Page 22

22

PAMPERED AGENT

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Tripoli

H ands 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 of propriety. 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 individual hated the 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 evil he 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.

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’t know anything,” 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.

“Thanks. I’m good right now.” Careful not to spill the contents of her glass as she leaned back into his chest, she tipped her head to the side so that his cheek could rest alongside it.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he nuzzled behind her ear. “I’m here for whatever you need.”

The hand not holding the wine glass rested atop his arms at her waist and gave a gentle squeeze. “I know. I’m sorry if I was bitchy about all of this. I’m just used to taking care of myself. It’s hard to let others help. I really do appreciate it.”

Tripoli continued to kiss her neck. “Stop stressing about it, Francesca.”

“You do realize that when people tell individuals who are stressing out that they shouldn’t stress out, that doesn’t actually stop the stress or make anything better?”

“Yup. I think it’s a rule, though, maybe a law, that we have to say it anyway. However, I do think I know what might lessen the stress. For a while, at least.”

“Oh, you do, do you?” He heard the smile in her voice.

“Mm-hmm.” One of his hands grabbed the wine glass from her and finished the liquid that remained in the glass. Turning her in his arms, he resettled her so that the hand with the empty wine glass was banded around her waist. With his other hand, he released her hair from the elastic, putting it around his wrist for safekeeping, then palmed the back of her skull and pulled her mouth to his.

Her heeled boots put her at the perfect height to dip his mouth to hers, his tongue slipping out to swipe along her bottom lip. In reaction, her lips parted, permitting him entrance. He tasted the subtle notes of the wine along her tongue. Underneath that was a subtle flare of cinnamon from the breath mint she must have had. He continued to survey her mouth, sliding his tongue along hers, tilting her head to allow him to get closer, eliminating all space between them.

Her hands sat lightly at his waist, then slid around to meet at his lower back. With each gentle swipe of his tongue, they slid up his spine until he felt them pulling him tight to her. Then she was separating her mouth from his, tipping her head forward to rest against his chin.

“You okay?” he whispered.

“No. I mean, yes, I’m okay with you. Everything else?” She shrugged. “I just can’t shut my brain off.”

“I wish I could make all of this disappear for you. Knowing that you were taking leave from your job, I hope that means you would have been coming here to spend it with me. That you’d feel comfortable enough to do that. This sort of forced vacation in my space is not our preference. I’m not going to say I won’t take advantage of the situation, but I won’t push you.” His mouth next to her ear and his arms wrapped around her created a cocoon of intimacy that he never wanted to break. However, right now, she needed to feel as if someone needed nothing from her. She needed to be the focus and to be taken care of. “What would relax you? What would ease your pain? Something simple that I could make happen.”

From his vantage point of cheek-to-cheek contact, he felt her smile and knew that his attempt to ask what she needed versus an attempt to assume what she would like was well-received. “Truly? I just need to not think for a while. I want to just exist. Now that I’m not at the office, I don’t even want to decide what to have for dinner, let alone anything else.”

“Well. I can definitely make all of that happen. Here’s what I want you to do.” He kissed her cheek. “I want you to go into the kitchen and pour yourself another glass of wine to replace the one I so rudely finished for you.”

“Yes. Definitely rude,” she said with mock severity.

“Then I want you to meet me in the bathroom. I’m going to run you a hot bath. You’re going to have a long, hot soak, and I’m going to make sure you’re a boneless mass when it’s time to get out of the water. Afterward, I’m going to take you to bed and let you sleep while I get dinner ready. That way, when Cruz and Mickie get here, you’re nice and mellow and able to have a relaxing evening with two people who desperately want to add you to their friend circle. Go on, now.” He handed her the wine glass as he withdrew gently from her arms and headed off on his mission.

When she arrived in the doorway of the bathroom, wine in hand, he stood up from the bathtub and watched her as she stood in the center of the room, not moving, as if she was unsure what to do next. The lights were turned off, but the room was bathed with the flickering flames of about a dozen candles set up around the room, and portable speakers connected to his phone played soft music.

His movements were slow and deliberate, gauging each reaction she displayed.

The flaring of her pupils as she watched him loosen the knot of his tie, then unbutton the top two buttons of his dress shirt.

The twitch of her fingers at her sides as he walked toward her and came to a complete stop a mere foot out of reach as he completely undid his tie, the two ends hanging down from around his neck.

The shift of her weight from one foot to the other when he unbuckled his belt, pulled it free of the loops in one smooth motion, and tossed it to the counter.

The rabbitting pulse in her neck as he pulled his shirt free of his pants and began unbuttoning it, slowly revealing the tight white tank undershirt beneath it.

The lick of her lips as he pulled the shirt from his shoulders and tossed it, and the tie, to join his belt.

His hands reached for hers, took the wine glass, and set it on the vanity, then backed up slowly, steering her around the tub. He began to undress her by kneeling at her feet to unzipper and slide off her boots and socks and place them under the counter.

Rising to slip the mother-of-pearl buttons from their holes and peeling the silk blouse from her body.

Unbuttoning and unzipping her trousers before skimming them over her hips and letting them pool to the floor around her ankles.

Reaching around her to unhook the clasp of her pale-blue bra to draw the straps down her arms.

Curving his hands around her hips and sliding them underneath the matching panties and drawing them down her hips to join her pants on the floor.

“I feel like you and I are going to spend an awful lot of time in the bathroom. Cleanest couple in the country.”

He chuckled. “I like pampering you. Gives me an excuse to get you clean so I can get you dirty all over again.”

Tripoli did one last quick test of the water temperature before scooping her up into his arms and lowering her into the bubbles and water. Kneeling at her side outside of the tub, he made sure her hair flowed over the edge and the folded towel underneath her neck so that lying back against the tub wall was comfortable for her.

Still kneeling at the side of the tub, he leaned over to kiss her lips—a butterfly-wing brush of contact.

“Mmm… this is nice,” she whispered.

Tripoli brushed a few strands of her hair back from her forehead, and he saw the lights from the candles reflecting in her eyes. “Yes. It’s more than nice,” he agreed.

Reaching into the water, he found her arm and drew it up to the surface, laying it on the edge of the tub. He took the bar of soap into his hands, dipping it into the bathwater, and began to work up a lather between his hands. When he had enough soap to cover her skin, he set the bar aside and picked up her foot closest to him. Making sure to keep his movements slow and gentle, he kissed the top of her foot and the ankle and then left a string of soft, wet, open-mouth kisses all the way up her shin to just above her knee, and his soap-covered hands followed behind his mouth, massaging each and every muscle along the way.

“Lavender soap?”

“Mm-hmm.”

“A little girly for you, isn’t it?” she teased.

“Ryleigh ran a couple of errands for me today while we were at the office being questioned. Figured you might need it.”

When he reached her thigh, he held her leg loosely over the water with one hand, then cupped the other and drew handfuls of water repeatedly to rinse her off. Gently, he replaced her leg into the water, then picked up the soap and re-lathered his hands. He started the process again, this time with her hand and arm closest to him, kissing the pads of her fingers, the back of her hand, the palm, the inside of her wrist, and then leaving another line of kisses up her arm to the inside of her elbow and on to her shoulder. His hands followed, again massaging all of the muscles his lips touched, then proceeded to rinse the soap and bubbles from her arm.

Her left side pampered, he stood and crossed to the right side of the tub and repeated the process on the other side of her body. Every moment, she watched his face through heavy-lidded eyes, and he was thrilled she was allowing herself to enjoy every touch instead of protesting that she could do it herself or that he was spoiling her too much. Maybe he was finally getting through to her that not only did he see this as his responsibility, but that he enjoyed taking care of her.

When he settled her right arm back in the water, her eyes closed completely, and the smile on her face was now open and sensual.

“Francesca?”

“Hmm?”

He moved behind her head, still on his knees. From above, he brushed a kiss against her lips, then bumped her nose with his. “Just making sure you’re still with me,” he whispered.

“Oh yeah. I’m still here.”

“Good. Keep your eyes closed. Don’t open them unless I tell you to.”

He lathered up his hands again, then settled them on her shoulders. Caressing her skin as he went, each downward stroke went slightly lower, his fingertips brushing the top of her breasts, drawing lazy, loose circles from the outside edge of each globe to the valley between them. Soon, his fingertips dipped beneath the waterline and found her nipples already tightly budded from the movement of the water, occasionally exposing them to the air, then covering them again.

Cupping the undersides of her breasts, his thumbs brushed over her nipples as he gently massaged her soft flesh. His mouth was next to her ear, and he inhaled the scent of her and the lavender. “You’re so beautiful, Francesca. I wish you could see yourself right now. You’re like sex personified. Strong. Powerful.” He groaned. “I can barely keep myself from dragging you out of the water and, soaking wet or not, throwing you into my bed and fucking you senseless.”

“Mmm… what’s stopping you?” she drawled.

“I haven’t touched all of you yet,” he whispered.

Reluctantly, he let go of her breasts and leaned further forward. He rested his chin on her shoulder, his warm breath fanning across her skin, and his hands traveled down her sides to her waist, her hips, then across to the vee of her thighs. Fingers slid between the folds of her pussy, stroking the sensitive skin and stimulating blood flow. She moaned, and his dominant side began to growl inside his head.

Francesca shifted in the water as if she was trying to make his fingers go where she needed them to be. His left hand slid back up to her pelvis, and he applied gentle pressure to hold her hips in place. Meanwhile, his other hand stayed in place, his index finger searching out her clit, which was already extended past its hood. Just the first ghost of his touch brushing against it caused her to try and pump her hips up in the water. He smiled. There was no way she was going anywhere since his upper body and other arm were holding her down.

“No, no, stay still,” he whispered into her ear. The bubbles began to dissipate, and he could see his hands at work under the water. “Open your eyes, Francesca. Watch what I do to you. Watch how your body responds to me.”

Turning slightly to gaze at her profile, he watched as her eyes opened lazily, stuck at half-mast, and only then did he begin to apply pressure to her clit with his thumb while two fingers of his right hand slid into her pussy. Immediately, she let out a gasp, and he felt her hips involuntarily react to the invasion.

“Keep your eyes focused on my hands. Draw your knees up along the side of the bath, sweetheart.” She complied, her movements languid, as she stared at his hands between her legs. He licked the shell of her ear, then gently grazed it with his teeth. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let me in.”

The hand holding her hips in place slipped farther down so that his entire left hand was at the apex of her thighs. Despite having sex last night and this morning, she was still tight and trying to squeeze his fingers. He withdrew, then pressed back inside—slow, languid thrusts, perfectly in time with the movements of the fingers on his other hand gently rubbing circles over and around her hard little button.

Her breathing began to speed up, and the panting started to take on a desperate edge to it. She tried to buck her hips again for more friction, but he refused to let her get away with that. “Stop moving, Francesca. Relax. I’ll get you there.”

“Ethan,” she whimpered. “Please.”

“Easy, sweetheart. Goddamn, you’re so fucking sexy. It’s going to feel so good when your cunt squeezes my fingers so tight, just like it squeezed my cock last night. I love when you shatter into a million pieces, no matter how it happens, because then I get to put you back together before doing it all over again.”

Francesca mewled in frustration, and he had to admit that when he started this, he had no idea just how erotic it would be. Not just for her but for him as well. Based on his body’s current reaction, he knew he was going to come just from watching her explode. He thanked every deity possible that he was wearing dress pants because it felt like his dick would be dead from the pressure of being contained if he’d worn denim.

“You ready, Francesca? You ready to fly?”

“Yesss,” she hissed. “Make me come, Ethan. I need it.”

“Hold onto the edge of the tub,” he told her.

She grasped the edge, and her knuckles went white with the pressure. He slid a third finger into her tight channel, then curved them upward to drag across her top wall, concentrating on her body’s responses. His pumping fingers sped up, dragging harder inside her, and suddenly, he felt her tighten as he stroked a long line from deep inside her channel to just inside her opening.

Now that he’d found the right place, the right pressure, he increased his efforts. Water sloshed out of the tub onto the floor, soaking his pants as it came over the edge, but Francesca was going to come so hard, nothing else mattered.

“Fuck, Francesca, that’s it. Give it to me!”

There was a moment of silence except for the sloshing water, and suddenly, her entire body curled up in on itself as her orgasm detonated. The scream that came from inside her was like she’d held in every sound from every other orgasm in her life, and now she was letting it go for him.

“That’s it, Francesca. Don’t stop coming, baby.” His one hand kept pumping, the other continued to put pressure on her clit, and he pulled her to the back of the tub while pushing himself tight to the outside wall. The front of his undershirt became soaked through from her wet skin that he held firmly to his chest, and as soon as there was pressure on his cock, his release followed, soaking through his pants. Separated from her body by the bathtub wall, the pressure he placed against the ceramic of the bathtub and the rubbing of his clothing against his skin in time with the spasms of her body were both the best and worst feelings. He hoped that his actions didn’t permanently bruise his dick, but lost in this moment with her, he couldn’t stop himself.

Francesca began to gasp and started to sound as if his touch was becoming uncomfortable, so he began to ease back on his strokes. Ever so gently, he slid his fingers completely out of her pussy and off her clit. One arm came up to tighten around her shoulders as he held her boneless body up from sliding completely under the water, and they stayed like that until both of them were breathing normally again.

He pressed kisses to her hairline, damp from the warmth of the room and her sweat. His tongue flicked out to taste her salty skin, and it was the best thing he had ever tasted. Francesca. Well-fucked. Sated.

He’d never get enough.