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hiding in plain sight

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"He's here."

 

Daenerys Targaryen glanced up from the crime scene photos, which she'd been studying for the past hour or so, in preparation for the interrogation. It was not to be an official interview. They'd done that already, at the person of interest's place of employment. It had generated further questions they had for the man, coupled with more information gleaned from the victim's friends and coworkers, and now they wanted to bring him in officially. As a suspect.

 

She nodded at her partner, Detective Inspector Jorah Mormont, who waited with a cup of coffee in one hand and a glass and bottle of water in the other. It was easy for Jorah to go in as the polite one, the one to make the suspect comfortable and attended to, while she approached from the side. To make the kill. They never expected her. It was why she enjoyed her job as much as she did. She flicked the folder closed, shoving it in with some of the others, each one containing relevant information for their investigation.

 

The heavy weight of the folders in her hands spoke to what they already had. The murder was rather gruesome; the killer had a hatred of the woman and wanted to ensure she was dead. She had the victim's face burned into her memory, the fiery red hair, the cool blue eyes, and the pale skin—even paler and ashen in death, her blood spilling around her crumpled body, coagulating with her thick red mane around her head.

 

They walked down the corridor, nodding to various detectives as they passed. Dany caught sight of their boss, Superintendent Stannis Baratheon, who nodded as they walked by. He motioned for them to pause, so she did, reaching for Jorah's elbow to stay him. She drew herself up, back straight and shoulders. "Boss," she greeted.

 

Stannis's face was, as ever, stony. He looked as though he was always providing bad news, now was no exception. "I do not need to tell you how important this interrogation is to the investigation," he said, drawling his words in his monotone accent. He scowled, grooves running deep around the lines of his mouth. "We cannot afford to make a mistake; the press is all over this case. Beautiful young woman killed at home, a prominent critic of the government? And as violently as this? It's the makings of a news special."

 

"Of course," Jorah said.

 

"And," Stannis continued, not acknowledging Jorah, "It is also of the utmost importance we tread carefully with this man. He's got money, which means good solicitors, and he's got name recognition too, his family being what it is." He pressed his lips into a line, which disappeared entirely on his sullen face. "Get him."

 

Dany nodded; this was her specialty. "Yes sir."

 

"That's all."

 

They turned, Jorah muttering under his breath. "You think we have never interrogated anyone before, that this was our first day on the job." He was overly sensitive, still being a Detective Inspector, with his time in the force. He never let it show with her, but Dany sometimes got the impression he didn't care for the fact she was close to outranking him, if her promotion to DCI went through the following month.

 

She said nothing; this was a big case. They did have media attention, they had possible domestic violence in the mix, and they had a wealthy suspect who yes, came from a very well-known Westerosi family in both politics and industry. Stannis also failed to mention the fact that their suspect was also a solicitor. She let Jorah go ahead, to set up the room the way they preferred, while she went down to intake.

 

They were bringing him in, for photographs. She stepped into the viewing room, nodding to one of the office's interpreters, who was scribbling in her notebook. They were best friends and used to be roommates before Missy got married. "Missy," she said, surprised. "What are you doing here?"

 

"Hiding, just had to finish an interview, providing Braavosi translation." She made a face, shaking her head. "Some of the words he was using, ugh. Disgusting. Just needed a quiet moment to get my head straight." She nodded to the window, smirking. "He's cute."

 

"Hmm." She glanced to the two-way mirror, watching as they photographed him, holding the little white board with his name. The flash of the camera glinted from the glass, illuminating him further, like a glow around his face. Her skin tingled, his eyes suddenly lifting to stare forward. Straight at the glass. At the mirror. He cannot see you, it is just his reflection. For a brief moment, she wondered if he could see her, if the flash caused the film to disappear, and he knew she was there. She stared straight into his eyes.

 

They were so cold, so dark and haunting.

 

"What's his name?" Missy asked, coming to stand beside her. "And what's he in for?"

 

Dany took a deep breath, slowly releasing it through pursed lips, and she pinned her hands to her hips, nails digging slightly into the denim. The man before them was led out, but not before he glanced back, to the mirror, and maybe it was juts blink, maybe he had something in his eye, but she swore— she swore he winked at her.

 

"Jon Snow." She pushed away, walking out, and called over her shoulder. "And murder."

 

 


 

The interrogation began like they all did, establishing the location. It was rote memory now for Dany, who spoke monotone, the microphones picking it up and recording to the computers in the adjacent room, where she knew Stannis was waiting, along with their prosecutor Brienne Tarth and their immediate supervisor, DCI Seaworth. "The time is—" a flick of her wrist, glance at the fancy wristwatch, "—1005, location Interview Room B at City Watch Headquarters, Kings Landing, Crownsland Province." Breath quickened, barely. "This the official interview under caution for Jon Snow, in the murder case of Ygritte Wilde, Mr. Snow has been read of his official rights, he has agreed to waive counsel. Mr. Snow before we begin, for the record, you consent to interview without counsel?"

 

"Yes," he replied, his voice softer than one would expect from someone who exuded such power, his bearing relaxed in the chair, legs crossed, and arm draped backwards over the top of the chair.

 

"You acknowledge you were read your rights upon entry to the precinct?"

 

"Yes."

 

"Thank you." She nodded sideways to Jorah, who nodded back to her, agreeing to continue. "Crownsland City Watch Detective Inspector Jorah Mormont and Detective Inspector Daenerys Targaryen are present for the interrogation. Let's begin."

 

The first thing she did was open the file and while she did not hand him the photo directly, she made sure he could see the large color photograph of the dead woman in question, blood smeared on the floor, and her vacant eyes wide, almost surprised at her murderer. The last thing the woman saw was the person who killed her, and if it was him, no doubt she was surprised.

 

Or maybe she wasn't; maybe she was actually expecting it.

 

Dany took out the driver's license photo of Ygritte Wilde, turned it towards him. "Do you know this woman?"

 

"Aye," Jon said.

 

"Please identify her."

 

He tapped his fingers on the table. Jorah smiled gently. "Nervous? Can I get you a glass of water?"

 

"Can I smoke?" Jon rasped, nervously chuckled. He knew he could not smoke, the attempt to diffuse the situation rather poor in retrospect. He swallowed hard, nodding, a crack in his Northern burr. "Aye, I know her. Her name is..." He paused, eyes closing tight. "Was, Ygritte. Ygritte Wilde."

 

"Describe the nature of your relationship."

 

"We used to be together."

 

Jorah chuckled, leaning forward in his seat, his craggy face kind, a practiced act on his part. "Together means a lot of things Jon, especially these days with young people such as yourself. Can you explain?"

 

He eyed him. Dany took the opportunity to size him up, more than she had in the antechamber when he'd had his photograph taken and been processed in for the interview. Raven curls were messy around his head; his license photo showed they were long at one point, now they were cropped short. Pale face, smooth save for the scruffy beard. Those gray eyes, chips of ice, looking back. The creases on the corners were for show, she suspected, immediately wondering why he was trying to seem upset. It was an act. She didn't trust it.

 

He'd been saying something about how they were dating, off and on, when she interrupted. "Witnesses say that you both had a pretty big blow up a couple weeks ago." She snapped out, scowling. "I'd say that wasn't just off and on. But off."

 

"We fought," he said, closing his eyes again, brow wrinkling. He was upset; nerves showed in how he kept tapping his fingers, and he tried to laugh. "Gods, if I'd known..."

 

"If you'd known what?" Jorah asked.

 

Jon looked at them, sad. "If I'd known she would be dead, maybe I wouldn't have broken up with her."

 

Dany scowled. "You broke up with her?"

 

"Aye. We'd dated on and off you see...but she was so...well we had issues. I won't lie about that."

 

"You shouldn't lie about anything," Dany snapped.

 

He stammered back. "I just mean... not lying, just...I won't pretend it was all wonderful."

 

"What do you mean?" Jorah prodded.

 

They'd done their homework. He'd been interviewed already. So had neighbors. So had coworkers. The longest running relationship in Ms. Wilde's life had been with Jon Snow. He was naturally the first suspect in her murder. Dany also knew what he was going to do now, as she had records of it in the file. Sure enough, he shrugged off his sleeve. He reached to his neck, to the collar of the black t-shirt he wore underneath the black blazer, tugging it aside. It revealed a scar near his shoulder, pink and puckered. He barked out. "She shot me. With an arrow. Few years ago. The last time I broke up with her. I couldn't be around someone like that anymore. She was so mad at me, you see."

 

Jorah glanced at Dany and made a show of looking into his files. "You did not report this to the police."

 

"I didn't want her to get in trouble." Regret seeped forth, the way he fussed with his fingers, and closed his eyes again, turned his head slightly, away from the photograph of the woman glaring up at him from the table. "Maybe if I had...she'd still be alive."

 

Dany took the picture back, shoved it into the files. She took out one from the crime scene and set it in front of him, tapping her red nail on it. "So Jon Snow, let's get to that. Why don't you tell us about this?"

 

He covered his mouth with his hand, staring at the murder scene. Horrified. It was horrific. This particular photo made no bones about what had occurred. Three shots to her chest, one in the heart, one in the shoulder nicking an artery, and another in the stomach. It looked like the stomach had been first, she tried to crawl away; had failed. The murderer advanced. Took her out. Left her bleeding on the floor, choking to death. It was a show.

 

Jon shook his head hard, unable to stop looking, but she knew he wanted to. They all did; they all couldn't stand it when you showed them their crimes, in the horrifying light of day. The harsh lighting from above threw his face in relief. "Tell you what?" he demanded. He pushed at the picture, knocking it away from him. His throat constricted; he was trying not to get upset, to maintain composure.

 

She just couldn't be sure if he was trying not to get angry or trying not to cry.

 

"We know this is difficult." Jorah opened the water bottle, poured some into the glass. Set it in front of him. It clinked on the aluminum table; sounded like a gunshot. "Please, let's just begin."

 

Jon took a deep breath. Dany noticed when he did his t-shirt strained over the hard planes of his chest. He was a handsome man; he looked carelessly put together but everything he wore was expensive. From the designer t-shirt to the watch that cost more than the average Westerosi made. He scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands, a telltale nervous gesture, beard scratching his skin.

 

Jorah seized on the action immediately. "Don't be nervous," he assured. "Just start at the beginning. Take us back. When did you first meet Ms. Wilde?"

 

His eyes lifted, shuttered, dark. There were bags under them now. The weight of the world on him. He had to tell his side. Defend himself.

 

This was the best part, Dany thought, trying not to smile. To keep her face still. She picked up another photo, set it down in front of him. This one from a society magazine, of the two of them, the raven-haired man and the redheaded beauty. Harsh, angry, her smile toothy and smug, while he stood beside her, unsmiling, a statue. She narrowed her eyes.

 

Jon stared at the picture for a brief moment. He sat straight, smoothly uncrossed his legs and folded his hands on the table, leaning forward. It startled her; how slick he became. This was a man who was used to playing a role for people, who observed and learned, and retained the information. It was all in the dossier they'd done on him, from the interviews of everyone around him. DCI Seaworth had even met him, warned her. "He's used to playing a particular role, in his family, so be careful Dany."

 

His accent caused her pulse to trill in her throat, simultaneously attractive and grating. "Alright, I'll start at the beginning. I met her ten years ago at university."

 

Dany let Jorah take over this part; he always got more information. She watched. Arms crossed, leaning back in her chair, she stared at their suspect, and memorized every feature of his face, the way his pupils dilated and constricted, and even the little jump of his pulse. Listened to the cadence of his voice, the gruff words and the smooth way he explained how he met Ygritte. Student demonstrations, protesting the treatment of the Free Folk, of which Ygritte claimed to be a member. She had been in trouble numerous times with the police, he got involved, and they did not get along at first. Until they did.

 

Jon pinched his nose between his index finger and thumb, bowing his head forward. "She basically beat me into a relationship with her."

 

"And you resented that?"

 

"No," he sighed. "I was shy, not great with girls." Dany snorted. He scowled, a little hurt. "My older cousin, more like my brother, well he had it better with them. I was always the quiet one."

 

"Some people say you two fought a lot. She didn't seem to like you much."

 

"Yeah, she hated me on sight." He laughed; it reminded her of an angry wolf. Caged and tethered. Wolves didn't like to be locked up. "Sounds like she wanted me, right? She only wanted me because she thought I was a fake. Coming from my family, she thought i was there to take them down. Like a narc. In the end she never loved me. She always hated me. She's always wanted to use me. She was a vicious, spiteful, evil woman." He lifted his eyes again.

 

Stared straight at her. Not at Jorah; he was not even there.

 

Dany didn't blink. She broke first. "And?"

 

He barely smirked, his right eye twitching. "And I'm sorry she's dead. But there were plenty of people who wanted her dead."

 

"Including you?"

 

Jon cocked his head. He shifted again. He whispered. "No."

 

Aha.

 

Dany smiled, long and slow. She arched her brows. Her heart quickened against her ribs. "That's a shame Jon Snow." She got up, gathering her folders. It was Jorah's turn. She leaned into his space, crowding him, forcing him to push back in the chair, suddenly scared, those gray eyes remaining dead, as dead as the ones of the woman in the photo.

 

She breathed into his face, whispering. "Because I don't believe you."

 

 


 

In the antechamber, with the computer monitors, cameras at all angles showing all the flinches, flickers, and brief little movements of Jon Snow’s fingers, feet, lips and eyes, and speakers documenting the inflection in his burr, the tremble in the back of his throat, and the hesitation here and there before he said something, Dany waited. And she watched.

 

“He’s lying,” she announced, hands on her hips, staring at the man in the chair, who faced the window. Jorah was bringing him through the actual crime. Was explaining just what exactly happened to the dead woman in the photos, the one they knew he killed. He was good; he’s so good. Hiding all his emotions, just like Stannis warned he would.

 

“What’s his story?” Davos asked, standing next to her. He hadn’t said anything regarding his belief in Jon’s guilt or innocence. There was certainly no one else in Ygritte Wilde’s life who had the motive, means, and opportunity to murder her.

 

In the chair at the monitors was DS Samuel Tarly, who was their tech guy, better behind the glass than in front of it. “Um,” he began, opening up the file on one of the monitors. Dany glanced at it; tried not to let the subtle smirk in Jon Snow’s photograph from his intake bother her. “Jon Snow, born Jon Stark, Winterfell, Northern Province…”

 

“We know this Sam,” she cut off. She sometimes grew irritated by his stammering and his inability to make decisions. She waved her hand, demanding he carry on. “What’s the deal with him and Wilde?”

 

“It’s as he says, um, met at university. Queen Alysanne’s. He did an internship Beyond the Wall in Hardhome, they met doing some student activist work for the Free Folk. Seems like they hit it off. Came back to Winterfell and then he came to Kings Landing for the military and she came here for law school. Kept up her Free Folk activism. Downright militant.”

 

“Military?” Davos keyed in on.

 

Sam nodded quickly and a photo of Jon Snow in full military dress uniform, staring straight ahead in his official portrait and an accompanying photo of him in all black, a massive gun slung over his shoulder, not smiling with the other brothers-in-arms, all of them before the ice sheet she recognized as the Wall. “Night’s Watch.”

 

“Elite ranger force, seriously?” she demanded. She rolled her eyes. “He’s trained to kill and how to make it look like someone else did it. Davos, he did it, I know he did.”

 

“We need evidence, Daenerys.”

 

“We have it!” They did not have it. She huffed. “He hated Wilde. He said he wanted her dead in their last meeting, Davos.”

 

“And so did a lot of other people,” Davos rebutted. He pointed to the monitor. Their names were listed with photographs. “Jon Snow, ex-boyfriend. Olly Northman, who lost his family to one of her so-called protests. Anyone and everyone in the North who happens to be against giving the Free Folk entire stretches of their territory. Even the Free Folk themselves. Fuck, her neighbors even hated her.”

 

There were too many people and not enough evidence against Jon Snow. She dug her fingers into her hips, staring at his cool expression beyond the glass. His brief smiles never met his eyes. They were dead inside. Her stomach flared, warmth spreading through her midsection. She swallowed hard, fighting back the initial wave of attraction. There were plenty of broken hearts trailing after him. It seemed he charmed anyone and everyone he met. According to the interviews they’d done so far.

 

Followed up with comments about how much he didn’t like his ex-girlfriend anymore. “They fought all the time,” she said. She picked up the microphone, speaking into it, telling Jorah. They were in the middle of discussing the progress of his relationship with the deceased. “Ask him about the ring.” In all the photos, Ygritte wore an emerald and diamond ring. It wasn’t found on her body.

 

“Were you engaged to Ms. Wilde?”

 

Jon moved to roll his eyes but caught himself. He glanced to the mirror; he was watching her. Her skin prickled, knowing he couldn’t see her. Those gray eyes swept up and down her, his tongue darting out to run around the seam of his lips. He leaned forwards over the table, keeping his eyes focused straight on her, not on Jorah. “Engaged is a…loaded word.”

 

“Engaged to be married?”

 

“Why do you ask?”

 

“Because I’m the detective here. Now answer the question.”

 

Dany smiled, when he tore his gaze from hers, smiling very briefly. His dark brows arched; voice cool. “She wanted to get married, I didn’t.”

 

“Why?”

 

“Didn’t seem right.”

 

“People said you both were all over each other.” Jorah smiled again, polite. “Very much in love, they said.”

 

Jon cocked his head. “Looks can be deceiving. Ygritte could be nice when she wanted to be. Other times she was a raving bitch.” His brow furrowed, voice dropping again, once more despondent, morose. “Not to speak ill of the dead, of course.”

 

Sam looked up at them both, whispering. “His voice modulation is consistent with someone telling the truth. If he hated her, he’s still sorry for her death.”

 

“He’s a psychopath,” Dany said. That was the only answer for his ability to jump between his cool apathy to his former girlfriend’s horrific murder and what appeared to also be sadness at her passing. She grabbed the microphone again, pressing. “Ask about the ring.”

 

It took a few minutes for Jorah to bring it up, mentioning the ring. Jon’s face went sad again, his voice crackling. “I gave that to her for the Winter Solstice holiday.” He sniffed, looking down at his hands twisting his fingers. “She celebrated it, most Free Folk do…she was never without it.” He reached up to point at a scar on his eyebrow, smirking. “Until she threw it at me when she dumped me.”

 

“Because you were reporting on her to your military superiors in the Night’s Watch.”

 

“She was involved in some things…I feared for her safety.”

 

Jorah was once more sympathetic. “And you were upset about that, right?”

 

“I was relieved,” he hissed. He ground his teeth together. “That was the first time we broke up and I was relieved she dumped me. I wanted the ring back, and she refused to give it. Claimed it a spoil of war. I have no idea where it is. She could have pawned it for all I know. It belonged to my mother and she kept it.”

 

Dany grinned; he was getting fired up. That was all they needed. She glanced at Davos, smirking. “Still think he’s innocent?”

 

Davos sighed.

 

 


 

Back and forth, back and forth. A metronome. Swinging from near tears to snapping anger. Jon Snow was trapped, he was a wolf caged, and he had even gotten out of his chair, pacing around, fists clenching and unclenching. He’d unbuttoned his collar in a fit of stress, his tie shoved into his jacket pocket. He got up at one point, when she’d accused him of lying to them again and almost punched the glass, shouting: “What do I have to do to get you to believe me!?”

 

“Sit down Mr. Snow!” she barked. Her eyes flamed. “Or I will restrain you.”

 

It didn’t go unnoticed the slight dilation of his pupils, the little catch in his throat. He swallowed hard, not breaking eye contact, and walked by her on his way back to his seat, nudging against her. His arm brushed across her breast, and she had to hold her breath a moment to collect herself.

 

It was thick in the air, the desire he obviously felt for her. She bit hard on her lip, trying not to let it affect her. To maintain control. She turned, not looking at Jorah, who had frowned at her, and sat back down. She fiddled with the folder she’d just received from Sam, who had completed another set of queries against Jon Snow. She opened it up, her voice steady. “It seems as though death follows you around Mr. Snow. Ms. Wilde is not the first person in your life to meet an untimely end.”

 

He stiffened. “You have nothing to keep me here for any longer, so you want to bring up dead relatives and friends?”

 

Jorah frowned. “How do you know we were going to ask you about them?”

 

Jon rolled his eyes, cold again. “Everyone always does. Let me save you the trouble Mormont.”

 

“Detective Mormont.”

 

He waved his hand again; to refer to Jorah only by his last name was to take control over the situation again. It was annoying Jorah that he couldn’t get through to this one by just being the nice guy. If Dany was right, Jon hadn’t made eye contact with Jorah once since he entered the interrogation room. “It’s not a surprise. Is it a crime to have lost family?”

 

“No,” she said.

 

“Well then I do not see why it matters.” He picked a speck of lint she couldn’t even see from his elbow. He sighed hard. “Especially since I have been more than cooperative.”

 

“It’s just curious,” Dany murmured. She smirked, her tongue darting out again to lick her lips. Her heart raced; she had him where she wanted him. He stilled. She smiled now, gentle. Good cop. “You lost your mother when you were young, tragic. Then your uncle. Your cousin last year…and it seems two of your coworkers met rather…untimely ends.”

 

He flashed a smile. “My mother had cancer, Detective Targaryen. If you think even, I can generate that to murder someone, you are grasping.”

 

“Your uncle was beheaded.”

 

“He owned a factory and was visiting the plant floor late at night. It was an accident. A terrible, terrible accident.”

 

Dany looked at the other two. “Aliser Thorne and Janos Slynt. What about them?”

 

His lip curled. “They were evil men. No one mourns their deaths.”

 

“And yet they are dead. On your watch.”

 

Jon slammed his fists onto the table, barking. “I was cleared!”

 

She leaned over the table, both of them almost nose-to-nose. Her heart raced, blood pounded against her veins, and her breath was coming in shallow gasps. She pulsed with energy, feeding from him. “You killed them. Just like you killed Wilde. They were in your way. All of them. Your uncle kept you as second best after he took you in, Thorne and Slynt were humiliating you and refusing to obey your commands when you advanced over them, so you murdered them.”

 

“And my cousin? You mentioned her.” He snorted. “Tell me, how did I kill her?”

 

Jorah chuckled. “You poisoned her.”

 

“Sansa was drunk,” he snapped. He sat down, eyes shining. The tears were back, as fast as they had disappeared last time, he tried that tactic. He’s such a good actor, she thought, almost reverently. She liked a challenge. “She was drunk and unfortunately she took the wrong medication. We were all devastated. She was so young.” He pushed his head into his hand, whispering. “We had no idea she had a drinking problem…it was just…she had issues.”

 

“The coroner ruled it a suicide,” Dany said.

 

He nodded quickly, sniffing back the tears. “Aye. Destroyed her mother…Catelyn is in a facility now…after Ned’s death my cousin Robb took over…this destroyed him too…the family’s company is barely together.”

 

“And you’re doing well for yourself.” It was Jorah to brought up Jon’s financial success. He smiled quickly. “Got your inheritance and you bolted. Seems with Ms. Wilde’s death you might even get some more too. The luxury apartment she lived in was in your name, the ring you clearly stole back after murdering her will fetch a decent price, and she even had funds that had come directly from your account…two in particular, one which occurred not but a few days before she died. I imagine those will get wired back.”

 

He set his jaw. “I did not murder her. Like I said, I’m sorry she’s gone, but we did not get along. We haven’t been together in years, but we still did business. My law firm is on retainer for the Free Folk Initiative. That doesn’t make me her killer.” He pushed his hands over his hair and then dropped them to scrub at his beard. He was exhausted now. “So what do you want me to tell you? Hmm?”

 

Dany rolled her eyes. “The truth, Jon. Just tell us the truth.”

 

He looked miserable, whispering. “I am.”

 

Except when he lifted his gaze to her, she saw the faintest little smile. And she kept going. He was a wolf and thought she was the prey. It was all a game.

 

A sick, twisted little game.

 

 


 

“He likes you.”

 

They were giving Jon a break, leaving him alone in the room, to stew. They were closing in on almost ten hours with him. They didn’t have long; Davos had already warned them. Stannis was breathing down his neck, saying it was only a matter of time before the lawyers got involved. Only reason Snow hadn’t requested a solicitor was because he was a solicitor.

 

She scowled, arms tight over her chest, muttering. "Jon Snow doesn't like me."

 

He was currently reclining back slightly in his chair, eyes closed, hands folded neatly in his lap, and his ankles crossed, legs straight out. Very relaxed, nonchalant, not at all what you would expect anyone to be doing in a police interview room. Especially as they were a legitimate suspect in a murder investigation.

 

She licked her lips, watching him lightly toss a curl out of his face, his eyes fluttering open to stare up at the ceiling. Then he turned, his eyes fixing on hers, straight through the mirror. He smirked.

 

"See?" Jorah chuckled. He looked over at Sam, who was scouring through a document on the computer monitor. "Anything?"

 

Sam shook his head, sighing defeatedly. "No. Financials look fine, other than those payments to her. They're legitimate."

 

"How do you know?"

 

Dany tuned them out while they discussed financials; she was busy looking down at the biometrics for Jon Snow and the man stretched out in the chair in front of her. He was so casual. Every so often his heart rate spiked. She glanced at the corresponding moments in the interview, smiling a little when they matched with when she began to speak to him.

 

He really does like me.

 

She pursed her lips, running through the scenarios in her head, how they could move forward. "Let's use it," she murmured. “It’s part of the game.”

 

"Huh?"

 

"Let's use it," she said louder, turning to Jorah. Her eyebrow arched. "We don't have much time left with him. Let's use his affection for me against him. Switch it. I'll be good cop."

 

"You think that wise? He's highly intelligent."

 

The background proved that enough. She flicked through the photos Sam compiled of him, her stomach flipping and her skin prickling at the images of him in his military uniform. She turned back towards his family history. The sadness that surrounded him. It was suspicious, she thought, how everyone around him seemed to meet tragic ends. That in and of itself wasn't a crime.

 

The same could be said for her.

 

Dany dropped the files and strode out of the room, moving towards the door to the interview room. She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and stepped in, quietly closing it behind her. She sat down across from him. Quietly placed the file in front of her, but she did not open it. She leaned forwards and folded her hands atop it.

 

Very slowly, Jon dropped his chair back to four legs-- he'd had it tipped back onto two, like a boy in high school bored of his class. He turned and dropped his hands in a mirror image of her. They stared at each other a moment before he smiled, long and slow. "You going to go first, or should I?"

 

"Looks like you went first."

 

He flashed a quick smile. He was very attractive. Except he downplayed it a bit. He shook his head, quiet. "I didn't kill her."

 

"I don't believe you."

 

"So you said."

 

"You didn't like her."

 

"Many people don't like their exes. It's why they're ex."

 

She nodded, agreeing. "She was going after you," she murmured. She sighed. "That happened to me. I had an ex who did that. Wouldn't leave me alone."

 

"What happened to him?" His pupils widened, drowning out the gray. He licked his lips, the movement causing her breath to catch. He shook his head, quiet. "I am sorry she's dead. I really am...I feel I may have contributed...I just...I was angry with her."

 

"I understand."

 

"She just kept coming back and back," he sighed. He reached to pinch his nose between his finger and thumb, exhaling hard. "Maybe if I'd still been with her...she offended a lot of people, Detective. She really had a way about her like that. She used, she abused, she didn't leave things alone when she should have." He smirked. "What happened to your ex?"

 

She shook her head slightly. "He's dead."

 

"I'm sorry."

 

It was building rapport. "Yes, unfortunate for him. Tragic accident." Drogo found his way into a knife in the neck. Bar fight gone wrong, the investigation in Vaes Dothrak said.

 

He sighed hard again; eyes closed. "I know it looks bad, but I didn't do it."

 

"We'll see." She got out of the chair, pushing it back. "We still have a few more things to flesh out. Sit tight."

 

He rolled his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

 

Dany walked out, blowing out a hard breath as she closed the door behind her. She stood in the hallway a moment, stilling her heart, and allowing her adrenaline to fade back from her blood, trying to contain herself. He's a criminal, she reminded herself.

 

A tiny smile pulled on her lips. She smothered it; the second Jorah appeared. "Good, he's off guard, he's pacing again."

 

She nodded. That was she point. He scowled. "You alright? You're flushed."

 

"Fine," she snapped. She needed a break. She handed him the file and went to the restroom, closing and flicking the lock behind her. She rushed to the sink and splashed water on her face, collecting herself. Her hands pushed up over her neck and she kept her eyes tightly closed

 

And tried very hard to stop imagining that the hands on her neck were Jon Snow's.

 

 


 

"Just admit it!" Dany shouted, slamming her hands on the table, forcing Jon to jump slightly in his chair. She was raging on emotion, having gotten herself worked up before entering the room for another go at him, trying to get him to acknowledge his hatred of the woman.

 

She flung the photos in front of him, all the horrible images of the dead woman, of the crime scene, the blood and the weapon left behind. "You’re arrogant, cocky, and you have money behind you, no one would dare suspect poor, quiet, innocent Jon Snow," she snapped. She grinned. "Just like they didn't believe you had anything to do with those other deaths in your life."

 

He glared, a muscle ticking in his jaw. "I didn't kill her," he whispered. he had been repeating it nonstop.

 

Jorah took a deep breath, slowly releasing it. "Jon, you hated her. She was trying to get money out of you, and you gave it. She was telling people she was going to get you back again if it was the last thing she'd do." They'd tried that tactic, dropping all of Ygritte's last few comments about her ex to people. He sighed again. "The ring is missing. You see our concerns."

 

"I see them, I do not acknowledge them, any jury would laugh at this case," Jon said.

 

Dany laughed. "Who said anything about court? You want to go to court? We can certainly do that. We can charge you with murder."

 

"You can charge me, but a grand jury would never indict me."

 

"I think you have that wrong."

 

Jon flashed another smile. "I think you do Detective Targaryen."

 

Their eyes locked again; they were both breathing deeply, even if he seemed completely unruffled. She set her jaw and pushed back hard from the table. "You say that other people hated her. Seems like she was just a driven woman. Plenty of people hate them. Men hate them. Men who don't like women." She cocked her head. "Do you like women Mr. Snow?"

 

"I do," he purred. He arched his brow. "Is that what this is about? You want to start getting into my private life again?"

 

Jorah ran his hand over his hair. "We're just looking at all the possibilities."

 

“Well you can look elsewhere, because I didn’t kill her.” He chuckled, slouching down in the chair, casually tossing aside the photos in front of him of his dead ex-girlfriend. “And you both better start looking. There’s plenty of others who wanted her dead, like I said.” He inspected his nails, drawling. “You look at her cases? She hated anyone in the North. Some of them ended up dead in her little protests gone wrong. In fact, she deliberately targeted people in places where she wanted them. Should probably look at their family members.” He sighed hard. “But that’s just me. I’m not a detective.”

 

His gaze met hers again. He licked his lips, pressed them into a slow smile. She held her breath. After a moment, he tore his gaze from her, finally looking at Jorah. “There was a family…a few years ago if I remember right. Their son was young. Ygritte was responsible for taking away their farm. The man hung himself after shooting his wife. Left behind the kid. Maybe look at him. He showed up a few times at the law firm, threatening her.”

 

They both glanced at each other; there was an Olly Northman in their list of individuals to speak with. He was young, stupid. She gave no indication she knew of this person. “Who is this person?” she lied, pretending to write it down, when in reality she was just scribbling on her notepad.

 

He glanced at her writing and chuckled. “I don’t remember.”

 

“Try,” Jorah snapped.

 

Jon glared at him. He pushed his fingers through his hair and tilted back in his seat. “I think his name was…seven hells. Ah…Olly? I don’t remember his last name. Maybe ask him a few questions. He was a pain in the arse, came screaming into the office. Said she killed his family.”

 

“And what was Ms. Wilde’s response to this?” she wondered.

 

He laughed. Jorah glanced up, scowled. He rolled his eyes. “She laughed, Detective.” He smiled. “I told you, she wasn’t a nice person. If you were in her way, you were in her way and she got rid of you.”

 

“And were you in her way?” Jorah asked. He shrugged. “Was she threatening you? Getting to you? The way she did to everyone else?”

 

He narrowed his eyes, very briefly. “No.”

 

Dany took a deep breath, slowly releasing it and stared at the file. She looked up and caught him staring at her. They didn’t break eye contact, until he finally turned away and reached to touch at his neck, the cuff of his shirtsleeve falling a little, giving her a view of a very fine white scar along it. She tore her gaze away and shifted, forcing back the prickle she felt throughout her skin.

 

 


 

"You have to let him go."

 

"But sir—"

 

"Detective Mormont, you have detained this man under caution for close to fourteen hours. We cannot keep him forever without arrest," Stannis said, shooting a dark look at Davos, who was standing quietly at the side of his desk. "I would have thought better of you Detective Seaworth, allowing this to continue the way you have."

 

"There's plenty of evidence."

 

"Circumstantial. We cannot get an arrest warrant with what we have, not on someone of his stature." Stannis barely glanced at the file on his desk, scowling. "Cut him loose."

 

Jorah glanced at her, but Dany didn't say anything. Stannis was right. All they had was circumstantial evidence. An ex-boyfriend who hated his girlfriend, a girlfriend who admittedly had plenty of enemies and seemed to make it a priority in her life to be a pain in the arse to anyone she dealt with. There was the money factor, the harassment, for sure, but Stannis was right. They couldn't pin it on Jon.

 

They had no forensics, no proof he was even at her apartment. He hadn't touched anything in the space. Things weren't wiped down, they just weren’t there. She sighed hard. "Yes sir."

 

"His alibi?"

 

Jorah mumbled. "He has one."

 

Stannis whipped his head up. "Excuse me?"

 

"He has an alibi," Dany murmured. Sam had just come through with it. She flicked open her file, glancing down. "Mr. Snow said he was in his office working late. Initially we didn't know if we could confirm this, he was the only one there, but turns out his office has cameras on the front entrance. He's spotted entering and exiting at the same time as her murder." She rolled her eyes. "And her apartment is completely across town. Even if he was able to sneak out from the roof or some other exit, he'd never be able to get there and back..."

 

Stannis laughed. "Then you cut him loose. Look for other suspects. Sounds like Ms. Wilde had quite a few enemies."

 

"Yes sir."

 

They left; Davos sighed hard. "Good work, both of you. We did our job, that's what matters."

 

"A murderer is going free," Jorah complained.

 

Sometimes the job wasn't fair. She raked her fingers through her hair, sighing. Davos peered at her, concerned. "Are you alright? I know things like this upset you."

 

reference to her own tragic past. She flashed a quick smile. "Thank you, sir. I'm fine. Trust me."

 

"Very well. Let him go. Let's keep moving on this."

 

They walked back to their desks, Jorah reaching to lightly touch her elbow. She stilled, eyeing him. He frowned. "Are you alright? I know this is similar to Daario..."

 

"Daario was into all kinds of upsetting things, Jorah. We both know that. Same for Drogo." She chuckled. Sometimes she wondered if she was cursed. Just like Jon Snow seemed to be, all his tragic connections. She pursed her lips, fighting the smile. "I'm fine Jorah. Thank you."

 

"Just looking out for you."

 

"Thank you," she repeated. She went to her desk and sat down, reaching for her file cabinet. She opened it and reached for a file, tugging it free and scanning through the newspaper articles.

 

Drogo Khal. Daario Naharis. Tyrion Lannister. Petyr Baelish.

 

"Checking your unsolved file?"

 

Dany jerked her head up, smiling briefly at Jorah who peered over the edge of her cubicle. She nodded, sighing hard. "Yeah...I guess I just have a feeling this one might fall into it."

 

"We all know who killed Tyrion and Petyr, Daenerys."

 

Her heart quickened. "We do?"

 

Jorah chuckled. "Greed. Trusting the wrong people. You know as well as I do every one of them was involved in suspicious activities. Come on. Let's go get rid of this guy."

 

She nodded and shoved the file back into her cabinet, regulating her breathing as she went to release Jon Snow.

 

 


 

"Please do not leave the country Mr. Snow, we may still have some questions to follow up with later."

 

The usual admonishments flowed from her lips easily, practiced. She opened the door from the precinct into the waiting area, which was empty at the late hour. Dany studied him; even after being in an interrogation room for close to fourteen hours, Jon Snow maintained only a rumpled look; if anything he looked more rugged, his beard darker and his hair wilder. Even the slight bags under his eyes were attractive, his cheeks hollow.

 

He barely smiled. "I have no plans."

 

"Hmm."

 

They stood in the empty room, squared off and staring blankly. She lifted her chin, voice soft. "It’s sad, how she must have known her attacker as she died. Everything was face-to-face."

 

"So she knew the person?"

 

"Yes, she did. She died with their image in her sight,” she said, watching the lines in his face, the lack of expression he gave at hearing the news. She smiled gently. "Thank you for your time Mr. Snow."

 

"It was..." He licked his lips, gray eyes widening just barely. His voice rumbled, thick from fatigue. Or maybe something else. "Enjoyable."

 

She cocked her head. "Most people do not find interrogation enjoyable. Unless of course they're a masochist or...something else."

 

His head mimicked her tilt, another slow smile forming. "Maybe something else then."

 

"Good night Mr. Snow."

 

"Good night Detective Targaryen." He turned and walked towards the exit, leaning an elbow on the door to open. In the brief flash of streetlight over his face, the shadow darkening most of him, he turned, and she swore she saw it. Just a flick, a glimmer.

 

A wink.

 

Skin prickling, heat spreading through her middle, Dany turned away and returned to her desk.

 

 


 

A couple of days later, Dany was staring at the image of Jon Snow, on a surveillance photo from his office, her thumb circling the light halo that formed around his head as he stepped out the front door, her mind elsewhere. She tried to ignore the gnawing ache in her gut when it came to Jon Snow.

 

She reached up to her necklace, pulling it up over her bottom lip, fiddling with it. Jorah leaned over the cube. “I can hear you thinking,” he said. He frowned at the file open before her. “Jon Snow? I know, I can’t shake him either. Something odd there.”

 

“Do you think he did this one?”

 

“I think he’s involved, but that may just be because of how shifty he was. Stannis was right, he’s playing all sides.” Jorah sighed hard; shaking his head. He cocked it slightly, frowning. “New necklace?”

 

Dany tugged at the chain, shrugging at the little row of alternating diamonds and emeralds set on a single silver bar. “Something I found in my jewelry box this morning. Thought I’d do something different.” She smirked, laughing. “Gift from a boyfriend.”

 

His smile fell. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

 

“It’s just an off and on thing.” She chose her words carefully, not wanting to get Jorah too suspicious. He might go sneaking in places he shouldn’t, like her personal life. She turned a few pages, studying the images of Ygritte again, frowning. “We’re still waiting on lab results?”

 

“Aye.”

 

It was a Northern thing, she supposed, that word. It didn’t have the same ring from Jorah as it did from Jon Snow. She tried not to think too hard on that. Now wasn’t the time. She looked up, seeing Sam hurrying towards them, holding a folder. Her lip quirked. About time. “What is it Sam?”

 

“Lab results, turns out it wasn’t just Ygritte Wilde’s blood. Her attacker must have cut themselves when she fought at them, there was a second type.” He spoke fast, laughing. “And it was in the system.” He turned the folder to them both.

 

Jorah stared at the man on the page and then up to her, laughing. “Well seven hells.”

 

Dany grabbed her gun and badge from the drawer in her desk, affixing both of them to her hip, her heart fluttering in anticipation. “Let’s go get our man,” she said. “We have more than enough to arrest him.”

 

“Well I guess we should have seen it.”

 

“Maybe,” she admitted. She patted Sam on the back. “Thanks Sam. We’ll be in touch.”

 

She led Jorah out of the office, eagerly anticipating this particular arrest.

 

 


 

The end of a case should have brought her a sense of relief, purpose, and excitement for the upcoming trial. Nothing like catching a bad guy and putting them behind bars. She wasn't sure then why this time it was so exhausting.

 

Perhaps it was the interview of Jon Snow. That had been a little more draining than she’d anticipated. It had hit too close and she knew it was wrong. It was so wrong.

 

Keys jangled in the lock when she pushed open her apartment door, greeted by the yowling of her cat Drogon. She clicked her tongue, pushing by the whiny beast, setting her bag of YiTish food on the kitchen counter. "I'm home, I'm home, sorry did you miss dinner? Well you'll just have to wait, now won't you?"

 

The first thing she needed to attend to was getting out of her dirty clothes and into a steaming hot bath. Her neck cracked with a slight rotation of her head. Perhaps she should book a massage. She rubbed the knot at the top of her shoulder, removing her gun and badge one-handed, walking into the living room to drop the set on her end table. It was pitch black, the floor to ceiling windows of her old warehouse loft allowing in the dull pearly moonlight.

 

Out of the corner of her eye, she sensed movement. A ghost, whispering close. She dropped her hand, grabbed the gun from the holster, and held it up, aiming at the shadow emerging forth from the corner of the apartment. She said nothing, waiting for the person to reveal themselves. Her heart hammered against her ribs, adrenaline surging. At her feet Drogon meowed, grating her nerves and weaving between her legs. He was unperturbed at her visitor.

 

The ghost moved into the light, moonlight glowing around him, shining off his dark eyes. "Hello Daenerys," he rumbled, a purr more than anything.

 

Dany kept her gun on him. Her heartbeat quickened. Her palms went sweaty. A smile flicked across her lips. "Jon Snow."

 

They stared at each other a moment. No one breathed. Jon shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, rocking back on his heels. He drawled lazily. "Did they buy it?"

 

The cool steel of the gun in her palms soothed her, bringing her back to reality. She clicked the safety, setting it down next to the badge, and knocked both out of her way. She let her hands drift beside her. What could she say to that? She paused, watching his face. The glint in his pupils, full dilated, aroused, and expectant.

 

Her smile broke wide of her face. She cooed. "Hook, line, and sinker."

 

He grinned, wolfish. "And Olly?"

 

"Spending the evening in a jail cell. Likely one the rest of his life." She dropped her voice, sympathetic, overly sweet. "Poor little Olly, he never should have threatened to kill her, never should have gotten it on tape, and never should have cut himself over her body...dropping one drop…then two..." She took a step towards him with every word, punctuating the final one with a tap to his nose. "Poof. DNA. Motive. Opportunity." Her lower lip protruded, whining. "No alibi."

 

He growled, his arm swinging around her back, thrusting her hips to slam against his, their mouths finding each other in a frenzied kiss. She grabbed his lapels, yanking his chest against hers; breasts flattened to the hard stretch of it, and he yelped at the snap of her teeth on his tongue, drawing blood. He ripped away from her; they panted, hot and stifling. “Get these clothes off,” he growled, fingers fumbling with her shirt. He grunted, tearing it from her chest. “Fuck. I need to fuck you.”

 

“Yes,” she hissed. It had been so fucking long.

 

They tore at each other. Teeth, tongues, full anger and desire. She moaned, low and curling, his mouth hot on her skin, moving down her sternum to between her tits, palming them and sliding along her back, cupping her arse through her jeans. He mumbled into her, dipping his hand under her waistband and over her thin lace panties, squeezing a plump cheek. “How was it? Did she scream?”

 

“She thought it was you,” she managed to get out, remembering the murder. The way Ygritte had looked up, surprised at seeing her there in her apartment. Then there was the petulant whining. It reminded her of another redhead she’d murdered. For him. For them. She dug her fingers into his curls, soft and silky, and bowed back, his tongue licking around her navel and to the top of her jeans. He was on his knees now, pulling at her pants. “Gods!”

 

“What’d she do?”

 

It was their thing. Had been since they’d found each other. She whimpered, his tongue tracing over the swatch of lace between her legs. Her jeans pooled at her feet. She fell backwards onto the couch. He struggled with her boots, while she leaned back, watching him, eyes dark and her smile cruel. “Tried to beg me. Said she didn’t mean to harass you. She missed you, you know. She wanted you back.”

 

“She shouldn’t have threatened me.” He kissed the instep of her arch, trailing kisses along her calves, fingers dusting after, pushing her thighs apart. He grinned; his smile as cruel as hers, wolfish, and mean. “You have a thing for redheads, darling.”

 

“I have a thing for women who try to hurt you.” She leaned forwards, grabbing his face, nails digging into his cheek, carving red half-moons. She bit his lip again. He hissed; eyes black. Desperate, she whimpered. “I love you so much.”

 

I cannot live without you.

 

Their fingers intertwined, the matching scars on their wrists from the blood pact they’d made years before. Fire and ice, dragon and wolf, one never without the other. They were each other’s heartbeat, each other’s souls. They tangled with each other; she allowed him to take the lead, as this was his reward for being so patient the last few days while she did her part. She held her hand over his hair, as he bit hard on her shoulder, and traced kisses and tracks with his heated fingers over her skin, her belly on fire, her legs spreading wide for him.

 

She watched, tracing his cheek, his dark eyes rolling up to meet hers, as he flattened his tongue against her slit, licking one long, slow swipe up from cleft to clit. She arched off the couch, a moan drawing from deep within her, echoing off the walls. “Jon,” she breathed, forcing her eyes open to watch him. He grinned, feral and evil, before diving in again, her cunt pulsing around nothing, thighs shaking from being held apart, when all she wanted was to wrap around him, take him inside of her, and fuck him until they were both dead.

 

It had been weeks, since the game began. It was always like this. They could never stay apart. She panted, whimpered, and begged. His fingers slid inside of her, thick and crooked, searching within her for the spot that would send her flying. Between his wicked tongue and his teasing touch, she wasn’t long. She quaked and cried for him, nails digging hard into his scalp, her hips undulating up to meet his mouth. She needed him.

 

And he knew it.

 

Even as she still shook, he got up from his knees and reached for the fly of his jeans, hurriedly unzipping over his cock as he roughly lifted her hips, forcing her onto her belly, her knees slipping off the soft leather couch and hitting the floor. She groaned, anticipating. She closed her eyes and shoved her face into the cushions, her fingers tight in the leather as he pulled her up slightly, angling her cunt to slip a few times over his cock, the tip barely teasing her entrance before he pulled away. “Fuck you,” she hissed, throwing him a dark look over her shoulder.

 

He swooped over her and snatched her mouth with his, their kiss filthy, teeth gnashing, and he pushed hard into her, forcing her up onto the couch with a hard groan. She squeezed around him, her cunt stretching to accommodate his length. “How do you want it?” he murmured, his soft words clashing with the aggressiveness of his movements.

 

“Hard,” she whispered. “Fast.”

 

One more kiss and he pulled back, his hand wrapping around her braids, coiling them around his wrist. She laughed as he yanked her head back slightly and forced her up a bit. She sobbed out as he drew back and then punched hard into her again, over and over. His thrusts were punishing, and she was demanding. The lurid sounds of their fucking filled her senses, her tits flat on the couch, the leather sticking to her skin as sweat gathered. She grunted and moaned without a care for how she sounded, as his animalistic sounds joined hers.

 

“You’re so fucking tight,” he moaned, teeth locking into her shoulder again. His stomach scratched over her back, her arse hitting against his thighs with every thrust. His breath hitched, hot and puffing against her neck. “Fuck Dany.”

 

“I’m close,” she moaned, a hand finding his on the couch. His other reached for hers, tearing away from where he’d had it branded on her hip. He pulled hers down between her legs, sliding their fingers over the mess there, circling her clit while he hammered into her. She could feel where he was sliding in and out, briefly brushed her fingers there, and he released a long, slow groan.

 

She grinned, biting hard on her lower lip, drawing blood as she tore into it, staccato cries as his pace grew erratic. And then she was coming, with his name on her lips, and she squeezed him tight inside of her, milking him for everything as he came a moment later. He weakly pushed through, still moving, until she had sapped him everything and he collapsed onto her back, pressing her hard into the couch.

 

Her knees gave out, both of them tumbling to the floor, in a mess of sweaty limbs, sticky with sweat and their mingling release. She reached her arm backwards and cupped the back of his head, drawing his mouth to hers again. He kissed her, sweetly. His thumb brushed gently over her sensitive nipple, which furled tighter at the touch. “I love you Daenerys,” he whispered. He nuzzled her nose. “Game over?”

 

She nodded, sighing. It was done. Put to bed, ironically enough. “Game over,” she agreed. Until the next one, of course.

 

“You’ll tell me the rest?”

 

They always did. They would rehash it, from beginning to end, like they always did. She quivered, already anticipating it. This particular one was fun. They’d never gotten to actually challenge each other. She patted his hand. “Of course. You were quite the actor in there.”

 

“You were so fucking sexy, yelling at me.”

 

“Hmm, I saw your reaction when I threatened to restrain you.”

 

He groaned, squeezing her wrists briefly. “We do need to explore that.”

 

“Soon enough.” She kissed him one more time, sighing happily. “Take me to bed Jon.”

 

He got to his feet, pushing his jeans off completely and lifted her up easily into his arms, carrying her towards the bedroom, as she’d requested.

 

 


 

Dany stretched, long and slow, eyes fluttering shut as the heavy weight of Jon moved at her side, enveloping her deeper under his body, pressing her slightly into the mattress. She murmured her contentment, her fingers sliding into his, squeezing together over the front of her hip, where she'd pinned them a moment ago.

 

His lips were featherlight on her neck and shoulder, his teeth setting where he'd left a purpling bruise. He nudged at the necklace, reaching to drag his finger underneath it. “Got my gift,” he whispered. He pressed his tongue to the bruise. "Hmm, I love you.”

 

The necklace appeared in her jewelry box like she said; it had delighted her that he’d gotten the ring she’d left there. He’d had the jewels removed and set into the necklace for her. She walked right into the City Watch building wearing a stolen ring from a murder victim. Well, technically Ygritte stole it from him. She smiled, head turning, and she purred, cuddling closer to him. This was her favorite time. Being with him. Savoring their victories. They were twisted, that's what people said. Unhealthy and toxic. Codependent to a point where if one died the other would soon follow. After seeking revenge, of course. He wrapped his arms tight around her while she curved into him, nuzzling one of the awful scars on his chest.

 

He put his cheek on her hair, exhaling, his warm breath tickling her ear. "It was almost too easy."

 

He worried too much. "That kid made it too clear. It was in writing, he had an apartment full of photos of her, tracking her." She sighed. "Easy enough to get his blood, he had no idea." She pursed her lips, accepting the peck he dropped there. "Never allow a stranger to buy you drinks." He'd passed out when she took him back to his apartment. Drew the blood into a syringe. Easy as could be. She chuckled. "Gods she was such a bitch."

 

"It was easy, huh?"

 

"Of course. I told you. She was stunned it was me. She didn't know who I was. Until she did."

 

"She's gone now," he chuckled, rolling onto his back. The sheet twisted with him, tangling low on his hips. Her fingers danced down his flat stomach, tickled the faint track of hair below his navel to where it disappeared under the sheet. He groaned, as she squeezed his cock, her nails scratching lightly over his stones and he shifted, giving her greater access. He lit a cigarette, hitting his head onto the headboard, blowing out a stream of smoke. She moved over him, kissing and licking a track over his stomach and pushing the sheet aside, his cock already hard. He dropped his hand to her hair, tugging it from her face as she slid her lips over him, sucking him into her warm, wet mouth. “Gods, you are good to me,” he mumbled, still smoking as she mumbled her agreement, her fist wrapping around his shaft as she began to hollow her cheeks, working him over.

 

When she finished, swallowing his release as he melted back into the pillows and mattress, sweat glistening on his skin and his eyes rolled back into his head, she sat up and took the fresh cigarette from his hand. She drew deep, and held the heat in her lungs, blowing it out slowly in little rings over their head. The purplish haze joined the sin and depravity already cloaking them.

 

"I have the...the need again," he whispered, finally breaking the silence. He didn't elaborate; she knew what he was talking about.  The craving simmering just under ht e surface.  The wolf he kept hidden deep inside his heart.  The dragon within hers.

 

They shared the cigarette for another minute, until she climbed out of the bed. She shook her hand through her hair, tousling the silver curls over her shoulders, and walked unabashedly nude across her bedroom to her closet. It was a rather brilliant idea on the part of the designer to make the closet blend in with the wall. She pushed on the hidden panel and it slid open. She reached in and removed a file that was sitting on the table beside the door.

 

Jon sat up a little further, curious, when she dropped it onto his stomach. She sat down beside him while he finished his cigarette and let another. "A present for me?" he asked.

 

"For us love."

 

"One and the same." He flicked it open and studied the round face of the bald man on the inside cover. A slow smile flirted on his lips. "Hmm, Varys Bird. Hello there."

 

She crawled over him, slinging her hip on the other side of his while he set the file aside. He chuckled, as she raked her fingernails up and down his abs, tweaking his nipples and to his shoulders. "You know what he did." She stuck her lower lip out; he nipped at it. She smiled. "Varys and his little birds. Ruined my family. Dared to find me too." Fire burned hot in her belly, curling up into her throat, and escaped like smoke through her flared nostrils. "I want him gone too."

 

He set the file aside. "Whatever would the Crownslands City Watch do, knowing a killer worked in their ranks?"

 

"I only have killed four. You have more than me."

 

"Hmm." He glanced at the file, his fingers running slowly up the bumps of her spine. She shivered. "He's with your family's company."

 

"They all were."

 

"Save poor Tyrion." He tutted under his breath.

 

Tyrion Lannister held a special place in their hearts; for without him, she never would have met her love, her other half. She climbed off of him; he smacked at her arse playfully and she giggled, dancing on her tip toes and sweeping his shirt up, pulling in on over her as she pranced to the adjacent closet, her secret room.

 

Their room She pushed the door open and flicked on the light, the low amber from the pretty red-shaded lamps along the desk sparking. She went over to the wall and stared at it, at the newspaper articles, the files, the pictures, each one tacked up on the wall, separated out. She glanced at her side of the board, at the smirking face of Sansa Stark, dour one of Ned Stark, and the sneer of Ygritte Wilde. She touched one of the photo's lightly, of Robb. "Can I please?" she asked.

 

"No, he's suffering enough with Ned's death."

 

She pouted. He stepped by her, his jeans pulled on, slung low and unzipped at his hips. He removed the cigarette from his lips, holding it as he picked up a red marker and reached up, sliding it easily over the glossy photo of Tywin Lannister. Her eyes widened. "When did you do that?"

 

As if on cue, her phone rang from the nightstand. She frowned at him, amused. He shrugged, smiling. She padded out of the closet and picked up her phone, staring at Jorah's number. She answered, her voice steady. "Targaryen."

 

"We have a body. It's bad."

 

"ID?" She took the smoke from Jon, who walked up behind her and began to kiss down her neck again. She rolled her head backwards, eyes closing. "Where?"

 

"Tywin Lannister. His daughter Cersei is in custody."

 

She blew out a long stream of smoke, Jon's hands tracking up under her shirt, feeling cool on her heated skin. "Cersei Lannister, really?" Good, stupid bitch. Thinking she could live the life her family stole from mine.

 

"Yes, looks like she found the body tonight, but she was disoriented, drunk...It doesn't look good for her. I'll tell you more when you get here."

 

"Text me the information." She disconnected, turning in Jon's arms. She grabbed his face, furiously kissing him. She moaned, wanting him one more time before she left. "Oh gods, when did you do that? You naughty boy."

 

"Surprise for you."

 

"I love you," she hummed.

 

He sighed; hands tangled in her hair. "I love you too."

 

"Such a nice gift." She took his cigarette again and sauntered off to get dressed, tapping Varys's folder, which he'd brought out again and set on the bed. "And this one too."

 

"Anything for you my love."

 

She grinned, wiggling her fingers at him. "You do love to surprise me."

 

Jon beamed. "And you me."

 

Dany thought of who she had in mind next for him. If she couldn't get Robb, there was always someone else she could get. She would have to think about it. "Come join me," she ordered. He went with her, climbing into the shower with her. She'd have to think about it, but until then, she had a case to investigate.