Page 93 of Justice for Francesca

She smiled and shook her head. “Just came to give you these.”

She reached into the inner pocket of her jean jacket, withdrew an envelope, and laid it on his desk. She followed that by unclipping her badge from her waistband and putting it ontop of a case, placing both the badge and the gun on top of the envelope.

His eyes considered the items sitting in the chaos before raising them to study her again. “I can’t change your mind? Even if I knock out the walls and make them glass walls?”

She chuckled. “Fishbowl isn’t really my style either.”

“No, I can guess it isn’t.” It seemed like his eyes softened slightly. “Your last name may be McCabe, but you’re not one of them.”

Inside, she was beaming proudly. On the outside, she wiped her face clean of all emotions. “With all due respect, I’m more of a McCabe than anyone would suspect. What I’m not is Oisin McCabe’s dutiful daughter.”

She watched his face process her comment. She knew that he understood there was more behind the comment than the obvious words, but what exactly was unclear.

He cleared his throat. “Good luck to you, McCabe.” He held out his hand. “Thank you for your service to the bureau.”

Francesca said nothing. After dropping the man’s hand, she turned, opened the door, passed through it, and closed the door behind her. At that moment, a shadowy portion of herself seemed to separate from her body and go toward her old desk. Instead of her physical person making that same turn to walk down the hall, she slid her sunglasses over her eyes and exited the Dallas FBI office. She got into her car and did not look back. She only looked forward.

30

THE SHOW MUST GO ON

Tripoli

There was a knock at his door. A glance at the monitor showed Michael outside his office door. “Come in!”

There was the sound of a card slide and a beep, and then the door was opening. Michael entered, his tread tentative, his greeting even more so. “Trip.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I have something for you.”

Michael handed over a file folder. It held several papers inside of it, one of which was a document signing over the ten percent of Elysium that had been Mila’s back into Tripoli’s name. The signature at the bottom of the document was Michael’s.

“I don’t understand,” Tripoli said.

“We were more than just dating. We got married. About a month before we… separated, I guess you’d call it. That was why we fought. The secrecy was killing us both, but I couldn’t tell anyone. I didn’t want my family finding out because I didn’t want them to use it to try and blackmail me.” He gestured to thepapers in Tripoli’s hand. “That’s why I was at the house the night Francesca was stabbed. I was looking for our marriage certificate so that I could have the lawyers put it back in your name. To reassure you that the club… it wouldn’t go to her family. Technically, as her nearest relative, her husband, it went to me.” Michael shoved his hands in his pockets.

“You don’t want to keep it? You should. Gives you a higher stake in the club.”

Michael shook his head. “No. Put it back to the employees if you want. I’ve got my small piece, which is more than enough.”

His fingers back to tapping in Morse code, he noticed that Michael was incredibly uncomfortable. “Your sister’s been happy getting to know you again. You should know that.”

One corner of Michael’s mouth tipped up, his body visibly relaxing. “Yeah. I missed her. It’s good to have her back. She helped me pack up some of Mila’s things two days ago. That was awful, but… having my sister helping made it easier.”

Tripoli flashed the folder at him before laying it on the desk. “Thanks, Michael. A lot of the staff will feel better about this.”

“I figured. See you later?”

“Yeah. I’ll be here catching up on paperwork tonight. I’ll be down for the memorial, and then I’ll probably do a walkabout somewhere around ten p.m. Check on the changes for our reopening. Get a pulse on how people are responding. Do the whole reassuring owner routine. If you need me before then, just text me.”

“Will do, boss. Will Francesca be coming as well?”

Expelling a deep breath, Tripoli leaned back in his chair. “I don’t know. When she got up yesterday, she said she needed to think about some things. Asked for some space. Didn’t say for how long, but I wasn’t going to argue with her. I hope she’ll be here.”

Michael’s smile, although one that still held grief over the loss of Mila, was a little brighter than it had been. “Francesca is… Whether she’s here tonight or not, she’s not going anywhere. She loves you too much.”

“I love her too.”

---