Chapter 1

Beca dragged her suitcase behind her, struggling with the straps of the overstuffed backpack digging into her shoulders as she brushed past travellers milling about at restaurant entrances near her gate at Heathrow. She found the right gate and collapsed into a seat at the end of a row near the window to stare out at the night sky. She leaned against the window, the cool glass pressing into her cheek when something shiny caught her eye: an iPad lay half out of a sleek black leather bag left unattended. At first, she decided to keep an eye on it, certain its owner would return for such an expensive item-surely, no one would be so careless unless distracted. Passengers came and went for more than an hour before she hooked her foot in the strap to pull the bag closer. She glanced at the time on her phone; the boarding call for her flight would be announced soon, and then the bag would be left for whomever to take.

After more moments of indecision and no sign of the owner, she reached for one of the straps and lifted the bag into her lap to search for a tag. The name and contact information for one Luisa König written in an elegant script was inside a clear tag holder attached to the zipper. She briefly debated taking the bag to the lost and found but figured it would be better to look after and try to contact the owner herself. She would want someone to call her, were she in the same position.

Beca hurriedly dialed just as the call for first class to Berlin rang over the speakers at the gate and more than a dozen people grabbed their luggage and trudged to the line.

"Hallo?" a deep voice answered breathlessly.

"Hi. Um. This is Beca Mitchell," she paused, trying not to sound shocked. She'd not expected to hear his voice ever again. Could this mean she'd found the Kommissar's bag? More importantly, why did she care after all this time?

"How did you get this number, Troll?"

Did he sound angry or amused? She could never tell with him. "Wow. Rude much?"

"You called me. What do you want?"

"Actually, you giant giraffe, I was trying to reach Luisa." Annoyed, she unzipped her suitcase and rifled through the contents, refolding clothing and shifting items to make room for the bag. The blasted thing eventually fit. Before zipping it up, she snatched the iPad out and put it with hers in her backpack just in case things got mixed up again.

"How do you know the Kommissar's name?" he asked a bit impatiently.

"I didn't, but thanks for confirming it." She mused on the name for a moment. It was quite pretty, strong too, like the woman herself. "It was on the contact information she attached to the bag I found in the airport. I'd like to return it to her."

"She was upset she lost it. It's very important you do not lose it, Troll."

"Look, I'm not going to put it into a fucking wood chipper. It's safe with me for the time being."

"Good. Protect it, otherwise…"

Beca huffed in frustration as she joined the queue to board. "Do you have to be such an asshole? Will you just tell her I called and that in a couple days, I will be in Berlin for several weeks, so I can drop it off in person, if she wishes?"

"I'm not being-"

She interrupted him, "Fuck it, nevermind. I'll just post it and have it insured. If it gets lost, then at least she'll get her goddamned money." Beca yanked the phone away from her ear as she handed over boarding pass to be scanned. With a quick exchange of niceties, she was rolling along the tunnel to the plane. "Relay the message, will you? I'll post it when I land."

"That won't be necessary, Tiny Troll. I can meet you and get the bag to her," he attempted a gentler tone, still not budging on letting her communicate with Luisa.

"No. I will deliver it to her myself, or the post carrier will," she said in clipped tones, then hung up. She stowed her luggage in the overhead compartment, then flopped into the window seat. The middle seat would likely be unattended, and if she were lucky, maybe the aisle seat too.

Ugh. Why did Pieter have to be such an ass? They hadn't been rivals for nearly four years, and it's not like she wanted to steal his soul or anything. She put her headphones in for the flight and shut her eyes.

Luisa sank down the wall near the door in DSM's studio as her teammates grumbled to each other about sore muscles and being overworked while dispersing to the showers and their lives outside the group. She pulled her black-lycra clad knees to her chest and rested her head on them, her blonde hair limp from sweat sticking to her face and neck. She breathed deeply as she closed her eyes, imagining a life that might have been had things worked out differently: holding hands with a petite brunette while watching the sunrise on a park bench surrounded by flowering trees; sharing casual kisses; barefoot and exchanging vows on a white, sandy beach in front of their loved ones; a tiny girl toddling after her to practices and concerts and wanting to be like her 'Kom-sar'; the same little girl chasing after a golden-haired, rambunctious puppy.

"What's wrong, Kat?" Pieter asked softly, interrupting her daydreams. He frowned deeply when he saw the wistfulness in her eyes then sat beside her to hold her close.

She shrugged. "Nothing a hot shower and a massage will not cure," she lied, lifting her head to look into his gleaming eyes. "I am grateful for the progress we have made today, the team will be too, even though they hate me at the moment."

"They will not hate you when we clench our next world title. They may grumble and sulk, but if they truly detested you, they would have voted you out long ago. Look what happened with Markus." He shivered in revulsion.

"Slightly before my time, old man," she joked, cracking a smile for the first time all day. "But I remember stories of his tyrannical rule and how he stole millions."

"I am not much older than you. Nine months." He stuck out his tongue and made a goofy face.

"Could have fooled me with your old man wrinkles."

He barked a laugh. "Very funny."

She unfolded out of her position and stretched her arms and legs, her muscles protesting with the movement. Oh, she would be sore tomorrow. She leaned over to grab her phone from her gym bag-it was buried beneath a change of clothes, a fluffy green towel, and a toiletry bag. After scrolling through the messages, she asked, "Have you heard from the airline yet?"

"Not yet, I will let you know if I do." He got up and grabbed his own bag from the corner of the room.

She made a face and checked the call log, coming upon a number she didn't recognize. Maybe Andrew had answered it and forgotten to tell her. Pieter certainly would have. She rose to her feet and made her way down the stairs and outside into the blustery December air.

Who could it have been? The country code indicated it was an American number… maybe it was another chance at a tour, or perhaps a record producer? She Googled the number to see if anything might match it. Nothing. She dialed it anyway, just in case. The line rang several times before going to voicemail.

A familiar voice spoke in a professional, yet seductive-as-velvet tone. A small shiver, that had nothing to do with the wind licking away the droplets of sweat on her neck, worked its way down her spine. "Beca Mitchell, Producer at Universal Records. Drop a message at the tone."

Luisa gasped, nearly dropping the phone. Maus? After all this time? How? "Ma… This is Luisa König. Please return my call at your earliest convenience." There, professional and not remotely embarrassing, unlike the stream of questions running through her mind. She walked back inside the building, its warmth greeting her like an old friend, while wondering why she hadn't known about the call sooner and what it might mean for her, for DSM.

"Pieter? Are you still here? I need to ask you something." She waited for an answer that didn't come for several moments. She tapped her foot. Surely he couldn't have gone already without her noticing. She'd only been outside a couple minutes at most.

He shuffled from the office, exhaustion writ on his features, with his gym bag in tow and coat casually draped over his slumped shoulders like a cape. "Ask away."

"Did you or Andrew answer her call yesterday?" she asked, keeping her tone light and non-accusatory. Just because there was no voicemail didn't mean anything.

Pieter quirked a fuzzy eyebrow and narrowed his eyes a bit in confusion. "Whose call? I may have answered it if the call came when you were exercising," he offered while leaning on the door jamb with one foot crossed in front of the other, a hand in his jeans pocket.

"Beca Mitchell."

"The Troll?"

Luisa grimaced at him. "After all this time, you still call her that? It was never that clever, Pieter."

Pieter chuckled. "It got inside her head, and that suited our purposes at the time, no?"

She ignored him, feeling like there was something he was hiding. "Did you talk to her?" Luisa asked defensively, arms folded across her chest.

"I may have." He gave her a smarmy grin to break the tension.

She rolled her eyes. "You are not cute. Stop that."

"But I am sexy. Everyone says so." He lifted his shirt to show off his abs.

She stared blankly at him, refusing to smile. "Oh, ha ha. I have those too, remember?" she answered flatly. "Anyway. Tell me what she said." She also wanted to know why he decided not to tell her, but that could wait.

He sobered and said reluctantly, "She found your bag at the airport and wanted to return it to you in person. I may have angered her."

So a lie, then. "What did you do now?" she asked, trying to allow him time to explain himself. He could be a little mean.

"She misunderstood when I offered to retrieve it myself. You are very busy, Kat, with managing the team and school and everything else."

Luisa pursed her lips, seeing through the flimsy half truth. "You are lying. I am busy but not too busy to stop for an hour or so to retrieve something important to me. It would also be nice to make a non-professional connection outside of the team."

"I just…"

"You don't want me to see her, do you?" she asked, her voice lowering to a resigned whisper.

"I never said that. However, I remember what happened the last time. When she didn't call, you were depressed for weeks." He looked at the floor instead of her face.

"Because we had a connection, and you know it." She paused to gulp in a steadying breath, remembering the night she and Beca had. How many times had she wished she'd been brave enough to ask for her number, instead of hastily writing a note and leaving her contact information just under Beca's door. She made an intuitive leap, because of the way he was behaving. If he could hide one call, why not another? "I wonder, did she even get my number back then? You were with me when I left it. Tell me you didn't have anything to do with her not calling."

He remained silent for several moments before proceeding with caution, "Try not to be mad at me, but she was a distraction-"

"Don't you dare finish that goddamn sentence. She was not a distraction. It was different with her, and you would have known that had you spent any time with her after the competition. Even if she had been a distraction, what of it? You have had plenty of flings. Why are the rules different for me?"

He held up his hands to halt her. "You can do whatever you like. But that girl would have hurt you. She was dating that tiny American boy, and the one like an overexcited puppy clearly had feelings for her, the way she chased after the Troll and hung onto her every word. Not to mention how the Troll acted around you. She was so confused. Being strung along or thrown into all that drama would have hurt you more than believing she wasn't interested."

"But that was my decision to make, Pieter, not yours." Luisa clenched her jaw, wanting to scream at him.

He crossed the room to stand in front of her, so she could see the truth in his eyes if she wanted. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you." He tried to brush the hair off her shoulder or pat her, but she rebuffed his attempt to soothe her by blocking his hand with hers.

"If you never meant to hurt me, why did you lie? Better yet, why did you manipulate me?"

"It wasn't-"

"It wasn't what? Do you not see it as a manipulation to control who I date or what I do outside of the group?"

"It wasn't meant to be that. Never that." He hung his head.

"What makes this hurt worse is that had you come to me with your concerns, I would have listened, I would have considered your point of view before acting. I trusted you."

"You don't anymore?" he asked dejectedly, licking his bottom lip before turning it into a firm frown.

"I don't know," she whispered, her voice raw with unshed tears, scraping over the last word. She tried to clear the sting in her throat, but it grew worse. How could her oldest friend not trust her to make her own decisions?

He tried to pull her into a hug.

"Don't. Touch. Me." She backed away from him, turning her head so he wouldn't see the first tear fall. She didn't like crying in front of people, not even herself. She hated the vulnerability, not to mention the headaches. She knew tears were a necessary part of healing, but she did not like feeling broken.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry. I should not have interfered."

She could hear the pain in his voice, and it broke her heart a little more. She wanted to soothe his fears, to make him feel better about all of it, but that would take time and more trust in him than she had at the moment.

"So where does this leave us, Kat?" he asked earnestly, his normally bright eyes dim with sadness and unshed tears. He sniffled, then attempted to cover it with a cough.

She grimaced again, allowing a long huff of air to escape, at the pet name. He couldn't do this to her. "I need time." With a last look at him-his slumped shoulders and tears forming in the corners of his eyes-she fled the building, the old door slamming shut behind her.