TAMED | FREENBECKY

24

When Becca arrived at the homicide division flanked by Detectives Munoz and Hunt, Dasha was already at her desk. She jumped up as soon as she spotted Becca, worry etched across her face. "Are you all right?"

Embarrassed by Dasha's obvious concern, Becca waved her off. "I'm fine. It's the woman in the picture he left for me that we need to worry about." Setting the envelope on Dasha's desk, Becca waited as Dasha rolled an extra office chair over so they could examine its contents together. "Unfortunately, I'm not sure he gave us much to work with."

"Let's take a look." Dasha glanced at the detectives, who stood silently as though waiting to be addressed. "You guys want to take a break? Grab something to eat?"

Hunt nodded. "That'd be nice."

"You sure you don't need us?" Munoz asked, always the professional. Though Becca had given him a lot of grief, the man was clearly dedicated to his job—and Dasha.

"We'll be fine." Dasha gestured for Becca to sit and, once she had, dropped into the chair beside her. "Go ahead and relax. We'll dust for prints, see if we can come up with anything."

The detectives left them with muttered thanks, and Becca was glad to see them go. She knew they were just looking out for her, but she was really starting to feel like her life was no longer her own. In a perfect world she wouldn't have to spend the evening with Dasha, either. She could soak in her bathtub and concentrate on not thinking about Freen.

Who was she kidding? That was clearly impossible. For almost the entire fifteen minutes she'd spent in her apartment earlier that evening, Freen's presence had lingered so strongly that Becca could have sworn she was in the next room. No matter how badly Becca wanted to write off Freen and move on—to not allow herself to grieve for a woman she'd known only a month—she was hopelessly, desperately sad that things had ended the way they had. Breaking up was bad enough, but not having seen it coming was even worse.

"You okay?" Dasha murmured as she pulled on a pair of gloves. "I don't blame you for being shaken up, knowing this guy's been to your place and is actually leaving you presents now."

"It's not that." Becca cringed. That was probably ridiculous, wasn't it? What kind of person was she when her shitty love life upset her more than the thought that her stalker had just raised the stakes in his sick game? "I mean, it is. I'm upset, of course."

"About Freen, too." Dasha shook the contents of the envelope onto the table, avoiding Becca's gaze. "You've had an awesomely bad past thirty-six hours. You deserve to fall apart a little, I think."

"I'm not falling apart." Becca pulled on her gloves. "I refuse to."

Dasha gingerly picked up the photo of their potential victim. Becca watched Dasha scan the note at the bottom—I wonder if she'll be as scared as you, Becca remembered, like she could forget—fascinated by the way Dasha's jaw tensed in visceral anger. Dasha glanced up, apparently checking Becca's reaction.

"I'm not convinced he hasn't given us anything to work with." Voice thick with anger, Dasha nodded at the photo. "He's having too much fun with this. He thinks he's invincible, that he's just toying with you. He told you he could do whatever he wants and nobody could stop him. Right?"

"That's what he said." Becca let her gaze drift to the image of the woman who might very well be facing the same terror she'd endured even as they sat there looking at her photo. "He definitely wants to believe that he's unstoppable."

"So would he really resist the urge to give you some kind of puzzle to decipher?" Dasha stared at the photo, first the front, then the back.

"He doesn't want to get caught. And so far he's been very smart. Why give us something to go on now?"