TAMED | FREENBECKY

30

Less than an hour after Becca hung up with Freen, she heard a knock on her door. She didn't need to look through the peephole to know who it was. She could feel Freen's presence in her belly, a strange curl of electricity that hadn't been there since the night Freen lied about being out of town—the last time they were together. Becca had imagined feeling that same spark of connection numerous times since their breakup, but that had been pathetic yearning. This was the real thing.

Becca walked to the door on rubbery legs, steeling herself for the sight of Freen's face. She knew it would hit her hard, seeing Freen again, and she worried she would lose her head and leap into Freen's waiting arms. Two weeks hadn't been sufficient time to build a wall around her heart strong enough to keep Freen out. Despite the pain Freen had caused, Becca still missed her desperately. It would take everything she had not to surrender her anger to her desire to be wrapped up in Freen's warm embrace.

Calling up an image of the blond woman who had disappeared into Freen's house the night she was supposedly leaving town, Becca took a deep breath and checked the peephole, just in case. Even distorted by the fish-eye lens, Freen looked stunning. Becca's heart thundered as she undid the chain and pulled the door open. The instant Becca's eyes met Freen's, every bit of Becca's willpower dissolved.

"Becky—" Freen stepped forward then jerked to a halt. She fisted her hands at her sides, clearly holding back. "You look beautiful."

Cursing the trembling of her fingers, Becca whispered, "So do you." She stepped aside and gestured for Freen to enter. "Come in."

As Freen walked past her into the living room, Becca inhaled deeply, savoring her scent. She followed Freen inside, working hard to keep her expression neutral. Judging from the rapid rise and fall of Freen's chest, Freen saw the desire in Becca's every movement. To her credit, she didn't seem to take that as an invitation to initiate physical contact.

Becca almost wished she would.

"Sit down." Hurrying to take a seat on the far end of the couch, Becca sighed in relief as soon as she got off her feet. Weak-kneed and dizzy in Freen's presence, she felt like a ridiculous, lovesick girl. This was what got her into trouble in the first place—letting her emotions overrule a healthy sense of caution. Becca already knew Freen was a liar. She couldn't forget that just because she smelled good.

Freen sank onto the other end of the couch, shooting Becca a nervous look. "I've missed you."

Becca bit back the urge to confess just how much she'd missed Freen, too. "You said you had information about the West Gate Park killer."

Swallowing, Freen said, "Yes." She twisted her hands in her lap, looking so anxious that Becca's stomach roiled in sympathy. "I have a lot to tell you, but I don't know where to start."

"Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Freen opened her mouth then shook her head. "I'm sorry. I'm...I'm really nervous."

"Okay." Having Freen so close—and wanting her so badly—was starting to wear on Becca's patience. Especially when it seemed more and more like maybe Freen's involvement in this case went deeper than Becca wanted to believe. "Why don't you just tell me what you know about this guy? We can go from there."

Exhaling, Freen reached into her pocket and withdrew a folded sheet of paper. She passed it to Becca, watching her face for a reaction when Becca unfolded it and read the elegant lettering inside.

Kirk Pike, 106 Third Street, Goldland 12C, Edison Ave.

Becca gasped as the enormity of what Freen had just given her registered. The last thing she'd expected was a name and address.