Her voice suggests that she believes I did. Is it that apparent? Is there something physical or nonphysical in my manner that makes this child think I am capable of killing?

How does she know?

Do other humans feel it, too, when they look at me?

When I don’t answer, she shrugs. “It doesn’t matter. What about the men?”

She doesn’t need to clarify to whom she’s referring.

“They’re under arrest. They admitted killing Barbara.”

“Under arrest?” There’s no mistaking the distress in her tone. “Does that mean there’ll be a trial?”

“The District Attorney will do everything she can to try to get the men to plead out. They’re up for murder and a lot of other terrible crimes. But there is always the chance, Trish, that they will ask for a trial. No one wants to put you through that. But it’s a possibility.”

She rounds on me in the seat. “Then why didn’t you kill them, too? Then it would be over.”

The heat in her tone vibrates the air around us. When I look over at her, stunned at the ferocity of her response, her eyes flash and then darken.

“I’m sorry,” she says.

For a moment, I’m too conflicted by my own feelings to respond. Part of me agrees with Trish. I should have killed them. I wanted to. I could have taken the computers or burned the house down. It would have been easy and Trish would be free. Frey stopped me.

What if he hadn’t? Is that why I asked him to come with me? Did I know instinctively that I couldn’t trust myself? And Frey agreed because he knew. Williams, too.

Only now am I beginning to understand.

I’m not as strong as the blood drive. I never was.

Trish stirs on the seat beside me. I’ve waited too long to respond and her uneasiness is growing.

“It’s all right, Trish. The way you feel is natural. I feel it, too. I expect we both need time and a little help to get through it.”

“Help? You mean like a shrink?”

For her, yes. For me, a different kind of therapy. But I smile and nod. “My mom will know what to do. She’s a very bright lady. You can trust her.”

Trish lapses into silence. When we pull into the driveway of my parent’s home, my mother is on the front porch, watching, waiting. Some instinct must be at play because Trish goes to her without reservation. Mom smiles at me but doesn’t ask me to stay. I only hang around long enough to make sure they’re both all right.

Then I go home to call Williams.

Chapter Forty-Six

I feel his presence him before I see him. Before the elevator door opens. Frey. He’s leaning against the doorjamb, feet crossed at the ankles, eyes closed.

“Don’t tell me,” I say, brushing past him to unlock the door. “Another full moon.”

He laughs, opens his eyes, and straightens up. “No. It only happens like that once a month. Well, twice if there’s a blue moon.”

He follows me inside.

I toss my purse and keys on the coffee table. “Want a beer?”

“I’d prefer wine, if you have it.”

I shake my head. “Sorry. I’m not a wine drinker.” Gave it up after Avery. He actually had vineyards in France. Which I guess I own now.

Frey is watching me. “Where did you go just then?”

“It’s not important. What are you doing here?”

In a deliberately casual movement, he spreads his hands. “I thought you might want company.”

“Company?”

“You seemed a little lost when I left you this afternoon. You don’t seem much better now. Did things go well with Trish and your mother?”

“Peachy.” I hear the sarcasm in my voice.

Frey raises an eyebrow.

“Mom will give Trish everything her own mother didn’t. She’ll finally have a chance to be a kid.”

He shakes his head. “Trish will never be a kid. Not with what she’s gone through. Can your mother accept that?”

It’s my turn to raise an eyebrow. “Are you a psychologist, too? I don’t remember seeing that on your resume.”

There’s tension building in the room that’s making me edgy. “Listen, Frey, thanks for stopping by, but I think you should go. I’m tired. I need sleep.”

He doesn’t move toward the door, but rather takes a step closer to me. This time there’s no mistaking the tension. It’s arcing between us, scorching my skin.

“What are you doing?”

His hands rest on my shoulders, and where his fingers come in contact with my flesh, it begins to tingle. Heat courses down the length of my body.

“Frey?”

I’m shivering with a searing need that’s been building all day. He’s responding to it. His hands pull me closer.

“What are you doing?”

His mouth is at my ear. “You need to feed. It’s the only thing that will release the fury in you. I’m here. For you.”

The hardness of his thigh brushing against mine floods me with desire.

And then we’re on the floor, freeing ourselves from the bonds of our clothing. I straddle him, holding him captive beneath me with thighs and legs. He moans, his hands gripping my waist, and moves, forcing himself deeper inside.

I open his neck to drink. The tempo builds until both hungers are satisfied, and only then does a great peace descend over me.

Chapter Forty-Seven

Friday

It’s well past midnight when Frey leaves. I feel a little guilty about asking him to go home after hours of lovemaking that, with and without feeding, was nothing short of miraculous. But I know that the day ahead will be full and I want at least a few uninterrupted hours of sleep.

It’s blessed, restorative sleep. None of the anxiety that’s plagued me the last few days. Only when I open my eyes and remember what happened with Frey does it hit.

Not once last night did I think of Max.

It was the same when I was with Avery.

The realization wipes away doubt and clarifies what I must have suspected all along.

I must end it with Max. Frey was right when he said feeding would release me. It did. It released my mind. The sex released my body. I needed both. If Max had been here, it wouldn’t have been the same.

I busy myself around the apartment waiting for the clock to read 9:00 am-the time the DNA lab opens-throwing clothes in boxes for the move back into the cottage. The kitchen things take less time to pack. I have only the bare essentials-coffeepot, a few mugs, flatware. Pots and pans have become an unnecessary encumbrance. The furniture came with the apartment. In two hours, I’m finished.

Williams calls at 8:45, just as I’m on my way out the door.

“How are you?” he asks.

“Busy,” I respond. “I was just leaving, but I’m glad you called. You sent Frey to see me last night, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

No hesitation, no apology or explanation. Not that I needed any.

“An object lesson?”

“Yes.”

I blow out a breath. “Well, the point is taken. I’ll call you next week. We can talk then, all right?”

“Good luck today,” he says then.

“Thanks. Williams, what has Trish’s grandmother been up to the last couple of days, do you know?”

He is quiet for a moment. “I talked with her last night. The mayor wanted me to fill her in on what happened. She almost seemed disappointed to find out Trish was a victim. And she certainly wasn’t happy to hear what Carolyn had done to her. I don’t think she’ll give your parents any trouble as far as custody is concerned. In fact, I’d say she wants to distance herself as far away from Trish as she can. Having a daughter who pimped out her own child to pornographers won’t sit well with her country club friends back home.”

“If it gets out.”

He chuckles. “I sort of implied it would most certainly make her hometown papers if she gave your parents any trouble.”

“She accepted that?”

“She had no choice. If I was to guess, I’d bet Mrs. Joseph Bernard is on a jet home as we speak.”

Relief washes over me. I ring off with the promise that I’ll call Williams midweek. I want a few days to see that Trish is settled, get the cottage in order, and reconnect with David.