isabella [h.s.]

forty

**you know, and i know
one look and i drop dead**

HARRY

For the first time in a long time, I actually kind of enjoy my walk to work. It feels like some weight has been lifted off my shoulders now that I've actually invited Isabella home with me for Christmas, especially as I've been wanting to for a while. I was looking forward to the trip anyway, because I can't even remember the last time I went home and I definitely need a break from New York. And now, as sappy as it may sound, the fact that Isabella will be there too just makes me more excited. I can practically already see her face as I show her all my favourite spots around the village and the festive decorations, and just the thought of that brings a small smile to my face. However, I push it away in favour of a more neutral expression, because I think some of my colleagues will be a bit confused, or alarmed, if I walk into the precinct smiling to myself like an idiot. Especially because I'm widely known as the serious homicide detective.

Because of this, I return to my stoic, professional expression as I walk into the precinct. Just as I'm nodding hello to one of the officers I vaguely recognise, my phone chimes from my pocket and I reach down to pull it out, my eyes flashing up to check the time before moving down to the text message now on my screen. And just like that, from that simple, usually meaningless action, my good mood is immediately shattered into pieces as I read the words now on my screen: Do you have time for a girlfriend when you should be looking for me? If I were you, I'd stay away, or she'll be next.

Despite the other people bustling around me in the precinct foyer, I immediately freeze in place, my blood running cold and my breath hitching in my throat. When I can actually move again, I automatically spin around as if to go find Isabella, but I realise that's quite stupid seeing as she was heading back to the apartment and could've stopped off anywhere on the way. The thought that she might not even make it back to the apartment crosses my mind, but I force it out for the sake of my own sanity, turning back around and speed-walking to the elevator, my fingers already dialling her phone number. My panic only grows with every dial tone that goes unanswered, and when the call goes to voicemail, I try again only to get the same result.

"Pick up the fucking phone, Isabella," I mutter under my breath as I call her again, my finger rapidly pressing the button for the IT department as if that'll make the elevator move any faster. Eventually, after what feels like an eternity and another call going through to voicemail, the doors slide open and I race out, zigzagging between the desk cubicles until I reach Niall's, finding him sat booting up his computer for the day with a yawn.

When he sees me, he immediately sits up straighter in his chair, eyes widening in surprise at how dishevelled and freaked out I probably look right now. "Whoa, what's wrong with you?"

Hanging up from Isabella's voicemail, I pull up the text again and hold my phone out to Niall. "I just got this," I tell him, my voice coming out a little breathless.