Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (27 page)

He'd never been so humbled or grateful in his life.

"Let me feel you," he pleaded, increasing his pace as she began to tighten around him. She was a flame beneath him, burning through his self-control. "I need to feel you come for me, beautiful."

"Tristan, Tristan," she chanted as she began to fall apart around him. "Love you."

"So much," he moaned as his own orgasm claimed him, sending his heart into a frenzied beat. "Forever."

She groaned, her muscles tightening and then relaxing as warm waves wound through her, through him…twining them together once more. He watched her face through every ripple, through every shifting nuance.

Beautiful.

Irreplaceable.

His.

He kissed her gently as he moved off of her and tucked her into his side, brushing tendrils of hair away from her face. His heart slowed in his chest, his mind quiet for the first time all day. "I love you, Lillian."

"Don't leave me," she pleaded, fighting to open her eyes. Even though she couldn't seem to force them open, she still clutched him to her as if trying to physically keep him there. She was so exhausted, the emotional rollercoaster of the night and the pain medication taking its toll.

"Shh," he soothed, pulling the blankets up and tucking them around her. "Sleep, beautiful."

She sighed and nuzzled her face into his neck. He began to hum, the first gentle melody that came to mind. A song his mother used to sing to him when he was a kid.

Within moments, her body relaxed into sleep. He lay awake for a long time, watching her sleep. He felt calm, rational, as if she truly had glued back together the little pieces of himself that he'd lost tonight.

He wanted her here with him, wanted it so much it hurt, but keeping her here wasn't right. He couldn't escape that fact. She wasn't an agent and he couldn't pretend anymore that it was okay to keep pretending she was. After the night they'd had, he knew better. Whether she faulted him or not for the night, it
was
his fault. And the bullshit wasn't over yet. They were still out there; they could still try for her.

He couldn't sit back and wait for that to happen. Maybe they hadn't succeeded in what they'd planned this time, but that made them no less dangerous. They had tried to take her away from him. How was he supposed to let that go unpunished?

He couldn't, and he couldn't let her stay.

Sighing, he pressed his lips to her temple. Until he did what had to be done to ensure he could keep her safe, he had to send her away from him. Not forever, but long enough to ensure Vetrov and Francisco and their people never got anywhere near her again.

"I'm sorry," he said in her ear before slipping from the bed and padding across the room to grab her cell from the dresser. He turned back to her, the phone in his hand, and just watched her. Light from the rising sun slipped through the windows, illuminating her body as she slept. She looked so peaceful this time. She didn't move restlessly or mutter and whimper as she had earlier.

He found the number he sought and dialed, his heart doing that strange twisting thing again.

Chapter Fifteen

"You wanted to see me?" Michael asked, poking his head into Jason's office.

"Yeah." Jason waved him in. "How's the hand?" he asked as Michael propped himself up in the window sill and scowled down at the cast on his arm.

"Still broken. Fucking behemoth…." he trailed off into a string of muttered insults.

Jason let him go, unable to begrudge him the tirade when he'd went off on a few about the very same subject a time or four already. He'd seen some really shitty things in the course of his life, but last night bugged him more than most. For the first time in a long time, he regretted the choices he'd made.

He had been so sure Lillian would keep Tristan alive to finish this. Now he was less sure than ever. His friend had fallen in love with the ballerina, hard. How the hell was Jason supposed to keep him from doing something crazy when he was well aware of how much worse things could have turned out? When he would do the same exact thing if their roles were reversed? Hell, Lillian wasn't even his woman, and he wanted to kill Malachi.

"I need a favor," he announced when Kincaid finally fell silent.

"You know I won't be able to stop him," Michael said immediately, eyeing him.

"Probably not," he agreed. "But you have a better shot than anyone else of keeping him alive." They both knew Tristan wasn't going to walk away from this. Jason's demand to give him three days might have bought them a little time to get shit in order, but no one believed he'd do it. Didn't matter what Lillian said to him, Tristan would not let it ride.

And neither would Jason.

"I've got a busted hand and a body full of Vicodin, my friend," Kincaid laughed. "I'll be lucky if he doesn't beat me like a drum. He is not going to let this go. You know it. I know it. The fucking garbage man knows it."

"I don't need you to convince him to let it go, but you have to stall him long enough for me to get there," he answered. The way he figured it, Tristan felt like he owed Kincaid for rescuing Lillian, so he probably wouldn't knock him out right away. That'd give Jason time to get everyone ready to move.

Kincaid whistled sharply, his eyes going wide. "You're raiding today?"

"This doesn't leave this office," he stated succinctly. "Not one word to anyone."

"I hear ya," Kincaid agreed.

"We're taking every single one of them out if it's the last thing we do. You in?"

"An AWOL agent, a secret op, and we get to bring these fuckers down?" Kincaid said. "Hell yeah, I'm in!" He fist pumped the air, cast and all.

"Good." Jason picked up the bag on his desk and tossed it. Kincaid caught it with his good hand. "He's going to need that if he's getting into that lab. Hold him off as long as you can so I can get shit in order here first."

"What is it?" Kincaid asked, hefting the bag.

"Ammo, a vest, shit like that. Stall him for as long as you can manage it, Kincaid. They'll be waiting for him and he knows they will. You've got to keep him out of there until I get the team into position."

"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.