"Fuckin' A," Michael cursed, climbing to his feet. "I'll do it."
"Not a word," Jason reminded him.
"Yeah, on it."
The door closed behind him.
Jason waited a full ten count before picking up the phone to dial Tristan's number. He knew before he dialed that calling wasn't going to make a bit of difference, but he had to try anyway.
Christ, he felt like he juggled wildfire in the palms of his hands.
"Hello?" Tristan answered on the third ring, his voice strained.
"Debriefing in the office at two. Davis says he's yanking you from the case if you aren't here," Jason said without preamble.
"Fuck Davis," Tristan snorted derisively.
"Tristan, don't do this."
"Not your choice."
"Did you even tell her you're still planning to do this?" he demanded.
"She doesn't need to know. She'll be leaving the city today anyway. I've already made arrangements to have her moved."
"She doesn't need to know that you're going to get yourself killed?" Jason laughed in disbelief. "You aren't that stupid, man. What are we supposed to tell her when you don't come out alive? That we're fucking sorry? That she shouldn't blame herself? Did that ever work for you, Tristan? Did it make you sleep better at night?"
"Don't go there right now, Jase," he warned.
"Why not? Your parents are dead, T. She's not, and neither are you. Don't put her through what you went through because you can't let this go and let us do our fucking jobs. She deserves better than that and you know it!"
"She's deserved better from the beginning, Jason. You realize they would have killed her last night because of us? Because we put her in that position? And I'm supposed to walk away and hope they don't bolt while you get the paperwork in order? You know I can't do that."
Wasn't that the crux of the problem?
He did know that, but he'd been hoping for a different answer anyway.
"Give me time to do this the right way, T."
"They aren't going to wait around for you to get your ducks in a row and kiss the judge's ass. We both know they aren't."
Jason didn't argue. There wasn't a point. Nothing he said would rein Tristan in now, and he didn't have time to keep trying. "Be here at two," he demanded, massaging his temples. "Don't make me coming looking for you."
"Yeah. I'll be there." The line disconnected.
"Dammit," Jason swore and slammed the phone down, really fucking hoping Tristan did show up. He wasn't banking on it though. They had to move faster. "Janet?" He pressed the intercom button and waited for her tired answer. "Can you track down Davis for me, please? I need him in here now."
Tristan tossed his cell on the kitchen table and strode through the penthouse to the bedroom. Lillian sprawled across the bed on her stomach, the dark sheet barely covering her hips. She still slept deeply. He slipped into the bed beside her and reached out, trailing his fingertips down her back.
"Mm," she sighed in her sleep. "Love you."
"I love you, too," he said before tucking the sheet around her more fully and settling back against the headboard. For a long while, he sat there beside her, trying not to think much about anything. It felt as if lifetimes had passed since she'd gone to sleep. In reality, it'd been only two short hours. Funny how so little time could change so much.
Daniel Maddox, her father, was on his way. In a matter of hours, he'd be here and she'd be gone. Tristan had no clue how he was supposed to let her go, but he had to. He had something to do today, and she didn't need to be here when he did it. Sending her home with her father was the only option. If she stayed, if she asked him to stay, he wouldn't be able to tell her no.
He couldn't take that risk.
"I'm sorry," he whispered his apology, brushing her hair away from her face. "Don't hate me for this."
"Love you," she mumbled.
He closed his eyes, savoring that sweet little vow.
Lillian awoke with a jolt, her hand automatically patting its way across the bed in search of Tristan. Her eyes weren't even open yet.
"I'm right here, beautiful."
The bed shifted half an instant before his arms enfolded her.
She sighed softly and snuggled into him, instantly relieved. "I thought you'd left."
He hugged her tighter, but didn't say anything.
"What time is it?" She forced her eyes open and was met with the sight of his bare chest. Definitely one of her favorite things to wake up to. She pressed her lips to the inked skin above his heart, over the tattoo he'd gotten to memorialize his parents.
His lips brushed across her hair in response. "It's almost noon."
"Oh." She'd only been asleep a little over four hours then. It felt longer. She yawned and stretched in his arms. The muscles in her leg locked painfully tight in protest of the movement, turning her yawn into a pained moan.
"Roll over," he said, pushing with gentle fingers against her hip.
"I'm fine, Tristan. A little sore." She risked a glance up at him as she said it and nearly sighed in relief to find a calm expression on his face. She'd been worried, terrified actually, that she'd wake up and find him like he had been last night. Or worse, wake up and find that he'd left. The thought of either made her heart dive toward her stomach.
"Roll over," he urged again, ignoring her platitudes.
She grumbled gracelessly, but did as he demanded.
"Lift your head."
She raised her head and allowed him to sweep her hair out from beneath her before settling onto her back. He rose up on his knees beside her and began to massage her thigh. The tightness in the muscle made it ache when he kneaded, but more in that painfully pleasurable way than anything else. She settled back with an appreciative moan and let him have at it.
For long moments, neither spoke.
Lillian simply wasn't sure what to say. The situation felt blunted today, as if last night had been another lifetime. She didn't really relish bringing it rearing back to the surface. Instead, she watched him as he concentrated on her leg. His brows were furrowed, his eyes shadowed as if he hadn't slept. He hadn't shaved either, his jaw sharp beneath the stubble.
Her hand landed on his jaw half a second after she realized her palm actually twitched to feel his scruff scratching her skin. He jumped, his eyes darting toward her face.
"I like you scruffy," she admitted, stroking his jaw.
He pressed a kiss to her palm before his eyes raked down her body. They hesitated on her arm for a minute, his expression tightening even as his hand on her leg floundered.
"I'm fine," she said, feeling the sudden urge to cover the bruises so he couldn't see them. They were worse in the light of day; angry red and dark purple blotches in the shape of fingerprints right above her elbow. Looking at them pissed her off.
She scowled down at them, wanting nothing more right that second than to have the night to do over. She'd take her gun this time and Malachi wouldn't lay a hand on her. Tristan wouldn't fall apart. None of it would have happened as it had. Having a second chance to shoot the bastard would have been worth going through it a second time.
"He's claiming that he did it on his own. He says he wanted–" Tristan cleared his throat abruptly and fell silent, something dark and volatile flickering through his eyes.
"Wanted what?" she asked. Her eyes landed on his leg, encased in jeans. She frowned. "Did you sleep at all?"
"Yeah. A bit." He wouldn't look at her.
"Tristan."
He resumed kneading the muscles in her leg, ignoring her warning tone. "He wanted you. He said he was a fan and noticed you in the club. He claimed he hired the redhead to lure you outside so he could take you somewhere private." His flat tone left no doubt about what else Malachi had said.
Lillian struggled into a sitting position. "Do you think he was telling the truth?" she asked, pulling the blankets up around her, not wanting to be nude for this conversation. The reality of the situation was still too
close, maybe. She wasn't sure, but having this conversation while sprawled naked across the bed made her feel vulnerable in a way that she'd never felt when it was just her and Tristan, no matter what they discussed.
"No." He shook his head as he repositioned himself across from her. Raking a hand through his hair, he glanced up at the ceiling. "I think he lied through his teeth to keep everyone else out of it."
"Why?" she asked. "I mean…." She shook her head, unsure how to put into words how she felt, when his eyes fell to her face.
"Why would he confess to wanting to rape you to keep them out of it?" he asked bluntly and then grimaced when she cringed away from the word. "Fuck, beautiful." He reached out to stroke her cheek in apology. "I shouldn't have said that."
"It's fine," she lied, nuzzling into his touch.
He arched a brow at her as if he knew she lied, but he didn't press the issue. He merely grimaced. "I honestly don't know why. There could be a thousand reasons why he'd do it. Anton Vetrov, bastard that he is, is smart. You saw the file."
It wasn't a question, but she nodded anyway. She had seen the file. She'd nearly memorized that damn file, fat lot of good it had done her. Seeing a list of charges and suspicions on paper and actually understanding what it meant were two vastly different things. She'd learned that intimately last night.
"Four years ago, Hannah Ramone stabbed her boyfriend six times and claimed she thought he was an intruder. No one believed it, the boyfriend included, but Anton sent Paulo to have a talk with him and he miraculously changed his story. She walked away without a single charge." Tristan snorted in disgust as he recounted what she'd already read in the file. "Anton and Paulo pay well, Lillian, and they make damn sure they own the people they let into their inner circle. There's no telling what they have on someone like Malachi. He's a twisted fuck and he always has been. It'll be easier for him to take the fall for this than risk incurring their wrath."
"Going to prison is the better of the two choices here?" Even after all she'd learned about the type of people Vetrov hired, she still found that hard to believe.
"You didn't see Emma, beautiful. I did." His eyes closed and then popped them open again as if he didn't like what he found behind closed lids. Remembering what he'd told her, she figured he probably didn't. He'd seen so much in his life. She couldn't even imagine living with those horrible images and memories haunting her as they did him.
"Trust me when I say prison is the better of the two choices for him. And with Francisco involved, at least this way he gets a chance at parole. Kalani and Randall didn't even get that, and Vetrov supposedly cared for both of them." He snorted. "Emma certainly didn't get that chance."
She reached out for his hand, wanting him closer. He gave in willingly, wrapping his fingers around hers and holding tight. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I wish…I wish you didn't have to see her either."
"I know you do, but it is what it is. Neither of us can change it now." He sounded like he still wished that were different. "There's a lot we can't change now."
She understood. There's a lot she would have done exactly the same way given a second chance, everything about him, for instance, but some of it—like Emma—didn't make that list. If she could go back and tell the girl to get out, not bump into her at all…anything would have been better than the girl dying for no real reason.
"Do you think she really told them about me?" she asked.
He blew out a breath. "I don't know, beautiful."
She didn't either. She wasn't sure she wanted to know how they'd found out about her and her past. Whether Emma had been beaten into revealing what she knew or they'd found out some other way, it all amounted to the same thing.
"What happens next?" she asked, trying to fill the silence.
"I'm supposed to meet Jase at the office at two for a debriefing. Davis demanded I come in."
"No, I mean what do we do from here? Malachi won't get out of jail, will he?" She couldn't hide the tremor in her voice at the thought that he might, which was ridiculous. She couldn't exactly go home even if he did remain locked up. Still though, she couldn't pretend Malachi didn't frighten her, because he did. She'd never felt as helpless as she had last night. She wanted him behind bars and guarded by cops with guns until he went to prison.
That wasn't too much to ask for, was it?
"He's not getting out of jail, beautiful," Tristan promised her. "And next, we gather enough evidence to ensure they're all charged with enough felonies to send them away for a long time. They aren't walking away from this."
Lillian swallowed. "I don't want you to go after them, Tristan."
He didn't say anything. Not one word. He still looked calm.
She hurried on to explain her position anyway, figuring an argument was imminent. "If Malachi really did tell the truth…." She faltered, unable to complete the thought, let alone the sentence. Tristan's hand tightened around hers, offering comfort and strength. She took a deep breath and then let it out. "Am I wrong for hoping that he lied?" she asked in a small voice, feeling horrible for even thinking it when his lie had already caused so much trouble.
Tristan reached out and plucked her from the bed, settling her in his lap. His arms engulfed her, holding her close to his heart. "I've been praying to God since the minute Jason told me what he had to say that he made it up. It's fucked up, but Christ." He buried is face in her hair and inhaled deeply. "I can't even think about…if he did anything…" Tension broke through the calm, radiating from him as if the thought really were as painful as he said.
That made her feel better. Like she wasn't a monster for hoping Malachi really had been lying about what he wanted from her. She didn't even want to think about what it meant for her if he hadn't. Given the choice between death and an hour alone with him, she would have chosen death every single time. She laid her head on Tristan's chest, listening to his heart beat a steady rhythm beneath her ear.
"Thank you," she finally said.
"For what?" He sounded surprised.
"For not hating me. For not blaming me. For not leaving me." Her voice quivered on the last words, a memory of the morning sweeping through her. She'd never hurt so badly before. Not even losing the ability to dance had hurt as much as it had when he'd tried to push her away, tried to make himself say that he didn't want her, didn't love her. "I know I messed up last night, but I wanted to help you."
"Beautiful, I think…."
Whatever he intended to say died on his lips as the doorbell chimed.
"Shit," he cursed, his arms tensing around her.
"What's wrong?" she asked, instantly on alert.
He didn't say anything.
"Tristan?"
"I need you to promise me something." He turned her around in his lap until he could look her in the eyes. The way he said it, the way he stared at her, made her stomach sink. Whatever he wanted wouldn't be something she wanted to give him.
"What–"
"Just listen," he urged her, his blue eyes boring into hers as the doorbell rang twice more in quick succession.
She nodded reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to cover her ears like a small child to keep from hearing what he had to say. She wanted to bury her head in the covers and go back to sleep.
"I want you to promise me that you won't fight me on this, Lillian."
"Tristan, no." She shook her head back and forth in his hands as soon as he said it, already knowing what he wanted from her. "No, I'm not leaving." She couldn't promise him that. She wouldn't.
The doorbell rang again.
"Beautiful, you have to go." His expression turned stony, implacable. "I can't let you stay here. You know I can't do that after last night. You have to go."
"No." She scrambled awkwardly off of his lap, putting distance between them so she could think, process…not strangle him for this. "This morning you apologized over and over for trying to send me away, and now you're doing it anyway?"
He cringed as she flung that heated remind
er at him, but he didn't back down. "I can't let you stay, you know that."
She stared at him, trying to absorb the words. The truth hit her like a ton of bricks. The way he'd held her, the way he'd made love to her, and the things he'd said. He'd never intended to let her stay. The feeling that they'd get through this together vanished like a puff of smoke on the wind at that realization. She'd assumed he'd changed his mind, but he'd never said the words. Not once had he promised to keep her here with him.
God, she'd been so stupid!
"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice raw. She felt numb, even the ache in her leg muted.
"You know why." He swallowed hard. "It's safer for you if you aren't here."
His answer sent fury quaking through her numb parts. "No. You don't get to send me away, Tristan. You don't get to decide for me what's best for me. It doesn't work that way!"
"You think I want this?" he asked, his eyes full of sadness. "I don't, beautiful. I want you here so fucking much it's going to kill me to watch you walk out that door."
"Then don't make me do it."
"I have to."
"You don't."
His expression was set in hard lines, his determination to send her away obvious.
She did the only thing she knew to do to get him to change his mind.
She begged.
"Please, don't do this, Tristan. Please."
"It's too late, beautiful." He reached out to cup her cheek in his hand even as he broke her heart.
She leaned away, refusing to let him touch her. She couldn't. His hands on her now…. She was always weak where he was concerned. She always caved, backed down, let him win when his hands were on her, and she didn't want him to win this time. God help her, she wasn't sure she could survive letting him win this time. "Don't do this," she pleaded.
"It's already done, Lillian." He didn't even react to her moving away from him. He merely dropped his hand, his expression closed off from her.
"What?" She blinked at him. "What do you mean it's already done? It's not done, dammit. I'm still here! We can still–" She couldn't seem to stop trying to convince him. She didn't want to stop trying to convince him.
Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) Page 23