SASHA“W
hat are you saying?” Sasha heard the hysteria in her voice.
Lynn helped her squeeze her belly into the kitchen nook, whispering, “Ssh, Ssh, it’s going to be okay,” like Sasha was the mental patient. Lynn wasn’t Lynn. She wasn’t her friend. Her name was Red. The redhead Peter had f****d a long time ago, and apparently, had recently f****d over again. Emiko had recognized her correctly.
Lynn was sorry. No, Red said she was sorry, very sorry, with a troubled look in her eye. Sasha needed to call the police. What type of person would pose as a personal assistant just to get back at an ex-boyfriend? The woman was decorating the babies’ room. Oh God, had she taken a Jacuzzi in the master bathroom? Thank God, she hadn’t tried to hurt the babies. Thank God, she hadn’t hurt the puppy. Sh
