The night had deepened but Freya was still on the couch.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
She stared at it for a second. Then picked up.
"Hello?"
"Freya Davis."
That voice…
She swallowed before answering. "It's late."
His chuckle slid through the receiver. "You're awake. That means your conscience is too."
Freya sat up straighter, eyeing the crack in the window where cold air bled through. "What do you want?"
"I just wanted to check in. See if you've started seeing Arnold clearly now. He's not the squeaky-clean philanthropist the press drools over. I think you know that."
Freya's stomach twisted. "I'm not sure what you think I've found…"
"I know exactly what you've found," Greg cut in.
Freya's mouth went dry. "Even if I have doubts… even if he's not what I thought… what does that have to do with you?"
