Page 1 of Justice for Francesca

1

SOMEONE BETTER BE DEAD

Tripoli

“Someone better be dead if you’re calling me at”—he glanced at his phone through barely open eyes—“five a.m. on a Sunday.”

There was a pause before the bar manager of Elysium spoke. “In about two seconds, you’re going to wish you hadn’t said that.”

Instantly, he was sitting straight up in bed. “What?” The caller made a nonverbal noise of confirmation. “There’s seriously a dead body? I was just pissed because I’d barely been asleep for two hours after I’d been awake for almost twenty-four.” Tripoli put the phone on speaker, set it on his bedside table, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Elbows to his knees, he scrubbed his face with his hands. “What happened? Was it a medical emergency? An overdose?”

“No. Tripoli, you better hop a plane as soon as possible. I can’t even begin to explain what Tilly found. This was definitely a murder.”

The bang of a flash grenade. A blinding light. Pain in his ears. Smoke. He fell to the ground. He saw outlines through the smoke of other bodies falling. Muted screams. Gunfire.

Shaking his head to try and clear it, he watched the scene shift.

Moaning. Someone else had been hit. A form in fatigues crouched over another form lying in the foliage. An arm in the middle of the path. No body. Just an arm. An arm in fatigues.

Suddenly, he was back in his bedroom, the flashback departing like fog being sucked up into a vacuum cleaner. There was no time to get lost in the past. His people needed him to shut his shit down and take care of things like he always did. Control was the name of the game when he’d been a Navy medic. Assess the wound. Stop the bleeding. Prevent infection. Provide aftercare. Observe. Reassess. He carried that same philosophy over into his everyday life as well, whether as the boss or with the people he loved.

“You said Tilly found the body?” he asked.

“Yes. Tilly and Triumph came in to clean after the private party from last night. She found the woman in the trapeze room.”

“Jesus Christ!” He scrubbed at his face again. Tilly had been one of eight victims of a sex trafficker two years ago and had yet to recover from the trauma. How much more could the poor girl take? “How’s she doing?”

Michael blew out a breath. “Shaken. Hysterical at first, but Triumph calmed her down. She’s in your office lying down.”

“Have you called the police?”

“No. They found the body ten minutes ago. I was just waking up when Triumph texted me. Calling the police was the next thing on my list.”

Tripoli nodded to himself, even though Michael couldn’t see him. “Good plan. You said the body is in the trapeze room? Do we know the woman?”

There was another pause. Up to this point, Michael’s voice had resonated short and clipped. Bordering on anger at the inconvenience the body caused? His response to the question seemed to lose some of its steam. “It’s… difficult to say.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Blinking the last of the sleepiness out of his eyes, he stopped himself. “You know what, never mind. Not important right this second.” With quick precision, Tripoli outlined what he wanted Michael to do. “Have Triumph call the police. Tell him to ask for Quint Axton. Hopefully, he’s available. If not, we’ll deal with whoever we get, but I know Quint, which might make some of this go smoother.

“Remind him and Tilly to touch nothing. Get to the club. All three of you stay in my office until the police arrive. At that point, they’ll probably separate you. Don’t panic. It’s normal.”

Michael grumbled under his breath. “Yeah, I’m familiar with police procedure.”

“Text the staff. If they had a shift tonight, tell them the club is completely shut down to all employees until Wednesday, no exceptions. I’ll pay them in full until we reopen.”

The bar manager’s confidence appeared to return. “What about the private party tonight?”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of canceling it and making it up to them.”

“You think we’re going to be able to open for the private party on Wednesday?”

“Probably not,” Tripoli guessed, “but I don’t want to cause panic and gossip by saying we’re shut down indefinitely.”

A short bark of laughter floated down the line. “With this crew? You know I’m going to get a million return texts asking me what the tea and scandal is. What do you want me to tell them?”

Tripoli’s brain was wide awake and churning. “Tell them we have a burst pipe and have water damage. If someone needs something or has a question, they should call me directly.”

“Got it. And the patrons?”

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