She hadno idea how much time had passed, but it was still dark outside. The house was quiet, and all of the lights were out. Attempting to pull herself up off the floor, she felt pain along her side. Her hand pressed down on the floor and slid through something wet. She gently probed the pain-filled area, discovering a horrific rip in the skin. Stabbed and still bleeding. She hadn’t been out that long then.

Pushing the pain down and back into one of her mental drawers, she forced herself to stand. She weaved on her feet. She had to get out of there. Calling an ambulance was out of the question. Calling Cruz would be worse. Michael had said this wasn’t what it looked like. Despite what her head kept telling her about the Dirty McCabes, she had detected no lies or half-truths in what he’d told her, yet if that was the case, Michael had still left her here to die. She knew her family was cruel and sadistic, but even this seemed low for them, especially him.

A flash of insight. Did Michael’s attack have to do with who she saw in Dallas with the Sequeira don? Michael here and connected to Mila Sequeira?

She needed somewhere to think.

She needed help before she made the wound worse and actually bled out.

There was really only one choice that met all those needs.

Francesca couldn’t do anything about the blood for now. She’d have to lock the house and hope no one came to investigate. They’d already searched the house for a will. If Milahad one at the house, they’d turned up nothing. Her uncle didn’t have it either. If she called Cruz and told him there was nothing to see, no one would probably come around for another day or two.

As best she could, she applied pressure to her wound. She looked around the hallway. When she’d gone down to the floor, she’d heard a clatter. Her weapon. It wasn’t anywhere in the hallway.

Suddenly, her eye caught a glint of something underneath the table by the door. Her gun had slid under the table, and no one had bothered to pick it up. It was an unexpected break. Now to make the most of it and get to help.

Francesca hissed in pain as she made her way to the front door. Each step jarred her insides and caused more blood to ooze from the wound. She couldn’t wait another second.

Somehow, she managed to get to her car and drive the eight minutes to Elysium. She texted Cruz that the stakeout had been a bust, and he responded with a thumbs-up, which meant she should have a couple of days before someone decided to go back to the house.

Her phone rang. When she looked at the screen, she noticed there had been several calls from the number while she’d been unconscious, one she didn’t recognize. She answered, but other than an echoing clang over the line, no one spoke, and a moment later, the line went dead.

She stumbled into Elysium’s lobby, managed to get into the elevator, and pushed the button to Tripoli’s apartment. He must have had a notification that someone was on the way up because he was almost to the elevator doors when they opened and revealed her.

“Francesca?”

“I’m sorry. Couldn’t go to the hospital. Couldn’t call Calder because he would report it to Cruz, and then I’d end up there anyway. You were the only person I could think of.”

“Are you hurt?”

She pulled her hand from her side, away from the black hooded sweatshirt she wore. It was then she saw his recognition of the dark, shiny stain along her side and the bright-red blood all over her hand.

“Fuck. What happened?” He swooped in and picked her up, taking her into the bathroom. “How bad?”

Francesca tried to answer him, but words weren’t coming. She was so cold. So tired. Her limbs didn’t feel like they were responding.

Tripoli grabbed a pair of EMT scissors from the drawer and cut her out of the sweatshirt. All she could do was watch his face to see how bad it really was, but neither his eyes nor any muscle in his face flickered.

“You need to go to the hospital.”

“You were a medic. If you can’t fix it, then put me back in my car. I’ll find somewhere to go and just let nature take its course. I absolutely cannot go to the hospital. Not now.”

“I swear to God, when this heals, I am spanking you so hard you won’t even be able to wear clothing because even that will bother your sore ass.”

Weakly, she smiled. “Look at you going all Daddy Dom on me.”

“Too soon for jokes.”

He studied the wound. The only thing that showed her he was analyzing what to do was his probing fingers and his eyes flicking from spot to spot.

One hand on her thigh to keep her in place, he reached down to open another drawer. She heard him rummaging around.“Are you on any medications? NSAIDs, painkillers, blood thinners, anything at all?

“No. I don’t even take aspirin.”

Looking up at her, she thought she saw a tinge of fear in his eyes. That had to be wrong though. He was a former Navy medic assigned to the Marine Raiders. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.