Page 26 of Justice for Francesca

He swung her legs up onto the couch, then pulled the blanket lying across the back and unfolded it over her. “Scoot down.”

She felt like she was hypnotized, but she did as he asked, her head resting against the cushioned arm of the couch.

“Rest, Fleur. I’ll take care of the dishes, and you’re going to take a nap. Then we’ll talk.”

She watched him as he walked away. There was no way she could fall asleep here. Not only would it be impossible with her brain racing like it was, but she shouldn’t. And yet, she felt her eyelids grow heavy as she listened to him working in the kitchen. Finally, she succumbed to the domestic sounds and fell into a deep sleep.

Francesca awoke abruptly.The first thing her eyes registered was Tripoli at the other end of the sofa. Bright-blue framed glasses sat on the bridge of his nose while he read printouts in a folder on his lap. Making notes with one hand, his other brushed his thumb lightly over her ankle. She quickly retracted her foot and sat up, embarrassed that she had fallen asleep. “What time is it?”

Tripoli glanced at his watch. “Just after ten.” He took off his glasses and set them, along with the folders and pencil, on the end table next to him. “You ready to ask your questions?”

Trying to collect her wits about her, she made a move to find her boots. “It’s late. I should go. When I come in tomorrow is soon enough to ask them.”

His hand on her arm stopped her. “You’re here. You had dinner, so you met my requirement to ask them. Ask them now, and sleep in a little tomorrow to make up for how lateit is. However,” he countered, “if you want me to answer those questions, you’ll have to grant me the right to ask one question of you for every question you ask me.”

“That wasn’t part of the deal!”

“Well, technically, the condition was you couldaskyour questions if you had dinner with me. I said nothing aboutansweringthose questions.”

“Semantics!”

“If that’s all it is, then why argue about it? So… are you in or not?”

She grunted in frustration. “It’s way too late for this nonsense. I’m the agent. You’re a suspect, which means you don’t have a right, much less a need, to ask any questions.”

“I beg to differ,” he contradicted her. “Everyone has rights, even suspects. But I’m not a suspect anymore because you verified my alibi. If you hadn’t, you’d have had my ass in an interrogation room. You wouldn’t have sat down to eat. You definitely wouldn’t have fallen asleep on my couch.” His tone seemed earnest. “I have aneedto ask a lot of questions. I want to get to know you more. Not just the woman named Fleur whom I met in Los Angeles.” He looked her straight in the eye. “I promise. They’ll be low pressure. When you’re done with what you need to ask, make your last question about my nickname.”

“I already know what it is.”

He laughed. “Obviously. But you don’t know why it’s my nickname, not that it’s difficult to figure out if you give it serious thought.” He spread an arm across the back of the couch, making sure he was comfortable in the corner of the cushions. “Go ahead. Ask your questions. I’ll answer anything you want, with the exception of any deployments I may or may not have gone on in my time with the Marines.”

“Fair enough.” She pulled her notebook out of her pocket and flipped through it to the section where she had her questions.She didn’t need them in front of her, but the notebook felt like a shield she could use to keep from getting herself emotionally involved. Her actions this evening with him were outside of her normal behavior, so she felt the need for some type of barrier between them. “I verified your alibi, but what I couldn’t verify was how you got here. You didn’t fly on a commercial plane. How did you get here?”

“Wow… right for the jugular.” He smiled. “Do you remember Master Lobo from The Library?”

She nodded. “Tall. Scary. Grumpier than that green guy that lives in a trash can.”

“Yep, that’s him.” Tripoli laughed. “He’s a little less grumpy these days. Hooked up with a spicy romance writer—she was the girl the trafficking ring was specifically after when the club was raided—and his rough edges are alittlesmoother now.” He readjusted on the couch. “The first flight out of Los Angeles that had room on it wouldn’t have gotten me here until after six p.m., so I asked Lobo for a favor. His boss has a jet.” He smiled. “My turn. What’s your favorite color?”

She was stunned. “Seriously? That’s your question?”

“I promised I’d keep them easy. So?”

Shaking her head, she answered, “Ivory. Who is Lobo’s boss?”

“Honestly, I don’t know the answer to that question. I just knew that Lobo had access to a jet. When is your birthday?”

She sighed. “March seventeenth.”

“St. Patrick’s Day. How appropriate for a nice, Irish colleen.”

Francesca jumped back into her questions. “Are there any employees, former employees, or patrons who might have a grievance with you?”

“Not that I’m aware of. We have an extremely low turnover. Our pay is higher than probably anywhere else, and I’d like to think I treat my employees better than most. I leave thedisciplinary actions in departments to my supervisors and trust their decisions. No one likes to be fired, of course, but I’ve only fired one supervisor, and they knew it was coming, so there wasn’t really any argument. As for patrons? There are always complaints, but we have tight contracts, and they have little ground to stand on. I can go through my records, maybe give you a few names of people who I’ve had issues with, and I can ask my supervisors to forward me any names and situations if they’ve had problems.”

“I appreciate that.”

“What’s your favorite food?”

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