Page 13

13

I DON’T KNOW WHY I’M HERE

Tripoli

H e was sitting on his couch, laptop open to financial spreadsheets, a tumbler of whiskey on the end table, and Clannad quietly playing on the stereo when the elevator opened into the apartment. Needless to say, when he turned his head to see who had arrived, even though he had hoped to see Francesca, he was still surprised she was actually standing in the carriage.

Setting aside his laptop, he stood on bare feet and crossed to her still form. Afraid to spook her, he said nothing and just waited for her to make a move. This had to be her choice.

She stepped across the threshold tentatively. He watched her take in his appearance. He’d dressed for comfort since he hadn’t really been expecting her, yet still half hoping she’d show up. His jeans were hanging low on his hips with no belt to anchor them, and his T-shirt sporting “Navy” across the front was faded, molding to his upper body. She licked her lips, eyes darting around as if she expected someone to jump out at her from around a corner or behind a door.

He took the remaining steps to be in her personal space, licked his thumb, and raised his hand to her face to gently rub a gray smudge on her cheek. “Pencil lead,” he said softly.

Taking a long, hard look at her face, he noted the exhaustion. Light purple bruises were forming under her eyes from lack of sleep, her mouth was pinched, whether in pain or frustration, he couldn’t tell, and her skin appeared even paler than before.

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

Another brush of his hand, this time over her hair, attempted to smooth the stray hairs pulled out of random places from the bun low at the nape of her neck. There was no way he was allowing her to push herself any further tonight. It wasn’t in him to allow that. His woman needed taking care of, and she was cusping the point of desperate for it.

Without words, he walked behind her, pressed the “Lock” button on the elevator so that it wouldn’t open without his permission, and gently maneuvered her a few extra steps forward. Her head turned in profile, looking down at the hand settled at her wrist. Stepping around her completely until he stood in front of her, his fingers trailed up her arm, then across her shoulders. His gaze met hers again. When he slid his hand down her opposite arm until it reached her hand, automatically, their fingers threaded together. His other hand reached for her free hand, and when he had it in his grasp, he raised both to his mouth, kissing the knuckles where they were brought together.

Backing up, he pulled her toward the hallway and into the bathroom. Once inside, he lifted her to sit on the vanity. He knew if he didn’t drag his eyes from hers, he would divert from his plan to take care of her and simply sweep her into his arms and end up making love to her. While that would be wonderful, he needed to move carefully with her, or she’d retreat again. He wondered what had happened to cause her to return after her obvious avoidance today.

Another step back from her, he reached for one leg and removed the boot from her foot, the zipper excruciatingly loud in the quiet. He pulled off her sock, put it inside her boot, dropped the boot to the floor, and began to massage the foot he held in his hands. The bright-pink polish on her toes matched the elastic in her hair, both incongruent with the conservative blouse and trousers. Just one more puzzle that was Francesca McCabe.

She didn’t make a sound, but after a minute or two of gently kneading the muscles, he felt them relax. He reached for her other foot and repeated the process until he felt the tension lessen. When that happened, he turned to open the large glass-walled shower and reached inside to turn on the water so it warmed up for her.

Returning to her, he realized she hadn’t moved a muscle on the counter, as if knowing to do so would cause him to chastise her. He reached for the elastic in her hair and pulled it free, settling it around his wrist. Her pale-blonde hair spilled straight down her back, and he finger-combed through it to make sure there were no significant tangles.

Her eyes were searching his, slightly wary.

“No expectations, Francesca. Just let me take care of you.”

Deftly, he unbuttoned her short-sleeved blouse, peeled the silky fabric down her arms, and laid it on the counter. His hands spanned her waist to slide her off the counter and stand her on her feet. Without a hint of hesitation, he reached for the side zipper on her slacks and pulled the tab until the metal was completely open. He went down on one knee to slide the slacks over her hips to pool at her feet.

He reached for her left hand, kissed the palm, and put it on his shoulder. He did the same with her right. Once he was sure she was balanced, his hands reached for the cocoa-colored lace panties and stripped them down her legs. He tapped her foot so that she stepped out of the material around her ankles, keeping herself steadied with the help of his shoulders. Whisking the pants and panties off the floor, he stood and laid them on the counter with her blouse. A quick reach around to her back had her matching bra unsnapped and lying with the rest of her clothes.

Dislodging her hold on his shoulders, he quickly tested the water stream to make sure it wasn’t too hot. Satisfied it wouldn’t scald her, he quickly pulled his T-shirt from behind his head and over his shoulders, dropping it on the floor. His jeans were gone with a flick of the button and a strong pull down over his hips. Now as naked as she was, he stepped into the shower, leading her inside the glass enclosure.

Her back to his front, he moved her under the spray so that it was hitting high on her chest, and he laid a line of kisses across one shoulder to the other. One of her arms reached over and behind her head to curl the palm of her hand around the nape of his neck as she closed her eyes and leaned back into his mouth. Gently, he turned her to face him, careful to keep a slight distance between their bodies since his dick was more than pleased with their current circumstances. Unfortunately, that would have to wait. His woman needed rest. Sex between them would not be restful.

Tipping her head back under the spray, he made sure her hair was thoroughly soaked through. His fingers threaded through her tresses to make sure there were no knots, this time because of the water. Her eyes closed as he massaged her skull, and her hands crept up to rest lightly at his waist. He squeezed a small dollop of shampoo into the palm of one hand, then rubbed both hands together before beginning to wash her hair. After rinsing the soap down the drain, he repeated the process with conditioner, thoroughly enjoying being able to finger-comb her hair to again prevent tangles. He was beginning to think that of all the ways he could touch her, this was actually his favorite.

While the conditioner sat in her hair and did its work, he lathered soap between his hands and went to work washing down her body. He focused on the work, knowing he’d have time later—maybe not today—to explore the softness of her skin over the well-developed muscles. So fragile-looking on the outside but badass and fit on the inside.

After rinsing the soap off her body and the conditioner out of her hair, he realized she’d done nothing the entire time except stand there. He gathered her into his arms and pulled her tight to him, ignoring the hard muscle screaming at him from between them. She didn’t need him pawing her, but he also wasn’t going to hide the fact that his body wanted hers, and with the conversation last night, he certainly hadn’t hidden from her that he wanted a relationship with her.

The warm water continued to rain down on them as Tripoli just held her close. Slowly but surely, with each minute that passed, her body relaxed further into his until, eventually, her arms looped around his waist, and her ear lay over his heart.

When he started to feel the water cool, he turned it off and helped guide Francesca out of the shower. He draped a warm towel around her body, tying it off, then sat her on a rolling stool he pulled out from under the bathroom vanity, helping her to sit so that she faced the mirror. Then he grabbed another towel to tie off around his waist and a smaller one to squeeze the excess water out of her hair and towel it dry. Finally, he began to run a brush through the long, straight hair, freeing the minor tangles he’d created.

“Thank you,” she said softly. “I’m just so tired.”

“I could tell,” he replied. “You okay? You need to talk?”

She shook her head, dropping her eyes. “I just need sleep.”

“You got it. Ten minutes and you’ll be in bed, but we can’t have you sleeping on wet hair. When you wake up, I’ll feed you, and then you’re going back to sleep.” He dropped a chaste kiss on the top of her head, looking at her reflection.

He pulled out the hair dryer and did a simple blowout of her hair, then put it in a long braid. He helped her up from the stool and led her into the bedroom, removing her towel and tucking her naked body into his bed. He turned to go pick up their clothes in the bathroom. When he came back into the bedroom, he heard it.

“Ethan?”

“Yes?”

“Stay with me?”

He didn’t need to be asked twice. He slipped the knot on the towel around his waist and climbed in beside her. He was barely under the covers when she snuck in tight to his side, her head on the pillow, a hand to his chest. “Comfortable?” he whispered.

Her eyes shut, she sighed and replied, “You’re so warm.”

Two breaths later, her chest rose and fell evenly. Her face looked relaxed to him, an expression he wasn’t used to seeing. Usually, her face reflected whatever state her brain was working in—pensiveness, tension, irritation. Looking at her now, there was nothing but peace. He smiled, happy to know he was the reason for that expression. Placing a kiss to the crown of her head, he pulled her closer and let his own eyes drift shut. He knew he’d wake up in a couple of hours, another holdover from his days with the Raiders, so he let sleep drag him under.

A minute before six, Tripoli felt his eyes open. Francesca wasn’t in his arms. She wasn’t even in his bed.

The sound of a toilet flushing, then running water, let him know that she was at least still in the apartment. Her silhouette paused in the doorway. She hadn’t put any clothes on to go to the bathroom, and he lay unmoving and silent, watching through slitted eyes to see what she’d do next. When she found her pants draped over the armchair next to the door, she reached into the pocket and retrieved her phone. As she tapped the screen, he watched her face as she typed. She didn’t check voicemails, just pulled up a contact and sent a text. She brought the phone with her to bed, and by the time she sat on its edge, a return text pinged. She checked the screen, put the phone to sleep, laid it on the nightstand, and then crawled back under the sheet, burrowing deep into Tripoli.

“Cold,” she mumbled against his chest.

Trying not to dislodge her from his body, he reached down to their feet and pulled the gray comforter up over them, tucking it tight around her. “Better?”

She nodded. “Mmph.”

He wrapped his arms around her, his hands brushing up and down her back. “Who did you text?”

Her voice was muffled as she answered. “Cruz. Told him I wasn’t feeling well and not coming in today.”

His hands stopped moving. “You called in sick?”

“Mm-hmm.” She burrowed in tighter to him, shoving her face in the space between his shoulder and the pillow.

“When was the last time you took a sick day?”

“Umm… never? I don’t think I’ve ever taken one.” She looked up at him. “You need me to go?”

“Hell no! I’m just surprised. When I woke up, and you weren’t in bed, I thought you had snuck out. Then you showed up in the doorway, texted, and crawled back into bed with me. Now I find out you’re taking a day off. Trust me, I want you nowhere other than where you are right now.”

“I don’t want to think today. If I work, I’ll think. If I go back to my hotel, I’ll make it about thirty minutes before I go back to work. If I’m here, you’ll keep me from working.”

“I hope that’s a good thing.”

She closed her eyes and smiled. “Good or not remains to be seen, but it’s definitely a thing.” She burrowed in again. “Now shush. I want another hour or two of sleep, and then you’re making me French toast.”

“Oh, I am, am I? What if I don’t know how to make French toast?”

Francesca yawned. “I know you know how. I saw the griddle in your kitchen.”

“Demanding minx,” he teased. “You want French toast, you get French toast.”

“Yum.”

In less than a minute, she was asleep again. Tripoli did not fall back to sleep, but he lay in that bed, his smile a mile wide and his heart bursting. There was hope yet.

Just after noon, he was standing over the griddle making her French toast when he felt her arms sneak around him from behind and the side of her face press against his spine. “Sleep well?” he asked as he flipped the bread.

“Yes. I probably could have slept longer, but that wonderful smell wouldn’t let me.”

He dropped a hand to the two locked around his waist, playing with the drawstring on his sweatpants. “You’re not going to get to eat that wonderful smell if you keep playing there, sweetheart.”

She started to draw away. “Sorry.”

“No, don’t move.” He pulled her arms back around him but slid her open palms underneath the hem of his T-shirt and placed them higher up on his ab muscles. “I need to feed you before anything else, is all.”

“Before anything else, huh?”

“Yep. Not saying anything else would be today, but no matter what happens, you need to eat.” He turned around in the circle of her arms. She had pulled a dress shirt out of his closet. “You look good in my shirt.”

“I’ve always wanted to wear a guy’s shirt. It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid. It’s a territory thing. Plus, your smell on it will remind me who I belong to. As to the ‘anything else’ comment, you took a sick day today, and you really do need to rest. There was a reason you did that after coming to my apartment. I’m not taking that for granted. So I’m going to feed you, and then we’re going to be completely lazy people. We can watch movies, we can read, or do anything else you want to do. But we’re not leaving this apartment to do any of it.” He kissed the top of her head and started to untangle from her. “Go sit down. I’ll bring you breakfast.”

After breakfast, Tripoli shooed her into the living room, again refusing her help. After cleaning up the kitchen, he joined her on the couch, where she was buried under a blanket and reading a book she’d borrowed from his bookshelves. He tipped the cover, laughing at what he saw. “ Murder on the Orient Express ? Don’t you get enough murder all day long?”

She shrugged. “It’s a comfort read. Mom owned every single one of Agatha Christie’s books, and we read them over and over.”

“I didn’t even know I had that one here. Tilly was still pretty housebound when we came here, so I brought some of Tabitha’s leftover books when I opened this place. Guess I should have paid more attention. Books on murder probably weren’t the best choices for her.”

“Actually, they probably weren’t a bad choice. You don’t escape bad stuff by shoving it in a drawer. You have to face it head-on. The longer you let it remain untouched, the harder it is to deal with later.”

The look on her face led to the sneaking suspicion she wasn’t talking just about Tilly. “Do you take your own advice?”

“No. Well, rarely. It’s always easier to tell others how to cope than it is to take your own advice.”

She surprised him when she unfolded her legs and put them in his lap. Automatically, his hands went to her feet and began massaging them again, along with her calves.

They passed a few minutes in silence before his hand took the book from her, marking her place in it by folding the corner over before closing it. She let out an indignant nonverbal at him and tried to rescue the folded page, but he just pushed her hands away. “The book will survive me folding the page.”

She pouted. “Sacrilege.”

“I need to know something. You avoided me all day yesterday, and then suddenly, you were here. Don’t get me wrong! I’m thrilled you’re here, but this is a complete one-eighty. There had to be a reason.”

Her face remained blank, but her eyes reflected her indecision on what to share. “Cruz and Calder gave me a severe kick in the ass yesterday. Made me rethink some choices I’ve made that have been extremely unhealthy and set me on a path to self-destruction. I realized that I knew that was the case. Maybe I even secretly wanted that. Now? Not so much.

“I’m exhausted from fighting everything in my life. My family. The inherent sexism of the police force. Feeling like I’m running by leaving the Blue Line and joining the FBI. Feeling like I’m running by moving all the way across the country to LA, then running again by transferring to Dallas. The nonstop hours of being undercover—no days off, no time between cases, no time to put down roots or make connections.” She paused, and her eyes took on a faraway look. “My own feelings of failure over my assignment at The Library. You.”

“Not sure I like being lumped in with a sex trafficker,” he admitted.

“You’re just the most recent piece of the world’s worst jigsaw puzzle.”

“You said you’re exhausted. Babe, you’re beyond exhausted. I don’t know what that term is, but you are it.”

He needed to hold her, but if he did that, he couldn’t see her face. What he had to say next required her to see his seriousness. “When I first met you at The Library, I knew you were different. You seemed friendly, but apart. I know why now. You tried to insert yourself, and to the average person, you did that well. But for someone like me who’s trained to spot when things don’t look right, or at the very least seem out of place, I knew there was something. I thought it was because you were new to the scene, which you were. I never imagined you were hiding behind a cover.

“Despite that separation—maybe because of it—I wanted to know more about you. Drawing you out was tough. Didn’t matter. I kept trying to chip away. I thought I was making inroads. You seemed to lower your guard a little around me.

“Do you have any clue how broken I was when you were taken? I was so relieved when you were returned, but then you didn’t wake up for days. I sat by your side, willing you to open your eyes so I could tell you what I’d been holding back. How I was falling for you.”

The walk to the closet was like walking through a long tunnel that just got longer and longer. At its end? A big block of metal. Would he open it this time?

“You weren’t there when I woke up. Why?”

“You started coming around, and I realized you’d use the case you were on to put a barrier between us. I thought it would be best if I let you go and find your way through to the other side without me pushing you with what I wanted from you. It wouldn’t have been fair.” His arms wound around her waist. “I knew. I knew what you were going to go through. Everyone tries to help, but it just ends up being confusing. You end up doing what others feel is best for you, but it’s not always the case.”

“You know?”

“Yes. I’ve been through my own trauma, so I do understand. I was being torn in a million different directions—my family, my friends, the military, the medical staff who treated my injuries, my therapist, and my girlfriend at the time. They meant well, but it made things worse.

“Knowing how I am, I knew I’d try to manage you. To fix things for you. I also knew you would resent that. You needed to find your own way, so I made the most difficult decision of my life, and I let you go. While it may have led you to believe I didn’t care or that I wasn’t interested, it was better for you in the long run, no matter how much it killed me to do it. Even if it meant you hated me, I wouldn’t change what I did.”

“I could never hate you. And you’re right. I needed to do it on my own. I’m way too independent. Besides that, I’ve had enough of controlling men in my life with my father and brothers.”

He wasn’t sure why, but he found himself opening up about his retirement from the Navy. “I loved working with the Raiders. Loved the adrenaline of deployments. Loved the challenge of the injuries and putting people back together. We lost very few men, which is surprising, but I’d like to think it was because my being there made a difference.

“Unfortunately, on my last deployment, our commanding officer, someone I trusted with my life, and so did the rest of the guys, gave us bad intel on purpose. He had gambling debts and allowed someone above him to manipulate him as a way to cover them. His argument was we had a perfect record. We’d gotten out of situations no one should have gotten out of. We’d come out of this one too. Guess we’d used up all of our good luck.

“His choice led us into an ambush, and there was no way that could have happened without someone tipping off the insurgents. It didn’t take us long to figure out who, but it tore my unit apart. Someone who should have had our best interests at heart betrayed us. We lost three men that day, and two of us were taken captive.”

Footsteps in the jungle. Fading calls for him. For Chaos. Diminishing gunfire. Pain. His head hurt so bad. His ears were still ringing. His eyes wouldn’t focus. Jarring pain when whoever had him by the arms failed to lift him over obstacles. Where the hell was he being dragged?

“When my team recovered us, we’d only been gone a few days, but it was more than enough to ruin me for a hundred lifetimes. It wasn’t even the treatment we received. The whole situation made me question my judgment of people. The signs were all there in the last couple of months that he wasn’t what he presented himself to be, but when you see someone day after day, the changes aren’t as obvious as when there are gaps between visits. He fooled us all badly.

“I finished out my three months doing admission physicals. I missed being out in the field, but I also knew I didn’t want to go back to being under someone’s command in the field, so I didn’t re-up. My trust was broken. If he could turn, any one of the men I called brothers could, so I chose retirement.

“Unfortunately, once I got home, there was another form of betrayal by someone I thought loved me and had our best interests at heart. My girlfriend started pushing. She wanted marriage. I was nowhere near ready for that, and I began to doubt her. Felt like I didn’t know her anymore… felt like she was backing me into a corner. Needless to say, we didn’t last long after I got home because if I wasn’t ready to commit, she was moving on to someone who would. She was young. She had romanticized military life. I knew the truth and couldn’t perpetuate her fantasy.”

Numb. Hazy, but not because of smoke or ringing ears or eyes that wouldn’t focus due to light. Just blissfully numb. Could he do another? If he did, would he wake up? It wouldn’t hurt anymore if he didn’t. Was he brave enough to follow through? If one more wouldn’t do it, he could do two. Or three more. If that didn’t do it, there was always the metal box in the closet.

“Cosmos was working in LA. We had kept in touch as best we could, and when the shit hit the fan with my girlfriend, he invited me to stay with him for a while to try and get myself together. Find my control. He introduced me to The Library. I’d never been into BDSM, but the concept gave me a means to recalibrate. It gave me the feeling of security that my unit and the military did. Contracts instead of missions. Mapped-out expectations instead of rules and regulations. It fit like a second skin.”

“But it’s not you, really.”

“No, it’s not me. It’s like wearing a costume, but at the time, it was what I needed. I certainly have Dominant tendencies, but they were of a completely different nature, and the clubs are definitely not my scene, although they do make me a lot of money. Triumph is much the same way. He’s not involved in the scene, although he fakes it well. I don’t know all the details, but Cosmos got him the job several years before I retired. That man though? He’s a different story. It’s part of his lifestyle. Nevertheless, we were all functioning well. The club was a social outlet; it catered to our various needs for control in our lives, and then?—”

“And then Tabitha.”

Tripoli hung his head, defeated at his third failure. “Even with the control I’d regained, I had missed it again.”

“What happened to her? All I could see in the records was that she was never caught. In fact, neither she nor Gendry made it into custody.”

He shrugged. “They both disappeared. Lobo and his teammates took them away, I think, before the police got there. When I tried to ask Lobo about it, he claimed he knew nothing. I didn’t ask anymore questions. Had a feeling I didn’t really want to know the answers. Then suddenly I had a lawyer come to me with paperwork saying the club had been transferred completely into my name. No explanation of how, and this time I knew better than to ask any questions at all. Cosmos, Triumph, and I decided we would split the ownership three ways and try to salvage the place.”

“From what I understand, you salvaged it pretty well.”

He smiled. “Yeah, but it took a lot of work. There’s still some fallout, but it’s better than it was.”

“You feel responsible for her, don’t you?” Francesca asked hesitantly.

“Yes, but not the way you think. It’s more that I don’t even know how to deal with what she did. I keep asking myself how I missed it. She totally had me fooled.” He still felt pangs of guilt over it. If he hadn’t missed the signs, maybe none of those women would have suffered.

“Were you two still involved when she was caught?”

“No. We were done almost as soon as we began, which was long before you arrived. Cosmos paired us up as part of my ‘training,’ so we were on a short-term contract. Her nature was such that she always tried to top from the bottom, so other than teaching me how to deal with submissives who did that, it didn’t work out. After the first few months, we did some demos together for theme nights, but Tabitha was a switch in the BDSM community, and with me as a Dom, that relegated her to the submissive role. The larger issue was that she only wanted to be a submissive for Lobo, which is part of the whole problem she created there.”

“You’re not responsible for Tabitha, you know.”

“I do. Tabitha is responsible for the choices she made, but every day, I still feel guilty over my lack of awareness of what was going on right under my nose. Granted, I was a silent partner—money investment only, no vote—but the shit that went down at The Library? Obviously, it never should have happened.

“Between my superior, my ex-girlfriend, and Tabitha, I struggle with judgment calls now. It’s part of why my managers have so much more say on the employees than I do. It’s why I forced Cosmos and Triumph to take larger shares in the clubs because I want their input as affirmation I’m making the right choices. And it’s why anyone who has a share in one of my clubs has a voice now. Everyone needs to know what’s going on, whether they own twenty-four percent or are a group member of the ten percent.”

“So anyone who’s on staff knows everything there is to know about the club?”

“Yes. From the number of cocktail napkins ordered to the redesigning plans of curtains to the profits every month. If there’s total transparency, no one can say they didn’t know or weren’t told. I also get the reassurance that the decisions I make are good ones because my staff keeps me in check. If they don’t read the monthly reports, that’s different, and that’s on them. Knowing they have a say in everything makes for more invested employees too.”

“It doesn’t create problems, like with salary discussions?”

Tripoli shook his head. “Nope. We have a very clear step structure on salaries, and we pay really well to start with. Plus, when we hire, we’re very clear about the expectations. No one is hired who we don’t feel really strongly about, which is why turnover is so low. Nobody wants to leave, so they don’t break the rules.”

Francesca shifted gears. “How is Tilly doing? Really doing?”

He sighed and pulled her closer in his lap. “I’d like to say better, but it’s only on the surface. She felt like she was being smothered at home, and who could blame her parents if that were true? I offered her the chance to start over somewhere else, yet still have a support system, and I keep in touch with her parents. Nothing confidential. Just check-ins to say she’s well, etcetera. She stayed with me for about a month, but then she moved in with Triumph. They’re not involved romantically. It’s more big brother, little sister.”

“Why did she move out of here?”

“Tilly being Tilly, she didn’t tell me that Mila was constantly on her about something going on between us, despite us both telling her she was wrong. Tilly ‘resolved’ the issue by moving out. In the long run, it didn’t help. Every time something came up regarding Tilly, Mila always believed the worst or the opposite of what she was told. I would have broken things off with Mila, London property or not, had I known what she was saying to Tilly or how she was making her feel, but she never said anything. Claimed I didn’t need the headache, and she didn’t want to get in the way of the property deal. One and only time I’ve ever wanted to spank a woman for bad behavior.”

Francesca shook her head. “Ever the protector.” She smiled at him. “I figured it out.”

“Figured what out?”

“Your Dominant type. I looked it up.”

He rolled onto his side, laying her on her back and squeezing between her and the back of the couch as he leaned on his elbow. “You think so?”

“You’re what they call a white knight. You’re always helping people solve problems. You do it because it’s the right thing to do, with no sense of self or need for anything in return. It’s part of why you helped Tilly have a chance to recover. And me.”

“Mmm,” he hummed. Lowering himself off his elbow, he began kissing her face, everywhere but her lips. “What would I be saving you from, then?”

“Myself? You seem determined that I sleep, eat, open up… all things you say I don’t do well.”

He moved to kissing her neck. “Doing what you do for a living, I imagine it’s hard to take care of yourself. So let me take care of you.”

She smoothed the collar of his T-shirt. “It’s not that easy to turn off, Ethan. I’m not used to people caring how I am. I pretty much live my job and haven’t had time to make any friends in Dallas since transferring there. Work? As FBI agents, none of us talk about needing help, mostly because we fear it can cause us to seem weak. There’s already enough blood in the office pool, no need to summon the sharks in as well.”

He leaned on his elbow again. “I can’t imagine working for the FBI is much better for your health than being a police officer.”

She shook her head. “No… it’s not. Or, at least, it wasn’t for me. If you’re a good agent, you work through meals because that victim may be starving. You work without sleep because every moment you’re asleep, that case isn’t getting solved, and sometimes every minute matters. Your brain won’t stop because the case folders on your desk pile higher and higher, some of them getting lost in time because you never get to the bottom of the pile. You shut people out to keep them from the horrors you see, which partners and spouses see as being distrustful, closed off, and God knows what else, when really it’s about protecting them from the shit storm. Bringing the things we see and do into a relationship is a recipe for disaster, so a lot of agents’ marriages fail hard and quickly, making them bitter. Pretty soon, everyone’s jaded as fuck about absolutely everything.”

“Anyone with a conscience would feel torn.”

“Some people manage just fine. I look at Cruz, and I see a totally well-adjusted male who does his job day to day but goes home and lives a wonderful life.”

“You told me that agents hide their weaknesses. I’m sure he feels a lot of the same pressures. You certainly do. No one seems to see your exhaustion, your feelings of compassion for the victims, your sorrow at their loss.”

“Yet you see through them.”

“Because I’m watching specifically for it. White knight syndrome at its finest. I want to take away everything that pains you. Everything that makes you feel less than amazing. I want to wrap you up and protect you, but I also want to let you know that what you’re doing makes a difference. To be your touchstone back to what’s good in the world. I want to take care of you, Francesca.”

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. I’ve worked hard to be independent so that no one could come back at me and say I was weak or incapable,” she replied, a tinge of outrage creeping into her voice at what she clearly thought was doubt.

“I know you can. I would never try to take away your independence. There’s a difference between that and taking care of someone. A knight in shining armor defends and protects. He eases the way. He comforts. He lends strength when it’s needed. It’s what a relationship should be. Two people who work together to complete the other one by supporting them when they need help, then allowing them to stand on their own when they don’t. The yin to the yang. Balance.”

He laid a hand on her hip. “I’d like to help you, Francesca. I know you struggle with your past in terms of your family, and I get that their choices weigh on you. I know you must struggle with the decision to leave them behind and that Michael being here, involved with this, is hurting you. I know you had to have struggled with your abduction two years ago, and I worry you’ve had no one to help you through any of that. So let me help you however I can.”

She put a hand on his chest, smoothing over the muscles there. “I’m not allowed to talk about cases.”

“Even when I was there? I was a part of your abduction, for fuck’s sake.”

Francesca laid her hand alongside his face, and he gave in to the need to be closer to her by tipping his head to lay its weight in the palm. This woman. She’d been hurt more times than he could bear, and she was trying to comfort him. He watched her consider before she shared anything with him. “There’s nothing really to tell. I was unconscious for most of it. It’s why it took me so long to come around. He kept us drugged so that we would be compliant.” She must have felt him tensing up because she reached up to smooth away lines on his face. “Ethan. I’m an undercover specialist. It’s what I do.”

“Your job is not to be kidnapped, drugged, and boxed like a product to be shipped.”

A soft smile on her lips, she placed them on his. He remained unmoving at first but then gently separated from her.

“It’s not right, Francesca. Every time they let you go undercover, they’re putting you at extreme risk, especially since you’ve been in danger before. There are plenty of other agents they could have sent on any one of your assignments.”

“Did the Navy or Marines care that you’d been in danger before when they sent you back out on missions?”

He paused. “That’s different.”

“It’s no different, Ethan. My job, just like yours used to be, is dangerous by nature.”

“But—”

“‘But’ nothing. I’m okay, Ethan. I had counseling after the mess at The Library. Ultimately, other than having bad withdrawal symptoms, I was fine. The women were found, the bad guys were arrested, the trafficking ring was stopped, end of story.”

He knew it wasn’t quite that simple, but he also knew she’d probably never tell him what happened because she was so damn bound by her need to follow the rules.

“Ethan, I can’t tell you more,” she warned as if sensing his thoughts. “As it is, I shouldn’t even be here. Suspect or not, you’re part of an active investigation.”

“Yes, we’ve talked about that. Cruz doesn’t seem to think it matters if you’re here. He’s made several comments encouraging me to pursue you, in fact.”

A laugh issued in a short outburst. “Yeah, he’s been giving me grief over it too. He thinks just because he met Mickie while undercover on a case that it’s a form of matchmaking service.”

“Well, he works for the FBI, and nothing bad came out of it.”

“He’s a man. Rules are sometimes bent for people beyond reproach. As a McCabe, I don’t have that luxury.”

“Francesca, I’m guessing your behavior has been nothing but beyond reproach. You follow the rules to the letter. Yes, you made a mistake while working The Library case, but if I’d been doing my job, you wouldn’t have been taken. We’re both to blame for that one.”

This time, the smile on her face was sad. “You see it that way, Ethan. My bosses do not. Anyway, I thought I said I didn’t want to think today. I broke a rule.”

“Yes, you did. I’ll count that as a step in the direction of the new and improved Francesca. So. How can I keep you from thinking? Any suggestions?” He watched a blush sweep across her face. “Special Agent McCabe, are you thinking naughty thoughts?” he teased.

“No…” She dragged out the word. His shirt collar suddenly became very interesting to her. “Well, maybe,” she admitted. “I was surprised last night. I mean, based on how the evening started with you, I assumed… and then you put me to bed… and then…” She looked up at him through her eyelashes.

“And then you fell asleep on me within thirty seconds,” he reminded her. “Don’t mistake nothing happening for me not wanting something to happen. You were tired. You needed the rest. I wasn’t going to keep you from that.”

The silence in the room was weighty. He wasn’t about to push her. This was another step in their relationship where she needed to make the choice.

“I’m conflicted, Ethan. For so long, I’ve been by the book. Never been tempted to even look for loopholes, always pulling back from everything that even came close to toeing the line, let alone crossing it. I’m not sure if I can do it.” She allowed a finger to lazily draw down the side of his face.

“I get it. Leopards don’t change their spots without being a part of evolution, and evolution is slow moving.” He slid his arms around her and lay down on the couch, pulling her half onto his chest. “I don’t want to scare you, but you’re already changing. You came here the other night and had dinner with me. You felt a need to protect me—even though you didn’t need to—from Cruz with Jessa’s murder. You came to me last night when you needed rest, let me take care of you, and went to sleep in my arms. You called in sick today to be with me. A week ago, you wouldn’t have done any of that, would you?”

Shaking her head, she laid her head back down on his chest. “No. I’ve never wanted to bend the rules until you.”

“Then stop resisting me now. Just for five minutes, stop talking. Stop worrying. Stop protecting. Just be with me.”