Page 45 of Justice for Francesca

“Well, he works for the FBI, and nothing bad came out of it.”

“He’s a man. Rules are sometimes bent for people beyond reproach. As a McCabe, I don’t have that luxury.”

“Francesca, I’m guessing your behavior has been nothing but beyond reproach. You follow the rules to the letter. Yes, you made a mistake while working The Library case, but if I’d been doing my job, you wouldn’t have been taken. We’re both to blame for that one.”

This time, the smile on her face was sad. “You see it that way, Ethan. My bosses do not. Anyway, I thought I said I didn’t want to think today. I broke a rule.”

“Yes, you did. I’ll count that as a step in the direction of the new and improved Francesca. So. How can I keep you from thinking? Any suggestions?” He watched a blush sweep acrossher face. “Special Agent McCabe, are you thinking naughty thoughts?” he teased.

“No…” She dragged out the word. His shirt collar suddenly became very interesting to her. “Well, maybe,” she admitted. “I was surprised last night. I mean, based on how the evening started with you, I assumed… and then you put me to bed… and then…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“And then you fell asleep on me within thirty seconds,” he reminded her. “Don’t mistake nothing happening for me not wanting something to happen. You were tired. You needed the rest. I wasn’t going to keep you from that.”

The silence in the room was weighty. He wasn’t about to push her. This was another step in their relationship where she needed to make the choice.

“I’m conflicted, Ethan. For so long, I’ve been by the book. Never been tempted to even look for loopholes, always pulling back from everything that even came close to toeing the line, let alone crossing it. I’m not sure if I can do it.” She allowed a finger to lazily draw down the side of his face.

“I get it. Leopards don’t change their spots without being a part of evolution, and evolution is slow moving.” He slid his arms around her and lay down on the couch, pulling her half onto his chest. “I don’t want to scare you, but you’re already changing. You came here the other night and had dinner with me. You felt a need to protect me—even though you didn’t need to—from Cruz with Jessa’s murder. You came to me last night when you needed rest, let me take care of you, and went to sleep in my arms. You called in sick today to be with me. A week ago, you wouldn’t have done any of that, would you?”

Shaking her head, she laid her head back down on his chest. “No. I’ve never wanted to bend the rules until you.”

“Then stop resisting me now. Just for five minutes, stop talking. Stop worrying. Stop protecting. Just be with me.”

14

IT’S NOT WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE

Francesca

Heart racing, Francesca opened her mouth to speak, and the Darth Vader theme music began playing. They lay on the couch, their eyes holding, not speaking. The music stopped.

Within seconds, it began ringing again. “Don’t answer it,” Tripoli whispered.

The phone started again. When it stopped, there was a moment when Francesca hoped it wouldn’t start up again. Unfortunately, it did.

“I have to answer it. It’s my boss.”

Pulling an arm free from her, he threw it over his eyes, muttering something about the message she was sending herself by assigning her boss that ringtone. While part of her found his frustration affirming, she also had to admit that the phone ringing saved her from what she was sure would be a choicethat would change her whole world. Making that choice wasn’t something she felt she should do… today.

She extricated herself from Tripoli’s hold and went to her phone in the bedroom where she’d left it earlier today. Without turning on the light, she headed for the nightstand, where it was skittering across the surface. It stopped ringing again. She had just begun to unbutton Tripoli’s shirt when it started up again, but this time it wasn’t her boss. It was a generic ringtone.

“McCabe.”

It was Cruz. “We got another anonymous tip, and Ortiz ordered me to call you.” He paused. “Sorry I had to interrupt you.”

“I took a sick day, Cruz. What would you be interrupting?” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Tripoli’s silhouette framed in the doorway to the room, his fingertips stretched to the top of it.

“Frankie.” He chuckled, his voice quiet. “I’m not stupid. I know you’re with him, and good for you. I’m guessing you’ve never taken a day off—ever. You deserve the day, you deserve him, and he deserves you.”

She swallowed around the lump in her throat. Admitting nothing, she asked, “What’s the tip?”

“Someone called about an hour ago and reported a man, all in black, going into Mila’s house last night. Ortiz wants you to stake it out tonight. I told her I would go, but she said no. We found the ex-boyfriend, and he’s here right now. She wants me to conduct the interview.”

“You didn’t tell her I was out sick?”

“I didn’t tell anyone… just let them all think you were working an angle somewhere. She would have known in a heartbeat something was up, and I didn’t want to ruin today for you. Then it turned out I had to call you and do it anyway. I really am sorry.”

Francesca felt another lump forming. “It’s okay, Cruz. I…” She started to stutter, took a moment to breathe in deep, and let it out before speaking again. “I appreciate what you tried to do. Just so you know, you didn’t interrupt anything.”

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