Page 92 of Justice for Francesca

“That was my fault, not theirs. Rory warned me I was in trouble, but I didn’t listen to him, which delayed his escape plan. Who knows what contingency plan number I forced them into until you all showed up.” She yawned.

Cruz stood up. “You need your rest. I’m going to go make sure your man hasn’t run away with my girl.”

“Thanks, Cruz. For everything. I mean it.”

“Anytime, Francesca.” He smiled, then bent down to kiss her cheek. “You know, all you had to do was say how much you hated being called Frankie. Untilmydying day, I’ll be convinced that it was Tripoli’s threat to call you that a hundred times a day that brought you back from the dead.”

“Not correcting people became a habit from childhood. Won’t happen again.”

With a parting smile, Cruz headed toward the door. Just before he reached it, she called out to him. “Cruz? If I left the FBI… I mean, quit altogether… does that mean I failed?”

He looked genuinely puzzled by the question. “What do you mean?”

“I spent my whole life, thirty-six years, trying to right the wrongs of my family. Trying to salvage the McCabe name. I’m feeling more and more like I just want to let it all go. Escape law enforcement altogether. But I feel like if I left the FBI, I would be throwing all of that away. Like it was all for nothing.”

“No, Francesca, you didn’t fail. I’d hate to see you go. You’re a great agent. But the McCabe legacy doesn’t end with familymembers sacrificing themselves to rewrite history or reclaim the family’s reputation. It doesn’t even end with your brothers’ vows to never have children and pass down the name itself. You break the cycle by being able to be your own person. You’ve won because you’re living life on your terms. So live the life you want to live, Francesca, not one you feel beholden to live.”

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

29

SAYING GOODBYE

Francesca - Five Weeks Later

With a calming breath, she raised her hand to knock.

“Enter.”

Francesca opened the door to the special agent in charge’s office in Dallas, her heart hammering in her chest. A man in a black suit stood behind the desk, a scowl on his face and an empty, open drawer to his right. There was a sea of items scattered across the desktop that must have been in the drawer. The walls had already been stripped bare of all personal items, and the whiteboard on the wall had been erased.

He looked like every television show’s depiction of an FBI agent—dark hair closely cut and styled, crisp white shirt, perfectly knotted tie. When he looked up from the folder he was flipping through, a pair of chocolate-brown eyes met hers. “Special Agent McCabe.”

“Chief Hammerling.”

He chuffed and waved his hand. “I thought you were on leave for two more weeks?”

“I am, technically.”

“My apologies for the Bermuda Rectangle in front of you.” He gestured to the empty chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”

“Thanks. I’m not going to be here that long.”

He squinted at her. “Really? Here I was hoping I could hand over the cleaning of your new office to you.”

For just a moment, Francesca’s heart stuttered. He was offering her a job? It would be quite the promotion, skipping several levels. She didn’t even know that was possible.

Then she remembered why she’d come to see him first thing this morning.

“I’m flattered, sir, but I’m not really an office person. I’ve spent too long on the streets and traveling city to city during my career.”

His smile was set to charming. “I would think that makes it an excellent choice for you, then. You’ve been in Texas the longest of all your assignments, and I’ve heard you’ve become involved with someone in San Antonio. Time to get inside and stay put.”

“I’m not really leadership material. Besides that, I doubt I would be very comfortable in a windowless cube.”

He looked around. “It is rather dismal, isn’t it?” His gaze returned to her, taking in the Navy sweatshirt and jeans. “I take it you’re not here to ask me for a transfer to San Antonio or a raise either.”

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