Page 49 of Justice for Francesca

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” she admitted.

“I’m out of my fucking mind,” he whispered. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a white stick, ripping off the packaging with his teeth and spitting it onto the floor. “Suck on this.” He put the stick in her mouth, then picked her up again, taking her back to the dining room and laying her on the table.

Hazily, she watched him lock the elevator door so that no one could come in unannounced. He turned up the lights over the table to maximum brightness, then went back to the bathroom. She heard him opening drawers and cupboards, but it took too much effort to turn her head, let alone raise it to watch him.

She could smell rubbing alcohol. He wiped down the table all around her and under her the best he could. After washing his hands in the kitchen sink, he came back to her side at the table. His shirt was covered in blood. Leaning over her, he flashed a penlight in her eyes. He had a stethoscope and listened to her heart. He took her pulse.

She was trying so hard to keep her eyes open, but it was getting harder and harder. “It’s okay, Francesca. Just go to sleep. Let it happen. I promise you won’t feel a thing.”

“Ethan?” Her voice sounded foggy and slurred, even to her. She managed to raise her hand just enough to touch his cheek.

He put his own hand on top of hers when hers slipped, leaving a streak of her blood on his face.

“I lied the other day.”

“Don’t talk, sweetheart.”

Her head gave a weak turn to the left, then the right, an attempt to shake her head no. “I have to tell you. Just in case.”

The flash of fear was back in his eyes for just a second. She hadn’t imagined it after all. “Tell me what?” he whispered.

“I don’t just like you an inch. I like you a mile.”

She felt his lips pressing hard to her forehead. “Me too, sweetheart.”

She slipped into sleep.

15

ANYTIME AND ALWAYS

Tripoli

After his impromptu surgery, he’d moved her to his bed to sleep off the sedative he’d given her. While she slept, he did a deep clean of his bathroom, hallway, and dining room. He’d stripped her of all her clothes and put her in one of his dress shirts so that he could open and close the material easily to check the wound without disturbing her too much. All the clothes she’d been wearing and the ones he’d been wearing went into a trash bag, which he took down to the incinerator off of the kitchen, left over from when the building was first built. He threw the bag in and stood there while it burned to ash. Only then did he go back upstairs.

“Ethan?” Her voice was sleepy yet, but he heard the trepidation.

“Hey there, beautiful.” He brushed the hair off her forehead, the back of his fingers lying against the skin to make sure there was no fever, then pulled back the covers and unbuttoned the shirt she had on just enough to look at where he’d stitched herup. There was some minor blood seepage, but the skin was cool to the touch. So far, so good.

She looked like she wanted to talk, but it was too difficult.

“You came through like a champ, but it’s going to take a little longer for the sedative to clear. Take this.”

He started to move a white pill toward her mouth, but she weakly pushed his hand away. “No drugs.”

“Sweetheart, it’s a bit late for that. Just take it. Trust me. You’re going to need it when you wake up.” He pushed the pill between her lips, then helped her drink some water to wash it down. Tucking her back into bed, he kissed her forehead.

“Stay?” she whispered.

“You couldn’t kick me out even if you wanted me gone.” He smiled softly at her. “Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

There wasno way she could work today, and probably not the next day either. It was going to be difficult to keep her in bed to rest. His brain scrambled on what to do. Could he call Cruz and tell him she was sick? He had a sneaking suspicion that Cruz would insist on coming to check on her. Worse, she had just taken a sick day. To take two more would be an instant red flag.

Francesca stirred at his side, her eyes fluttering open. When she tried to turn over, she hissed. “Don’t,” Tripoli warned. “I’ll help you sit up in a minute. Twisting might open the wound, and I would really like to prevent stitching you up a second time.”

“I feel fuzzy.”

“Brain fog. The sedative mixed with the painkiller. It will pass as the sedative works its way out of your system. You might have some dizziness from the pain pill, especially since you don’t take them regularly, but I’m here to watch over you.”

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