Whether it was willed by mere chance due to the higher powers at work, or perhaps even just coincidental that the flier depicting Kasey Morgan's prime suspect in her murder had been caught beneath the undertow of his converse shoes, Dylan hall would never know. However, upon gazing downward in confusion and clasping the now crumpled paper, it was as if a switch had been triggered, and the previously weary gears concealed beneath his skull revived and riveted to life; he knew exactly who it was, and such an acknowledgement not only confounded Dylan, it also greatly frightened him. And now as he sat apprehensively within a poorly painted, alabaster cinder block room, his fingers frantically prattling against the cool, steel surface of the table, his mind desperately attempted to conceive the logic out of this whole horrible situation.

How could he be capable of doing such a despicable thing, especially when he had reiterated over and over like a broken record about how much he loved Kasey? What could contort a man so to the pivotal point of madness, to inflict excruciating pain upon everyone that had known or was related to her? No matter how much or how hard he pondered, no answer could be derived from the horror; absolutely none. It was just a psychotic obsession that, upon being blended with rejection, yielded terrible results; an unprecedented reaction that none desired nor expected.

Dylan was roused from his musings upon the door being powerfully thrust open; a tall, lithe brunette stalking into the room with a dark scowl that marred the beautiful complexion of her olive skinned face. He swallowed nervously as she stood opposite from him and inclined forward, the amber of her eyes acting like that of a gravitational force which lulled him in.

"So, Mr. Hall…" the female detective drawled, her tone devoid of any semblance of emotion.

"You know who this—"she retrieved the flier from her back pocket and, after laying it upon the table, rotated it so that he could inspect it—"man is?"

Dylan expressed his consent with a brisk nod, his chocolate eyes never veering from Jane's.

"Yes, yes I do." He replied, and upon her brow piquing in attentiveness as subtle indicator to explain further, he continued.

"His name is Brian Dean. He attended Cambridge his freshmen and sophomore year before dropping out. He was a premed student."

The homicide detective hummed in acknowledgement upon receiving the information before straightening her posture; her lean yet muscled arms weaving about her chest.

"And why did he do that?" Jane pried, and her question resulted in him to merely sigh in a perhaps abashed manner.

"Well, obviously, you know how bad he was in love with Kasey…" Dylan began, and Rizzoli noticed that upon mentioning the victims name, his whole body appeared to slump under the implied sadness of the weight.

"He'd been hiding it so long, since they were little. They grew up with each other, were best friends. But he didn't want to be friends anymore; he wanted more. So he finally gathered up the balls and told her how he felt. She, of course, didn't like him that. It tore him apart, real bad. He tried for a week afterward to keep going to school, but he couldn't handle seeing her. So he just dropped out and went to a tech school instead."

Inwardly, Jane laughed at the obscenity of the suspects coping skills, but maintaining an air of professionalism, she thickly swallowed her amusement and continued conducting the interrogation.

"You sound like you know him pretty well." She responded in a speculative tone, and her body, annoyed by her lack of mobility, started slowly pacing around the narrow confines of the room.

"How long have you two been friends?"

A vague smile ghosted his lips as his gaze followed her as if in a deep trance, yet, a peculiar sorrow rimmed his weary eyes.

"Since our junior year of high school... I guess you could say that we were best friends."

Once more did she hum in acquiescence of his responses, her meandering frame gradually coming to a stop behind him.

"In your honest opinion, did you believe that Brian was capable of murder?"

Her chocolate eyes detected the stiffening of his taunt form in his seat, the once prattling fingers of his hands retracting and coiling into tight fists. At first he didn't respond, his breathing, she'd noticed, becoming precise and deep as a sign that he was perhaps discerning on how to exactly reciprocate her question.

After a few more minutes of collective and meditative silence, however, he shifted in his seat in order to meet her analytical gaze.

"Brain had it really bad growing up…" Dylan drawled, his tone conveying a substantial amount of pity.

"His father beat the shit out of him and left him in middle school; his mother was emitted to rehab for being an alcoholic right before entering college. He had no one, no one at all except for Kasey."

It was admirable, she deduced, that despite the horrid crime Brian had committed, Dylan was still valiantly defending him. However, such endearing tactics were undoubtedly useless within Jane's perspective upon this juncture in time; especially considering that for the past 6 hours she'd been frantically scrambling for nonexistent evidence while Maura was being mercilessly starved and tortured. It didn't appear relevant to the Detective in regards to how appallingly Brian was abused both mentally and physically as a child, for such a gruesome experience of maltreatment didn't provide him the right to heartlessly punish, nonetheless murder, someone else.

"So that gave Brian the right to kill Casey? All because she admitted that she didn't like him, and therefore, rejected him!" Jane challenged, as she inclined forward from her position behind him and thundered her fist loudly upon the steel surface of the table.

Dylan bristled due to the unprecedented action, and he grimaced as the intoxicating and explicit rage radiating off the detective inflicted chills upon his skin.

"Would you do that too, Dylan?" Jane taunted condescendingly, her scathing words escaping her lips like a venomous hiss.

"Would you kill a girl for saying no, for telling you that you didn't cut it? Cause in a sick sense, that's exactly what you're buddy did."

She'd hit a particular nerve as his head frantically shook, his taunt form beginning to slightly tremble.

"I'm not saying it's right!" he retorted in a pained tone; a crimson hue flushing the pale complexion of his face as Jane, whose close proximity was attributed to the fact that she hadn't moved, noticed tears gathering within his chocolate eyes.

"If I'd known what he was gonna do, I would've gotten her the hell out of there! I wouldn't have let him touch her, I swear!"

Perhaps it was the passion articulated through his wording, or even the fact that upon the conclusion of his statement, his poorly constructed defenses deteriorated and he began to sob, that allowed Jane to realize something that she hadn't exactly gathered from before.

"You loved Kasey too, didn't you?" she proposed, or more or less demanded, yet the pure loathing and patronizing tone that'd crept into her voice earlier had withered, and instead, become softer, tender.

His hazed eyes took peculiar interest in the scratched surface of the steel table in front of him then, the silence that followed almost deafening had it not been spontaneously interrupted by his sniffling.

After quietly gathering himself, the courage welling up within his the pit of his stomach permitted him to once more meet her now considerably calmer expression.

"She and I had been talking for a few months…" Dylan whimpered, his right arm retracting so that that particular hand could remove the excess snot clotting the nostrils of his narrow nose.

"We met through our calculus class last year. I was never good with math, and Kasey, ever so keen, was always willing to help me. We'd meet up to do homework at the library, at least three times a week; normally on Monday's, Wednesdays, and Friday's, when her cross country practices were shorter. We exchanged numbers in case I needed extra help, and… it just kinda went from there…"

Jane's lips formed an empathetic and forlorn smile, the reminiscence of her own high school delusions of 'love' allowing her to draw a conclusion on how euphoric those days for the two aspiring lovers must've been. She therefore shifted from her position behind him and onto that of the table so that she was beside Dylan; the subtle transition mirroring the change from her vindictive and cruel persona to more of an understanding and supportive one.

"Dylan, did Brain know you both were talking?" Jane asked, and her question was partly answered by a sullen shrug of his broad shoulders.

"I don't think so…" he replied in a rasp tone, his voice thick and heavy from the congestion caused by his tears.

"I knew what he meant to her, and I think, in a strange way, Kasey did too. So we both were very secretive about it. We only met up for homework purposes on campus, and if we did anything else, we did it far from school. I never spoke about it around Brian, and when and if she was able to talk to him, Kasey didn't mention it either..."

If he was intending to continue, he briefly paused to perhaps swallow another disparaged cry crawling up his wind pipe; the exhale escaping his lips in a shallow and shaky breath afterward.

"Detective, I have to admit, it was hard coming here…" Dylan whispered, his voice so fragile and delicate, she had to inch forward in order to understand.

"Brain, despite all that he's done, is my best friend. I took the time to be there for him and listen when no one else would. But I just knew… the minute I saw that flier, it was like someone had slapped me in the face; it was him, I had no doubt it. And it hurts so bad, so incredibly bad, to sell him out. But it hurt even worse knowing that because of him, Kasey is dead. I'll never know what it would be like to hold her hand, to kiss her, hold her at night… I'll never know now…"

What was left of his strength crumbled as he imploded into hysterical sobs, his taunt body trembling with such vigor, Jane feared he'd quite literally fall to pieces right there in the interrogation chamber. Yet, despite the compassionate gesture of extending a hand toward the young man for comfort, he instead shook her off, and countered with an intense and tear rimmed gaze.

"Look, please, find him, and get him." He hissed, the venom in his tone a horrifying contradiction to that of the sorrow that had consumed him just minutes before.

"He deserves to pay for what he did, not only to Kasey, but to her mother, her family, her friends, the school, even me. It'll be hard to get by without her now, but I wouldn't be able to live with myself if he got away. Please… please get him…"

His selflessness was admirable, and the homicide detective found herself momentarily at a loss for words as she gazed toward him in an astonished manner. However, she quickly regained her composure as nodded briskly at Dylan and provided a sincere smile; a meager gesture that otherwise spoke volumes in regards to her dedication to tame the cruel sadism that was Brain Dean.

"I promise you Dylan, I will get this guy." Jane assured him, her tone as rigidly solid as was her resolve.

"I won't let him get away with what he has done."

Before he could perhaps respond in appreciation of the detectives pledged effort, the door weaned open to reveal Frost; his expression, Jane noted, appearing more relaxed than it had for the past couple of hours.

"Jane." Barry beckoned, and he inwardly grimaced upon the menacing glare the detective was directing toward him.

"I hate to interrupt, but Shelby needs you down in the morgue."

Swallowing the collage of curses crawling up her windpipe, Jane heaved an aggravated sigh as she shifted onto her feet; her weary mind briefly pondering why it was in the past 24 hours she couldn't conduct a single interrogation without being disrupted and hauled out.

"Alright, look, Dylan, this is Detective Frost." Jane announced, her valiant effort in trying to conceal her frustration, however, futile, as she summoned her partner into the room with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"You don't have to repeat anything, just give Brain's home address, where he works, and when the last time you saw him was. You can do that, right?"

Dylan vaguely nodded in understanding as his glazed eyes veered toward Frost in a wary manner.

Before departing and leaving the two men to converse, she briefly patted his shoulder and offered a last encouraging smile.

"Keep your head up Dylan." She whispered softly, her fingers firmly squeezing the fabric of his cashmere sweater to emphasize her assuring words before removing them.

"We'll get him. I promise."

"Detective, I apologize for having to remove you from your interrogation." Shelby offered sympathetically the minute Jane had strode into the morgue; her pale, cobalt eyes portraying sincere remorse for having to disrupt her colleague's investigation.

The Homicide Detective, however, dismissed her abashed and sorrowful words with a shake of her head, as she now stood opposite from the pathologist at the examination table harboring Kasey's body.

"I told you to call me Jane." She admonished, yet in a mischievous, sarcastic tone, as the corners of her mouth tugged her coarse lips into an impish grin.

"And it's fine. I'm sure whatever you had me called down here for is very important."

Meyers exhaled a relieved breath before concurring with an adamant nod.

"It is indeed Jane." She replied, though the alabaster features of her face slightly grimaced upon being so formal with the detective, regardless of Jane's insistence.

"So far, as you know, we haven't had any conclusive evidence linking our suspect to Kasey's murder; only the words of a friend, which by chance, recognized him in one of the fliers."

Jane's brow piqued in a conjuration of both confusion and amazement.

"How'd you—"the detective drawled, her head tilting in a childish, curious manner toward her colleague.

"Detective Frost filled me in." Shelby responded, inwardly amused at how both humorous and adorable her acquaintances expression was.

"Anyways, I decided that since the tests for toxins came back negative, and the fibers retrieved from the rope binding Kasey's wrists can be found in any of the greater hardware stores in Boston, I decided to reexamine the body. During which—"the pathologist briefly paused as her maroon, latex fingers retrieved a small, translucent container, and held it before the bewildered detective, "—I found this."

Her chocolate eyes narrowed upon the peculiar and unexpected discovery before clasping it with the scarred palms of her hands; her olive skinned features coiling in bewilderment upon the barely noticeable slither of matter inside.

"What is it?"

"It's a pubic hair." Shelby beamed proudly, the vivacious radiance of her smile resonating within her ocean eyes.

"I'm surprised I even found it. Running back through Maura's notes, I managed to discover it just outside the vaginal fold. My conclusion is that the friction of forced sexual intercourse could've resulted in a loose strand, or perhaps at Kasey's resistance, it could've been torn out."

Jane winced at the mental image forming in her mind upon receiving that facet of explicit information, as she returned the forensic evidence back to the pathologist.

"I'm kinda shocked Maura didn't find it first." The detective mumbled confoundedly, to which Shelby herself partly answered with an equally perplexed shrug.

"Doctor Isles was exhausted from having to respond and perform a late night autopsy." The apprentice theorized, and despite how badly the issue still irked her, Jane acquiesced with a disparaged hum.

"Being tired and disoriented, it'd be difficult to find something so small, especially particulate matter such as hair."

Jane merely sighed in agreement, despite however blatantly true the fact was in regards to Maura's previous condition the day before.

"Alright, well, were you able to get DNA?" she ventured, and the hope bubbling within her stomach swelled and ruptured as Shelby vehemently nodded in response.

"Yes, the hair still contained the root, which I immediately put into the system and ran through. Thus, is why Detective Frost and I were able to quickly secure an identity."

Suddenly, the once frantic and scattered logical pieces in the suave detectives mind began to weave back together.

"So that's why I was interrupted." Jane acknowledged, a wry grin impaling her lips.

"You knew the identity already, despite the fact that I had a reliable source."

The pathologist's broad shoulders shrugged coyly.

"I figured that Dylan Hall wouldn't lie." She explained in an abashed tone.

"However, I just wanted to be sure. After all, the two of them were good friends, and despite the obligation of yielding a wrongful suspect to the authorities, sometimes, people will lie in order to protect someone else; even if that's a crime in and of itself."

Jane regarded her colleague with astonished eyes, inwardly appraising the young woman's keen intellect and ability to deduce and attach accordingly palpable scenarios and yield results that rivaled her own talents. For the detective was fully persuaded by the fact that if Miss Meyers hadn't meticulously studied to be a pathologist, she would've definitely pursued that of law enforcement, and made a damn good cop.

"Okay, so we know our suspect, and we have evidence which links him to the murder…" the homicide detective reiterated aloud, her body beginning to analytically pace while her fingers massaged the scars upon her palms.

"Now, where do we find him?"

Whew! This concludes chapter 10! Next chapter, Maura will definitely be rescued, you can count on that! And as always, I promise to work as quickly as possible to have that next chapter up.

After receiving everyone's wonderful reviews, it is the general consensus to merely continue the story, rather than pause it and begin a sequel; it's much more logical and keeps the flow. So with that being said, do keep reading and prepare for more chapters in the future.

Speaking of which, it is time to award appreciation where it is due.

A sincere thank you to the following that reviewed:

-rookie802

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And many more! My God, I could cry in happiness! 121 reviews! I have NEVER in my life received that many! And I adore everyone's opinions! I quite literally read every review I receive, and I admire everything everyone has to say! You all make me so happy; I write for each and EVERY one of you.

This one's for you all! :)

On a completely random note, USA has been fabulous about playing old NCIS episodes that had Kate in them. I have to say, it's both humorous and refreshing to see Sasha Alexander being so brash, sarcastic and tough on that series, compared to the vastly intelligent, quieter Maura on R&I.

Either way, I am not ashamed to admit that I'm still pissed that Kate was killed off in the first place. Now, mind you, Ziva isn't a bad replacement; however, in all honestly, she is NO Kaitlin Todd. Not by a damned long shot.

Any who, it is 1:30 AM and I have to be awake at 9 for class, so I feel some sleep here is well deserved.

Keep an eye out, for I hope to have the next chapter up soon.

All My Love! :D