Page 74 of Justice for Francesca

A lone shoe turned sideways in the parking lot. A purse open under the car, the contents scattered. Car door open. No Fleur.

Several minutes passed before the conference room door opened, and Special Agent in Charge Ortiz came out. She looked pissed. Stalking up to him, Tripoli got the odd sense that she was pissed at him for some reason, which didn’t make sense.

“I do not approve of this, but my hands are tied.” She stalked away just as angrily as she’d approached him.

On the heels of Ortiz was Calder, who rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Good luck,” he mumbled as he went by, and he headed down a separate hallway that led further into the center of the building.

Behind Calder came Francesca, her ice-queen facade fully in place, right down to the pale-blue short-sleeve button-down blouse and ivory dress pants. Her eyes were traveling the room, clearly looking for someone or something, but not him since when she saw him, her eyes immediately glanced away. Her brother, maybe? Tripoli knew Michael was in the building based on his conversation with Cruz, who had let that little tidbit slip. What the hell was Michael doing?

Cruz was the last to exit the conference room, firmly closing the door behind him and speeding to catch up with Francesca. Both arrived at Tripoli at the same time.

“You okay?” Tripoli asked Francesca.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she pursed her lips and froze her face, refusing to meet his gaze.

“She’s grumpy,” Cruz answered. “Apparently, she can take care of her own self.”

“I didn’t say that, you prick, and you know it. You make me sound like a toddler having a tantrum,” she seethed.

“No, but it was implied. I’m still waiting for you to stomp your foot.” He flashed a look at Tripoli that let him know just how pissed off Francesca was. “Come on. Let’s get you to the car and then to Tripoli’s, and then you can let Mount Vesuvius explode.”

“Hope you’re wearing lava-proof clothing, or Mickie’s going to be treating fourth-degree burns,” Francesca grumbled.

Cruz just grinned at her, and then he winked at Tripoli. “You got enough stuff at Tripoli’s for now? I’ll have Mickie pack the rest of your gear up tonight, and we’ll bring it by since we’ve been invited to dinner.”

“Oh, really?” Francesca asked. “I’m not allowed to leave, but apparently, anyone can come into my safe space?”

“I’m just protecting you from your family, not your friends.” Tripoli smiled at her. “It won’t be so bad. At least you know who you’re looking for now.”

“We don’tknowanything,” she insisted.

“Okay, we’ll let Cleopatra, Queen of Denial, here finish her snit.” Cruz pitched his voice low enough not to be heard by anyone around them. “Triumph find anything?”

The club owner flicked a glance at Francesca before returning his focus to Cruz. “He’s verifying a few things, but none of the gentlemen in question are currently in New York City and haven’t been for at least the past two and a half weeks. All left the city on various dates prior to that. He does know that much.”

“What the hell is wrong with you, Cruz? You’ve dragged civilians in on this?” Francesca hissed. “You’re going to be suspended right alongside my ass.”

“Okay, first. You’re not suspended. You’re on vacation.”

“With a non-FBI detail!”

He scoffed at her qualification. “A former Raider medic is going to be a far better protective detail for you against your brothers than FBI agents right now. We don’t know who is feeding your family information, and until we do, I don’t trust the FBI other than myself and Calder, who isn’t even FBI.”

“Cosmos’ crew will be here as well,” Tripoli told them. “They’re on their way here from Chicago. Hubble will be overwatch from the bank across the street, and who knows where the rest of the crew will be. I’m guessing there will be one or two other surprise guests as well after the phone call I made a few minutes ago. Everyone will be here by dark.”

“This is ridiculous,” Francesca fumed. “I don’t need all of this protection. No one is coming after me.”

Cruz grunted. “Says the woman who was stabbed by an unknown assailant.”

Tripoli agreed. “Says the woman who nearly bled out on my dining room table.”

“Oh, go to hell, both of you.” She huffed in exasperation, rolling her eyes. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she apologized, “Sorry. Thank you for caring about what happens to me. I still think this is overkill, but… thank you.”

Tripoli put an arm around Francesca’s shoulders and began to guide her out the door with Cruz following behind them. After making sure she was safely inside Tripoli’s Mustang, Cruz followed them back to the club. He escorted the couple to the doors, rode up in the elevator with them, did a walk-through of the residence, and pronounced it clear. Cosmos and Triumph had already done a floor-to-floor sweep of the club to make sure no one was hanging out or in hiding and then took their places in the main security room to watch the video feeds and continue their hunt for the McCabes’ current location.

“Mickie and I will see you later. If you think of something you need, call me, and we’ll pick it up.” He stepped into the elevator,but just before it closed, he stuck his hand in between the panels so that they reopened. “And please don’t blame me for whatever Mickie makes me stop and pick up that she thinks you need even though you didn’t say you did.” He pressed the button again to close the doors but then stopped them a second time. “And if it’s inappropriate, I don’t wanna know.” He winked and let the door close this time.

Tripoli shed his coat,hanging it across the back of a dining room chair, and he crossed into the kitchen, pulled down a glass from the cabinet, and poured her a glass of wine. Francesca had moved in front of the floor-to-ceiling window in the living room area. Handing it to her as he came up behind her, he took stock of her ramrod posture. She took a small sip as his hands drifted to her shoulders and began to massage the tense muscles he found there and in her upper back. “We have a few hours before dinner. Why don’t you relax and take a nap?” He kissed the back of her head.

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