Staring into the pencil light blue sketched eyes, there was a familiarity that I couldn't avoid. My bar date at Carter's with Camille, the moment we had been sitting, it replayed over inside my head like a projector, my brain working hard to match the two photo images together.

"What does he look like?" I mumbled back to Camille

"Tall, dark hair, light eyes, a little bit of stubble.." She had responded

It was as though she had been describing the attacker, as though she was another victim, her words in match of those he had brazenly victimized. Then had came the moment where I had turned, spying a look of my own. It had been quick, it had been a flutter of a view, but I knew the person in the bar that night, was identical to the sketch I held between my hands. Shock hit me as I placed it down. My eyes darting up to Dawson.

He had noticed, watching me with narrow eyes "What's wrong?"

I tapped the photo with my finger "I know who this is" My voice was low

Dawson leaned forward, pulling the photo from me

"You know this man?" He repeated, almost as shocked as I was

I abruptly stood, pushing my chair out as my thoughts continued to scramble. They'd had no clue who this man was, no leads, no identity. I began hastily walking up to the bedroom, stamping on the stairs with my feet while Dawson called my name, panicked, unsure.

Frantic, I began searching the drawers for the denim jacket I'd been wearing the night at the bar. Once I'd found it, I shoved my hand into the pockets, my fingertips feeling the small piece of scrunched cardboard paper.

As Camille and I had downed our last drinks, standing in ready to leave, she turned to me

"I'll be back in a sec, I need to go to the bathroom" She told me

I gave a sigh and tugged my jacket close to my chest, moving towards the door when a hand shot out, fingers clasping my wrist

My eyes darted to my side, the man I had earlier made brief eye-contact with standing beside me, his towering stance above mine, alluring, tempting.

"Hi" His deep voice began, the warmth of his hand on mine begging for more

I tried to force back a smile "Hey"

His touch removed from mine, his back turning as he pulled a coaster from the bar, a pen from his dress shirt. I watched his smooth fingers scrawl down 10 even digits, his name at the very top

"If you're interested" He smiled charmingly as he handed it to me.

He had no idea how much I suddenly craved him, how much I had suddenly wished I had been alone. We had been caught in a daring stare when the clack of Camille's heels returning pulled me away, I shoved the coaster deep into my pocket as she linked arms with me and we began our way home, clueless of the interaction.

Ben T.

Leaving the room with the damaged coaster in my hand, Dawson stood at the bottom of the stairs waiting. He was confused, and rightfully so.

I moved past him, back to the table where I sat. Dawson hesitantly followed, standing beside me, waiting an explanation.

"The computer, can I use it?" I asked, my detective mode activated

"Here" He offered, pulling it from his side of the table, setting it down in front of me

I opened a new window, typing into the search bar. I hadn't been a massive Facebook user, so when I logged in, I was not at all surprised to see the 0 notification alerts. Trying not to be too offended that not even a single person had liked my last weeks astronomy post, I began my investigation.

Searching the Facebook tab, I typed in the scrawled details in front of me. Ben T, and the number that followed. I was wishfully thinking it would lead to something, but a large part of me knew that if he was in fact this predator, he wouldn't have been so stupid to be so traceable.

Dawson watched quietly from beside me, curious, distracting me with the sweet scent of his cologne. I shook it off the best I could, now aware of the proximity of his body.

Many results had popped up, and as I scrolled, I became deflated, not matching faces among the suggestions. I altered my search, not yet ready to give up.

Continuing to scroll, my finger paused, my eyes catching a glimpse of the eyes, those ice cold blue eyes.

"Here" I Mumbled, opening a publicly tagged photo. Further clicking had brought me to a profile page of Ben Thomasin, 26. His page was very much private, his profile photo of a motorbike of some sort.

"This is him" I grabbed the sketch and held it up to the now enlarged photo of Ben Thomasin. Side by side, it was undeniably the exact same person. I was shaking, disbelief washing over me.

Dawson appeared equally as shocked, pulling a chair out beside me, his eyes filtering between the two photos.

"Walk me through how you know this man Jasmine"

I couldn't look to him, he was oblivious as to how close he actually was. But I spoke as I stared at the computer screen "The night I'd been attacked, earlier on my friend and I had been at this bar, Carter's, Camille, my friend, she said he'd been watching me through the night" I began "I was flattered, tempted" I lowly spoke "When Camille went to the bathroom, he gave me this" I pointed to the coaster "When I saw the sketch, I remembered his eyes, the shape of his face, even the stubble"

Leaning forward, Dawson reached for his phone, dialing a number as he stood with it against his ear

"Marcus, it's me" He answered "I have something for you down in robbery, you got a pen in hand?"

Had I just helped to solve a major crime? Had I just wrongfully submitted the name of a coincidentally similar person? A million thoughts ran through my head, worried that I'd again put myself in the middle of a dangerous situation.

Whatever Dawson was saying over the phone became blurred as I leaned back. What if I had gone with this man? What if I had called him to set up a date? Would I have ended up in the hospital the same way his other victims had? Would he have taken it a step further this time?

"Keep me updated" I caught Dawson say before hanging up

I blew out a deep breath, rubbing my face with my hands

"The primary detectives on the case are going to look into it, they'll let me know how they go"

"What if he just looks the same, but he isn't the guy?" I mused

"Then he has nothing to worry about, we don't put people in prison just because they look like the bad guy" He assured me

"I think that's enough for me" I suppressed a laugh, closing the folder and pushing the laptop from me "On another note though" My brain had kicked over "How do you have internet, and service?" I pointed to his phone as he sat opposite me again, pulling the computer back to it's place in front of him

"I probably should have told you that earlier too, the department has temporarily disabled your phone service, we can't risk having it traced"

"Right, of course" I rolled my eyes "That explains it then"

"I'm sorry, but it's.."

"To keep me safe, I get it" I finished for him

The remainder of my day was spent overthinking what I had uncovered about Ben Thomasin, reading my Stephen Hawking book and sitting on the deck watching dark clouds roll towards us. Dawson kept to himself, either sitting at the table, wrapped in his paperwork, or on the phone, always removing himself from me before he spoke.

By nightfall, my stomach was growling, rumbling at the emptiness inside. I was uncomfortable with rummaging through the kitchen, let alone eating the food that I had not paid for. Dawson had told me to make myself at home, but this wasn't home, this wasn't even remotely close.

I was sitting in the living when rainfall fell, light with the eerie shadows of lightening igniting flashes of blue and purple through the living space and kitchen. I focused on my book, nearing the end, determined not to rush in fear of not having another to cling to in times of stress.

"Jasmine" My name was called, Dawson standing in the kitchen, his palms leaned on the bench, each muscle and vein in his forearms bulking at the tension

"We can't pretend that you haven't eaten all day, you mentioned earlier the word 'babysitting', I don't want to think of this as that, but if I'm going to have to remind you on a regular basis that you need to eat, to make yourself at home, then that's exactly what I'm doing" He said as he pulled a saucepan to the stove-top, adding oil

He was right, but that didn't make it easier.

"Come here" He insisted with a pull of his finger, instructing me to move to him

I hesitated, but closed my book and did as he had asked, standing on the opposite side of the island counter. He had been cooking for quite some time, utensils and food organized neatly along the bench. Red sauce sat on the stove, bubbling and brewing. I was surprised I hadn't smelt the strong tomato scent earlier.

"Pots and pans, here" He opened a lower drawer beneath the oven "Pantry is there" He pointed to his right, a large open space opened by a sliding door visible "Plates, bowls, are in here" He moved to another cupboard, mid-height "Do I need to tell you where the cutlery is too?"

I held back a smile "No, no I think I can manage that one"

He gave me a small smile in return, closing the open cutlery draw beside his body as he pulled a fork from the top space

Watching what he was doing, I sat myself down on the stool at the island counter.

"Are you opposed to Chicken Parmigiana?" He asked with his back turned from me, picking up crumbed chicken with his fork, placing it into the spitting pan

"No" I suddenly felt like I was in fact a child being babysat. It was an embarrassing feeling, an ashamed one. I didn't like it, and from that point on I had decided that I would take his advice seriously, no matter how uncomfortable.

"Looks like you know what you're doing" I told Dawson as he opened the oven, revealing cooking roasted vegetables

"It's been a while, being on the job doesn't give me a whole lot of time to cook the things I used to" He revealed "My grandmother, my Nonna, she and I would cook a lot when I was younger"

"You're Italian?" I could see that he had naturally tanned skin, dark hair, but I hadn't put a lot of thought into his nationality

"Somewhat, my mother and her family were born in Milan, she came here on a holiday and met my father"

"That must have been hard for her, leaving her family behind" I thought aloud

He shrugged, turning the chicken, the golden crumbing crisp and cooked "I suppose that's why her parents soon followed, once they became older, it didn't really matter where they were, only that they were near their children and grandchildren"

"Do you see them often?"

"Both my grandparents became sick, they passed away a few years ago, my mother and father are no longer together, I haven't heard from my father in a while, but my mother and her fiance live not too far from the city, I speak with her every now and then"

"I'm sorry" I looked down at the swirl of colors on the bench top, tracing them with my fingertips

"It's fine"

Usually the quiet that settled between Dawson and I felt awkward, dense, but now that we had held a normal conversation with one another, it didn't feel that way.

I felt guilt for sitting and watching Dawson cook, but I could see that in a way he was enjoying it. He knew exactly what he was doing, he was focused, his posture at ease and relaxed. This was the side of the police that we so often forgot about, the real human side.

When the 2 pieces of chicken had cooked, he placed it neatly down on a plate each. The roasted vegetables were removed from the oven and set on the plate beside it. There was no denying the smell overtaking the home was a tempting and mouth-watering one. An unknown home-made mixture of light sauce was poured over the vegetables, the hint of oil and herbs visible. Finally, the thick creamy red sauce was poured on top of the chicken, parmesan cheese sprinkled above, melting into the heat.

It looked too presentable to eat, like the main course meal at a fancy restaurant.

"Don't expect this every night" He joked, setting the plates down at the clear table

"I'd be happy with beans on toast every other night after this alone"