Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from this story and all creative rights to the characters belong to Richelle Mead.

The original content, ideas and intellectual property of this story are owned by Ms. Belikov. Please do not copy, reproduce, or translate without express written permission.

RPOV:

Someone was following me.

As I crossed Third Street and headed for Avery's studio apartment, the paranoia weighed heavy in my chest. The headlights illuminating from behind flickered off and the sleek black escalade eased off the road and parked its shiny ass across the way, which didn't help ease my suspicions either.

But then again, it shouldn't have surprised me that I was being tailed. Mason had been murdered last week, shot in his sleep, a bloody pillow covered his sickly gray-colored face, crimson feathers exploded all over our bedroom. Naturally, the police would put me at the top of their list, the sketchy, troublemaking girlfriend becoming number one suspect.

It was such a shame that I hadn't done it, considering how many times the thought had run through my mind while we'd been together. Truth was, I'd never have the balls to do it. Sure, I had a hot temper, jumped into situations without much thought, and was notoriously known for starting a fight whenever I could…but killing my boyfriend in cold blood? Not my cup of tea.

When I glanced back over my shoulder for the hundredth time, the snow and fog was too heavy to give me a clear visual on the nark in the black vehicle. However, it was evident that he was a male. And he was watching me closely.

Cursing and balling my hands into fists until my nails sliced my skin, forming little red crescents, I pounded on Avery's door and forced myself not to turn around and confront that dickhead.

"Hey," Avery smiled dazedly, eyes glassy, thanks to the X she had no doubt taken just minutes ago. "Come in. Come in. I'm baking brownies."

"Are they the special kind?"

"Your favorite."

"Yum. You're a Goddess." Maybe this day was shaping up after all…

DPOV:

I stared at the closed door Rosemarie Hathaway had just gone through. Knowing that it was going to be some time before she came out again, I cranked the heat and pulled out my suspect's folder from the glove box.

Opening it up, I took a solid moment to study the female's face. She was beautiful, no doubt about that. Long, deep mahogany hair. Dark eyes. Exotic features and bone structure. Young, too. But I was here to do a job, so her looks were irrelevant.

As a part-time homicide detective and full-time police officer, I was trained not to get emotionally attached or attracted to the people I was dealing with. By now, I was used to fallen women throwing themselves at me in hopes of not getting arrested or receiving a lesser sentence. Mostly, it never affected me. Business was business, and pleasure was pleasure. You had to draw the line somewhere.

Flipping her picture over, I moved to the more important information.

Parents were dead—OD'd. Spent her whole life in and out of foster homes. And to top it all off, Rosemarie had a pretty thick criminal history. Multiple DUI's. Breaking and entering. Assault with a deadly weapon. Countless drug charges.

Basically, the girl wasn't just bad. She was toxic. A loose cannon too, according to the cops that had experience in arresting and handling her, whom she'd given a really hard time—spitting in ones face, kicking the groin of another.

I had to smile. My main suspect was brave. She was going to be a challenge. And in my line of work, I loved challenges.

All of that set aside, I knew I was going to have to keep my guard up on this one. Hathaway was unpredictable. Which meant she was perfectly capable of committing murder. There was good reason my team and I had put her at the top of the suspect list. The victim, Mason Ashford, had been her boyfriend. Word around town was, they didn't have the most healthy relationship. Violence, drugs, and partying were what they were about. Or had been about, so it was. I was positive she was still living that risky lifestyle, even though her boyfriend had just been buried six feet underground two days ago.

My mission was to keep an eye on Rosemarie, not advance on her yet. However, instinct told me that I was going to be breaking many rules for this teenager.

RPOV:

"Mind if I crash here tonight?" I asked, plopping down in to the worn out couch. "Jenny and Fred don't want me back at their house."

"Well, you did run away what...like three times?" Avery murmured, eye lids dropping. She was beginning to nod off, the drugs having just set in her system.

"Four, and that's beside the point." I said. "Look, if you don't want me here, I understand-"

"Shut the hell up, brat." she smiled stupidly. "You know I love you. You're my girl. Stay here as long as you need."

"Thanks," I said, relief singing in my veins. "But it's just until I can get on my feet. Tomorrow, I'm gonna apply for a job at that frozen yogurt shop down the street. Then after that? I'm out of here."

"All right. Just make sure pay me back in treats. Or at the very least, gimme a ten percent discount."

"Will do, boss." I grinned, turning on the small T.V. and flicking through the few channels Avery had. I stopped at The Office.

"I love this show," Avery noted, fighting to stay awake.

"Me, too." This was the episode where Michael burned his foot on the grill-

A pair of loud shouts had our heads cranking towards the left.

Running to the window, I moved the pale blue curtains aside and peeked outside, squinting around the heavy black bars. "Shit." I muttered, booking it for the door and ripping it open. "Stop it!"

Ambrose was there, holding Tasha by her long raven locks. She cried out when he yanked on the glossy tresses, craning her neck at an unnatural angle. When he spotted me, his lips peeled back in a sneer. "There's the star of the show,"

"I'm so sorry, Rose!" Tasha's ice-blue eyes were frantic and filled with tears, mascara running down her cheeks. "I swear...I tried not to. But he said that he would kill me if I didn't bring him to you-"

"Shut up, bitch." Ambrose snarled, giving a good tug on her hair again. The pain on her face broke my heart. I never wanted to see that on a friend again.

"It's okay, baby girl." I smiled at her, in spite of the fact that my blood was racing with terror. "There's nothing to forgive. You did what you had to do."

With a nasty jerk of his arm, Ambrose released Tasha and shoved her to the ground. She fell to her knees, undoubtedly getting deep scrapes from the gravel on the Apartment complexes' entrance.

Ambrose advanced on me, getting all up in my face. I tried to keep my cool, but it was a little intimidating glaring up at his six-foot-four frame.

"I know you killed my brother," he shouted, malice playing in his black eyes.

"I didn't touch Mason."

"Not what he said," Ambrose wrapped his fingers around my throat. "According to him, it wasn't unusual for you two to beat the shit out of each other."

"Hmmm. Is that so." Distantly, I was aware of Avery approaching us, a frying pan squeezed tightly between her palms. I had to stifle my laugh. It was a sight to behold.

"Are you calling him a liar?" That grip tightened on my throat until I gasped.

"That's exactly...what...I'm saying." I said with a lot of duh.

Just as I had expected, Ambrose hissed, lifted me off the ground, and slammed me against the concrete wall of the studio apartment. As stars and white flashes swam in my vision, Avery screamed, "Dunk!"

The frying pan swung and connected with the back of Mason's brother's skull. He stumbled back, tongue hanging out of his mouth, eyes dazed.

My fist sailed through the air and cracked his jaw back. A second later, he was flat on the gravel.

"You son of a bitch!" Placing a cherry on the top of the chocolate sundae, Tasha ran up and kicked him in the groin area.

The pain knocked him out cold.

"Now that's how you handle business." I made a show of dusting off my hands. "Take note."

"That was...awesome." Tasha beamed.

"I'm tired," Avery yawned, rolled her shoulders, then headed back inside.

Bending down, I searched his pockets. Found a 9mm Berretta, which told me exactly what Ambrose had been planning to do when he hunted me down.

Strange thing was, I couldn't find it in me to be angry with him. Scared for my life? Yes. But not mad. People weren't always fully there in the brain when they lost someone they loved dearly. I knew exactly what he was going through. I missed my mother Janine dearly. Still, I shoved the firearm into my pants and concealed the weapon with my shirt. I was safe, for now. Although it was tempting when I saw the green in his wallet, I left the money and stuffed the wallet back in his jean's pocket. "I still don't know why you stay with this fool..."

"You know why," Tasha said.

Yeah, I did. She'd been sold to his family when she was in her early teens. Her father had a little...repaying to do. And figured, what the hell? Why not just give my daughter up.

At least, that's how I assumed the situation to go down.

"One more year," she rubbed the makeup from under her eyes. "And then I'm free."

"Help me drag him inside, will ya?" As we grunted and pulled the heavy, unconscious weight into the apartment, I said, "I can help you escape."

Tasha automatically shook her head. "No. No, that's fine. I'll figure it out-"

"You're in love with him, aren't you." Rubbing my sore lower back, I limped over and shut the door.

With a curse, I remembered the nark parked outside. God, he had just witnessed the whole thing go down. Wanting to protect my friends, I impulsively ran outside and straight for the Escalade. See? Always jumping into situations without much thought. But hey, it had worked out just fine for me my entire life, so I wasn't about to change my ways.

"What the fuck is your problem?" I slammed my hands on the hood of the vehicle, then stormed over to the driver's side and pounded on the tinted window. "Hello! Open it up!"

The piece of glass slid down, revealing a-

I was taken aback with the piece of eye candy behind the wheel. His looks were enough to steal your breath away, just as they had done to me. Taking a moment to appraise him, my eyes traveled up and down his face and broad chest. Brown shoulder-length hair hung loose around the hard angles of his face and impossibly high cheek bones. Full, dark pink lips. Perfect nose and sparkling white teeth. Deep, rich brown eyes that held so much knowledge and hidden secrets it chilled you to the bone. An from what I could see, the man was dressed in a white button down shirt and expensive looking black slacks.

To make a long story short, he as a God.

Snapping out of my lust spell, I braced my hands against the opening of the window and glared at him. "Look, I know you're tailing me, Pig."

His lips curled slyly at what I'd called him. "Do you." Not a question, but rather a bored statement. His tone was so infuriating, all I-really-don't-care-I-have-better-things-to-do-with-my-time.

Oh, I was going to give this MF hell. Just ruining his day would bring me such great joy.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "The donut shop closed down for the night? That's so devastating to hear. Well now, be a good bird and fly away. Find someone else to bug."

"You're either really brave or really stupid talking to me the way you are," The nark shuffled around, grabbed something out of his pocket, flashed me his badge. "My name is Dimitri Belikov. I'm the homicide detective investigating the murder of Mason Ashford."

"I didn't do it."

One dark brow arched. Cool. "It is my understanding that you were in a relationship with Mr. Ashford. Is that true, Ms. Hathaway?"

Not surprising that he knew my name, just proved Mr. Beli-whatever had half a brain. "Yep. I was. Now, you gonna answer my question?"

"Only if you agree to answer a couple of mine."

"Fine. But me first."

Again with the twist of his lips. Those dark eyes gleamed with amusement and a bit of surprise at my boldness. "All right." The detective finally said.

"Why are you following me around?"

"Because I whole-heartedly believe you killed Mr. Ashford."

"Why don't you shut your mouth and go eat a donut, because you don't know shit. I would never hurt Mason."

"Hmmm. Your friends seem to think otherwise." Dimitri said.

"You talk to my friends?" I gaped, rage kicking up a notch in my veins, making punching that pig in the face seem very tempting.

"The ones I could get in touch with, yes. I questioned them," He took a sip from a paper cup and carefully placed it back in its holder. "and all of them have reason to believe that you would in fact harm the victim."

Sighing tiredly, suddenly feeling defeated and sad from the weeks events, I whispered, "Why would I have reason to kill my boyfriend? Honest to God, I loved that guy."

"Jealousy? Rage? Maybe you snapped? Feared he might be cheating on you? The why possibilities are endless, and believe it or not, they happen all the time." Dimitri said.

The good thing about the detective was that his face remained utterly blank the entire time he spoke with me, which meant he wasn't taking sides. Maybe he was slightly pointing the finger at me, but it was all logic, not personal opinion. If I was in his shoes, I'd have done the same thing. Actually, no. I wouldn't have. Instead, I'd have thrown some cuffs on my wrists and thrown me in the back of the car.

"You need to get the fuck out of this part of town," I growled. "Before I drag you out myself."

DPOV:

I wasn't intimidated in the slightest by her strong vocabulary. These days, I'd seen so much and done so much, that nothing really ever unnerved me.

However, this girl did. A part of me was impressed with her boldness, I rarely got spoken to that way, but I easily ignored that feeling and focused on her face. She was incredibly beautiful in real life, that mug shot hadn't done her justice, but there was something off about her chocolate-brown eyes. They were haunted, old, disturbed. Something entirely unfamiliar tightened in my chest to know that life had been so unkind to her. I wanted to help her. Wanted to protect her—

Shaking those absurd feelings away, I cleared my throat harshly and said, "I'd watch what you say before you put your foot in your mouth. Don't threaten me."

The teenager had enough sense to recoil a little, "Look…I know what you saw out front of my friend's apartments—"

"Not going to lie, the way you handled yourself was amazing."

Without warning, Rosemarie smiled. My God, she was even more beautiful when she did that—

"No." It came out as a growl, in order to control my emotions and feelings. With a deep breath, I put a cap on them and went back to being the detective I was supposed to be on this job. "I'll let you go on that one, Hathaway."

"Call me Rose."

"Right. No, I'll address you in the manner I favor." she shot me an annoyed look. "Do you want to press chargers against that man?"

"Ambrose? Oh, no. He's…yeah, it's complicated. I don't want him to go to jail, though. That's for sure."

"Hmmm. That's too bad." Stepping out of my escalade, I hiked up my pants, and pulled out the cuffs. "I hate to do this. But I'm afraid I'm unable to let you go. Boss's direct orders." And by boss, I meant Police chief—myself.

RPOV:

Staring at the chunk of metal dangling in Dimitri's hand - the only thing that separated me from freedom and being caged up - my only thought was…"Damn, for a second I thought you were cool. Guess I was wrong."

One more glance at him, then I was off at a dead run, pushing my legs until I was sure my muscles would snap.

Unfortunately, the cop with the Russian accent was tight on my heels, thanks to his long ass legs. He pursued me down the street and into the alley.

Spotting two metal garbage cans, I kicked them over on my way by in hopes of the mess getting in his way and slowing him down for a few crucial seconds. Maybe if I was lucky, there'd be an old banana peel he could slip on.

Glancing over my shoulder, I cursed loudly. Dimitri didn't stop or even hesitate, and with an awesome surge, jumped over the cans effortlessly.

"Crap!" I puffed, plowing in to the Italian restaurant owner coming out the back of the building like a bowling ball and pins. Taking him down was easy, in spite of the fact that he was as round as a basketball, but landing on the asphalt hurt my ribs like a bitch.

Great, those pounding footsteps were getting louder, meaning Dimitri was getting closer.

There was only one thing on my brain: Escape.

The word injected even more adrenaline in my veins, motivated me to get past the pain of the cracked ribs I no doubt had, and boot-kicked me onto my feet. Realizing the nark was right there; I became desperate and grabbed the thing closet to me: A blaring orange traffic cone.

Swinging it at Dimitri, I aimed for his head—

His hand shot out like a striking cobra, latched onto the plastic, and yanked it right out of my grip. Gravity had my body lurching forward, slamming right against his hard chest.

"Shit," I said as he wrapped his arms around me and squeezed on my ribcage, making the bones crush even further. My air came in and out of my lungs on a wheeze.

"You could have made this so much easier!" Dimitri shouted, catching his breath, sweat blooming on his forehead.

"So could have you." I kicked him in the balls. Low blow, but it was all I had.

As he groaned and doubled over, I took off, heading straight for one of the rusty ladders that led into windows of Avery's crappy apartment building. Bracing my hands against the cold and sharp metal, I started to climb up as fast as I could—

Thud.

Like some kind of superhero, the cop circled two fingers into one of the loops on my jeans and yanked back. I went flying and landed right on my ass. The impact rattled every bone in my body and nearly shattered my teeth as the bottom and top set collided.

Dimitri, obviously done playing games, tackled me, smashing my face into the ground. I gasped as the oxygen pushed from my lungs.

Hell hath no fury like a pissed off Russian, I thought with a small grin.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you do or say can and will be held against you in a court of law—"

"Go eat a donut and choke on it!"