Becca had to stay focused. She hurried down Lincoln Boulevard, hoping to put some space between her and Wishard and Christian, her head pounding. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d eaten, and the coffee had turned her stomach. She told herself not to worry about Christian or Wishard. What mattered was the news she’d discovered, the news that serial murders were happening and Ash might be in the crosshairs. Becca needed to think. She remembered meeting a doctor from UC Irvine at a conference a few years back. He specialized in tracking serial killers. She would call him first thing in the morning and have a sit-down with him. Perhaps he could help Becca build a profile. There was also a reporter she knew from the LA Times, who would jump at an exclusive, the chance to expose an LAPD cover-up. If the department wasn’t going to let the public know, Becca would have to.

“Get in the car, Becca,” Christian barked. She turned to see him leaning out the window of his black SUV.

“I’m calling an Uber. Go home with Joanne,” she said. She sounded like such a brat, but she couldn’t help herself.

Christian gritted his teeth, climbing out of the car and storming over to Becca. “Cancel the Uber and get in the goddamn car. Or I swear to God, I will pick you up and put you in it myself,” he said. She crossed her arms. She wasn’t going to let him bully her. “I’m not your problem anymore, Christian. And neither is Ash.”

He exhaled. “Jesus, don’t you see that I’m worried? You might have been able to shut me out of your life, but I never stopped caring about you and Ash. Not to mention you just went through a major physical trauma. I know you better than anyone, and I can tell you’re on the verge of collapsing. I just want to get you home. Make sure you’re safe. Please, Becs,” he said.

She wanted to argue, but Becca was exhausted and coming apart at the seams. The idea of a chatty Uber driver was too much to bear. As much as Becca didn’t want to admit it, she needed a few hours of rest.

“Fine. But no lectures, Christian. I can’t handle one of your lectures,” she said. He nodded and moved over to the passenger’s side door, opening it for her. She climbed in and leaned against the seat, her body aching. She waited for Christian to start driving. He sat motionless, tapping his hands against the steering wheel.

“You have to admit you acted like a total asshole,” Christian said. “Joanne wasn’t any better.”

“I’m sorry. Was I unclear about not being in the mood for a lecture?” Becca said.