Page 57 of Justice for Francesca

He smiled. “Mickie’s an amazing woman. It wasn’t easy. There was a lot of shit to work through on both sides, but yeah. We’re good, I’m still with the FBI—life is great.” He turned to return her gaze. “You thinking of giving up being a field agent?”

“I’ve been considering leaving altogether.”

“Because of Tripoli?”

“No. Not really. I mean, he’s sort of the top of the pile of reasons. The tipping point, maybe? I’m just tired, Cruz,” she explained. “Tired of dealing with the scum of the earth. Tired of delivering terrible news to families or not being able to close the endless cases on my desk. And, like you said, tired of never being in one place long enough to actually have friends, let alone a relationship, because it’s an endless cycle of undercover assignments?—”

“Stop volunteering. That will cure that.”

“Tired of the verbal bloodletting and competition in the office. Tired of holding onto rules and regulations that somehow don’t seem very important to me anymore. Tired of holding onto this quest to right the wrongs of my family.”

“Who said you had to right their wrongs, Frankie?” They stood quietly at the fence for several minutes before he spoke again. “I never judged Mickie based on her sister’s actions, and I’ve never judged you based on your family’s. Why would I do that? You’re your own person. The FBI wouldn’t have hired you if they judged you based on your family’s fucked-up paradigm. Mickie doesn’t. Calder doesn’t. Tripoli sure as shit doesn’t. Sure, there are some assholes out there who will, but they’re not the people who matter. Anyone worth knowing and being friends with, having a relationship with, wouldn’t give a shit who your family is.”

Turning so that his back rested against the chain-link fence, he looked out into the parking lot. “You gonna tell me the part now that gets you fired? Because if you’re really not having sexwith Tripoli, then I’m not sure what the issue is. I don’t even know what the issue is if youarehaving sex with him. After all, Mickie was related to an active investigation, and I slept with her. Nobody came after me for it.”

Her view of the dogs, now seemingly asleep under the tree while their owners chatted off to the side, calmed her. She sucked in a giant lungful of air and let it back out slowly, delaying the words as much as possible. “I fucked up, Cruz. I withheld information from the investigation,” she confessed. “I withheld information, and if I hadn’t, it might have prevented Tilly’s death.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The night I went to Mila’s to stake out that tip? I told you nothing happened, that I didn’t see anyone. I lied.”

Cruz’s eyes were bugging out of his head.

“Michael showed up. He’s the one who’s been going in and out of Mila’s house. I followed him inside—stupid, I know—and confronted him. Subconsciously, I think I was trying to get myself kicked off the case so I didn’t have to deal with the Tripoli issue. I slept over at his apartment the night before, we spent all that next day together, and I was all up in my head because I took that stupid sick day. If I would have just called it in and stayed in the car, maybe none of this would have happened.”

“What happened when you confronted Michael?”

“He was searching through Mila’s desk. He tried to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like. I told him I didn’t believe him. I mean, what else could it be? He must have been looking for papers or something that linked him to Mila in a way that identified him as her killer. I let my misguided hope that he was different from the rest of my family blind me. I couldn’tnotturn him in, but I couldn’t arrest him myself. Foolishly, I turned my back on him to call you. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the hallway with a knife wound to my side.”

“Fuck, Frankie. How the hell are you even standing?”

“Pure adrenaline and fortitude? Righteous anger? I don’t know. At the time, clearly, I was not making good decisions. If I called you, Michael would be found and arrested. My sick day with Tripoli would be discovered. I’d have to go to the hospital, and I’d be put on leave for a variety of reasons, and I wouldn’t be able to help investigate. In my fucked-up brain, I chose to go to Tripoli. He was a former medic, so I figured he could patch me up. Which he did, but apparently, I lost a lot of blood, and he was worried I was going to die on him. And please don’t ask me how he did it and what he used to operate on me. Because of all the other shit that’s about to rain down on me, I do not want him arrested.”

“I won’t ask.”

“He covered for me for the first day, and then the next two, I was able to work on things in small doses, chasing leads, corroborating evidence, transcribing interviews, watching video feeds. Today, I was just finishing getting dressed and getting ready to show my face when the alarm went off. I was so stunned, I didn’t even have time to realize I needed a cover story for how I got there so quickly. And now… Michael’s missing.”

“Which looks suspect for Tilly’s death.”

“Yes. Plus, he had no alibi for Mila’s death. He was dating her, which they were hiding from his boss; they’d gotten in a fight, and he was supposedly trying to get her back. Then Jessa was murdered. No alibi again. He lives in the area. It would have been easy for him. Those two things, together with the fact that he broke into Mila’s house, attacked me, nearly killed me to protect himself, and now Tilly’s dead with him on the run? I realize it’s all circumstantial, but come on, Cruz! You’ve got to admit?—”

“It looks bad.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Motive? That’s the whole problem here. Why? Why would heattack you? Why would he kill the woman he supposedly loved, a fellow employee, and Tilly? It doesn’t make sense.”

Francesca hung her head. “I’ve found that when your last name is McCabe, you don’t often have to have a sensible reason. Any irrational thought will do.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cruz turn to face her profile. “Have you talked to Tripoli since finding Tilly?”

“No. I’ve been with you. When would I have time to talk to him?”

“Go to him, Francesca. He has to be hurting, not just from Tilly, but from how all of this is affecting you. He must know it’s tearing you apart.”

“What if he no longer wants me?” she asked. “What if Tilly’s death is the thing that closes him off from me? He might think it’s my fault.”

“If he does, then he isn’t the man everyone sees him to be, and he’s not worthy of you. I’d bet my life that he doesn’t see this as your fault, and you shouldn’t see it that way either, Frankie. The only person to blame is the person who took their lives.”

17

TRIPOLI’S HARD TRUTH

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