Page 73 of Justice for Francesca

Cruz rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, maybe not one hundred percent sure. All it would take is for someone to check the area and see who was sent to look into it. If they also lured Michael there, knowing you at all, they’d know you would definitely follow him inside. If by chance it wasn’t you, they could try and lure you out another way on another day.”

“Why would anyone want to murder me? I’m not connected to Elysium. It’s ridiculous!”

He started ticking off possible suspects. “Yes, you are. You knew people who worked there, including your brother. You were linked to Tripoli in particular. Maybe there wasn’t a relationship until recently, but I’ve read your reports from The Library. He’s everywhere as a source of information for you on the case. If someone found you were working here, there’s the connection.”

“But I came here because of the first murder. I wasn’t here first. There’s no way anyone could know I would be assigned Mila’s murder.”

“They could,” Cruz added. “Someone within the FBI, as far-fetched as that may sound, or from New York City when you were a cop.” His gaze willed her to come to the same conclusion he had.

Calder’s stare added to Cruz’s. “Someone whose plans you were thwarting on a continual basis.”

Francesca gaped at him. “You’re suggesting my family.”

“I don’t want to suggest that, but you, of all people, know what they’re capable of. What they’ve already done. Is it so far out of the realm of possibility? During our interview, Michael confirmed your theory on the drug bust while he was atthe academy. He also said they were behind the rumor mill regarding you and the sex allegations with the police chief and the mayor. Christ, they set both you and Michael up to look like bad cops so that you’d be forced back into the family fold. It’s probably how your older brothers were turned as well. How your father was turned. Fuck, it’s probably how it’s always been done.

“Under that theory, they probably figured you’d just roll over. When the two of you fought against them, maybe leaving was initially enough,” Cruz predicted. “But now you’re making a name for yourself, and Michael has surfaced and happens to be in the same place? Framing one of you for the murders while killing the other would be suitable punishment for resisting the McCabe legacy, don’t you think? And probably too delicious to pass up.”

Francesca’s eyes welled up with tears. Her brothers, her father, and all of her family were terrible people. They lied. They cheated. They stole. They extorted. They had even tortured and killed. But their own immediate family members? Could even they be so despicable? She thought back to that first night she’d gone to Tripoli’s apartment. He was right. As much as she hated her family and all they stood for, they were still her family. To know that they might possibly turn on her this way was soul-crushing.

Suddenly, the weight of the case was more than she could bear. She plopped down in an open chair in the conference room. “What the hell do we do?”

All three phones pinged with notifications from their email. After a few quick swipes and taps, they had their answer. “Official word is out. You are off the case and on vacation for six weeks. So what the hell we do is we protect you because right now you’re vulnerable.”

“I can’t stay in a safe house, Cruz. I’ll go bonkers.”

“Nope. We’re going tomakeyou a safe house. With Tripoli. Former military. Completely sustained apartment with an elevator that locks off the outside, and only he knows the code. It’s perfect.”

“But he’s?—”

“Nope. Not a word.” The call Cruz made connected. “Tripoli. I need you to swing back to the office. We need your help.”

22

PAMPERED AGENT

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Tripoli

Hands in his pockets, collar unbuttoned, tie knotted but hanging loose around his neck, Tripoli stood off to the side in the bullpen, waiting for Cruz to come out and get him. Their conversation earlier had been quick and to the point.

He confirmed he was the one who had found Jessa and notified Francesca.

He confirmed his involvement in patching up Francesca’s stab wound. He’d been able to avoid answering awkward questions about anesthetic because Cruz hadn’t directly asked. Tripoli had a feeling that had been on purpose.

The open drawer. The pill packets. The lollipop sticks. The needles. Shut the drawer!

He confirmed he had spoken to Michael in the early hours of the morning, and that Francesca had been present at the time, as well as that she spoke to her brother.

Unfortunately, that meant he had been forced to admit his relationship with Francesca had gone beyond the bounds ofpropriety. He wasn’t ashamed of it. He knew no one believed him to be involved in the murders, let alone guilty of them. Not only that, he knew that Francesca would never overlook it if he were.

If there was one thing Francesca believed in absolutely, it was justice. She wanted it for the victims in her cases. Being off the case and forced into protection with him was going to make her feel as if she had failed Mila, Jessa, and Tilly. But it wasn’t just the obvious victims who she wanted justice for. She also wanted it for Michael, who had loved Mila, for Cosmos, who had cared for Tilly, for all of the staff at Elysium who had lost Jessa and Tilly as people they cared about, and for the families all three women left behind.

This new theory regarding hiding a murder inside of several other murders scared Tripoli in ways he hadn’t been scared since his first year with the Raiders. Part of it was because of the danger to Francesca, someone he knew firsthand. Someone he was in love with. Whoever this person was—and he agreed with Cruz that there were four very clear suspects—they had no boundaries as to what they would do to their victims and no conscience as to who their victims were in an effort to get to Francesca. He knew he could protect her. The question was, would she let him?

But more than that, he was terrified because this whole situation suggested an incredibly specific agenda meant to cause not just destruction of two people’s lives; it screamed annihilation. This individualhatedthe two adrift McCabe siblings. Serial killers rarely had that kind of emotion behind what they did. They could be meticulous. They could be patient. They were often brilliant in frightening ways. But a serial killer who actually felt something for his victims? That was a whole level of evil even beyond what he had been used to combing through in the Middle East as part of the Navy. That sort of evilhe understood. Fanaticism for a cause. A belief in an ideal that others were in the way of, but those “others” were impersonal targets.

But this? This was personal.

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