She disguises the low, rumbling growl in her throat at the sound of that name, with a cough. She takes the beer, a little more happily than she might've without that additional happy reminder. "Well that cements it. All the papers declared her dead a year ago. FBI agents identified some fur on a body over on the east coast, thought to belong to her. 'Course there was never any hard proof, and we couldn't test it...but a civilian wouldn't pull our leg about her, not with the controversy over it...and not unless she was very stupid."<br/><br/>Monkling herself...she'd been on a different beat, at the time. She still remembers the night Stone had come to her though...kidnapping turned murder, and he'd been one of the cops called to the scene for that first little girl's body...it was the one night they'd ever shared a bed...just for the night. There was no way she was going to let him sleep alone after that.<br/><br/>It was also the first night she'd ever felt a hint of something for him...a something she swallowed down ever since.