TAMED | FREENBECKY

38

Becca stayed in Freen's bedroom for at least an hour and a half, listening to the sounds of police officers and technicians wandering through the house. It felt strange to hide away while the scene was documented and the body prepared for transport to the morgue, but Becca was confident that Dasha had offered a reasonable explanation for her absence. Probably trauma, of which she'd suffered plenty.

Freen snored loudly next to her. She'd fallen asleep at the foot of the mattress almost immediately after Becca bandaged her wound. Curled into a tight ball, her massive body still took up most of the bed. Becca stroked her absentmindedly, grateful for her presence. Despite seeing Kirk Pike's corpse with her own eyes, Becca remained on edge, as though he might burst through the bedroom door at any moment.

When Dasha finally knocked on the door shortly after the house went quiet, the sudden noise made her jerk in surprise. Freen picked her head up and blinked sleepily at the door, but when Dasha said, "It's me. Dasha," Freen sighed and fell back against the bed, already closing her eyes again.

"I'll be right there." Becca untangled herself from Freen, lifting an enormous paw from her thigh and gently laying it on the mattress. Freen cracked open her eyes and Becca flashed her palm, hoping she would understand. "Stay here, Freen. I'm just going to talk to Dasha for a few minutes."

But when Becca walked to the door, Freen jumped off the bed and followed close behind. Becca raised an eyebrow at her but didn't say anything. She had a feeling this was an argument she couldn't win.

Dasha took an instinctive step back when Becca opened the door with Freen at her side. She lifted her hand, stopping short of touching Becca's cheek. "Becky, your face."

"Oh." Becca brought her fingertips to her jawline, wincing at the tacky, drying blood that she'd forgotten to wash away. Now that she'd had time to catch her breath, her injured hand was beginning to throb as well. She had been so concerned with Freen's injury—and so worried about what Dasha would do with Freen's secret—that her own aches and pains had taken a backseat, until now. "I was so busy tending to Freen's bullet wound that I forgot all about it."

Reluctantly dropping her gaze to Freen for the first time, Dasha said, "Is she all right?"

"She will be. The bullet went through her."

"She doesn't need to go to the hospital?"

"I don't think so." Becca touched Freen's back, careful to avoid the newly cleaned exit wound. "We'll see what happens when she becomes human again, but she seems really strong."

"That's good." Dasha cleared her throat and gestured at Becca's face. "I think you'll need stitches. Why don't you leave Freen here and I'll take you to the hospital?"

No way was she leaving Freen tonight—Becca sensed she was the only thing keeping Freen inside the house. Even with her injured hand, she should be able to handle her own care. "That won't be necessary. I'll just find a needle and thread and sew it up myself."

Dasha gave her a familiar look of uneasy admiration, something she usually reserved for when Becca made incredible forensic leaps based on evidence Dasha found disgusting. "You're hardcore, Rebecca Armstrong. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise."

"I'm not feeling all that hardcore at the moment. Just tired."

Glancing quickly at Freen, Dasha slowly reached out to take Becca's hand. "Let me help you clean up your face. Then you can play Frankenstein with yourself."

Pleased that Freen accepted Dasha's friendly contact without even a growl, Becca let Dasha pull her into the guest bathroom. She settled against the counter as Dasha wet a washcloth with warm water, then gently dabbed at her face. Tensing when Becca hissed in discomfort, Dasha said, "He really did a number on you."