Your Case or Mine

Chapter 1

Detective Emma Swan was one of Boston PD's finest. Her co-workers both feared and admired her, and her near-perfect record when it came to securing arrests and charges spoke for itself. She had grafted her way to the position she held now, and had only recently received her detective badge, so she was more eager than ever to successfully close her current case and prove to herself and everyone else that she was up to the job. As the youngest detective – and one of the only female detectives to boot – that Boston PD had ever had, she did feel a certain amount of pressure, but more than anything she was determined not to let David down.

He was the reason she'd joined the police to begin with, and even though she'd now been on the force for almost nine years, it felt like hardly any time had passed at all. She'd been eighteen years old, working as a bailbondsperson, when she'd met David. He was a rookie cop, on track to make sergeant, and she was a familiar face thanks to all the bail skips she regularly apprehended and dropped off at the precinct.

When she'd shown up late one night, looking more than a little worse-for-wear with a rapidly developing black eye, torn jeans and bust knuckles, dragging a handcuffed guy almost double her size behind her, he'd been equal parts horrified and impressed. She was just a tiny slip of a kid, yet she could clearly handle herself, even if it meant taking a few hits in the process. When he'd asked her if she was okay, gesturing to her face and ripped clothes, she'd offhandedly said that she'd had worse from foster parents. That had always stuck with him.

When she'd slammed her paper down on his desk and gruffly asked him to sign it so that she could get paid, he'd eyed her carefully for a moment and casually asked how old she was. Emma had stared at him suspiciously, guard up, and asked why it mattered. He'd shrugged and signed her paper, but before handing it back to her, he'd suggested that if she was over nineteen, she should consider joining the force.

Emma had scoffed and snatched her paper, telling him matter-of-factly that she couldn't afford college, and barely had her high school diploma. David had simply smiled and informed her there were plenty ways around that for people who would clearly be an asset to the department. She'd eyed him thoughtfully for a moment, but snapped herself out of it and shrugged noncommittally, backing toward the doors and waving her paper with a murmur of thanks and a 'see you around'.

Everytime she'd shown up with her bounty after that, David had encouraged her to fill out the applications ('because what did she have to lose?') and eventually, she'd given in, snatching the application pack he'd tried to give her a handful of times previously, with a roll of her eyes that belied the small glimmer of hope David knew he'd seen a momentary flash of, before she'd disappeared again.

David had pushed for her to be at least given a trial run and though his superior at the time had been somewhat reluctant, he'd wearily agreed to take her on with a probationary period once she'd turned nineteen. Emma had suspected David's involvement in her being offered the entry-level position, but he never mentioned it so she never asked. She'd worked her ass off to prove herself, and had managed to impress the powers that be, landing her a quick rise in rank to 'official' rookie, and from there she'd steadily progressed to her current position of detective in Boston PD's homicide investigation unit.

Emma loved her job, even when it meant being partnered with the self-proclaimed bane of her existence, Will Scarlet, for the last few years. Despite being dopey and, on occasion, an outright liability, he was a decent cop. David had partnered him up with her when he'd joined the precinct, ignoring all of her protestations and pleas against that idea, hoping that she'd be a good influence on the loose cannon. At first, and to his credit, he'd attempted to be on his best behaviour, but that soon became too much of an effort when he realized she wasn't going to fall under the spell of his rough British accent or his shoddy attempts at flirting. So he'd settled for taking up the role of 'annoying younger brother' and excelled at it.

As much as she was sure her eyes were about ready to roll out of her head because of him most days, she'd eventually warmed to him and the two had finally developed an easy partnership. It mostly consisted of them berating one another, served with a side of scathing banter and snarky innuendos, but it worked.

When new cases came in, Emma would throw herself wholeheartedly into them and Will would tag along behind, looking like her adorable assistant until her smart mouth and unforgiving tenacity got her into sticky situations. It was those situations in which Will stepped up to the plate, making it look surprisingly easy as he smoothly extricated them both from trouble. She never said thank you, but there was always a Poptart waiting on his desk the next day.

Over the years since she'd joined the department, she'd slowly come to realize that she finally had the family she'd craved and dreamed of as a child. Sure, it wasn't conventional, but she had an over-protective father figure in David, and his wife Mary-Margaret was more than willing to play the doting mother role with her. She had an annoying younger brother in Will, and a whole bunch of wise older brothers in the other detectives. She was the only woman in homicide, and even though that made her feel as though she needed to prove herself capable of being just as badass as the boys, it also meant that she could rely on the majority of them to have her back should she need more backup than just her own partner.

But because the unit was so tight-knit, they quite often didn't take kindly to outsiders coming in to consult on cases. 'Outsiders' usually meaning the FBI. Being a big city homicide department, they did occasionally have to tolerate the presence of the feds stealing the reins of cases that crossed into federal jurisdiction, but Emma hadn't had to deal with them thus far. She'd heard the grumbles from other detectives when their cases had been commandeered, however. And she knew if any of her cases was ever 'stolen', she wouldn't be letting it go easily.

The case she was currently working on was hitting a little close to home for her, but even so, she was determined to see it through. A 35-year old woman, Taryn Wheeler, from Beacon Hill had been brutally murdered in her home, her heart removed post-mortem, the killer taking it as a souvenir. There were no signs of a struggle and the alarm system had not been triggered or tampered with, but the locks of the back door had been scratched, and all the photos in the house had been turned face down. Emma had deduced that the killer or killers had likely made themselves familiar enough with Taryn's daily routine that they had broken into her home, disabled the alarm and laid in wait for her return, taking her by surprise with a frenzied attack and turning all photographs face down before they left with their victim's heart.

Taryn and her husband, Patrick, seemingly had no enemies and were well-liked in the community. Patrick was a businessman, who was away in Europe for work purposes at the time of the murder and who had quickly been ruled out as a suspect. They had no children, though the husband did reveal that they'd given up a child for adoption 5 years earlier. Emma had gritted her teeth through that revelation, but hadn't let it impact on her professionalism.

However, a week into the case, with frustratingly few answers, they received a call from Quantico. David had called a team meeting, explaining that a very similar case had presented itself in Hartford, Connecticut, just one state over – wealthy woman murdered in her home while her husband was away, heart removed, family photos turned face-down. Certain details of the case had not been revealed to the media – in this case the removal of the victim's heart and the photographs being moved. It helped them to weed out any possible copy-cat killings that would inevitably follow if the case gained enough media attention.

Emma was not impressed by the idea of the feds swooping in and taking jurisdiction over her case, but David told her firmly that if Quantico deemed the links between the cases strong enough, there was to be no arguing when the FBI arrived. She'd grumbled her assent and got back to work, determined to get as much done as possible before she was no longer heading up the investigation.

She spent the next few hours poring over the crime scene photos, analyzing every minute detail she could (she even used a damn magnifying glass, like Sherlock freaking Holmes or something). Will sat opposite her at his own desk the entire time, intermittently glancing over with a weary expression from the pile of photos she'd thrust at him. She'd long-since tuned him out though, engrossed in her task.

When 6:30pm rolled around, Will shuffled his photos haphazardly into their evidence file and stood up.

"Swan, we're callin' it a night. Come on. We're goin' meetin' the lads down at th'Rabbit 'ole."

She ignored him, not even bothering to look up from her work. But suddenly a hand appeared in front of her face, snatching the photo she had been scrutinizing and shoving it in the evidence file along with the rest.


She started with a warning tone, but he held up a hand and shook his head to silence her. She glared at him and was about to remind him that she knew how to make his death look like a tragic accident, but he grinned and dropped his offending hand.

"Dontcha 'Scarlet' me, love. We're done fer tonight. I'll even buy yer first drink. So go do whatever you ladies do in that locker room an' meet me in the carpark in ten."

Emma rolled her eyes, but reluctantly grabbed her cell phone and car keys from her drawer. He gave her a smug grin as he bounded toward the elevator, and she returned it was a falsely saccharine one before heading in the direction of the women's locker room.

"And it's parking lot, not 'carpark', idiot."

She called after him, just before he disappeared into the elevator.


Emma arrived at the bar with Will and spotted her co-workers occupying their usual booth at the back. They headed straight for the bar and Emma pointedly reminded Will that he was buying. One of the detectives from Vice, James, greeted them (or more specifically, her) as they approached, waiting on his own drink. He was David's estranged twin brother, and they made a very obvious point to avoid one another as much as possible.

Emma had never asked what had transpired between the pair to cause such a rift, but she knew they'd never been particularly close. They were complete opposites. David was the over-protective dad, worrying needlessly whenever she got into any scrapes in the field, while James took every opportunity to fulfil the pervy uncle role, being very explicit and forthcoming in his appreciation of her 'assets' whenever they crossed paths. David had been on the verge of punching his brother on numerous occasions because of that.

"Swan, looking delectable as ever. I do love when you wear those see-through shirts."

"Yeah, well, look your fill because this is the most you'll ever see of my tits, Nolan."

She shot back, not even bothering to glance in his direction before she pointedly turned her back on him. She heard him mutter something about her being 'an uptight bitch who needed a good fuck to loosen her up' and felt Will bristle beside her. She just rolled her eyes and let James' comment slide though. She really couldn't be bothered breaking any noses that night.

As the bartender poured their drinks, she felt eyes on her and glanced around. It wasn't exactly unusual. She wasn't unaware of the effect she had on men, especially when her long, toned legs were encased in sinfully skin-tight denim and her red ¾ sleeved chiffon shirt did nothing to hide the black lace bra she wore beneath it. Her hair was a tousled mess of beachy blonde waves that she'd simply tugged free of her hair-tie and shook out, and her face was bare of almost all make-up, save for cherry Chapstick and a touch of mascara that brought out the green of her eyes.

She'd once used her feminine charms as an integral part of her job as a bailbondsperson, but she found that even now, as a detective, men were most certainly not immune to her beauty, despite occasionally being somewhat intimidated by her strength and position within the department. At the end of the day, they were still men and more often than not, they were ruled by certain organs that weren't in their skull. So, of course, she played on that, because to her it was an easily exploited weakness.

As her drink was pushed toward her, Emma's eyes connected with a pair of startlingly baby blues. The person those eyes belonged to was quite clearly an extremely attractive man, and he was holding her gaze unwaveringly, a small smile tugging his lips. His five o'clock shadow was more than a little becoming on him, and he had a jawline that she was sure had to be illegal in several states. His smirk was knowing, as though she was an open book to him even across a crowded bar. He raised his glass slightly and tipped it in her direction before tossing back the amber liquid and placing it down on the bar, gesturing to the bartender for another without taking his eyes off of her.

Emma felt the tiny hairs on her arms stand up, an innate reaction to the bedroom eyes a devastatingly attractive stranger was levelling her with from across the room. But Will was tugging at her elbow then and the moment was lost. She glanced away and shook her head, clearing the momentary mind-fog that had short circuited her awareness of everything else but the devilishly handsome mystery man, whose eyes she could feel were still on her.

She pointedly kept herself from looking back over at him as she followed Will to the back booth where the rest of their co-workers were laughing over one of David's many anecdotes. She made herself comfortable at the end of the table, resolutely keeping her back to the bar and steadfastly ignoring the urge to glance over her shoulder.

But little more than ten minutes later, one of the bartenders approached their table, setting a drink down in front of her. Rum and coke. Confused, she was about to tell August that she hadn't ordered another drink, but he beat her to it with an explanation.

"Guy at the end of the bar sent this over for you, Emma. Guessed your drink order and everything."

Emma frowned and eyed the drink as David rolled his eyes, searching the bar to find out who he had to death glare this evening. Emma couldn't resist glancing over her shoulder, finally, and once again her eyes immediately connected with his. The mysterious blue eyed stranger who had a knack for guessing people's drink of preference just by looking at them, apparently. She debated whether to simply accept the drink and try to force her attention to remain with the group, or to go over there and see what this guy was about. It had been awhile since she'd looked twice at a guy and almost as long since she'd last gotten laid.

Decision made, she pushed her chair back, casually telling the group that she'd be right back and pointedly ignoring David's warning glare, before striding confidently over to where the tall, dark and brooding stranger sat patiently waiting for her.

"Nice guess on the drink. That your secret superpower or did you bribe Lacey into giving up my usual order?"

He gazed at her thoughtfully, before tossing back the last of his drink and smirking.

"Where would be the fun in simply asking your order, darling? So, did I get it right? You struck me as the rum type. Takes one to know one."

He tilted his empty glass toward her before placing it down.

"Oh, great, an accent too. Did God create this asshole on the Eighth Day or something?"

Emma thought, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from muttering it out loud. She wondered what was wrong with him, because surely someone had no right being that attractive and making words sound that sinfully delicious without something being amiss.

"What's your name, lass?"

He asked, turning his barstool to face her as she stood beside him, hip and elbow leaned against the countertop. Emma hesitated. If she was going to leave with this guy tonight, she was reluctant to give him anything he could use to track her down again. Granted, it didn't help that she was in her local bar, or that she was quite clearly socializing with a bunch of cops. So, if his deduction skills really were as well-honed as she suspected they were, it would take him approximately half a second to deduce a number of things about her and how to track her down.

Brushing off her much-too-loud thoughts, she tilted her chin up and met his eyes.


She said finally and he repeated it back, as though rolling it around on that tongue of his to see how it tasted. She flushed as her mind went straight to decidedly R-Rated thoughts about his tongue and she dropped her gaze.

"Emma. Beautiful. Very fitting," she rolled her eyes at that but he simply smiled, "And do you have a last name, Emma?"

She shrugged.

"Not important. I assume you didn't send me a drink just so we could exchange names."

"Ah, quite the detective, aren't you, lass."

Emma stiffened, wondering whether he'd chosen his words carefully or if that was just an offhanded comment. But before she could dwell on it, he was leaning toward her slightly.

"So, I know your name, and here, I haven't even told you mine-"

"What fun would that be?"

She answered quickly, returning his smirk with one of her own as she consciously decided to throw caution to the wind and take what she wanted. She saw his eyes flash with what she was certain was arousal, pupils blown black so that there was barely any blue left, and her whole body suddenly felt hot.

"Just two ships passing in the night then?"

He murmured, and she couldn't help but let her gaze drop to his lips.

"Passing closely, I hope."


Mindless small talk wasn't something Emma had ever engaged in if she could help it. For the last ten years or so, one night stands were all she'd been interested in. She'd had her heart broken too badly to be willing to open herself up again and risk getting hurt once more. So she'd settled for going home with someone from a random bar whenever she felt the need to scratch that itch. As a general rule she didn'tlike to meet guys at the Rabbit Hole though. Too close to home. Too much of a risk that she'd see them again.

No, when she went out with the sole intention of 'stress relief', she generally ventured to the other side of the city, reducing the risk of ever accidentally seeing the guy again. After they were done, she'd slip out while her bedmate was sleeping or showering, and she never stayed the night. She had her own unwritten rules and she stuck to them.

Most of the guys she'd slept with had been reasonable. They'd done the job. But she definitely hadn't had any kind of spiritual experience with any of them. It was usually quick and efficient, which suited Emma just fine.

Until now.

Whoever had taught this guy how to do what he was currently doing with his tongue, she was tempted to send them a gift basket. Multiple orgasms had never been something she even thought she was capable of, nevermind with a guy she'd literally just met. And yet here she was, three orgasms in and wondering if he was some kind of twisted psychopath who used orgasms to murder women. She couldn't say she'd mind going that way though.

The moment they'd arrived at his hotel room (he was in town on business, apparently, and she'd squashed down a wave of relief), she was shoving him against the wall and fusing her lips to his. If he was surprised, he hadn't let it show. Clothes had been ripped off as they'd stumbled backward toward the bed and he'd wasted no time in settling between her thighs, even when she'd started to protest, assuring him he didn't have to do that. He'd simply grinned at her and pressed kisses to her inner thighs, making her tremble as he teased his way closer and closer to where she was more than ready for him.

And despite his teasing, when he finally did press his lips to her center, she couldn't help the gasp that passed her lips, liquid fire running through her veins as he tugged her legs over his shoulders and continued to devour her. It took precisely two minutes twenty-four seconds for her first orgasm to hit. Usually it'd be well into double figures minutes-wise before she was anywhere close. And yet, she'd barely come down from her first high when she felt him pushing two fingers inside her, causing her to arch her back and let out a keening moan. It was a sound she'd never heard come out of her own mouth before, but she was too far gone to be embarrassed.

He slowed his pace to border on torturous then, keeping a hand firmly pressed to her belly to keep her from squirming beneath his ministrations. She bucked her hips and he chuckled, the vibrations reverberating through her entire body like a tripwire, sparking little electric shocks across her body that had her toes curling with the pleasure of it.

"Come on, Emma, let go for me again, love. You're so bloody intoxicating when you come."

His murmured words against the sensitive skin of her thigh in that damn accent of his pushed her head-first into her second orgasm of the night. He worked her through it, and she momentarily wondered if she'd passed out for a moment, her vision blurring at the edges as she blinked and gasped for breath.

He shifted to lay beside her then, smirking as he stuck his fingers in his mouth and licked them clean in such a blatantly erotic way that she felt her entire body flush.

"You're a marvel, darling-"

He started, but she didn't want pillow talk. They hadn't even had sex yet, and she planned on giving just as good as she got. So, quickly straddling his hips, she pinned his wrists above his head and began grinding her hips down, his impressive erection trapped between them. He swallowed hard, eyes glazing over with lust when she let her breasts drag pleasantly against his chest as she moved, his chest hair only heightening the sensations.

Moving down his body then, she pressed open-mouth kisses over his hipbones, and then on his thighs the way he's done to her, dragging out his torment. Finally, when he choked out her name on a plea, she took pity on him and licked a firm stripe up the length of his cock. He jerked his hips involuntarily and she immediately took him fully into her mouth.

He was bigger than most other guys she'd been with, but it didn't faze her. She took him right to the back of her throat, and curled her hand around the base, unable to take him all in. He groaned loudly, his hand moving to tangle in her hair. Usually she'd shake a guy off if he'd tried to push her head down when she was blowing him, but he didn't try to control her movements. Instead, his fingers just combed through her hair and she relaxed again, closing her throat around him and thrilling in the guttural groans she was able to pull from him.

"Bloody fuck, Emma. Stop. I desperately do not wish for this to be over before the main event, but if you keep that up I fear I'll lose it like some untested youth."

She laughed and rolled her eyes, moving to straddle him once more.

"Do you always talk like that? Like you've been rolled right outta some Shakespearean playbook?"

Tuesday (as she was referring to him in her head – something she often did with her one nighters, naming them after the day of the week she went home with them) chuckled and pulled her hips more firmly down against his. She bit her lip and shifted so that he was lined up, sinking down onto him in one quick, smooth movement. They both stilled momentarily to adjust, before Emma began rolling her hips, hands on his abs to steady herself.

"Emma, bloody Christ, love…"

In answer, Emma shifted backwards, bringing her knees forward and planting her feet flat on the bed, her hips lifting up and her hands reaching backward for purchase, giving him quite the show. He gulped and slid his hands up and down her thighs, bitten-off words of encouragement and praise falling from his lips and spurning her on despite the burn of her muscles.

She'd never had a praise kink before, but hearing him whispering her name along with a litany of praise was certainly doing things to her, and when his fingers suddenly started to circle her clit she cried out in surprise as a fast, breath-stealing orgasm hit her.

Before she had chance to realize what was happening, he had her on her back, pushing inside her again quickly and burying his face into the crook of her neck as he sped up his thrusts. She locked her ankles at the small of his back, pressing her heels down and encouraging his movements. He suddenly pulled out and she whimpered at the loss, but in the next moment he was pulling her up, whispering for her to turn around.

She was about to balk and tell him there was not a chance in hell she was doing that but he simply pulled her back flush against his chest and slid a hand around between her legs. Her eyes widened as she saw her reflection staring back at her, the full length mirror facing the bed being something she completely overlooked when they'd stumbled into the room.

She gasped as he bit down on the sensitive skin where her neck met her shoulder, his eyes never leaving her face in the mirror. He whispered more praise in her ear as he pushed her closer and closer to the edge again, telling her how beautiful she was, how utterly breathtaking she looked with his cock inside her. She felt another orgasm building, and she was sure that if he kept going at this rate she would surely pass out before long.

"I know you've got another one left in you, Emma, darling. Don't hold out on me. Let me feel you come around my cock."

A little well-timed dirty talk in his silky, sultry voice was all it took, and she was falling forward onto her elbows on the bed, crying out and shivering with the aftershocks as he gripped her hips and drove into a few more times before nudging her hips and encouraging her to turn back over onto her back once more. She did so, too exhausted and sated with bone-deep pleasure to argue. He sheathed himself inside her again and within moments was fucking her with abandon. It wasn't long before his thrusts became erratic and he quickly pulled out moments before he came, hand wrapping around himself and jerking until he groaned her name and shot his release across her stomach, painting her skin and branding her.

He stilled for long moments afterward, chest heaving as he admired the sight of her spread out before him, hair fanned out on the pillow like a golden halo and her skin glistening and flushed. She stared back up at him, half expecting to wake up at any moment and realize it had all been an intensely erotic dream. Because surely a man who could wring so much pleasure out of her body and leave her reluctant to move from the bed had to be a figment of her imagination. He couldn't possibly be real.

"I'm going to take a shower, love. Care to join me?"

He smirked at her and moved toward the bathroom, unbothered by his nakedness as he strode across the room. She blushed and shook her head.

"Really, Emma, you're blushing now when you've just fucked the guy for the last…holy shit, two and a half hours?!"

As soon as she heard the shower door close behind him, Emma quickly gathered her clothes and dressed in a hurry. Pausing in front of the mirror to attempt to tame the 'freshly fucked look' her wild tousled hair was giving her, she tried not to think of how good they'd looked, moving sensually together in that mirror.

Shaking her head, she ran a hand through her hair and gave up trying to tame it. As she headed for the door, she contemplated leaving him a quick note but scoffed at herself immediately and slipped out into the hallway, easing the door shut behind her as quietly as possible.

Hailing a cab as soon as she stepped out of the hotel, Emma attempted to push the greatest sex of her life to the back of her mind. No use playing it back on loop. It was over now and she'd never see Tuesday again.


"You're late."

Will observed casually around a mouthful of jelly donut when Emma arrived at work the next morning. She'd got home much later than she'd anticipated – thanks to a two and a half hour session with the Sex God she'd picked up and was desperately trying not to think about this morning – and she'd slept through her alarm. Luckily she wasn't horribly late, just a half hour. But she was never late, and it had thrown her all off kilter, leaving her on edge and cranky seeing as she'd had to skip her morning coffee in her rush to leave her apartment.


She muttered, but he didn't press her. Instead he simply nodded toward her desk.

"Bearclaws and an extra-large coffee with two extra shots of espresso and three shots of vanilla. Prob'ly cold now though. Figured you'd need it this mornin'."

She was almost on the verge of hugging Will, but instead made a beeline for the coffee. She didn't care if it was cold. It was caffeinated, and that's all that mattered. She made a mental note to buy her partner a freaking case of Poptarts this time. He watched her with amusement as she breathed down the coffee and the two bearclaws.

"Slow down, Swan, they're not goin' nowhere."

Will chuckled and she grinned at him with a mouthful of pastry. David called her name then and she turned as she stuffed the rest of the remaining bearclaw in her mouth.

"Emma, the FBI team have arrived. I've set them up in the conference room. They're going to do a team brief this morning to fill us in on everything they know so far, and then I want you to present everything we've got."

Emma nodded, reaching for her coffee again to wash down the cinnamon pastry.

"I don't care that they're swooping in here and stealing my case, which they'll then take all the credit for when our guys solve it, but I hope those big hot shots know I'm not gonna let them freeze me out of my own case just because they have jurisdiction now."

Emma stated firmly and David sighed, clearly anticipating her reluctance to hand over the reins.

"We're still working the case, Emma. We'll be in the loop. But they're gonna be handling all the official stuff from here on out. Media, evidence processing, database searches. It's all under their say-so now. I'm well aware that you hate taking orders, especially now you're a detective, but try not to come to blows with them too much."

Emma pressed her lips together into a thin line, holding back a snarky retort and instead chose to sip her cold coffee and keep her sass to herself for once.

"I can't imagine we'll come to blows, Captain. I can assure you, I'm more than happy to work closely with your team and make this case run as smoothly as possible."

Emma froze. She would recognize the voice behind her anywhere now and her blood ran cold. Tuesday. No. No, this was not happening. Gripping her coffee cup, Emma slowly turned around and came face-to-face with the man who would no doubt be haunting every naughty dream she had for years to come.

"You must be Emma Swan. Charmed to meet you, love. I'm Killian Jones. Head of the FBI Behavioral Analysis Unit."

He smirked at her with a glint in his eye, a secret shared between them as he reached for her hand and shook it firmly, fingers grazing her pulse point as he did so and making her blood rush in her ears.


Killian Jones.

The man who had fucked her three ways from Sunday and wrung more pleasure from her than she knew her body was even capable of handling. The man she was never going to see him again. And now here he was…taking over her damn case.