TAMED | FREENBECKY

17

Freen knew something was different the moment Becca answered her door the evening after the second murder. Becca's face softened at the sight of her, and Freen's entire body hummed as their connection flared to life, but Becca seemed almost reserved as they embraced. The stream of emotion that flowed from her directly into Freen was difficult to decipher, almost overwhelming in its complexity. Familiar love and desire were there, but new—and unsettling—feelings were in the mix.

Anxiety. Fear. Worst of all, uncertainty.

Those negative emotions seemed directed at her, an unexpected turn of events that jarred her into stunned stillness. She knew that Dasha and Becca had argued about her that morning at the crime scene, but now she wondered what exactly Dasha had said. Whatever it was, it had clearly gotten to Becca.

"Is everything all right?" Freen asked as she drew back from their embrace. Cautiously, she stepped into Becca's apartment and closed the door behind her. She had planned to tell Becca this evening that she wouldn't be around on the night of the full moon, so the last thing she needed was unspoken distrust between them. That would make lying Even harder to pull off. "You seem upset."

"I am upset," Becca said, but gave her a brave smile. "Rough day at the lab."

"I'll bet. Anything I can do?"

Becca smiled wider, blushing. "Why don't we talk a little first?"

Relieved by Becca's reaction, Freen walked deeper into the apartment. Flirting was a good sign. If Becca was still flirting, Dasha hadn't managed to completely poison her mind against her. At least not yet. After a moment of hesitation, she sat on Becca's couch. She needed to act casual, to push aside her nerves. If she wanted Becca to trust her, she had to project calm honesty. That was the only way to make Becca believe that she wasn't hiding anything.

Becca put her hands on her hips. "Want something to drink?"

Freen shook her head, patting the cushion next to her. "Sit down, sweetheart. Tell me about your day. About the woman from the alley."

Becca shook her head, then turned to walk into the kitchen. "Let me get a glass of wine first."

"Of course." Freen stood and followed Becca to the refrigerator, watching as she pulled out a bottle of chardonnay. She hoped Becca had been able to scientifically establish the fact that her own attacker was the same man who killed the woman in the alley. Freen had smelled it, of course, but could never tell Becca. "So it's the same guy, right? The one who killed the woman in West Gate Park?"

Sighing, Becca poured a generous glass of wine, then took a large sip. After another sip, she topped off her glass, then recorked the bottle, sticking it back into the fridge. "Without a doubt." Becca gestured for Freen to follow her back to the sitting room. "Same exact wounds. Same knack for creating the cleanest messy crime scene I've ever encountered." Becca sat and took another healthy drink, shivering after she swallowed. "And there was something else."

Freen sank onto the cushion beside Becca. Her gut churned as Becca struggled with whatever she intended to say next. "Tell me."

"Remember the phone call I got last night? The hang-up?"

Throat dry, Freen nodded. "Was it him?"

"He placed the call from the victim's cell phone—probably as he stood over her body. We found the entry in her call log." Becca hiccupped out a humorless laugh. "Pretty big clue that not only are my attacker and this killer one and the same, but he's clearly fixated on me for some reason." Another drink, more like a gulp than a sip. "Dasha assigned a protective detail to watch my apartment. You probably walked past them on the way in."