Chapter 44

The photograph was on Becky’s desk when they arrived Tuesday morning.

Not on the floor. Not slipped under the door. On the desk – placed there deliberately, face up, so it would be the first thing she saw.

Freen saw it before Becky did.

She had come in first, the way she always did, and she had done her standard check of the space – doors, windows, anything out of place – and she had stopped at Becky’s office doorway.

The photograph was on the desk.

She went in. She looked at it without touching it. An image printed on plain paper – Becky outside her apartment building. Not a long-lens shot taken from a distance. Close. Clear. Becky’s face visible, her bag on her shoulder, her key in her hand at the entrance.

Timestamped 7:14am that morning.

That morning.

Freen stood very still.

Becky had left Charlotte’s at seven. She had gone to her own apartment to collect some things. She had been there at 7:14. And someone had been close enough to photograph her at her own front door and had then come here and put the photograph on her desk before either of them arrived.

She heard the lift.

She stepped out of Becky’s office and went to her desk and sat down and opened her laptop and looked at her screen.

Becky came through the glass partition.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning,” Freen said.

Becky went into her office.

Three seconds of silence.

“Freen.”

—

Becky was standing at her desk holding the photograph.

She was looking at it the way she looked at evidence – precisely, completely, taking in everything it contained. She turned it over. Plain paper, no watermark. She turned it back.

She looked at Freen in the doorway.

“When did this get here,” she said.

“Before we arrived.”

“How.”

“Jeff. Or someone from the network.” Freen paused. “The building security footage will show when. But they got in.”

Becky looked at the photograph.

7:14am. Her key in her hand. Her own front door.

“I was at my apartment for eleven minutes,” she said. “I went to get clothes.”

“I know. I had Nam on your route.” Freen held her gaze. “She missed him. He was already gone when she got to your street.”

Becky put the photograph down on the desk. She looked at it for a moment.

Then she looked at Freen.

“End this,” she said. Her voice was completely level. “End all of it.”

Freen looked at her.

She crossed the office. She picked up the photograph. She folded it once and put it in her jacket pocket.

Then she took out her phone and called Engfa.

—

Engfa answered immediately.

“I saw Nam’s report,” she said. “The photograph.”

“He got into the building,” Freen said. “Close access. He’s not waiting anymore.”

“No. He’s not.” A pause. “Are you ready.”

“Yes.”

“The plan is solid. Freen-“

“It’s solid,” Freen said. “We move tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Engfa confirmed. “I’m sending two people to the courthouse. They’ll be in position by six.”

“And Jeff.”

“Nam has him. He moved this morning – we know where he is.” A pause. “Freen. Tonight-“

“Tonight is fine,” Freen said. “I’ll send you a status at midnight.”

She ended the call.

She looked at Becky.

Becky was looking at her from across the office. The same look as the car park – all the way through, nothing between them.

“Tomorrow,” Becky said.

“Yes.”

“You have a plan.”

“Yes.”

“A good one.”

“Yes.”

Becky looked at her for a moment. “Okay,” she said. She sat down at her desk. She opened her laptop. “Then let’s finish the closing argument.”

—

They worked through the day.

Not talking about tomorrow. Not talking about the photograph. Just working – Becky on the closing argument, Freen on the operational notes she needed to have ready, both of them in their respective spaces doing what needed doing.

At lunch Heng knocked and left food on Freen’s desk without being asked and went away. Noey brought Becky coffee at two and looked at the office and said nothing and went back to her desk.

By five the closing argument was done.

Becky read it through one final time. Then she closed the document and sat back.

“It’s finished,” she said.

Freen looked up from her desk.

“The whole thing,” Becky said. “It’s done.”

“Is it right.”

Becky was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” she said. “It’s right.”

They looked at each other through the glass.

“Good,” Freen said.

—

The office emptied out at six.

Heng said goodnight. Noey said goodnight. The associates filtered out. By six thirty it was just the two of them and the lamps and the city outside going into its Tuesday evening.

Neither of them made a move to leave.

At seven Becky came out of her office.

“I’m not going back to Charlotte’s tonight,” she said.

Freen looked at her. “Becky-“

“I know.” She held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to say. The risk assessment. The apartment.” She looked at Freen. “I’m not going to Charlotte’s. I’m staying here.”

Freen was quiet for a moment.

“Here,” she said.

“The building has the best security on this block. You’ll be here. Nam has the cameras.” Becky held her gaze. “I’m not going to spend the night before the operation in Charlotte’s guest room pretending I’m fine when I’m not.”

Freen looked at her.

“Are you fine,” she said.

“No,” Becky said. “I’m not fine. I have a closing argument to deliver tomorrow afternoon and a colonel who wants to stop me delivering it and a photograph of my own front door on my desk.” She paused. “I’m not fine.”

“Okay,” Freen said.

“I need you to stay.”

“I’m not leaving,” Freen said. “I wasn’t going to leave.”

Becky looked at her.

Something moved between them. The same thing that had been moving between them all day – all week, all month, all the way back to a corridor and a jacket and three stars in a straight line.

“Come back tomorrow,” Becky said. “Whatever happens. Come back.”

“I will.”

“That’s a promise you can’t guarantee.”

Freen held her gaze. “I know,” she said. “I’m making it anyway.”

Becky looked at her for a long moment.

Then she crossed the office.

Becky crossed the office in three strides and Freen met her halfway.

Their mouths collided with the full weight of every unsaid thing between them-eight months of stolen glances across glass walls, of rain-soaked jackets and three stars pinned in a perfect line, of almost-confessions swallowed down in court corridors and car parks. There was no hesitation. No careful question. Just Becky’s hands fisting in Freen’s shirt and Freen’s arms locking around her waist like she could anchor them both against tomorrow.

They stumbled toward the couch in Becky’s office, mouths never parting. Becky tasted desperation and salt and the faint trace of the coffee Freen had been drinking all day. She pushed Freen down onto the leather and climbed over her, knees bracketing Freen’s hips, skirt riding high. Freen’s palms slid up Becky’s thighs, shoving fabric out of the way until she could grip bare skin.

“Tell me you want this,” Freen breathed against her mouth, even as her fingers dug in hard enough to bruise.

“I want you,” Becky answered, voice raw. “All of you. Tonight.”

Freen’s control snapped.

She flipped them with startling strength, laying Becky down beneath her. Clothes came off in a frantic, uncoordinated rush-Freen’s jacket hit the floor, Becky’s blouse was half-unbuttoned before Freen gave up and simply tore the last few buttons open. The sound of fabric ripping made Becky laugh, breathless and wrecked, and then the laugh turned into a moan when Freen’s mouth closed over her breast, hot and demanding. Teeth grazed, tongue soothed. Becky arched, fingers threading through Freen’s dark hair, holding her there.

Freen worked lower, kissing down the center of Becky’s stomach, hands pushing her skirt and underwear down in one motion. When she settled between Becky’s thighs and looked up, the eye contact was devastating. Becky’s chest heaved.

“Please,” she whispered.

Freen didn’t tease. She licked a slow, broad stripe up Becky’s center, then focused on her clit with devastating precision-sucking, flicking, two fingers sliding deep without warning. Becky cried out, hips jerking. The office was silent except for the wet sounds of Freen’s mouth and Becky’s broken gasps. Freen fucked her steadily, curling her fingers, humming against slick flesh until Becky’s thighs started to shake.

“Look at me,” Freen ordered softly.

Becky forced her eyes open. Their gazes locked as Freen drove her over the edge. Becky came hard, back bowing, a choked moan tearing from her throat as pleasure crashed through her in long, rolling waves. Freen stayed with her through every pulse, gentling her tongue but keeping her fingers buried deep until the last tremor faded.

Then Becky was pulling her up, kissing her own taste off Freen’s lips, frantic. She shoved at Freen’s trousers until they were gone, until she could roll them again so Freen was on her back. Becky’s hand slid between Freen’s legs-God, she was soaked-and Freen’s head fell back against the couch with a groan.

Becky stroked her slowly at first, learning every reaction, then faster when Freen started thrusting up into her hand. She added her mouth to Freen’s neck, sucking a mark just below the collar of the shirt Freen would have to wear tomorrow. The thought sent a fresh wave of heat through her.

“I need to feel you,” Becky murmured.

She shifted down, settling between Freen’s spread thighs. The first taste drew a guttural sound from Freen’s throat. Becky licked and sucked with single-minded hunger, two fingers thrusting deep while her tongue worked Freen’s clit. Freen’s hand fisted in her hair, hips rolling, control fraying with every stroke.

“Becky-fuck-don’t stop-“

Becky didn’t. She curled her fingers, found that spot, and sucked hard. Freen came with a sharp cry, thighs clamping around Becky’s head, whole body shuddering as release tore through her. Becky kept going, gentler now, drawing out every aftershock until Freen was boneless and panting.

They weren’t finished.

Freen pulled Becky up and they moved together again, slower this time but no less desperate. Skin against skin, breasts pressed together, legs tangled. They ground against each other in a slick, heated rhythm-clits sliding, hands roaming, mouths fused. Every roll of hips felt like a promise and a farewell all at once.

“I’m terrified,” Becky admitted against Freen’s mouth, voice cracking.

“I know.” Freen’s hand slipped between them, fingers finding Becky’s clit again. “But you’re going to deliver that closing tomorrow like the brilliant lawyer you are. And I’m coming back to you.”

Becky’s breath hitched, pleasure and emotion twisting together. She moved faster, chasing sensation, chasing the woman beneath her. They came almost together-Becky first with a broken sob of Freen’s name, Freen following seconds later, clinging to her like she was the only solid thing left in the world.

After, they stayed tangled on the narrow couch. Freen pulled Becky’s head to her chest, fingers stroking through sweat-damp hair. Becky traced the line of Freen’s collarbone, then lower, over the faint scars she had never asked about but knew were there.

“Whatever happens tomorrow,” Becky whispered, “this was real. This is real.”

Freen kissed the top of her head. “It’s the realest thing I’ve ever had.”

They made love once more before dawn-slow, reverent, faces close so they could watch every flicker of emotion in each other’s eyes. When Becky finally fell asleep with her hand curled possessively on Freen’s arm, Freen stayed awake, memorizing the weight of her, the sound of her breathing, the way the city lights painted soft gold across her bare shoulder.

At four she slipped away, dressed quietly, and stood at the window for a long moment.

Come back, Becky had said.

Freen touched the folded photograph still in her jacket pocket.

“I will,” she promised the sleeping woman behind her.

Then she left to go end it.

—

Freen left at four in the morning.

She had not slept. She had not planned to sleep.

She stood at the window of the empty outer office and looked at Bangkok at four in the morning – the city at its quietest, which was still not quiet, just lower. The lights of other buildings. The street below with its 4am life. The sky to the east where it was starting, very faintly, to think about morning.

Behind her Becky was asleep on the office couch. She had fallen asleep with her hand on Freen’s arm and Freen had stayed until her breathing evened out completely and then she had moved carefully and not disturbed her and come to the window.

She had six hours.

The operation was at ten. The closing arguments were at two.

She had made a plan and the plan was solid and she had run three scenarios and built contingencies and Nam had Jeff’s location and Engfa had two people at the courthouse and she had done everything she could do before the day started.

She stood at the window and looked at the city.

She thought about come back. She thought about I know. I’m making it anyway.

She thought about eight months of a case and seven years of documents and four signatures and the woman asleep on the office couch who had built something that was going to hold.

She was going to make sure it held.

She turned from the window. She picked up her jacket. She looked at Becky one more time – the quiet of her, the ease of her asleep that was so different from the focused precision of her awake.

She left the office quietly.

Downstairs the city was there, waiting.

She went into it.