Page 18 of Justice for Francesca

8

BLEACH AND ORANGES

Francesca

Francesca knocked on the door to the staff break room. The door was answered by one of the agents who Cruz had brought along earlier that day to keep spaces clear and people separated. She flashed her badge at the agent who let her in.

She nodded at Triumph, who was sitting on the leather sofa. He was working on a laptop, and Tilly’s head was on his shoulder. “Hello, Miss Moll. My name is Special Agent McCabe. I need to ask you a few questions.”

The girl sat up straight. “It’s Tilly.”

The girl was a witness. In a professional capacity, she was asking to be called by a version of her name. No different than calling someone named Bill, whose legal name was William. She could do that and still remain detached. With a nod, she gestured to a nearby chair. “May I?”

Tilly nodded. Triumph shut his laptop, then offered the girl support by taking hold of her hand, threading their fingerstogether, and placing their hands on his thigh. Francesca noted the gesture and took her notebook out of her pocket as she sat.

The redhead looked closer at Francesca. “Fleur?”

Francesca nodded and offered a small smile.

Other than Tripoli, Tilly was the one she had spent the most time with. Cultivating the girl’s friendship had been frighteningly easy. Some would call it poor little rich girl syndrome—a girl with everything yet somehow felt she had nothing. For her part, Francesca had just found her easy to like. Two years ago, she had been a tad immature and caught up in herself at times, but it was hardly surprising. When she had lived in Los Angeles, she’d had a job as an assistant to some prominent businessman, but she had supplemented that income by parading herself on social media pushing products, everything from romance novels to makeup to clothing lines and more. That meant she had to look her best and play a part at all times. A lot of pressure for a young woman. Now she had a different sense to her—older, wiser. Likely due to her experiences as the victim of a kidnapping.

Painful memories began to batter at the surface of Francesca’s conscious self, a reminder that it was she who had realized the girl was gone. That she was the one who had felt panic and reported Tilly missing. Not to her superiors and not to an officer of some sort, but to Tripoli. The man who had taken her concern seriously the moment she’d voiced it, no questions asked. Who had barely left her side at the club for the weeks prior and never left it after until?—

Tilly whispered, “I’m sorry you were taken. You’re okay?”

“Yes, Tilly, I’m okay. How have you been doing?”

Tilly looked quickly at Triumph, who nodded at her. The girl turned her attention back to Francesca.

“I still have nightmares. Home was becoming suffocating. My parents… they were taking a lot of my choices from me in aneffort to protect me. When Tripoli offered me a chance to start over in San Antonio, I took it. I hoped it would help me recover.”

“And has it?” Francesca asked.

Tilly shrugged.

Triumph cut in, “Tripoli got her into therapy with some specialist here—part of the reason he wanted to bring her along. She’s also in a group for people who suffered traumatic events, but she’s the only one who has been kidnapped, so the group isn’t really super helpful. We support her as best we can, so yes, she’s in a better place than she was, but she has a long way to go yet.”

“What’s going on besides the nightmares?”

Tilly hung her head. “I can’t go out at night. Someone has to be with me all the time if I do go out, or else I have panic attacks. Can’t sleep in the dark either. And I can’t do small spaces—elevators, narrow hallways, that kind of thing.”

“I know it’s hard.”

Triumph squeezed Tilly’s hand, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of her head. Francesca’s heart beat triple time at the sweet gesture, and it also panged at the wish that she had that kind of support. Unfortunately, she had no one close enough to her to offer encouragement. Work offered counseling, but it wasn’t the same as having someone in your life every day who was there for you without question.

“Okay, let’s start with the basics. What time did you arrive this morning?”

Tilly took a huge breath, then let it out. “We got here just before seven a.m.”

“Why did you get here so early?”

“There was a big party last night,” Tilly explained. “A law firm held an event. Damaris, the event coordinator, would have the particulars. They booked the entire space for the specialty dinner and shows. Normally, we only do those on Wednesday orSunday nights, but this was the firm that handled the London property, so Tripoli made an exception.”

“You didn't clean up last night?”

“Each act is responsible for their own space, so they do basic cleanup in the showrooms, wiping down equipment and everything, but we leave the hardcore cleaning until when the crew comes in around two p.m. Last night, the party was going until we closed, and despite herding people to the doors fifteen minutes earlier, Tripoli knew it would take extra time for stragglers. He sent me home at midnight since I said I would come in to help with cleaning up. I like being here in the quiet by myself. It’s soothing.”

Triumph inserted, “No one can be the only one here in the building, so I offered to come in. We had some minor issues with lighting in another act, and I wanted to reprogram the system. It’s easier to do that when no one, including employees, is here.”

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