Page 25 of Justice for Francesca

“I just stopped by to check in, like I said I would. It’s too early to know anything for sure?—”

“Sit,” he said more emphatically. “It’s my turn to be bossy. You’ve been at Jessa’s all day, and I doubt you had anything more than coffee and the bagel Triumph brought you for breakfast.” At her surprised look, he replied, “I found what was left of it on my desk. Although it looked more like you were eating cream cheese with a bagel shmear,” he teased. He set a glass baking dish in the center of the table.

“I refuse to apologize. It’s criminal to allow even a smidge of that lusciousness in those tiny containers to go to waste.”

She was still standing at the edge of the dining area. When he looked at her, his eyebrows rose into his forehead. “Are you going to sit, or am I going to tie you down to the chair?”

A sudden vision of his tie binding her hands behind the chair popped into her brain. “I…”

Tripoli sighed. “Sit, Francesca. It’s food. We don’t have to talk, but at least let me feed you. It’s been a shit day for both of us.”

She bit her lip again, her brain flying at warp speed. Knowing she should refuse, her body betrayed her and moved to the chair he offered her. When she sat, he pushed her into the table. Before she could process what was going on, he had put a napkin in her lap, poured her a glass of wine, and began plating food for her—stuffed pork chops, sliced potatoes, and carrots. He didn’t sit until she had food in front of her.

“I don’t drink on the job.”

“You’re not on the job. You’ve worked way too long today, you haven’t eaten, and your eyes are burning red from staring at reports for hours on end and a lack of sleep. You’re off the clock as long as you’re in this apartment, so drink the wine.”

He waited for her to pick up the glass and take a sip. When she did, only then did he turn to his plate and start eating.

“Fleur, you don’t take care of yourself. I can tell. Even if I weren’t a former medic, I’d see the signs. Your complexion is incredibly pale, you’re always rubbing your head like you have a headache, and you’re about twenty pounds lighter than when I saw you two years ago.” He looked over at her and saw the lack of expression on her face. He set his fork down and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “I’m sorry. That was out of line.”

She pushed the food around on her plate.

“You just came off a case, didn’t you? That’s part of why you’re so tired?”

She took a large swallow of her wine. “I just finished a nearly seven-month undercover operation. I’d been home less than an hour when I got the call to come here.”

“Is it normal to be undercover that long? And then be assigned to another case that fast? I wouldn’t think that would be allowed.”

“Not usually.” She struggled with what she could legally say. “We knew exactly who we were going after, but getting close enough was tricky. Moving up the ranks with this person isn’t something you can do quickly, so we were forced into alternative measures.”

His elbows propped on the table, his fork dangling from his fingers, he turned his head toward her. “How alternative?”

Francesca shrugged. “You need to blend in, so you do what needs doing.”

“So, if it were infiltrating a drug cartel, you’d likely have to actually do drugs? Possibly connect yourself to a cartel member as a girlfriend?” he suggested.

“We’re encouraged to try and avoid breaking the law if we can, but… yes, sometimes it means doing things we wouldn’t normally do,” she said softly. “Luckily, this particular job just meant being someone I wasn’t—which is undercover work overall—and limited to saying a lot of things I wouldn’t normally say.” She tried to lighten the moment. “Didn’t even have to go to confession.”

He smiled lightly at her reassurance, but after that, they ate in silence. She kept sneaking looks at him through her eyelashes. On the outside, he seemed to be totally focused on his food, but she was willing to bet he wanted to ask for more information. Her clue? He was stabbing the carrots on his plate a little harder than before.

When she finally put her fork down, she was still feeling incredibly guilty for being there.

“Finished?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thank you. You’re a great cook.”

“Learned by necessity. When you’re a bachelor, it’s either eat out all the time or learn to cook.” He picked up his plate and hers and headed for the kitchen. When she tried to help clear the table, he stared her down. “Go sit in the living room. I’ve got this.”

“You did all this work. I should help.”

“Fleur, please. Go sit down. You’re exhausted.”

She stood, frozen.

He set down the plates on the counter, then walked to her side. Gently, he turned her toward the living room and guided her to the leather sofa. He sat her on the far right cushion, then reached down for her right foot. He unzipped the boot and pulled it from her foot. Then he did the same with the other foot.

Francesca watched him like a hawk.

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