a/n: Some background information - this takes place halfway through season 6, a month after Flack's breakdown in 6x08 - Cuckoo's Nest, around 6x10 - Death House. It's going to be slightly AU from then on. I've kind of estimated the time of year, but for this universe Flack's breakdown is sometime mid-September. Juliana arrives in late October. Danny and Lindsay have been married for just over a year, and Lucy is about one. If you have any questions or notice any discrepancies with the canon, please do let me know!

I've done a ton of research on the law enforcement process in Quebec and used actual units from the SVMP (Service de Police de la Ville de Montreal). I own nothing from that, I'm just trying to make Juliana's background as realistic as possible.

In terms of location, let's say this takes place in 1 Police Plaza, with the lab on the 35th floor and the morgue in the basement.

For anybody who's wondering, Juliana looks like Jennifer Morrison as a blonde.

disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize, just Juliana, Philippe, and all her homies back in Montreal. I'm not affiliated with any of the universities or organizations mentioned.

re·demp·tion

noun

1. an act of redeeming or atoning for a fault or mistake, or the state of being redeemed.

2. deliverance; rescue.

3. theology: deliverance from sin; salvation.

4. atonement for guilt.

5. repurchase, as of something sold.

6. paying off, as a mortgage, bond, or note.

7. recovery by payment, as of something pledged.

chapter one

It was early morning in New York, and the city was already gearing up for another busy day. More precisely, it was 7:18 on a chilly Monday in late October. Inside 1 Police Plaza, the workday was already in full swing.

In the morgue, ME Sid Hammerback was snapping on latex gloves and preparing for his first autopsy of the day. In the forensics lab, Adam Ross was just beginning gas chromatography on trace from the latest crime scene. In his office, Mac Taylor was signing the transfer papers for his new detective.

And where was said detective? Well, Juliana Karlsson was standing on the sidewalk outside 1 Police Plaza and trying not to have a panic attack. It wasn't so much the idea of working on the 35th floor that bothered her, as much as the idea that she'd have to take an elevator all the way up there. Ugh.

She checked her watch, and blew out a sigh. She had exactly 1 minute and 23 seconds to pull herself together, or else she'd risk being late. Adjusting her grey cable knit scarf, she squared her shoulders. She was ready for a fresh start. Taking a deep breath, she pushed through the glass double doors, and found herself inside a bustling lobby, where she was immediately surrounded by cops of all shapes and sizes. Some wore uniforms, some didn't, but they all had brass glinting somewhere on their bodies.

Biting her lip, Juliana fished her ID out of her jacket pocket, and headed towards security, where they stopped her, just as expected, and scanned her with a metal detector.

"ID?" asked the burly security guard, and she handed it to him.

"I'm Juliana Karlsson, transferring to the Crime Lab, under Mac Taylor," she told him. "Do you want to see my transfer papers?"

He nodded, and held out his hand. She handed him the file from her messenger bag, pointing to the last page, with her name, photo, and signature.

"35th floor," he said, giving her back the file, and waving her on her way.

"Thanks," Juliana called over her shoulder, en route to the elevator. Her palms and underarms were already beginning to prickle with nervous sweat. She sighed, as the elevator came to rest with a hiss, and, taking her life into her hands, stepped inside, punching in the button marked '35'.

"Hold the door!" called a voice, and she looked up to see a dark-skinned man running across the lobby towards the elevator. Instinctively, her hand shot out, and she pushed the doors open again.

"Thanks." He exhaled a breath, and gave her a grateful smile. "I would've been waiting ten minutes for the next elevator."

"Where are you going?" she asked, gesturing to the array of floor buttons.

"35th floor, Crime Lab," he replied, leaning forward to punch it in, before realizing that the button was already glowing red. "You too?"

"Yeah, it's my first day on the job," she told him, sliding her messenger bag to the floor, and folding her arms. She shifted her weight, and leaned back against the wall.

He looked her over appraisingly. "You don't look like a rookie."

"Good call, because I just transferred from Montreal," she admitted, with a small smile. She kept her smile in place just long enough to keep it genuine, and let it fade out. Today of all days, she couldn't let her distaste for this city show through. "I'm working for Mac Taylor."

"No way, me too! I'm Sheldon Hawkes. I work with the CSIs, and fill in for the ME sometimes," he said, offering her his hand. She took it, and shook it firmly, giving him her first genuine smile in weeks.

"Detective Juliana Karlsson. I do some forensics stuff, too," she said, eyes shifting upwards to check how high they were. The elevator had just passed the 12th floor, and a small pang of panic tightened her chest. Before it could bloom into a full-scale panic attack, Sheldon's voice distracted her.

"But you're not a trained CSI." It was somewhere between a question and a statement.

She shook her head. "I did my undergrad in biochemistry before I joined the academy, so they would let me do PCR and chromatography if the lab was short staffed, which was pretty much always," she explained, peeling off her gloves, and tucking them into her jacket pocket. "Turns out that comes in handy."

"Biochem? We're going to get along just fine," Sheldon said confidently, as the elevator slid past the 20th floor.

"I should hope so, if we're going to be working together," she laughed, readjusting her immaculate ponytail. Her fingers found the bobby pin in the back, and she quickly checked to make sure the lock of hair concealed the elastic wrapped around it. "Is there anything I should know before I go in there?"

"Mac's a little scary at first, but he's really fair, and to be honest, probably the best boss I've ever had. He's not as intimidating once you get know him. Oh, and don't call him sir. He hates that," Sheldon told her, brow puckering lightly as he tried to think of anything else that might have come in the scope of helpful or comforting.

"That's reassuring," Juliana said, picking up her bag. They had almost arrived, and butterflies were beginning to dance in her stomach for more than one reason. The elevator doors dinged, and she stepped out into the hallway, taking a deep breath.

"Good luck," Sheldon said warmly, patting her on the back as he passed, and heading off down the hall.

She took a minute to orient herself, and take in her surroundings. A long hall stretched in front of her, every lab and office paneled in glass. It was early, but the place was already bustling with equal parts lab coats and plainclothesmen. There wasn't a uniform in sight. She started cautiously down the hall, trying to avoid walking into people, which proved challenging since the hallway was an obstacle course of lab techs hurrying down the hall with their noses buried in files.

Mac's office was located a little less than halfway down the hall, and conveniently labeled. Buck up, Juliana, she told herself, and tapped on his door. Taking advantage of the fact that he was immersed in paperwork, she took a few seconds to size up her new boss. Late forties, probably ex-military, judging from his closely cropped dark hair, and slightly under average height, but well muscled.

He looked up, capped his pen, and motioned for her to come in. "You must be Detective Karlsson," he said, offering her a half-smile as he stood up and made his way around the desk to shake her hand.

"It's nice to meet you, Detective Taylor," she said, taking a seat in front of his desk and folding her hands in her lap.

"Please, Mac," he told her briskly. "We work on a first-name basis around here."

"That might take some getting used to," she admitted quietly, unwinding her scarf from around her neck, and slipping off her coat, which she draped over her lap.

"They don't use first names up in Montreal?" he queried, looking up sharply at her. There was a faint trace of curiosity in his blue eyes, enough to encourage her to continue.

"There's so many Jean-Michels and Marie-Pierres that it makes more sense to go by last name," she explained, smiling at the memory, "so it might take me a while to respond to anything other than 'Karlsson!'" She imitated the Captain's accent perfectly; capturing the gruff inflection of her last name, then broke off abruptly, examining her cuticles. Way to go, Jules, you just made yourself look like an idiot, she thought, flushing.

"I see." Mac, she could tell, was not the sort of person who wasted time on small talk.

"Look, Juliana, as you know, the order to accept you came from above me, so I just want to get some things out of the way before I send you down to get sworn in," he started, pausing to collect himself before he got down to business.

"I thought it was your call," she said slowly, feeling heat gathering in her cheeks. She knew exactly where this was headed, and although she had spent the majority of the last two weeks talking herself up in preparation for this, one steely, doubt-laden gaze from her new boss threatened to tear her composure apart.

Mac closed the folder – her folder – and sighed. "Ultimately, it was my choice. If it hadn't been for your otherwise outstanding record and lab skills, you'd be looking for a new career."

"Right," she said, dragging her teeth across her lower lip, and nodding contritely. "I appreciate that."

"So, as I'm sure you've been told, this is a one month probationary position. If you do well, we'll keep you. If you screw up, good luck salvaging your career. Understood?" he asked, somber expression making it perfectly clear that there was only one acceptable answer.

"Yes, sir. I mean, Mac," Juliana replied, her face, neck, and ears flaming. She blinked a few times, fighting back the rogue tears stinging her eyelids.

"Good." He nodded crisply, before continuing, "You'll be working mainly with me and Stella for the first month. After that, we'll start pairing you up with the others, should you stay." He slid her the folder and a black felt-tip pen, and gestured to the line.

She scanned the document quickly, searching for any fine print. Finding none, she signed her name neatly on the line, and handed it back.

"Normally, I'd fingerprint you and get a buccal swab for DNA, but the lab in Montreal forwarded your records here. All that's left is to get you sworn in, and then I'll give you your gun and badge. Stella can show you around. When we get a body, I'll take you over," Mac said, and she stood up, scooping her messenger bag and coat into her arms. "You can leave your stuff here. Swearing in's on the first floor, to the left of the security desk."

"Thanks." She gave him a weak smile, and pulled her phone from her jacket pocket on her way out. If she was going to make it down the elevator intact, she was going to need a distraction.

Once inside the tiny metal cube, she turned on her phone, and scrolled immediately to her contacts, which were empty. She still knew Em's number off by heart, but there was only one person she wanted to talk to. Philippe would have known exactly what to say to ground the butterflies. Philippe's voice would have made it all better. Unfortunately, Philippe was the reason she was worlds away from home to begin with. With a sigh, she forced herself to look away from her screensaver, which was an ancient picture of the two of them on her first day in Homicide two years ago. She was wearing a huge smile, and her eyes hadn't yet lost all of their innocence. Philippe looked happy, proud of his rookie, and most importantly, very much alive. It was a cheesy selfie, sure, but it was about all she had left of him.

Breathing in quickly, it took all of her willpower not to melt down in the elevator. She couldn't even pass it off as rookie nerves either, and explaining herself was one of the last things she wanted to do right now.

After a small eternity, two lab techs, and five cops, she stepped shakily back into the lobby, and found the small room where they swore in the newbies. Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the threshold, ready to become an NYPD officer.

"I'm all sworn in," Juliana reported, stepping into Mac's office. She was walking a little taller in her patent leather pumps, relieved to have the swearing in over.

"Good." Mac pulled open his desk drawer and pulled out two objects – her badge and gun.

Her blue eyes lit up at the sight of the brand-spanking-new Glock, feeling a little safer already. For the past nine months, she'd barely taken a shower without a gun in easy reach, so having been without a weapon since she'd left her apartment this morning made her feel naked and vulnerable. She picked it up carefully, checked the safety, and tucked it into her holster with the practiced ease of somebody who had repeated the motion thousands of times before. She fastened her badge to her hip, fingers tracing lightly over its glistening ridges. "Thanks, Mac," she said sincerely.

"Welcome to the team, Juliana," he replied, warmth in his eyes for the first time all day. Maybe he wasn't so bad after all. He reached out to shake her hand to seal the deal, and she responded with a smile that actually felt genuine.

"I'm glad to be here," she said, feeling a little more at ease with her surroundings. Maybe it had something to do with the gun at her side. Maybe it was due to something else entirely.

"Why don't you sit down and tell me a bit about Frankie Gerard?" Mac asked, but it wasn't a question. It was a statement, one that demanded an answer that wasn't 'no.' "I read your file, but I want to hear it from you."

Juliana shuddered in disgust. She wanted to tell him that she couldn't talk about it, wanted to tell him that she couldn't relive it again. Her fingers tightened into fists in her lap, palms already slick with nervous sweat. Her mouth was dry, stomach roiling sourly. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing away the visceral reaction from just hearing his name. When she opened them, he was staring at her with a blend of concern and frustration clearly written on his face. Mac Taylor didn't like people wasting his time, which was exactly what she was doing while she stalled.

"From the beginning?" she asked, uncurling her fists with difficulty. When she flipped her palms over, she winced at the crescent-shaped indentations her nails had left.

"From the beginning."

"Okay." She took a deep breath. "I started in Sex Crimes just out of the Academy, probably due to my lab experience and personal experience. I transferred to Homicide four years later, in another part of the city. About six months after starting there, Frankie Gerard made his first appearance. We found his first victim, Kaitlyn Maltais, in the Lachine Canal. She hadn't been raped, so the case went to Homicide. " "When Philippe and I tracked Gerard to a warehouse in Dorval, we found a note leading us to Colleen McKenna's body, washed up on Ile Dorval. He had raped her, and we got trace, but not enough to pin him down. I was given lead detective due to my background in Sex Crimes.

"Two weeks later, we found Marie diCostello's body in the Montreal Aqueduct. By this point, the case had become high profile, which was when he realized that I was his type – blonde, blue-eyed, and a professional woman. I guess he fixated on me, seeing me as the ultimate prize. He let himself get arrested, but we didn't have enough evidence to prove anything, so we had to release him. He started stalking me, sending me notes, creepy gifts like a lock of Sierra Casey's hair, which lead us to her body in Bear Lake. She turned up five months after Marie diCostello, so the case had been cold for a few months.

"We tracked him to a friend's apartment, and I ordered a police detail on him. He filed a restraining order against us, which was granted since we didn't have anything on him except circumstantial evidence.

"His last victim, Erin Brandt, was reported missing a month after he filed the restraining order. We knew he had her because he sent me one of her earrings, which had a fiber on it that we later realized was from his apartment. I got our tech whiz to hack into his company's files to get his address. Philippe and I went over there and broke in. We didn't have probable cause except a taunting note and her earring, but we knew he had her. We were right. He escaped down the fire escape with her, but he shot Philippe with reinforced Teflon-coated bullets on his way out the window. Philippe didn't stand a chance." Juliana paused, voice cracking slightly. Her eyes were beginning to water at the memory of her partner and best friend lying on the carpet, unable to stop the steady leak of blood. She cleared her throat, and looked up at Mac through her lashes, before continuing, "He bled out in my arms on the floor of that dingy apartment. Erin Brandt turned up in the Saint Laurence River six hours later. She had been raped, strangled, and brutally beaten.

"I got home that night to find a letter from him, threatening to do the same thing to me if I pursued him. It was so graphic abut what he wanted to do to me." She bit her lip, stopping to compose herself. The words of that letter were seared into her head, but she wasn't about to quote it to Mac. He didn't need to know.

"Montreal PD suspended me and took me off the case. I kept on getting letters and souvenirs from him until the one-month anniversary of Philippe's death. Two weeks later, I was told I was being transferred to New York for my safety, and the case had been reassigned. And here I am," she concluded lamely. Twisting her fingers in her lap, she struggled to block out the memories she wanted so desperately to forget.

"I see." Mac seemed to be searching for the right words to say. There was nothing to say. It was her fault; there was no denying it. She had made the decision to violate the restraining order, and without probable cause, anything they'd found in his apartment would have been inadmissible in court. But the reinforced bullets? There was no way she could have predicted that. He felt a sudden stab of sympathy for the blonde in front of him. Two months after losing her partner, here she was. "Are you sure you're okay to work?"

Her head shot up, and she fixed him with a determined glare. Her blue eyes were snapping, gaze burning with intensity. "I've passed two psych evals, one in Montreal and one here. I think they would have told you if they had any doubts about my ability to do my job."

"Point taken," he said slowly, a little taken aback by her sharp words. He looked up to find Stella lingering outside, a case file tucked under her arm. She had brilliant timing. He waved her in, and Juliana twisted around in her chair to find herself staring at an olive-skinned, curly-haired beauty.

"This is Detective Karlsson," he said, and Juliana stood up to shake the older woman's hand.

"Hi, Juliana. I'm Stella Bonasera," Stella said warmly, impressed by the other detective's firm handshake and cool, professional manner. "I told Mac I'd show you around the lab."

"Great." Juliana draped her coat and scarf over one arm, and hoisted her messenger bag over one shoulder. She waved to Mac, and followed Stella into the hallway. She was instinctively more comfortable with Stella, who initiated small talk as soon as the door had swung shut behind them.

"So how do you like New York?" Stella asked, striding effortlessly down the hall, so Juliana had to hurry to keep up with her.

"I've only been here a week and a half," the blonde admitted, "so I've basically seen the inside of my apartment and various furniture and department stores, but I like it so far." But it wasn't home. She missed her cozy house in Old Montreal. She missed the ambience of her home city. She missed Philippe, Em, Isabelle, her parents, and her dog, Winchester. Before she could start feeling sorry for herself, Stella had ushered her into one of the many forensics labs.

"Guys, we have a new team member," she announced, making everybody in the room look up at the sound of her voice. "This is Detective Juliana Karlsson."

"Oohh, fresh meat," chuckled a sandy-haired man, as he put down the glass fragments he was trying to reconstruct. He crossed the room to shake her hand enthusiastically. "I'm Danny Messer."

"I'm Lindsay Messer," said a short brunette, with a smile that immediately made Juliana feel at home. She felt a vague sense of relief that she wasn't the shortest one in the precinct, but moreso in the fact that everybody seemed to be friendly.

"Whassup?" A curly-haired man who looked to be a few years her junior crossed the lab to shake her hand as well. "Adam Ross."

"It's nice to meet you all," she said honestly, feeling her carefully raised guard drop a little. Maybe she could get comfortable here. In the lights of the lab, she was at home, and she walked slowly around the lab, aware of clicking of her stilettos on the tiled floor in the silence. She admired the variety of microscopes, from scanning to light to electron, some machines she recognized, and some she didn't. Her gaze lingered on Danny's jigsaw of glass shards, eyeing it with interest.

"I think that piece goes there," she said, pointing to a small, unusually shaped fragment.

Danny pushed his glasses farther up on his nose, and examined the glass in front of him. "Hey, you're right," he told her, a smile lighting up his face. He swabbed the edges with epoxy resin, and slotted it into place.

"Have you gotten anything from the hair?" Stella asked, turning to Lindsay hopefully.

"It's human. We're still running DNA, but it has gradually increasing levels of dibenzodiazepine, or Clozapine," Lindsay said, handing the full screening report to Stella. "The numbers drop to 0 a few millimeters from the root, suggesting that our perp stopped taking his meds."

"Isn't Clozapine an antipsychotic?" asked Adam, spinning away from his microscope. "We could be looking for a suspect with schizophrenia."

"Who's been off his meds for a few weeks," added Danny. "This could actually be helpful."

"Great work, Lindsay," Stella said, patting her on the shoulder. The brunette lit up at the praise, smiling as she turned back to her computer screen. "Keep me updated, okay guys? I'm going to finish showing Juliana around the lab, and then we'll narrow down the suspect pool some more. Can you cross-reference Ettinger's associates with schizophrenics? If he's stopped taking his meds, he's probably been having hallucinations, which somebody might have noticed."

"Will do! See you then," Danny said cheerfully, waving a gloved hand as they headed back into the hall.

Stella walked Juliana through the bullpen where the majority of the detectives worked, showed her desk, and then took her down to the morgue. They didn't stop to say hi to Sid, mainly because he was up to his elbows in somebody's intestines, and then they went to the locker rooms, gym, various bathrooms, and finally down to interrogation. Stella stopped in front of interrogation room 3, and peered inside. "That," she said, gesturing to the teen inside, "is Darcy Kensington." She paused, waiting for the name to sink in. When it didn't, she supplied, "Her dad is Colin Kensington, owner of Kensington Publishing. We suspect she knows something about the Keller case, but she won't tell us anything."

Juliana looked over at the girl sitting calmly in interrogation. Everything about her screamed money, from the navy blue bow headband in her long brown hair, to the subtle wink of the diamonds in her Cartier tennis bracelet, to her blush-coloured quilted Chanel flats. With her school uniform, she looked like a miniature Blair Waldorf. She clearly went to a private school, probably Catholic, judging from how high the hem of her kilt was.

"Parents? Lawyer?" Juliana asked, turning to give Stella a curious look.

"Neither." Stella shook her head, resting her fingers lightly on the sill of the one-way glass window.

"How long has she been here?"

Stella checked her watch. It was just shy of 10:30. "Two and a half hours," she replied, a slightly incredulous look on her face.

Money or no, this girl was clearly not spoiled. Her posture was straight, quietly confident. She wasn't fidgeting, and she'd even crossed her ankles demurely. What told Juliana the most, however, was the fact that she hadn't run crying into the arms of her parents or their $500-an-hour attorney.

"Flack already questioned her – didn't get anything," Stella said, still watching Darcy, who had barely moved.

"Flack?" Juliana asked curiously, clear blue eyes widening at the unfamiliar name.

"He and Sheldon Hawkes are picking up a suspect now. They're the only two you haven't met yet," Stella explained, gaze drifting over to the teen again.

"Actually, I met Hawkes in the elevator this morning," Juliana said, looking intently into the tiny, dimly lit room. "He seems like a really nice guy."

"Yeah," Stella agreed, momentarily distracted by the buzzing of her phone. Pulling it out of her pocket, she scanned the screen quickly, and returned it. "Shoot, I have to go. Look, do you want to try talking to Darcy? She might open up to a fresh face."

"Sure," the blonde detective acquiesced, stepping towards the door. "Before you go, can you tell me what Flack looks like so I can introduce myself when I see him?"

"He's tall, lean, dark hair and blue eyes, and his ties are usually hideous," Stella told her, with another warm smile. "I haven't seen him today, but I'm sure you'll meet him at some point today." She handed Juliana the case file, before turning to head back towards the stairs. "Can you find your way back up to the lab?"

"Yup, I'm good," Juliana assured her, watching the taller detective until she turned the corner and disappeared. She scanned the case file she'd been given quickly, and flipped to the notes they'd made on Darcy. Apparently, DNA proved she hadn't even been involved with the murder, but she ran in the same social circles as the vic, Maura Keller.

It had been months since she'd seen the inside of an interrogation room. As a matter of fact, she'd felt like the suspect every day since Philippe's death, which had sparked an inquiry and many, many sessions with various psychologists and various officers much higher up on the food chain. She sighed, deciding that since Flack had probably used intimidation with Darcy, she'd go the 'nice cop' route and build a rapport with the teen before prompting her to spill.

"Hi, Darcy, I'm Juliana," she said sweetly, as she closed the door firmly behind her, and took a seat across from the younger girl. "Can I get you anything?"

"I'm fine, thanks," Darcy replied, giving Juliana a tiny smile.

"Great." Juliana opened the file, and placed it in front of her. "So, let me guess, Catholic school?" She eyed the plaid kilt and tie with a faint feeling of nostalgia.

"How did you know?" Darcy's porcelain blue eyes widened, and the corners of her lips curved up slightly.

"Takes one to know one," Juliana offered, with a shrug. "Actually, for me it was Ursuline nuns, but same difference. Now, it says here that you're in Grade 12. Where are you going for university next year?"

"Princeton," Darcy said excitedly. She pulled herself a little farther upright, flushing lightly with pride. "They're giving me a full ride. My parents are really proud."

"Congratulations! They should be. What are you taking?" asked Juliana, impressed by the girl, who clearly wasn't just a pretty face. She wondered briefly what a girl like Darcy, who had everything going for her, was doing getting herself involved with society's rich little juvenile delinquents.

"Political science," Darcy replied, adjusting the fat Windsor knot at her throat. "I'm looking at going into law."

Juliana's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. Darcy had just unintentionally given her the in she needed to shift the direction toward Maura Keller's death. "So surely you're aware that not telling me what you know about Maura Keller can get you charged with obstruction of justice? You're 18, they'll try you as an adult. You're a smart girl; you do the math," she said, leaning forward on her forearms and fixing Darcy with her perfected detective glare.

Darcy didn't even flinch as Juliana invaded her personal bubble. "I already told Detective Flack, I don't know anything. Maura and I weren't close."

"Are you sure? I don't think Princeton will save your scholarship till after jail," Juliana said archly, eyeing the cool brunette in front of her. "You could lose your education. I guarantee your parents won't be nearly as proud of you."

"I told you, I don't know anything!" Darcy pleaded, manicured hands clenching into fists, voice rising a few pitches.

"Okay." With an offhand shrug, Juliana got up from the hard plastic chair, and scooped up her folder. "We know that you know both Maura and Casey Haynes, since we found your prints on both of their lockers. If you won't talk, I'll get you booked for obstruction. I'm sure Rikers will be just as educational as Princeton." She sauntered slowly to the door, enjoying watching Darcy sweat in her peripheral vision.

"Wait!" the girl cried, when Juliana was reaching for the door. "Okay, okay, I'll tell you what I know."

"Good." Exhaling, Juliana stifled a smile, pleased to know that at the very least, her interrogation mojo hadn't gone anywhere. She sat back down, crossed her legs, and flipped to a crisp new piece of loose-leaf on her notepad. Plucking a pen from her blazer pocket, she leaned toward Darcy again. "Talk to me, kid."

Fifteen minutes later, Darcy had exhausted her knowledge of the school's not-so-underground drug ring. It looked like Immaculate Virgin wasn't as immaculate as its name implied.

Swallowing her smirk, Juliana closed her folder, and capped her pen, signalling to Darcy that they were done. She watched the teen leave, and stayed in the tiny room for a few minutes, enjoying the endorphins rushing through her system, the way they always did after she got a suspect to talk. Satisfied she'd written everything down, she picked up the file, and tucked it under her arm, heading out of the interrogation room.

"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing talking to my suspect?"

"Excuse me?" The words came out sharply, infused with was much attitude as she could muster. Juliana stopped dead with her hand on the doorknob, giving whoever it was time to rethink his tone, before she turned around slowly and found herself looking up at an unfamiliar face. He had dark hair and brilliant blue eyes… this must be Flack. And she was significantly less than impressed with him already.

Don Flack, for his part, was confused, and then pissed, because not only was Darcy nowhere to be seen, some blonde was emerging from the interrogation room like she had some right to be there. He scanned her quickly, assuming she was a lawyer, because no cop dressed like she did.

She was short, and could have stood to lose about ten pounds, although he supposed she was pretty, with creamy ivory skin, clear blue eyes, and buttery blonde hair pulled back into a neat ponytail. She wore a fitted navy blazer over a white tie-neck button down shirt, black slacks, and, Jesus, there were even bows on the toes of her patent leather four-inch Ferragamo stilettos. Who the fuck wore stilettos around here? His lips curled in disgust as her blazer slid open to reveal the distinctive glint of brass at her hip as she turned around. Blondie was a cop? Yeah right. He stifled a snort with difficulty. "I said, who the hell are you?" he demanded, folding his arms defensively.

"I'm Detective Juliana Karlsson. You must be Don Flack," she said, biting back a scathing retort. "Are you always this welcoming? Because I'm getting the warm and fuzzies."

He chose to let that slide, trying to ignore the irritation tightening his throat. "What are you doing talking to Darcy? And more importantly, where is she?" He took a step towards her, expecting her to step back, but she didn't move. She had planted her hands on her hips, and he found himself glaring into her furious electric blue eyes, ivory cheeks flushing red with anger.

"I let her go. She told me everything I needed to know," she snapped, voice terse with barely controlled rage.

"You did what?" He was just as pissed as she was, his face red and breathing hard. Good.

"It's been a pleasure, Detective Flack," she ground out, voice dripping with sarcasm. She slapped the folder into his hands as hard she could. Sidestepping him, she stalked towards the stairs, back ramrod straight, heels clicking, and ponytail swinging with every step.

"Unbelievable," Flack muttered to himself, staring after her until the door swung shut forcefully in her wake. Just because they worked together didn't mean he had to like her.