reservation.
Edward shifted, his nose twitching slightly as if her touch had tickled him. Bella couldn't help the giggle that escaped her lips, the sound light and full of warmth.
His eyes fluttered open slowly, adjusting to the morning light. For a moment, he blinked groggily, and then his gaze landed on her. A brilliant smile spread across his face, one that reached his eyes and lit up his entire face.
"Good morning," he murmured, his voice still rough with sleep.
Bella's heart skipped a beat at the sight of his smile. "Good morning," she replied softly, her fingers still gently combing through his hair.
Edward stretched, his hand reaching out to rest on her waist, pulling her a little closer. "You're staring," he teased, his smile turning playful.
Bella felt her cheeks warming as her grin grew. "Maybe I am."
He chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "See something you like?"
She leaned in, her lips brushing his softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Everything."
They kissed – it was slow, unrushed, unlike last night. Bella felt consumed by this feeling that was swelling so deeply in her chest, but she kept the words down. She wanted to do this right – she didn't want to mess it up.
"Any chance we play hooky today?" Bella murmured, pulling back only slightly. Edward chuckled and shook his head, his nose brushing against hers. "Solomon would string me up by my balls – we've had this conversation, yeah?"
"Ugh, it's so tempting," Bella groaned, tossing herself backwards.
"So tempting," Edward agreed, pressing one more quick kiss to her lips before hopping out of the bed. He walked over the Bella's dresser, still completely naked, and she ogled him shamelessly from her spot on the bed. Edward rifled through the drawer he'd unofficially claimed, pulling out some clothes he kept there for mornings like this. As he turned back toward the bed, he caught Bella's unapologetic stare.
Edward smirked, one eyebrow quirking up. "You wanna take a picture, Swan?"
Bella's eyes glinted with mischief. "You offering?"
"You're bad," Edward growled playfully, pointing at her. Bella, unable to help herself, tossed the sheets off of her body, and arched a single eyebrow. "What you going to do about it, Masen?" she asked, her tone deeper. Edward's gaze darkened considerably, and he took in a deep breath, casting a quick look at the clock on her nightstand. Then, in three swift strides, he was back at the bed, pinning her with a devilish grin. "Guess we're gonna be late," he murmured, before capturing her mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing her delighted peels of laughter.
…
Edward and Bella strolled into Sam's, the small coffee shop where their paths had first crossed. The place was alive with the morning rush—baristas shouting orders, customers chatting, and the rich aroma of fresh coffee filling the air. It was cozy chaos, and it felt oddly grounding.
As they reached the counter and ordered, Bella gave Edward a sidelong glance, a smirk tugging at her lips. "If they mess up my order again, I'm declaring war."
"War, huh? What's your strategy? Overthrow the barista and implement a new coffee regime?"
"Step one: take hostages," Bella quipped, her tone mock-serious. "Step two: demand unlimited lattes. Step three:—"
"—Burn the place to the ground when they give you skim milk instead of oat," Edward interrupted, his grin widening.
"Exactly," Bella said, pointing at him. "You get it."
The barista handed over their drinks, looking mildly concerned at the exchange. Bella noticed and gave them a sheepish smile. "Don't worry. Your oat milk supply is safe. For now."
Edward bit back a laugh as they stepped outside, the crisp morning air brushing against their faces. Bella took a sip of her coffee, sighing in satisfaction. "Alright, truce. They nailed it this time."
Edward raised his cup in mock salute. "To small victories."
Bella shook her head, smiling. "Speaking of small victories, I can't believe I let you talk me into this. Solomon's going to sniff out this coffee run like a bloodhound."
Edward shrugged, taking a sip of his drink. "If he asks, we're team-building."
"Oh, is that what we're calling it?" Bella teased, arching an eyebrow.
"Yup," Edward said smoothly. "Vital workplace morale booster. Essential for productivity."
"Pretty sure he'll just call it 'slacking,'" Bella said, grinning. "And then he'll yell at you."
Edward tilted his head, smirking. "Me? I distinctly recall you dragging me in here."
Bella's laugh rang out, bright and unfiltered. "Oh, you are so full of shit. But fine. You want me to take the blame? I'll tell him it was all my idea and you're just a helpless, innocent bystander."
Edward leaned in slightly, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down Bella's spine. "Helpless and innocent? I don't think anyone's ever accused me of that."
Bella's smirk faltered for a split second, heat creeping up her neck, but she recovered quickly, nudging him playfully. "I'm revising my war strategy. Step one: throw Edward under the bus."
Edward shook his head, laughing. "Always the escape plan with you, Swan."
"Gotta keep you on your toes, Masen," Bella shot back.
They were halfway down the block when Bella's radio crackled to life. A dispatcher's voice came through urgently. "All units, we have reports of a female screaming and glass shatter inside a residence at 1232 Fremont Street. Possible domestic disturbance."
Bella immediately raised her radio to her mouth. "This is Swan, 2-Adam-12, plainclothes officers rolling in on that, we're three blocks out. Responding now."
"Copy that, 2-Adam-12."
Edward didn't hesitate, matching her stride as they jogged back to her car. The coffee was forgotten as they climbed in, Bella quickly starting the engine and pulling off down the street, blue lights flashing at the front of the car.
The street was quiet as they pulled up and quickly assessed the scene. An older woman stood outside a neighboring house, wringing her hands nervously.
Bella approached her, her voice calm. "Ma'am, I'm Detective Swan. Can you tell me what happened?"
The woman spoke quickly, her words tumbling over each other. "I heard screaming from next door. A woman yelling, glass breaking. It sounded awful. I… I didn't know what to do, so I called."
Bella placed a steadying hand on her arm. "You did the right thing. Do you know how many people live in the house?"
"Just her," the woman said, her eyes wide with fear. "But she has visitors sometimes. I don't know who."
As Bella tried to extract more details, Edward's attention shifted to a car parked in the alley behind the house. Something about it seemed off—the way it was idling, as if someone inside was waiting for a chance to leave unnoticed.
"Bella," Edward said quietly, nodding toward the alley. "Car in the back."
Bella glanced over, her eyes narrowing. "Go," she said. "I'll handle this."
Edward took off toward the alley, but as he neared the car, the driver suddenly hit the gas, tires screeching as the vehicle sped away. Edward cursed under his breath and raised his radio to his mouth, his voice sharp. "2-Adam-15, I got a car fleeing in the alley way! A black sedan, Washington license plate Charlie-Adam-Two-Nine-Seven-Five, suspect is fleeing westbound on Fremont at the area of the distress call!"
"Copy that, 2-Adam-15, suspect fleeing westbound on Fremont."
Bella cautiously approached the house, her weapon drawn. The front door was slightly ajar, the frame splintered as if forced open. She pushed it open wider, stepping into the chaos inside. The place was in slight disarray, things strewn across the floor and pictures frames knocked to the ground. Bella stepped in further, shards of glass crunching under her boots.
"Seattle PD!" Bella called out, her voice echoing through the silent house. "Anyone here?"
No response.
Bella moved carefully through the living room, her pulse quickened as she followed the trail of destruction into the kitchen, her instincts screaming danger.
The sight stopped her cold. Blood was splattered across the white tiles, smeared in arcs and pools that told a story of violence. In the middle of the carnage lay a young woman—her body twisted unnaturally, one leg bent awkwardly beneath her. She was gasping for air, her chest rising and falling in shallow, labored movements. Her face was a mask of agony, marred by deep bruises blooming in purples and blues, and a jagged cut ran along her temple, fresh blood dripping down her neck and pooling on the floor.
Her right eye was swollen shut, the skin around it dark and puffy, while the other fluttered weakly, struggling to stay open. A trembling hand clutched her abdomen, where her shirt was soaked with blood, the dark stain spreading outward. Glass fragments glittered in her hair, which was matted with sweat and more streaks of red. Dry, wheezing gasps rattled her chest as they stuttered past her slit lips, blood caking the corners.
Bella dropped to her knees beside her, adrenaline masking the cold tile beneath her legs. She reached out, placing a steadying hand on the woman's shoulder, the warmth of her palm met with the sickly stickiness of blood. "Hey, hey, I'm here to help," Bella said. Her heart was pounding, but she kept her tone gentle, anchoring herself for the victim's sake. "Just hang on, okay?"
Grabbing her radio, Bella pressed the button with a blood-slicked thumb. "Dispatch, I need an ambulance at 1232 Fremont immediately. Victim down with severe injuries—multiple lacerations, likely internal trauma."
"Copy that, ambo en route."
The woman's uninjured eye fluttered open, glassy with pain and fear. Bella met her gaze, offering what she hoped was reassurance. "Don't try to talk," Bella urged softly. "Save your strength. Help is on the way."
The woman's lips moved soundlessly, her voice lost to the effort of breathing. Her fingers twitched weakly against Bella's hand before going limp. Bella leaned in closer, her heart sinking. "No, no, stay with me," she whispered, her grip firm, but careful. "You're going to be okay."
The metallic scent of blood was thick in the air, mingling with the faint tang of sweat and broken ceramic. Bella's eyes darted across the room, taking in the shattered plates and overturned chairs, trying to piece together what had happened. But her attention snapped back to the woman as she began to wheeze, each breath rasping painfully in her chest.
Bella's free hand stroked the woman's hair gently, her voice breaking as she whispered, "Hold on, please. Just hold on."
Bella's breathing quickened, her eyes trying to keep hold of the woman's gaze, but her swollen eyes kept trying to close. "No. No – hey, stay with me. We're going to get you out of here. Just stay with me."
Edward burst through the front door moments later, his gun drawn. He immediately took in the scene, his expression darkening.
"I lost the car," he said, his voice tight. "But the plate's out. Units are looking."
Bella didn't respond, and Edward crept forward, defenses still up. He casted a look where Bella was, now sitting back on her haunches, her lips set in a grim line. "Bella?" Still not responding, Edward dropped his gun, moving towards her. "Hey. Bella, you alright?"
Bella jumped, and turned, her eyes finding Edward's. "Sorry. Sorry, yeah, I'm okay." Edward paused, catching her panicked expression before she was able to put on the mask to conceal it. He nodded, unconvinced, and lifted his weapon again. "The house clear?"
"Um, not yet," Bella murmured, turning back to the victim. She drew in a deep breath and swallowed.
Edward quickly called for an update on the medic's arrival, his calm but urgent tone cutting through the radio chatter as he cleared the rest of the house. "They're a minute out," he said, crouching beside Bella. "How is she?"
"Bad," Bella replied, her voice low, her fingers giving the woman's hand one more squeeze. "Really, really bad."
The sound of tires screeching to a halt outside signaled the arrival of the ambulance. Red and blue lights bathed the walls as paramedics rushed in, brushing past Solomon, who had just arrived in his unmarked SUV. He was followed closely by Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Jacob, their presence adding weight to the scene.
Solomon's gaze swept the area before landing on Bella and Edward emerging from the house, both looking shaken. He approached quickly, his expression grim.
"What happened?" he asked, his tone cutting through the noise.
Bella clasped her hands together, ignoring the tacky feeling of drying blood on her skin. She gestured toward the ambulance, where paramedics worked frantically to stabilize the victim. "Critical. Severe trauma—bruises, lacerations, likely internal injuries. Uh... murder weapon nowhere to be seen. We've got a fleeing suspect in a black sedan; Edward's already called it in."
Edward nodded. "Suspect's driving a black sedan. We're hoping for a hit soon."
Solomon's jaw tightened. "Good work. Let's lock this place down and start canvassing. Someone knows something."
Across the street, Rosalie and Emmett were speaking with another neighbor, an older man with a stern face and a sharp gaze. He adjusted his thick glasses as he spoke, his voice low, but clear.
"I didn't see much, but I did notice a man hanging around the house earlier," the neighbor said. "Didn't recognize him—he wasn't from around here."
Rosalie raised an eyebrow. "What did he look like?"
The man thought for a moment, his brow furrowing. "Tall, maybe six feet. Dark hoodie, jeans. He kept his head down, but he was pacing, looking around like he was waiting for something."
Emmett leaned in slightly. "What time was this?"
"About an hour before the screaming started," the man replied. "It was strange enough that I almost called the police, but then he disappeared around the side of the house."
Rosalie exchanged a glance with Emmett. "Anything else stand out? Did you see him leave?"
The neighbor shook his head. "No, but not long after, all hell broke loose. Screaming, glass breaking… I looked out the window again, but by then, the guy was gone."
Emmett nodded, jotting down notes. "Thank you. This helps a lot."
Rosalie handed the man her card. "If you remember anything else, even the smallest detail, give us a call."
The man nodded solemnly. "Will do. Hope you catch him."
The team regrouped near Solomon's SUV. Rosalie and Emmett relayed what they'd learned about the suspicious man, while Jasper and Jacob had eyewitnesses who reported similar accounts.
Solomon listened carefully, his arms crossed. "We've got a timeline starting to form. Our guy was here before the attack, likely waiting for the right moment. He's calculated but sloppy—fled in a car that might lead us straight to him."
Bella stepped forward. "If he's connected to the victim, we'll find something in her background. But right now, we need to know who she is and why she was targeted."
Solomon nodded. "Agreed. Rosalie, Emmett, get what identification you can on the victim and start running her name through the system. See if she has any connections to known offenders. Jasper, Jacob, stay here and continue canvassing. See if the victim has any home surveillance cameras."
He turned to Bella and Edward. "You two, follow up on that license plate. The car's our best lead."
"On it," Edward said, his voice resolute.
Solomon gave a curt nod. "Let's move. We're not letting this one slip through our fingers."
...
The precinct buzzed with controlled chaos as the team returned, each member settling into their usual rhythms. Solomon stood at the center of the squad room, arms crossed, as Bella, Edward, Rosalie, Emmett, Jasper, and Jacob filed in.
Rosalie and Emmett took their places at a computer, while Bella and Edward stood by their desks. Alice entered from her tech hub, holding a tablet loaded with the latest intel.
"Alright, listen up," Solomon's voice cut through the steady buzz of the squad room, pulling everyone's attention. He stood at the front, arms crossed, the tension in his stance reflecting the seriousness of the case. "First order of business: the victim. What do we know?"
Alice, perched at her workstation, slid her tablet toward Rosalie, who quickly brought up the victim's profile on the large screen. Rosalie's sharp eyes scanned the information as she spoke. "Her name is Catherine Brennen. Thirty-two, Seattle local. No major criminal history—just a couple of minor infractions from her college days. Looks like she worked as a freelance graphic designer."
Emmett, leaning casually against his desk, frowned. "Any history of domestic disputes? Restraining orders? Anything?"
Rosalie shook her head. "Nothing reported. She's clean."
Edward leaned forward, his brows knit in thought. "Doesn't add up. Someone targets her out of the blue? There's gotta be something we're missing."
"No in-home security cameras, either," Jasper said, frustrated. "I mean, how common is that this day and age?"
Before anyone could respond, Bella's phone buzzed on the desk. She glanced down at the screen, her expression tightening. "We got a hit on that license plate," she said, holding the phone up for Edward to see. "Rodney Mitchell. Lives about ten blocks south of the scene."
Solomon nodded, his jaw tightening as he mulled it over. "Bella, Edward—get over there. See what this guy knows. If he's connected, bring him in."
...
The neighborhood they drove to felt like it was stuck in time, a mix of faded paint and overgrown lawns. Rodney Mitchell's house was no exception—chipped white siding, a sagging porch, and a muffled TV blaring inside. Bella and Edward exchanged a glance as they climbed the worn steps.
Bella rapped firmly on the door. "Rodney Mitchell? Seattle PD. We need a word."
The noise from inside dimmed before the door cracked open. Rodney stood in the doorway, a man in his late forties with a scruffy beard and sunken eyes that hinted at a hard life. His stained tank top and defensive posture only added to the image.
"What the hell do you want?" Rodney snapped, his gaze darting between Bella and Edward.
Bella held up her badge, her voice firm but calm. "We're investigating a homicide. Your car was seen fleeing the scene early this morning."
Rodney's face twisted with indignation. "Homicide? I don't know what you're talking about."
Edward stepped forward slightly, his presence unyielding. "Mind explaining why your car was there, then? It's a hell of a coincidence."
Rodney scoffed, leaning against the doorframe. "I don't owe you an explanation. Ain't killed nobody."
Bella crossed her arms, her expression unflinching. "Look, Rodney, we can do this the easy way, or we can take you in and sort it out downtown. Maybe take a closer look at those unpaid speeding tickets while we're at it."
Rodney's lip curled into a sneer as he spat at Bella's feet, his glare filled with defiance. "There's your answer."
Before Bella could respond, Edward's patience snapped. He grabbed Rodney by the front of his shirt and shoved him against the doorframe, his voice low and sharp. "You're about to be arrested for obstruction. Now, unless you want things to get worse, start talking. Who was driving your car?"
Rodney's bravado faltered, and he glanced away. "Alright, alright! Back off!" Edward released him, but his stance remained tense, ready for another outburst.
Rodney adjusted his shirt, muttering under his breath before answering. "I loaned it to my brother last week. Haven't seen him or the damn car since."
Bella arched a brow. "Your brother's name?"
Rodney hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face. "Peter. Peter Mitchell."
Edward's lips twitched into a sarcastic smile. "Pleasure talking to you, Rodney."
They turned and stepped off of Rodney Mitchell's sagging porch and Bella winced at the string of curses that were muttered by him as he slammed the door behind him. She shared an amused look with Edward. "Better keep your eyes open at night for that one, Masen."
Edward snorted and shook his head as they slipped back into her car. "I really wanted him to give me a fucking reason."
Bella just laughed before pulling her phone from her pocket and tapped Alice's contact. The phone rang twice before Alice's chipper voice came through. "What's up, Swan? Got something juicy?"
"Alice, I need you to run a full background check on a Peter Mitchell," Bella said. "Brother to Rodney Mitchell. See if you can find an address."
Alice's keyboard clicks were audible through the phone. "Peter Mitchell. Got it. Gimme a second."
Edward leaned back against the car, watching Bella with a faint smirk. "Bet Alice has his tax records before we even get to the car."
Bella arched a brow at him but didn't reply, focusing on Alice's quick typing.
"Alright, here we go," Alice chimed in after a beat. "Peter Mitchell, address listed as 854 Wilmore Avenue, West Seattle. No arrests, just a speeding ticket from last year. Lives alone, works remotely as an IT consultant. Doesn't even have social media—what kind of millennial is this?"
"Not sure, but can you send me this info?"
"Already done," Alice said smugly. "By the way, if this guy turns out to be shady, let me know. I love when the quiet ones have a secret."
"Thanks, Alice," Bella replied, ending the call.
Sliding her phone back into her pocket, Bella looked at Edward. "Wilmore Avenue, West Seattle. Let's see if Peter's as innocent as his record says."
Edward straightened up, brushing nonexistent dust from his jacket. "Lead the way, Swan."
…
Wilmore Avenue was a far cry from Rodney's neighborhood. The houses here were modest but well-kept, with neatly trimmed lawns and clean driveways. It was the kind of place where everything looked perfectly normal—until you started asking questions.
"This guy's practically nonexistent," Edward said, breaking the silence as they pulled up a few houses down from Peter Mitchell's address. "No social media presence, no record, nothing. He's either the dullest guy in Seattle or he's got something to hide."
Bella glanced at him. "Or both. Let's see which one it is."
They approached on foot, their movements cautious, but deliberate. Peter's house was small and beige, tucked neatly into the quiet row of homes.A car sat in the driveway, but it wasn't the black sedan they were looking for. As Bella and Edward approached, they noticed the blinds shift slightly—a sign that someone was watching.
Bella knocked firmly on the door. "Peter Mitchell? Seattle PD. We'd like to ask you a few questions."
The door opened slowly, revealing a man in his early thirties. He was of average build, with short brown hair and a wary expression. His eyes flicked between Bella and Edward, his posture tense.
"Officers," Peter said cautiously, his hand tightening on the doorframe. "What's this about?"
"We're investigating a homicide," Bella replied, her tone even. "Your name came up, and we'd like to ask you a few questions."
Peter's eyes widened slightly, but he quickly masked his surprise. "A homicide? I… I don't know anything about that."
Edward leaned slightly to the side, trying to get a look into the house. It was tidy, nothing out of place, but there was an odd lack of personal touches—no family photos, no clutter. "Mind if we come in?" he asked, his voice steady.
Peter hesitated, his lips pressing into a thin line. "Sure," he said reluctantly, opening the door wider. "Come in."
The interior of the house was as unremarkable as its exterior. Neutral colors, sparse furniture, and an almost clinical neatness. Bella's eyes swept the living room, cataloging every detail.
"Nice place," Edward said, his tone conversational. "You live alone?"
Peter nodded, sitting stiffly on the edge of a well-worn couch. "Yeah. Just me."
Bella remained standing, her arms crossed. "Where were you this morning at approximately 8:15 AM, Peter?"
Peter blinked, his face carefully neutral. "Home. I didn't go anywhere."
Edward raised an eyebrow. "Anyone who can confirm that?"
"No. I was alone."
Bella exchanged a glance with Edward. "Your brother Rodney says you've been using his car. Mind explaining why the car you've been borrowing was seen fleeing the scene of a crime?"
Peter's composure slipped for a moment, his eyes narrowing. "Rodney said that? Figures. He's always trying to drag me into his messes."
"So you weren't driving the car?" Bella pressed.
Peter opened his mouth to answer, but something flickered across his face—hesitation, guilt. "No. I haven't even seen Rodney's car in days."
Edward leaned in slightly. "Mind if we take a look around?"
"Go ahead. You won't find anything."
Bella and Edward conducted a quick search, but the house appeared spotless—no signs of struggle, no evidence linking Peter to the crime. As they regrouped in the living room, Bella's frustration was evident. Peter was watching them carefully and Edward turned to him, eyes skeptical. He stepped closer, his voice quiet but insistent. "If you're covering for your brother, Peter, now's the time to come clean."
Peter's posture slumped slightly, his expression strained. "Look, I don't know what Rodney told you, but I don't have his car, and I don't know anything about a murder."
Bella studied him for a moment, her instincts tingling. "Alright, Peter," she said finally. "But we'll be back if your story doesn't check out." She and Edward headed to the door, Peter shuffling behind them. He didn't respond to her statement, his gaze dropping to the floor as he shut the door.
Edward and Bella headed back to the car.
"What do you think?" Edward asked as they slid into their seats.
Bella sighed, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel. "I think he's scared. Whether it's of Rodney, us, or something else... I don't know. But he's definitely hiding something."
…
Back at the precinct, the team clustered around the whiteboard, now filled with photos, notes, and string connecting the faces of Peter and Rodney Mitchell, Catherine Brennen, and other key details. The frustration in the room was evident as they worked to piece together what they knew.
Solomon tapped Peter's picture with his pen. "So, Peter Mitchell—IT consultant, no priors. But something's not adding up. His lifestyle doesn't match his income. Alice flagged some unusual cash withdrawals—two grand in one hit, three days ago. Not the kind of behavior you expect from someone who's supposedly living paycheck to paycheck."
"How does someone like that get two grand in cash?" Jasper asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Exactly," Solomon said. "Could be innocent, could be a red flag. Either way, it's enough to push for a warrant if we need it."
Jacob frowned, drumming his fingers on his desk. "Witness ID doesn't clear anything up either. Someone thinks they saw Peter near the scene, but they're not certain."
"It's thin," Bella muttered, crossing her arms. "Peter's either a terrible liar, or he's caught up in something way over his head."
Rosalie, who had been quietly typing away at her desk, suddenly straightened. Her fingers flew over her keyboard, and her eyes narrowed in focus. "Wait a second… how did I miss this?"
"What is it?" Bella asked, stepping closer.
Rosalie turned her monitor toward the group, her expression sharp. "Catherine Brennen wasn't just some random woman. Her maiden name was Brennen, but she used to be Catherine Domani."
Jacob arched an eyebrow, tossing a small stress ball into the air. "That supposed to mean something to us?"
Rosalie glanced at him, unimpressed. "Domani. As in Seven Domani."
Edward furrowed his brow. "Who the hell is Seven Domani?"
Rosalie sighed and pulled up a webpage, projecting it onto the large screen at the front of the room. The rest of the team gathered closer as a flashy website loaded, displaying a man with a camera and an over-the-top grin. "Seven Domani. He's a big-time vlogger, with like fifty million YouTube subscribers. Lifestyle content, pranks, stunts—you name it. My nieces won't stop talking about him."
Bella's eyes narrowed as she read over the profile. "And Catherine was married to him?"
"Yeah," Rosalie confirmed. "They divorced last year. It was all over the media—messy, public, and full of accusations."
"What kind of accusations?" Edward asked, leaning in slightly.
Rosalie scrolled through headlines, her expression darkening. "Financial disputes, emotional abuse… nothing criminal officially, but there were whispers. She accused him of controlling behavior, and he claimed she was trying to ruin his reputation. It got nasty."
Bella frowned. "If Seven Domani's tied to Catherine, that could be our motive."
"Or at least a lead worth chasing," Edward added.
Solomon nodded, his expression grim. "Rosalie, you and Emmett pay Seven a visit. If he's connected to Catherine's murder, we need to know."
Rosalie stood, grabbing her jacket. "Got it. And something tells me this guy's not going to play nice."
Emmett grinned as he followed her out. "Good. Neither do we."
…
Rosalie and Emmett cruised down the highway in Rosalie's Dodge, the hum of the engine and the occasional squawk of the police radio filling the silence. Emmett leaned back in his seat, one arm draped casually on the window ledge, his fingers drumming an offbeat rhythm against the dashboard. He glanced over at Rosalie, who was laser-focused on the road, her jaw set like she was daring the world to try her.
"You know," Emmett drawled, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, "one of these days, I'm gonna drive."
Rosalie didn't even look at him, her lips twitching slightly. "Over my dead body, McCarty."
Emmett smirked. "Come on, Rose. You've seen me drive before."
"Exactly why I'm not handing over my fucking keys," Rosalie shot back dryly. "The last time you drove, you almost ran over a pedestrian. In aparking lot."
"They came outta nowhere!" Emmett defended, throwing his hands up. "And they were texting. That's on them."
Rosalie raised an eyebrow, finally sparing him a glance. "Sure, and I suppose the curb you introduced to my car last month was checking its Instagram feed?"
Emmett grinned. "That curb had it coming."
Rosalie rolled her eyes but couldn't help the small smile tugging at her lips. "Just keep dreaming, Em. You'll be in the driver's seat when pigs fly."
Emmett chuckled. "One day, Rosie. One day."
As they turned off the main road and into Medina, the atmosphere shifted. The streets grew quieter, lined with meticulously groomed hedges and sprawling estates that screamed wealth. Emmett whistled low as they approached a massive wrought-iron gate.
"Damn," he muttered, eyeing the house. It was all glass and sharp angles, like something out of a billionaire's wet dream. "Living the dream, huh? This guy's got more money than sense."
Rosalie, ever unimpressed, leaned forward to press the intercom. "Yeah, well, let's see if that money can buy him an alibi."
After a brief crackle, a man's voice came through the speaker, smooth and professional.
"Yes?"
"Seattle PD," Rosalie said, holding her badge up to the small camera. "We need to speak with Seven Domani about something. It's urgent."
There was a long pause while Rosalie's fingers tapped impatiently on the steering wheel. Just as Emmett opened his mouth to comment, the gates slowly creaked open.
"Guess that's our invitation," Emmett said, the grin back on his face. Rosalie pulled forward through the gates, following the long, perfectly paved driveway toward the grand entrance of the house.
They parked and stepped out, their boots crunching on the gravel. A sharply dressed man in a tailored suit emerged from the front door, his expression cool and guarded as he approached.
"I'm A, Mr. Domani's manager," the man said, his tone clipped. Emmett's eyebrow shot up at him introducing himself as a singular letter. "What's this about?"
Rosalie flashed her badge again. "I'm Detective Hale, and this is Detective McCarty. We need to speak with Mr. Domani about the murder of his ex-wife."
A's eyes narrowed, and he crossed his arms. "Mr. Domani isn't home right now."
Emmett folded his arms, his towering presence adding weight to their side of the conversation. "That right? Mind if we take a look around? Maybe he's just hiding under one of these gold-plated couches."
A's jaw twitched, his professional demeanor slipping. "I assure you, detectives, he's not here. And unless you have a warrant—"
Before A could finish, the front door burst open, and out came Seven Domani, clad in a ridiculously flamboyant silk robe, boxer shorts, and a white tank top, clutching a half-empty smoothie. His hair looked like it had lost a fight with a leaf blower.
"Cops?" Seven yelped commically, his eyes widening as he caught sight of Rosalie and Emmett. Without missing a beat, he turned and bolted back into the house.
Rosalie stared for half a second before muttering, "Oh, for fuck's sake." She took off after him, already shouting over her shoulder, "Emmett, move your ass!"
"On it!" Emmett barked, hot on her heels.
Seven's bare feet slapped against the marble floors as he sprinted through the expansive house, like a man who'd trained for this exact scenario. He knocked over a painfully priceless looking vase, skidded around a corner, and disappeared down a hallway lined with expensive art.
Rosalie was hot on his heels. "Domani! Stop running before I add property damage to your list of problems!"
"I didn't do anything!" Seven shouted, his robe flaring dramatically as he leapt over a low coffee table.
"You're about to catch something!" Rosalie snapped, vaulting the table after him.
Emmett, who was enjoying the chase far too much, called out, "Rosie, you're like a pissed-off gazelle. It's beautiful."
"Shut up and cut him off!" Rosalie barked, skirting around a corner.
Seven burst into the backyard, heading straight for the pool. "You'll never take me alive!" he yelled dramatically, his robe flapping as he sprinted.
"Is he serious?" Emmett asked, catching up to Rosalie.
"Oh, he's serious," Rosalie deadpanned, eyes locked on Seven. "And he's an idiot."
Sure enough, Seven attempted to vault over a hedge near the pool but tripped, his robe snagging on a thorny bush. He flailed, let out a yelp, and landed unceremoniously in the shallow end of the pool.
Rosalie came to a stop at the edge, her hands on her hips, her breath steady despite the sprint. She looked down at Seven, who was sputtering and trying to untangle himself from his robe.
"Nice form," she said dryly. "You training for the Olympics, or just running from all your bad decisions?"
Emmett arrived seconds later, doubled over with laughter. "Rose, he's... he's actually floating. Like some sad, soggy prince."
"Get him out," Rosalie muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.
Emmett reached down, hauling Seven out of the water with one arm. "Alright, drama queen. Time to go."
Seven, dripping and shivering, glared at them. "You people have no respect for art."
Rosalie smirked, patting his soggy shoulder, before snapping some handcuffs onto his wrists. "You're not art. You're performance art. And you just flopped."
Seven's manager stood on the patio, his face a mixture of exasperation and disbelief. "What the hell, Seven?"
Seven shrugged as Rosalie pushed him past. "Had to try, A-Man."