Page 24 of Justice for Francesca

“Don’t let her leave,” Francesca ordered.

There was a sarcastic laugh in his response. “Trust me,” Tripoli said, “she’s not going anywhere.”

“Ping me so I have the exact address.” There was a pause, and then she asked a question he didn’t expect. “Are you okay?”

He answered as truthfully as he could. “Okay is relative. Jessa was not just an employee. She was a friend.”

Mayhem.

Honcho.

Keys.

Chaos.

The cold was back in her voice. “Stay outside. Don’t touch anything else. In fact, it’s better if you meet me outside.” Then the softness was back. “I’m on my way. Be there as soon as I can.”

She pulledup next to him, cautiously walking around the back of the car, almost as if she was afraid she was going to spook him. “Where is she?”

“Upstairs. Fourth floor. There are only two units on the floor. Hers is on the right. Pretty sure her neighbor—he’s a pro golfer—is out playing in a tournament somewhere. He usually is from Wednesday through Sunday.”

“Okay. I’m going to go up and look around. I want you to go back to your residence at Elysium. Can you get in without being seen?”

He looked at her as if to say “Seriously?”, but he let it go. It wasn’t worth delving into with her over it. Not right now. “Yeah. How are you going to explain being here?”

“Did you tell anyone you were coming here?” she asked.

“No. I didn’t want to cause a panic if it was nothing.”

“All right. I’ll tell them I got an anonymous tip.”

“My number will be in your phone.”

“Go,” she ordered him. When he didn’t move, she said “Go” again, a bit more emphatically. “I’ll check in when we’re done here.”

Nodding, he got in his car and backed out of the parking spot. As he drove out of the lot, he saw her still standing where he’d left her, watching his car leave.

10

AN INCH TODAY, TWO INCHES TOMORROW

Francesca

It was after eight p.m., and Francesca sat in her car a block down from Elysium. Her fingers were tapping on the steering wheel, her bottom lip being worried so hard she eventually tasted blood. Sheshouldgo to her hotel and go to bed. This was a bad move. He was part of an ongoing investigation. She shouldn’t be here.

However, her body was not listening to her brain, and she found herself exiting the car and using the door code she’d been given to access the building. Still arguing with herself, she crossed to the elevator, entered it when the door opened, and pushed the button for the fourth floor. All the way upstairs, she tried to convince her finger to hit the emergency stop, press the button for the first floor, and go back downstairs. It was at that moment that the door opened onto the fourth floor, straight into Tripoli’s residence.

“Hello?” she called out tentatively.

“In the kitchen,” he called out.

She stepped further into the apartment, her nose registering something delicious. Her stomach rumbled.

“I heard that. Get in here and eat.”

It hadn’t been that loud of a growl, had it? Turning the corner, she came across a table set informally for two and Tripoli in the kitchen removing something from the oven.

“Sit,” he ordered, nodding his head toward the table.

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