Page 52 of Justice for Francesca

He checked the clock. “Call Cruz to update him on your work plan, then I’m going to give you another pain pill, and you’re going to sleep some more. When you wake up, we’ll try a little bit of liquid food and some more sleep. If you’re good, maybe some ice cream and I’ll read to you.”

Quirking one eyebrow, Francesca teased, “Are you sure you’re not a Daddy Dom?”

“I’m sure, but it is my job to take care of you.”

He began to haul himself out of the bed, every muscle screaming that it didn’t want to leave her side, even to get her medicine, but the sooner he got it, the sooner he could get back in bed with her.

“Ethan?”

He looked back at her over his shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I will take care of you anytime and always.”

16

TWO OMISSIONS AND A LIE

Francesca

Careful to follow Tripoli’s instructions, Francesca slept the first day, worked from the sofa the second day, and then at the dining room table on the third day. She was never allowed to work more than two hours at a time, at which time he got her up walking around, resting, or doing anything but work. When he caught her trying to avoid taking the pain medicine every six hours, he handed her two over-the-counter painkillers and a glass of water, which he stood and watched her drink. She ate three times a day—a full breakfast, a light lunch, and a full dinner. After eight hours of work, she was required to put it all away and go to the sofa or the bed, even if she didn’t sleep. Through it all, Tripoli was there to take care of her. He didn’t even leave to go get her clothes, instead sending Tilly and Triumph to get them.

Francesca worked the case but found it was altogether too easy to put out of her mind that she shouldn’t be staying inTripoli’s residence. It felt like they were a couple, and she quickly grew to enjoy it. He seemed to know when she needed or wanted to talk and when she was in pain or needed rest, and for once, her nights were quiet and restful as she lay next to him in the bed. In short, it was perfect.

And while she quietly worked the current murder case, her laptop continued to search for information in the background on the Dallas case.

She should have known the peace was too good to last. On day four, Francesca was dressing in her work clothes, ready to head to Tripoli’s office to go over the autopsy reports for Mila and Jessa one more time, when an alarm sounded in the flat. A shared look between them had Francesca grabbing her gun, and both of them moved into the elevator.

Tripoli called Cosmos on his phone. “What’s going on?”

The man’s voice was shaky over the speaker. “Trip… I already called an ambulance, but… is Francesca still here?”

The couple shared another look. Without looking away from her, Tripoli replied, “Yeah, where should we report to?”

“The magic room. Trip—” The bodyguard’s voice cracked. “Where’s Triumph?”

“Haven’t seen him since yesterday when he brought Francesca’s clothes from the hotel. Why?”

“He can’t come in here. He can’t see this.”

“Tilly?” Francesca whispered.

The silence on the other end of the phone was all the answer they needed. “I’ll bring Francesca down, and then I’ll run interference on Triumph. Where’s Michael?”

“Not here. I was going to ask you because I haven’t seen him in days.”

“All right. We’re almost there.” Tripoli disconnected, then put the corner of the phone to his forehead. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I brought her here to keep her safe.”

Francesca took hold of his hand. “You did the right thing, Ethan. You couldn’t have known. The odds of this happening…” She swallowed. “The odds are greater than being struck by lightning. You can’t blame yourself.”

He pocketed his phone. “Oh, but I do.” When the elevator doors opened at the club level, he strode with purpose through the maze. He didn’t drop her hand, but she could tell he didn’t really realize he was holding it.

When they arrived at the magic room, she sucked in her breath, feeling dizzy. “No! Oh god, no. Tilly! She had to be petrified.” The anguish she felt squeezed her heart so hard it forcibly bent her over, hands on her knees. It was everything she could do to suck in air to her constricted lungs.

Tripoli dropped her hand and stepped forward to the large black box standing at center stage, a dozen swords sticking through the slots for the magician act. Picking her head up, still bent over, Francesca watched him walk up to the door of the box, a few feet back, his body so tense and straight she thought he might explode.

As she fumbled for her phone in her pocket, Cosmos stared Tripoli down. “You don’t need to see this either, Trip.”

---