Page 50 of Justice for Francesca

He got out of the bed and stretched the kinks out of his back from leaning against the headboard all night.

As he reached down gently to help her recline against several pillows, she asked, “What did you give me?”

He refused to look her in the eye and grimaced. “It’s better if you don’t know.”

“Tripoli.” Her voice was insistent.

“I liked it better when you were calling me Ethan,” he grumbled. When she fixed him with her silver stare, he confessed. “I used a fentanyl lollipop to sedate you. We used them in the field for soldiers. When the soldiers pass out, the lollipop drops from their mouth, or it at least goes slack. That’s when I knew they were out and weren’t likely to overdose.” Once he was sure she was in a decent position, he pulled back the covers and her shirt.

As he checked her dressing, Francesca asked, “You have access to fentanyl?”

Without looking at her, he replied, “Yes.”

“You’re not a doctor.”

“No.”

“So you have illegal access to fentanyl?”

“Yes. I’m going to change this dressing.” He rose from the bed and crossed to his bathroom.

He looked in the mirror.

The bang of a flash grenade went off to his left. He wasn’t prepared. The light blinded him temporarily, and his eardrums felt like they exploded. Falling to the ground, he saw outlines, like body-heat-indicator images, of other bodies doing the same. Disoriented, he tried to rise, but he was dizzy. His teammate, Chaos, had been to his left and even closer to the blast. He wasn’t moving. Tripoli crawled as best he could toward the body. His teammate lay still. Tripoli’s eyes stillweren’t working properly, so he had to go by touch alone. He felt for a pulse. Nothing. Or was it there?

He could hear moans behind him. Someone else had been hit. Slowly, the afterimages from the flash began to fade. Turning his head, he saw Oz, their overwatch, trying to pull himself up off the ground. Tripoli could see Oz’s mouth moving—he was yelling—but he couldn’t hear the words, and his eyes were still too hazy to read Oz’s lips. Finally, he saw the man point further up the line.

Tiguan, their point man, was moving on two feet to their team leader, Honcho. From the position the man lay on the ground, Tripoli noticed his arm was missing from just below the shoulder socket down. Beneath him lay a rebel soldier, dead. Tiguan was attempting to tourniquet Honcho’s arm.

As Tripoli crawled up the line, his eyes continued to adjust to normal. He heard gunfire being exchanged.

Two more bodies lay unmoving.

Mayhem, their sniper—a hole so big in his chest, eyes wide open, limbs sprawled, his gun loose in one hand, Tripoli didn’t need to look for a pulse. He’d obviously died protecting Keys, his best friend, who lay next to him.

Keys, their drone flyer, blood emerged from his nose, mouth, and ears. Tripoli felt for a pulse, his own sensations returning. Nothing. Keys was gone.

Distant yells, continued gunfire, Tripoli turned and began to crawl back to Chaos. Maybe he could save one of his friends. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

In an instant, Tripoli was back in his bathroom. A fine sheen of sweat had developed on his skin—his breath was sawing in and out of his lungs, his heart was pounding, and his extremities were shaking. The need to vomit rose up his esophagus, but he tamped it down. He needed a clear head. He couldn’t let Francesca see that the entire situation—her injury,her questioning, his failure to save Honcho, Mayhem, and Keys—was causing him to lose his ability to think clearly.

The sounds of the ambush were still present in his brain, but they were dimmer than they had been moments ago. His hands were still shaking, so he clenched them tight around the supplies he’d collected and willed his legs to support him as he returned to her side.

He did not want to discuss the fentanyl with Francesca or the other illegal drugs he had on hand, but he knew she was going to ask. He was probably going to jail. While his lawyer would bail him out, no matter the reason, this wasn’t going to look good.

He changed the dressing as he explained, “You were lucky. Your sweatshirt might have saved your life because it’s so thick, and all the material kept the knife from getting as deep as I originally thought. However, by not calling an ambulance and moving around, you lost a lot of blood. That could have been fatal if you’d wandered around much longer. A couple of days and you’ll be able to move around again, but you’ll have to be careful because of the stitches. Better come up with a reason for your slow movement.”

Done changing the bandages, he remained sitting on the edge of the bed, one arm caging her on either side of her body. “I moved and cleaned your car. You gonna tell me what happened? I’m guessing I’m going to go to jail for what I just did and because of the fentanyl and the hydrocodone. Probably deserve to know for what.”

She stared at him. Her eyes were unreadable, but her body was pliant, probably due to the painkillers in her system. She gave a short laugh, then winced at the pull it caused. “You’ve got a connection with the FBI that can probably prevent that. I think I can vouch for you in regard to protecting an agent in the face of danger. If I can’t keep this quiet, that is.”

“You’ll be disciplined for your failure to report information if that happens. Another rule broken, Special Agent McCabe.”

He waited her out, watching her face. She asked, “Do you want me to turn you in?”

“No. You’d be within your duty though. I have illegal drugs on my premises. I used them on you without your express permission, and even if I did have your permission, I performed an illegal surgery on my dining room table, life-saving surgery notwithstanding.”

The struggle on her face was heartbreaking. “I’ll risk it,” she whispered. “If we have to, we tell Cruz. You have people to help you with anything I can’t smooth over. It will likely be the end of my career, not just because I sought you out and covered it up, but because of what happened last night and what I’m not reporting.” He knew that doing this would cost her greatly as far as her moral compass went. She attempted to sit up further, so he helped her get situated. “Cruz called because we received an anonymous tip that reported someone was coming and going from Mila’s house at night. I went to stake it out. When the guy showed up, I went to investigate.” He watched her eyes fill up with tears he knew she’d never let fall. “It was Michael.”

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