16. Two Omissions and a Lie
16
TWO OMISSIONS AND A LIE
Francesca
C areful to follow Tripoli’s instructions, Francesca slept the first day, worked from the sofa the second day, and then at the dining room table on the third day. She was never allowed to work more than two hours at a time, at which time he got her up walking around, resting, or doing anything but work. When he caught her trying to avoid taking the pain medicine every six hours, he handed her two over-the-counter painkillers and a glass of water, which he stood and watched her drink. She ate three times a day—a full breakfast, a light lunch, and a full dinner. After eight hours of work, she was required to put it all away and go to the sofa or the bed, even if she didn’t sleep. Through it all, Tripoli was there to take care of her. He didn’t even leave to go get her clothes, instead sending Tilly and Triumph to get them.
Francesca worked the case but found it was altogether too easy to put out of her mind that she shouldn’t be staying in Tripoli’s residence. It felt like they were a couple, and she quickly grew to enjoy it. He seemed to know when she needed or wanted to talk and when she was in pain or needed rest, and for once, her nights were quiet and restful as she lay next to him in the bed. In short, it was perfect.
And while she quietly worked the current murder case, her laptop continued to search for information in the background on the Dallas case.
She should have known the peace was too good to last. On day four, Francesca was dressing in her work clothes, ready to head to Tripoli’s office to go over the autopsy reports for Mila and Jessa one more time, when an alarm sounded in the flat. A shared look between them had Francesca grabbing her gun, and both of them moved into the elevator.
Tripoli called Cosmos on his phone. “What’s going on?”
The man’s voice was shaky over the speaker. “Trip… I already called an ambulance, but… is Francesca still here?”
The couple shared another look. Without looking away from her, Tripoli replied, “Yeah, where should we report to?”
“The magic room. Trip—” The bodyguard’s voice cracked. “Where’s Triumph?”
“Haven’t seen him since yesterday when he brought Francesca’s clothes from the hotel. Why?”
“He can’t come in here. He can’t see this.”
“Tilly?” Francesca whispered.
The silence on the other end of the phone was all the answer they needed. “I’ll bring Francesca down, and then I’ll run interference on Triumph. Where’s Michael?”
“Not here. I was going to ask you because I haven’t seen him in days.”
“All right. We’re almost there.” Tripoli disconnected, then put the corner of the phone to his forehead. “Fuck,” he murmured. “I brought her here to keep her safe.”
Francesca took hold of his hand. “You did the right thing, Ethan. You couldn’t have known. The odds of this happening…” She swallowed. “The odds are greater than being struck by lightning. You can’t blame yourself.”
He pocketed his phone. “Oh, but I do.” When the elevator doors opened at the club level, he strode with purpose through the maze. He didn’t drop her hand, but she could tell he didn’t really realize he was holding it.
When they arrived at the magic room, she sucked in her breath, feeling dizzy. “No! Oh god, no. Tilly! She had to be petrified.” The anguish she felt squeezed her heart so hard it forcibly bent her over, hands on her knees. It was everything she could do to suck in air to her constricted lungs.
Tripoli dropped her hand and stepped forward to the large black box standing at center stage, a dozen swords sticking through the slots for the magician act. Picking her head up, still bent over, Francesca watched him walk up to the door of the box, a few feet back, his body so tense and straight she thought he might explode.
As she fumbled for her phone in her pocket, Cosmos stared Tripoli down. “You don’t need to see this either, Trip.”
Tripoli’s head bobbed up and down. “Yes. Yes, I do. I was responsible for her being here. Open it.”
Cosmos opened the door to reveal Tilly inside the box, the swords that had been shoved through the box penetrating into her body. There was a strong scent of bleach and citrus.
Her voice as she made the call sounded as if it were coming down a long tunnel. “Cruz, I’m at Elysium. There’s another body. It’s Matilda Moll.”
Tripoli stood so still he looked like a statue at a wax museum. Even though not a single muscle moved, there was a vibration in the room she clearly felt. Slowly, she began to approach him, but Cosmos suddenly threw up a hand, a violent shake of his head. He made a gesture that she should approach from the side rather than the front. With a questioning look in her eyes to the head of security, he mouthed, “Flashback.” A second glance at Tripoli’s face showed a blankness in his eyes. It was the first time she had ever witnessed him so distant.
“Tripoli,” she said quietly. He didn’t even flinch. “Ethan!” she said a little louder.
His head snapped in her direction. The pain there was excruciating, even to her. She raised her hand, extending it toward him slowly. He flinched just before she touched him, and she pulled her hand back. “You need to go find Triumph. You can’t be here. Cruz is on his way. Go.”
Jaw grinding, his eyes welled with tears. “Did the bastard know?” he ground out. “Tell me the odds that he didn’t know she’d been kept in a box, and this is a horrific coincidence.”
“I don’t know, Tripoli. Please. Go. Find Triumph.”
He took one last look at Tilly, pierced by the swords. “I’m so sorry, Tilly,” he whispered. “So, so sorry.”
With his apology finished, she watched his Raider mask slip back in place. He must have been one hell of a soldier because he looked dangerous now. No trace of his trademark smirk, no sparkle in his blue eyes. With a nod to Cosmos, who gave him a chin lift in return, Tripoli turned on his heel and went to find their resident technology expert. Francesca did not envy what duties would come to him now. Notifying her roommate and caretaker, her parents, and their staff. The latter had already been reeling from Jessa, but Tilly was well-loved and protected by everyone. This might kill Elysium for good.
Cosmos closed the door on Tilly’s form and removed the latex gloves he’d put on to open the coffin door. “I was doing a walk-through to double-check the extra cameras I posted. Saw the spotlight on and thought maybe Triumph was working on something for the magic show. I called out to him, but he didn’t answer over the intercom, so I headed to the source. I found the box here, and it was definitely not here yesterday when I installed the camera behind you.”
“I’ll need the footage.”
“You’ll have it.”
He stepped up to her, handing her the gloves he’d taken off and turned inside out. “I’ll go wait for Livingston and whomever at the door.” He walked past her but stopped in the archway leading into the room. Over his shoulder, his voice cracked as he said, “Find this fucker, Francesca. My Tilly-girl deserves better.”
She knew her eyes had to be wide in surprise. Tilly and Cosmos had been on a temporary contract at The Library two years ago when she’d been taken. Cosmos had been out of the country at the time, and the reports Francesca had later looked up noted that Tilly had terminated the contract. Hardly surprising that a relationship of any sort with any man wouldn’t be desirable at that point. Obviously, he was still fond of the woman.
With another look at the black box in front of her, the gruesome visual burned into her brain, Francesca made her oath. “We’ll find who did this, Tilly. I promise.”
When Cruz arrived with Calder on his heels, Francesca was in the process of sketching the room in her notebook. They stopped abruptly just inside the archway and stared at the box, the swords still lodged in the slots. “Fuck,” one of them whispered. She thought it was Cruz because Calder walked slowly up to the box and circled it.
“This is new,” Calder murmured. “Matilda Moll is inside?”
Not trusting her voice, Francesca nodded.
Cruz came to stand beside her, a hand on her shoulder. “You okay, Frankie?”
“Brings a lot back.” She sighed. “I’ll be okay.”
“I’ve seen a lot of shit, but this…?” Cruz couldn’t even finish the thought.
Calder looked with sympathy at Francesca. “You got what you need?”
“Yeah. Panama can take her pictures.”
Cruz led Francesca to the far edge of the room. “You and Tilly. Two years ago, you were kept in coffins after you were captured.”
She shrugged. “For all intents and purposes. Boxes like this. Tight fit. I was a mistake—wrong place, wrong time. Later, he used me as a distraction the night he took Sylvan Jones. Left me drugged in the parking lot so that everyone’s attention was redirected. Tilly though. She was in the box for a while. The result was taphophobia.” At Cruz’s blank look, she said, “Afraid of being buried alive. All of us had degrees of it afterward. The longer we were kept, the worse it was. I don’t think the first girl has ever recovered.” Her chest hurt with the effort it took to take a full breath. “This would have been a terrifying experience for Tilly,” she confessed.
Panama, the assigned CSI, took her external photos of the box. Then they opened the box to view Tilly. When the box opened, Panama had to excuse herself for a minute. Even Cruz gasped lightly. Calder froze, then managed to make himself take photos in Panama’s absence. When Francesca was able to collect herself again, she began her sketches. Panama returned and took over for Calder, who began readying his evidence collection materials. With internal photos taken, the four of them carefully lowered the box to the floor so that Panama and Calder could extract the swords from Tilly and the box before bagging the evidence. Once finished, Panama immediately took them and the cameras back to the morgue to begin that portion of the processing.
Calder looked up from his crouched position where he was swabbing the slats the swords had been stuck through. “Similar patterns to Mila and Jessa. Blood loss, but I’m betting we find that she also has been drugged.”
“It sounds awful, but I sincerely hope so.” She had a thought. “If she has similar levels of drugs in her system, would she have been conscious enough to yell or scream?”
“I don’t know,” the medical examiner admitted. “Possibly? Drugs affect everyone differently. Tolerance affects people’s capability to respond, as do height and weight, stomach contents, and any other medications in their systems. It’s really too difficult to answer that with any surety. When I get the toxicology report, I can make educated guesses based on precedent in other cases, but that’s all they’ll be. Guesses.”
“You thinking she was killed somewhere else and brought here?” Cruz asked.
Sucking her lip into her mouth, she stepped closer to Tilly, who still lay in the illusionist’s box. “Yes.” Even to her, the words sounded hesitant.
“That doesn’t sound like you’re convinced.”
“Well, it’s the same thing as Mila. Time was limited. Cosmos did a walk-through last night before he left, which was around two a.m. When the alarm went off, we headed into the elevator. I think it was around seven-ish. I’d have to check Tripoli’s phone.”
Cruz and Calder gave her blank looks. “Sooo… you know Cosmos was wandering around at two a.m., and you and Evans were heading to the elevator at seven a.m.?” Calder asked.
Inside her head, Francesca cursed her stupid mouth. “Not really pertinent or appropriate right now.”
“Oh, we’ll be coming back to that later,” Cruz promised. “Okay, so roughly five hours to work with. Thirty minutes on either side to be sure no one else is roaming around, which cuts us down to four. Rearranging the stage, Tilly, doing the sword work.” He grimaced. “I smell our infamous bleach and oranges again. The spotlight needed to be turned on. Another hour to ninety minutes. Clean up… Tight.”
Calder moved to the next slat. “Ballsy. But if she was already dead, that part is out of the equation.”
“Still, it’s dead weight to move around, security cameras to strip and reprogram.” Cruz turned to Francesca. “Where was the roommate?”
“No idea. Tripoli was hanging out to head him off at the pass, so to speak, but I never heard if he showed up or not.”
“All right. We’ll need to establish alibis for Cosmos, Triumph, and Michael.”
Francesca winced.
“Something you know, Francesca?”
“Know? I don’t know anything about Michael.”
“Then why that look on your face?”
“Just uncomfortable hearing his name.”
Cruz stared her down. “Uh-huh.” Clearly, he didn’t believe her. “Go question the duo. I’ll handle Murphy after I’m done here with Calder. Check in with me when you’re done, and we’ll meet up and compare notes at the office.”
The conference room table at the FBI headquarters was covered from head to foot with folders, papers, photographs, and dinner takeout containers. Cruz had stopped to pick up dinner on his way from Elysium to the FBI offices and was currently on the phone to Mickie, letting her know he wouldn’t be making it home anytime soon. When he disconnected the call, it was with a sigh as he opened the box to his dinner from Macaws I Said So . There was a grumpy frown on his face as he studied the box’s contents.
“Tonight was supposed to be steak night,” he complained.
“If you want to go, Cruz, you can,” Francesca said. “We’re stuck right now until Calder has a report for us anyway.”
With a grunt, he leaned back in his chair, pulled at his tie to loosen the knot around his neck, and scrubbed his face with his hands. “What? And leave you here to consume this fine dining alone?” He sighed again. “It’s fine. I mean, it’s not. Much as I love Macaws’ food, I obviously would prefer to go home to Mickie, my grill, and a beer, but things are too…”
“Unsettled?” Francesca suggested.
“I was going to say ‘clusterfucked,’ but yeah, that too. How are we doing on the whereabouts of our principals?” he asked tiredly.
Half-eaten cheeseburger in one hand, Francesca searched under a pile of papers for her ever-present notebook. She doubted she needed it, but in case Cruz asked her an oddball question she’d need to reference, the sight of her clean, crisp notes and drawings was comforting. Taking another absent-minded bite of her burger, she scanned through her first page of notes on Tilly’s murder.
Behind her hand and around the bite of food, she summarized her notes. “Triumph says he was at home. He wasn’t even aware that Tilly was missing until Tripoli called him this morning. He left here last night with Cosmos at two-oh-six, according to video surveillance, and this morning, he slept in for the first time in forever. Betting he barely sleeps ever again, let alone late.”
“Yeah. That guilt is going to eat him up for a while,” Cruz said. “So he’s his only alibi. Were he and Tilly actually an item?”
She shook her head as she swallowed her food. “Nope. While he was devastated, as we suspected, he struck me as being more like a parent or much older sibling wracked with grief. Search of their place showed they had separate bedrooms, separate bathrooms. None of their stuff seemed intermingled anywhere in the apartment, including the kitchen. There was one odd thing.”
“What’s that?” Cruz grabbed a cold french fry and shoved it in his mouth.
“Before you arrived this morning, when Cosmos left the room, he made mention of making sure we find the murderer because ‘My Tilly-girl deserves better.’”
Feeding another french fry into his mouth, Cruz turned his head to the notes on the whiteboard. “That’s right. They were an item two years ago, weren’t they?”
“Back in their days at The Library, they were on a short-term contract.”
“Explain, please.”
“You need to read more,” Francesca grumbled. She put down her burger, wiped her hand on her napkin, and picked up her soda to take a drink. “BDSM clubs often use contracts between couples to outline the terms of their relationship as part of the consensual piece of their motto—Safe, Sane, Consensual. It will have a time length, hard and soft limits, schedules, expectations of exclusivity… basically an outline of how they want the relationship to go. Haven’t you ever heard the basics of Fifty Shades of Grey? ”
Cruz gave her a look of disgust. “Yes, I’ve heard of it, and don’t take that sassy tone with me, or I’ll paddle your ass.”
Rolling her eyes and giving a laugh that sounded like more of a snort than a chuckle, she threw a ketchup packet at him. “Then why are you asking me to explain?”
“I heard you were an expert in this BDSM stuff and just wanted to see if you’d actually say anything specific out loud. I’m very disappointed in you.” He threw the packet back at her.
“Why in the world does everyone think that?” she pondered. “One undercover job does not make one an expert.”
“Mostly, I think everyone just wants to envision you in sub gear.”
“Oh, for God’s sake… What do you people think I was wearing?”
“Leather and chain ensemble?” Cruz teased.
“Yeah, no. Wore what I’d wear to any other nightclub.”
“Which is what? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a dress, let alone heard of you going to a nightclub for fun.”
“Anyway.” She emphasized each syllable. “Since all of the clubs are intertwined in the computer records here, I confirmed that the relationship was contracted for six months. They were in month four of the contract when Cosmos had a security gig in Europe for some minor royal family in a country whose name I cannot pronounce. He was supposed to be gone two weeks. Tilly was taken about a week into the gig?” She consulted her notes. “Five days in,” she corrected.
“No deets on the outfit. Deflection. Got it. I’ll just keep imagining leather and chains.”
“Jiminy Cricket! Dresses with short skirts, heels. Happy now?”
“I’ll be happier when I see pictures of said outfit. How did he respond to her being abducted?”
“Giving me freakin’ whiplash,” she mumbled. “He flew home within a couple of hours of receiving the news. Offered his company’s investigative resources to help supplement the FBI. Seemed pretty distraught, according to the agent in charge. They were exclusive, according to the contract, but he was honest when he said he hadn’t been intending to extend the contract at the current one’s end. Tilly was young, Cosmos was thirty-eight, so he felt like it wasn’t a good match. She was some sort of internet influencer and too public for him to engage with beyond the NDAs of the club.”
“Does he have an alibi?”
“No. Same as Triumph. Left at the same time, went home, went to bed, only he came back early this morning to check the video feeds on the new cameras they installed yesterday.”
“But both men are in the clear for Mila and Jessa?”
“Yes and no. Tilly was Triumph’s alibi for both murders—they were at home together both nights. Saw no one outside of each other. Cosmos was verified in Chicago for Mila’s murder, but he was on his own at his local apartment the night and morning of Jessa’s murder. Supposedly, he was with a couple of friends from out of town, but they left to go back home the next day. He said they were likely ‘on a project out of the country and would be unreachable for the foreseeable future to verify that information,’” she read from her notes.
“What the hell does that mean?” Cruz asked around a mouthful of his sandwich.
“I think he’s talking about an old friend from The Library and his co-worker. The friend is named Lobo. I don’t know exactly what he does, but he’s huge, grumpy as fuck, and looks like he could stop your heart by shooting you with a rubber band.”
“Not kill you with a napkin?” Cruz teased.
She chuckled. “Too cliché. I’m guessing he’s former military turned private security? Cosmos refused to give me any information on him.” Cautiously, Francesca schooled as much emotion out of her voice as possible. She knew he was going to ask about Tripoli’s alibi, and she really didn’t want to answer that question. Picking up her burger, she concentrated one hundred percent on what it looked like as she beat him to his obvious question for her. “You never said. What did you find out about Michael?”
Silence. She continued to chew, contemplating the meat, cheese, pickles, and bun as if they were the most interesting content in the room.
He allowed her to take two more bites, including chewing and swallowing, before he replied. “Avoiding the elephant in the room? Okay. I’ll allow it. For ten seconds because that’s all it will take. No Michael.”
Her head popped up, a confused expression on her face. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, Michael is missing. We can’t find him.”
“That’s impossible.”
“It should be,” Cruz admitted, “but his cell phone is off, he hasn’t used any of his credit cards, hasn’t touched his bank account, and the last time anyone saw him was around four thirty on Wednesday when he told Cosmos he ‘had something to do’ and took off. Security cameras confirm his exit from the building to his car.”
“Track his GPS.”
“Need a warrant for that, but… don’t really need it. His car is at his apartment building. Both his apartment and his car are locked up tight, no signs of distress, and nobody home. Manager let me in when I explained we were concerned as a friend had died, and we were worried about him.”
“That doesn’t even work for me, and I’m pretty,” she griped.
“Guess I’m prettier.”
Another snort from Francesca let him know exactly what she thought of that comment.
“Sooo… what’s the elephant’s alibi?”
Francesca set the last few bites of her burger back into the container, wiped her mouth and hands with her napkin, set the napkin inside the box, and closed it. Appetite now completely gone, she shoved the box toward the center of the table. She looked up at Cruz. “Let’s take a walk.”
He frowned. “Does this have to do with why you’ve been favoring your right side today?”
She knew her injury wouldn’t slide past him. She should have just owned up to it at the first opportunity. “It’s stuffy in here,” she added.
Realizing she didn’t want to answer either question inside the FBI offices, he nodded. Throwing out their food containers on their way out the door, the two agents exited the building and walked two blocks to a nearby dog park. They leaned on the fencing, watching the dogs run around inside the paddock. “The long version gets me taken off this case. The short version is probably just as bad. Which one do you want?”
“Let’s start with the short version,” he said.
Her eyes were glued to a Jack Russell terrier trying to terrorize a greyhound. The larger dog ran, ears flapping in the wind, tongue lolling, tail wagging. It kept looking behind itself to see if its new friend was keeping up. Maybe if she focused on the dogs, the confession would be easier.
“Tripoli’s alibi is me. We’ve been together at Elysium for the last four days. Well, five if you count my sick day. I’ve been working!” she qualified.
Cruz stared out at his own pick of the dogs. “Are you happy?”
She turned her head to look at Cruz. His question was totally not what she’d expected. “Huh?”
His eyes still on the dogs, he asked again, “Are you happy?”
She considered his question. “No? I mean, I like Tripoli.”
“You ‘like’ him? That’s a little middle school in terms of its response.”
Struggling to put the situation into words, she took the safe route. “We’re comfortable together. We get along. But it can’t be anything more. It shouldn’t even be what it is, which is nothing.”
Cruz turned to look at her, one arm still leaning on the top of the fence. “That answer made absolutely no sense, Frankie.”
“Ugh. We’re not sleeping together, okay? Does that satisfy your curiosity?”
“Why not?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake?—”
“Seriously. Why not? The man is totally focused on you at all times. I see your physical responses when you’re around him, so I know you’re attracted to him. The man isn’t a suspect, and yes, he’s part of the investigation, but anyone who knows you knows that you would never compromise an investigation, so I don’t get what your concern is.”
She continued to watch the greyhound and the terrier, who had ceased to do laps because it had gotten tired. Now they lay under a pine tree, the greyhound curled up against the terrier, giving the smaller dog a sniff-over to make sure all was well. The comparison of her as the terrier and Tripoli as the greyhound was not lost on her.
“Frankie?”
“Have you ever thought about leaving the field?”
Even though she wasn’t looking at Cruz, she could tell her question had thrown him off. His posture tensed, then relaxed as he turned back to face the dogs. “Yes. When my undercover mission with the Hermanos Rojas finished, and I thought I was going to lose Mickie, I put in for a transfer to Victim Assistance. I thought I’d ruined any chance I had with her. I’d lied to her about who I was—not that I’d had a choice since I was undercover. Her sister’s throat was slit right in front of her by the MC president, and there was nothing I could do. At the time, my heart was shattered. If I couldn’t be with Mickie, if she couldn’t forgive me, no matter how close I was with my friends, I couldn’t stay in San Antonio. So I put in for the transfer.”
She turned her head to look at him. “But it all worked out?”
He smiled. “Mickie’s an amazing woman. It wasn’t easy. There was a lot of shit to work through on both sides, but yeah. We’re good, I’m still with the FBI—life is great.” He turned to return her gaze. “You thinking of giving up being a field agent?”
“I’ve been considering leaving altogether.”
“Because of Tripoli?”
“No. Not really. I mean, he’s sort of the top of the pile of reasons. The tipping point, maybe? I’m just tired, Cruz,” she explained. “Tired of dealing with the scum of the earth. Tired of delivering terrible news to families or not being able to close the endless cases on my desk. And, like you said, tired of never being in one place long enough to actually have friends, let alone a relationship, because it’s an endless cycle of undercover assignments?—”
“Stop volunteering. That will cure that.”
“Tired of the verbal bloodletting and competition in the office. Tired of holding onto rules and regulations that somehow don’t seem very important to me anymore. Tired of holding onto this quest to right the wrongs of my family.”
“Who said you had to right their wrongs, Frankie?” They stood quietly at the fence for several minutes before he spoke again. “I never judged Mickie based on her sister’s actions, and I’ve never judged you based on your family’s. Why would I do that? You’re your own person. The FBI wouldn’t have hired you if they judged you based on your family’s fucked-up paradigm. Mickie doesn’t. Calder doesn’t. Tripoli sure as shit doesn’t. Sure, there are some assholes out there who will, but they’re not the people who matter. Anyone worth knowing and being friends with, having a relationship with, wouldn’t give a shit who your family is.”
Turning so that his back rested against the chain-link fence, he looked out into the parking lot. “You gonna tell me the part now that gets you fired? Because if you’re really not having sex with Tripoli, then I’m not sure what the issue is. I don’t even know what the issue is if you are having sex with him. After all, Mickie was related to an active investigation, and I slept with her. Nobody came after me for it.”
Her view of the dogs, now seemingly asleep under the tree while their owners chatted off to the side, calmed her. She sucked in a giant lungful of air and let it back out slowly, delaying the words as much as possible. “I fucked up, Cruz. I withheld information from the investigation,” she confessed. “I withheld information, and if I hadn’t, it might have prevented Tilly’s death.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The night I went to Mila’s to stake out that tip? I told you nothing happened, that I didn’t see anyone. I lied.”
Cruz’s eyes were bugging out of his head.
“Michael showed up. He’s the one who’s been going in and out of Mila’s house. I followed him inside—stupid, I know—and confronted him. Subconsciously, I think I was trying to get myself kicked off the case so I didn’t have to deal with the Tripoli issue. I slept over at his apartment the night before, we spent all that next day together, and I was all up in my head because I took that stupid sick day. If I would have just called it in and stayed in the car, maybe none of this would have happened.”
“What happened when you confronted Michael?”
“He was searching through Mila’s desk. He tried to explain that it wasn’t what it looked like. I told him I didn’t believe him. I mean, what else could it be? He must have been looking for papers or something that linked him to Mila in a way that identified him as her killer. I let my misguided hope that he was different from the rest of my family blind me. I couldn’t not turn him in, but I couldn’t arrest him myself. Foolishly, I turned my back on him to call you. Next thing I know, I’m waking up in the hallway with a knife wound to my side.”
“Fuck, Frankie. How the hell are you even standing?”
“Pure adrenaline and fortitude? Righteous anger? I don’t know. At the time, clearly, I was not making good decisions. If I called you, Michael would be found and arrested. My sick day with Tripoli would be discovered. I’d have to go to the hospital, and I’d be put on leave for a variety of reasons, and I wouldn’t be able to help investigate. In my fucked-up brain, I chose to go to Tripoli. He was a former medic, so I figured he could patch me up. Which he did, but apparently, I lost a lot of blood, and he was worried I was going to die on him. And please don’t ask me how he did it and what he used to operate on me. Because of all the other shit that’s about to rain down on me, I do not want him arrested.”
“I won’t ask.”
“He covered for me for the first day, and then the next two, I was able to work on things in small doses, chasing leads, corroborating evidence, transcribing interviews, watching video feeds. Today, I was just finishing getting dressed and getting ready to show my face when the alarm went off. I was so stunned, I didn’t even have time to realize I needed a cover story for how I got there so quickly. And now… Michael’s missing.”
“Which looks suspect for Tilly’s death.”
“Yes. Plus, he had no alibi for Mila’s death. He was dating her, which they were hiding from his boss; they’d gotten in a fight, and he was supposedly trying to get her back. Then Jessa was murdered. No alibi again. He lives in the area. It would have been easy for him. Those two things, together with the fact that he broke into Mila’s house, attacked me, nearly killed me to protect himself, and now Tilly’s dead with him on the run? I realize it’s all circumstantial, but come on, Cruz! You’ve got to admit?—”
“It looks bad.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Motive? That’s the whole problem here. Why? Why would he attack you? Why would he kill the woman he supposedly loved, a fellow employee, and Tilly? It doesn’t make sense.”
Francesca hung her head. “I’ve found that when your last name is McCabe, you don’t often have to have a sensible reason. Any irrational thought will do.”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cruz turn to face her profile. “Have you talked to Tripoli since finding Tilly?”
“No. I’ve been with you. When would I have time to talk to him?”
“Go to him, Francesca. He has to be hurting, not just from Tilly, but from how all of this is affecting you. He must know it’s tearing you apart.”
“What if he no longer wants me?” she asked. “What if Tilly’s death is the thing that closes him off from me? He might think it’s my fault.”
“If he does, then he isn’t the man everyone sees him to be, and he’s not worthy of you. I’d bet my life that he doesn’t see this as your fault, and you shouldn’t see it that way either, Frankie. The only person to blame is the person who took their lives.”