He slid the lock pick kit back into his jacket and slipped silently through the door. Closing it quietly behind him he paused on the threshold, listening intently. He'd watched her leave, dog and perky reporter in tow, but something felt - wrong. He'd learned to trust his gut instinct, it rarely let him down. There was someone here who wasn't supposed to be - someone other than him, lurking in the dark.

Cautiously he moved forward. There! The faint squeak of a floorboard. Pulling his Glock from its holster he advanced towards the bedroom. He'd only officially been inside once, but that was enough to have memorized the layout of the apartment. Someone was definitely in there, trying their best to be stealthy.

Gripping the handle of the bedroom door he swung it open to confront the startled interloper. A smirk spread across his face as he recognized the intruder. The jilted boyfriend. "Pete Raynor," he confirmed, enjoying the stunned look on the man's face.

"How do you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot of things." He lowered his weapon, confident he had the upper hand. "Special Agent John Ashe. Now, the question is, what are you doing here? Inspector Boxer dumped you."

A snarl washed over the blond's face, obliterating the mask of easy-going charm. "What do you think I'm doing? That bitch dumped me!"

Ashe looked away, trying to hide his smirk in the shadows. Then he noticed the bed, it's mattress and bedding sliced, stuffing spilling from the pillows. So that's what Poor Pitiful Pete had been doing. They might both be predators of a sort, but Pete was way down the food chain compared to him.

Pete hadn't finished his rant. "What can that redheaded bitch do for her that I can't?"

The smirk became a sneer. "Well for a start, she makes her scream louder in bed than you every did."

Pete lunged, fisting Ashe's lapels in his hands as he pinned him against the wall. "How the hell could you possible know that?"

"I told you, I know a lot of things." He raised his hand, casually resting the barrel of his gun against Pete's ribs. "And if you know what's good for you, you'll step away right now."

Pete released him and eased back half a pace. "Okay, so you know why I'm here. But you haven't explained what you're doing in here. Last I knew, a federal badge didn't give you a license to just let yourself into someone's home."

"Lindsay's hunting a serial killer who's now stalking her. I have no intention of letting him."

"Really?" Pete was now smirking at him. "You don't strike me as the type to care - as long as you get your man. Or woman."

"You're right. Normally I'd let him waltz right in and have his fun. Get the jump on him while he's distracted." His voice dropped an octave. "But she's mine."

"Yours?" Pete snorted in disbelief.

"I own her in ways you'll never understand. I've been biding my time, waiting for the right moment. And that moment is tonight." Lindsay Boxer may be his first kill, possibly even his only one, but that was all the more reason to savour the experience.

For a moment they stared at each other, each sizing the other up. Slowly, Pete began to smile. "Can I watch?"

A/N: I really can't explain this one. It started with me thinking about Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and the wonderfully awkward moment when Arthur and Ford meet Zaphod and Trillian on the Heart of Gold. Then for no discernibly adequate reason I thought what if Ashe, Pete and KMN met in Lindsay's apartment? In my head it was funny. In practice not so much. There may be another chapter if I can make it work.