Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (15 page)

"If they do suspect me, you'll be a target. If you walk through those doors with me again and they figure out who I am, they will come after you, Lillian. And they won't stop until you're dead."

"If they're watching you, they've already seen me with you," she countered. "So how's that any different from where things stand right now?"

Tristan didn't have an answer for her because, dammit all, he couldn't guarantee that she wasn't already on their radar because of him. Because he'd been selfish enough to drag her back into
Teplo
when he fucking knew better. He hadn't stopped to think or consider what that might mean for her. He hadn't wanted to stop and think where she was concerned. But he couldn't tell her that.

"You'll be in the club with me, night after night," he said instead.

"I know that."

She might have been determined, but she wasn't an agent. She didn't know what she was agreeing to do. Or how badly this could go for her. People like Anton and Paulo Vetrov didn’t care who they hurt; they'd already proved that much.

"The things you'll see-"

"I know," she cut in, swallowing hard. Her gaze dropped to her leg before darting away. "Believe me, I know what drug addiction is capable of doing to people, and what people are capable of doing while high."

Self-loathing swarmed Tristan. He reached out and tucked a tendril of her hair behind her right ear. "I'll keep you safe," he promised her. "No matter what you decide, you won't be hurt because of me."

Lillian tilted her head back and looked up at him. She seemed surprised, as if she hadn't expected him to care what happened to her. That bothered him more than anything, that she distrusted him so much. That he'd fucked up so badly, she had no reason to trust him.

"Thank you," she finally murmured, a rosy blush staining her cheeks.

He cleared his throat and stepped back, needing distance. He felt like a livewire any time he touched her. Every part of him ached to strip her bare and fuck her senseless. He couldn’t think straight, and right now, he needed to focus. How the hell else was he going to get through this meeting?

Hell, how was he going to get through the coming days? He had no clue, but for her sake, he had to keep his distance from her.

"How, uh, how are you going to get in the storage room?" Lillian asked, almost as if she felt the tension radiating from him and wanted to dodge it.

"No clue," he said, propping himself against the window. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to switch gears and stop thinking about bending her over Jason's desk and taking her until any uncertainty between them vanished.

"Then I guess it's a good thing I agreed to help, isn't it?" Her shaky laugh belied her nerves.

"No," he muttered before he could stop himself, "not really."

She flinched as if he'd struck her.

He opened his mouth to apologize, and then snapped it closed, unsure if he was unwilling or simply unable to explain. She had her own demons to contend with. No need to pile his on her shoulders, too. Opting to concentrate on the matter at hand instead, he said, "While we're inside, I'll be looking for a way into their lab. We probably won't be able to get around the camera, but maybe we can create a diversion big enough to get me in. Once I lay eyes on the lab, Jason can have a warrant signed before they have time to move it."

"Is that even legal?" she asked, glancing between him and Jason. "I mean, you can't just sneak into a private area, can you? What about privacy laws?"

"I'll do what I have to do, Lillian."

Her eyes widened, but she didn't say anything.

"What he means, Miss Maddox," Jason drawled, shooting Tristan a disapproving frown, "is that he's not necessarily performing a search. If he happens to stumble across evidence of a drug lab while in a public club, he's not violating the law."

Lillian shifted in her chair, an eyebrow arched as if she knew he was feeding her a bunch of bullshit.

Jason didn't say anything further. His silence was as good as an admission that they walked a very fine line. But sometimes, the end justified the means. They did what they had to do to keep people alive, and let the courts sort out the rest. At most, the evidence he found in the lab would be inadmissible, but by then, the drug supply would be destroyed, and they would have had enough time to secure enough admissible evidence to gain a solid conviction. All they needed was time. If bending the law as far as it would go bought them a little, Tristan could live with that.

"Better this than another dead body, don't you think?" he asked, pinning her with a heated look.

Chapter Eleven

"Better this than another dead body, don't you think?"

Lillian stared at Tristan, speechless. He sounded so… she wasn't sure how to describe the way he sounded, really. Like an avenging angel, maybe, willing to do whatever he had to do to save lives. The fiery look in his eye didn't mesh with that whole avenging angel scenario, though. And neither did the rage he'd flung at her so many days ago. This was personal for him, and that worried her.

What exactly had she gotten herself into?

An hour ago, she'd wanted to get this over with and get him out of her life… and now she'd given him free rein to stay there for God only knew how long. How the hell was she supposed to keep it together around him day in and day out? Every time he looked at her, she remembered the way his body felt pressed to hers.

She didn't trust him. She was angry at him. Every part of her still craved his touch. And now she was putting her safety completely in his hands, and she didn't really know why. Well, that wasn't strictly true. She wanted to help. But if it came down to her safety or the case, would he keep his promise to her? Could he?

She scrutinized his expression.

He focused his blue eyes on her, and those little sparks of desire hummed to life again.

Her cheeks warmed.

Heat unfurled in her belly.

She shifted positions in her seat, squirming.

She wanted him. And the heat in his gaze made it clear part of him wanted the same thing.

"Lillian," he said, his lips shaping her name like a kiss. A promise lingered in his tone. A predatory gleam entered his eyes. He curled his hands into fists as if to keep himself from reaching out and plucking her up from her chair.

She tore her gaze away from him, focusing instead on a spot on the far wall.

Silence reigned in the room for long moments.

The clock hanging behind Jason's desk ticked loudly, too loudly.

Her heart still thundered.

"I don't want my father to know about this," she blurted, grasping for some semblance of order and control before the sparks dancing between her and Tristan caught fire and exploded right there.

"Of course not," Jason said. His chair squeaked as he leaned forward.

"Wh-what do I need to do?" she asked, turning gratefully to face him.

"Follow Tristan's lead," he advised. "He'll tell you what you need to know and will make sure that you have anything you might require." He slid a manila file folder across the desk to her. "We'll also need you to fill these out over the next couple of days."

"What are they?" she asked, grabbing the folder from the desk. A sheaf of papers fell out.

"Emergency contact information, a compensation agreement, private consultant contracts… standard paperwork," he assured her when she shot him a skeptical look, her brows raised and her lips pursed.

She nodded before shoving the papers back into the folder, unwilling to sign anything else until she and Tristan talked. They needed to set ground rules, and get a few things straight before she committed fully to seeing this through.

"Until this is over," Jason said, his expression sympathetic and grave at the same time, "if anyone asks, you and Tristan are dating. The two of you are a normal couple. You and he will come up with a history for yourselves, but you'll want to keep it as close to the truth as you can. Tristan can fill you in on his cover and all of the details you'll need. It's
imperative
you remember those details."

Lillian fidgeted in the chair, her mind spinning in dizzy circles.

"You're a ballerina, Miss Maddox. You've played many roles in the course of your career. If anyone can do this, you can. And Tristan will be there the entire time. You won't enter the club without him and will not, at any time, be left alone in your home until the case is over. If Tristan cannot be there, someone else will. Understand?"

"I understand." She climbed to her feet, ready to get the hell out of there before he threw anything else at her… like deciding she and Tristan should play husband and wife.

Jesus, did stuff like that actually happen?

Tristan stepped forward to meet her, his expression as grim as ever.

Did he want to do this? Or was he being forced?

The thought that he might not have had a choice in this made her sick to her stomach.

"Miss Maddox," Jason called as she started toward the door.

She turned back to him to find that same sympathetic, serious expression on his face. It was a strange mix of understanding, apology, and hard-ass cop. He unnerved her when he looked at her like that. Reminded her of her dad in a way, like he saw every little thing she'd ever done wrong.

"Yes?" she asked calmly, far more calmly than she felt.

"Do not discuss the case with anyone. So far as your family and friends know, your cover is reality."

Oh. Hell. Her father was going to kill her.

"Yes, sir," she answered, lurching toward the door on trembling legs.

"I need tropicamide and Mydfrin," Tristan said from behind her while she wrestled with the door, her hands shaking.

She had no clue what that was, but Jason obviously did.

"You're sure?" he asked.

"I'm not taking her in there without it. Just get it. Call John if you have to."

"I'll have it delivered to her house as soon as I can. Make sure-"

"Yeah, I will," Tristan cut Jason off, stepping up beside Lillian. He opened the door and strolled out before she could ask what he was supposed to make sure of.

She followed behind him, her stomach in knots. She was in so far over her naïve little head.

So, so far.

Lillian didn't say a word as they left Jason's office. In fact, she didn't speak at all until they were almost back to her house. Tristan wanted to ask if she was okay, but her pale face screamed that she wasn't. She kept her expression blank as she stared out of the windshield, her mind obviously still trying to sort things out.

Less than ten minutes from her house, she finally spoke, pulling a relieved sigh from Tristan.

"Who's John?"

"My uncle," he answered. That wasn't one of the questions he'd expected. "He's a surgeon here in the city."

"Oh. What's… tropicamide?" She fumbled the word and glanced over at him before averting her eyes, her hands still clutched around the forms Jason had given her.

"Ah, eye dilation drops." Tristan flipped on the blinker and exited the interstate.

"Eye dilation… Oh." She muttered something under her breath he didn't catch, and then took a deep breath.

"Just a precaution," he said to her when she fell silent.

"Precaution. Right." She sighed, dropping her head back against the seat. "I have no idea what I'm doing here. This is so far beyond anything I know."

Tristan glanced over at her. "It's not too late to change your mind."

She laughed and closed her eyes. They popped open almost immediately. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? For me to change my mind?"

He met her probing gaze for just a minute and then shrugged. What was he supposed to say? It wasn't fucking fair for them to ask a ballerina to do this, to ask
her
to do this. It bothered him that he was the reason she felt obligated to help.

When he'd gone to Jason, he'd never intended for shit to play out this way. He'd wanted to protect her, not drag her in even deeper. Fuck if that had stopped him from letting Jason do exactly that though.

"Right," she muttered and subsided into stony silence for the rest of the drive.

Tristan groaned when he saw the angry, hurt look on her face. "It's not what you think," he said, unable to take the silence any longer as he maneuvered the Rover into her driveway and put it in park.

"Yeah, I've heard that before." She climbed from the vehicle without another word, slamming the door, then limping toward the house with her head held high and her back ramrod straight.

Dammit.

"Lillian, wait!" He turned the SUV off and sprinted after her.

She turned to face him, her eyes narrowed. "What? You keep telling me it's not what I think. What is it then, Tristan? You look at me one way, and then you act like you'd rather be anywhere but stuck in the same general area as me. So tell me what I'm supposed to think because I don't know!"

"I-" Yet again, he had no clue how to say what needed to be said. He just…. Christ, he just wanted her to stop looking at him like she wanted to kill him. That'd be a great start.

"I get it, okay?" she said quietly, turning to shove the key into the lock.

"Do you?" he asked when she threw the door open and stormed inside, not even bothering to see if he followed her or not. He shut the door behind himself and locked it, seriously doubting she understood how he felt. It wasn't the same for her. It couldn't be because she wasn't the one asking him to do something she had no right to ask of him. That burden rested on his shoulders alone.

"Yeah, I do." She spun to face him, her expression wavering between exhaustion, anger, and hurt. "Just answer one question for me. If you didn't want me to do this, why did you even bother taking me to see Jason this morning? Why not just tell him I said no and be done with it? Why force me to make a choice if you were just going to be an ass about it?"

"I don't know," he lied, leaning back against the door.

"Right." Lillian shook her head before tossing the envelope of papers to the table beside the door. "I don't know which one of us is the real idiot here. I cannot believe I agreed to this. I actually thought…. So stupid," she mumbled, jerking the clip out of her hair.

"Why did you agree?" He eyed her, his groin tightening when her hair tumbled down her back and that light, floral scent wafted through the foyer.

She gathered her hair up into her hand and twisted it back into a bun, staring at him with that same frustrated, irritated, and hungry look on her face. "You tell me," she said, hurt trickling into those warm brown eyes once more. "God, I am so stupid."

"You aren't stupid." He pushed away from the door, his arms crossed over his chest to keep himself from reaching out for her. "If you don't want to do this, you can still say no. I meant what I said in Jason's office; I'll make sure you're safe."

"That's not the point." She shot him another frustrated look.

"Then what is the point?" he asked, his own discontent with the situation growing by leaps and bounds. "Why did you agree to this? Christ, you're just a ballerina, beautiful. This isn't your life."

"And that bothers you, doesn't it? That I'm
just
a ballerina."

"It doesn't bother me nearly enough," he retorted. "Christ, you don't know what you're getting into here, and you just fucking agreed to it anyway. I'm not stron-" He snapped his mouth closed, growling wordlessly.

"What is your problem?" she demanded. "Why are you such an ass? What did I ever do to you, Tristan?"

She opened her mouth to say something else, but he cut her off, incapable of stopping himself. He didn't want to stop anyway. He was tired of dancing around the truth. "I don't want you hurt. Christ, is that so goddamned difficult to grasp?" He raked a hand through his hair, tugging the strands. "I. Don't. Want. You. Hurt. Not because I can't keep my damn hands to myself when I'm around you."

Lillian's eyes widened, whatever she was going to say cut short as she looked at him.
Really
looked at him. Her shocked gaze rolled over him like a wave, sending heat and desire crashing down on him. He curled his hands into fists in the creases of his arms in a last ditch effort to keep himself from snatching her up and kissing her.

"It's not your choice to make," she said then.

"No?" He arched a brow at her. "None of this would be an issue if it weren't for me."

"Well, at least you admit that much," she huffed, and then sighed. "I don’t even know you, and I'm already sick of arguing with you."

"Then don't," he suggested, liking the sound of that plan a whole hell of a lot. "Just… don't."