Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (11 page)

He nodded, already turning toward the open door.

"Hey, Tristan?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't break her heart." He needed Lillian in his life, and Zoë had a feeling the ballerina needed him just as much. He had to find a way to let her love him, all of him, for both of their sake's.

He hesitated briefly and then nodded again. "That's the last thing I want to do, Zo."

"A name would be helpful, but fingerprints or DNA would be best," Tristan heard Jason explaining as he hovered outside the dining room, trying to work up the nerve to walk back in and give Lillian the support she deserved.

Zoë had been correct, of course. Lillian wasn't doing this because she had to do it. She was doing it for
him
, to keep him safe. After all the bullshit he'd already put her through, she deserved to know how fucking proud he was of her selflessness and courage. And volunteering to do this
was
selfless and brave as hell.

Admitting that didn't ease the knot of dread lodged in the middle of his stomach. If the blond worked for Francisco—and Tristan had no doubts that he did—the situation was a hell of a lot worse than he'd hope. He couldn't hide her after this. Once she walked into
Teplo
on her own, she'd be in more danger than ever, and all he'd done to hide her over the last few days would be moot.

Christ, he wanted this finished so badly he could taste it.

"What about a cup?" she asked Jason.

"A cup?"

"Yeah, a cup. Would fingerprints from a plastic cup be useable?"

"Possibly," he said. "What are you thinking?"

"Asking him to hold my cup for a minute." Tristan watched from the shadows as Lillian lifted one lovely shoulder in the semblance of a shrug. "I can't exactly pull his hair out or swab his cheek to get his DNA, and I doubt stealing any cup he drinks from would be all that easy, but I can probably get him to hold my own cup for a minute and then leave with it. Will it work?"

"Yeah, that might work." Jason smiled at her, clearly impressed. "Well done, Miss Maddox."

"Thank you. When will I go in?"

Jason hesitated.

Tristan took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. "You'll go in tomorrow," he answered, giving Jason an almost imperceptible nod, letting him know he was on board.

Lillian's head swiveled in his direction, her eyes wide and red-rimmed as if she'd been crying. "Hi," she whispered, her gaze skittering everywhere as if she were afraid to look directly at him.

Jason pulled his phone out and made a pretense of checking it.

Tristan approached Lillian, his heart in his throat. She pushed herself out of the chair, her hands in fists at her side as he halted in front of her. She looked so worried, chewing on her bottom lip and staring down at her feet.

He hated that. Hated that she was afraid to meet his gaze.

Fuck. He was such a bastard. When would he stop hurting her?

"Look at me, please."

Her eyes reluctantly moved toward him.

"I'm sorry." He ran a fingertip down her cheek, tracing the subtle streak of tears long since dried.

"Me too," she said, shivering as if even that small touch affected her as much as it did him. And maybe it did. He'd quit trying to make sense of the way it felt to touch her or be touched by her. She'd been made for him, and him for her. It was as simple as that.

"Lillian, I–"

"Tristan, I–"

They both broke off.

"You go first," he suggested.

"I have to do this," she blurted immediately. "I know you don't want me to, but I
need
to."

"I know." He reached out and threaded his fingers through hers, aching for solid contact as his heart pulsed uncomfortably in his chest. She gripped his hand hard. "I don't want you to do it, but you're right. You're the only one who has a shot of making this work." She was the only one who needed to do it for her own peace of mind. That's all that really mattered. "Promise me you'll be careful."

She scrutinized his expression for a minute before nodding. "I promise you I will, Tristan."

He breathed deeply and then nodded. "Then let's do it."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, squeezing his fingers hard before sliding into her seat.

"Tomorrow," he said again, easing himself down beside her. He wanted a little time before he let her do this, but he couldn't ask for it. They didn't have a little time left. He turned to Jason, his mind made up. "I want at least five agents posted in the area. The best we have. Kincaid, Garrison, McGregor, Alvarez, and Dodd," he said, listing Lillian's team one by one. If something went wrong, no one else would be more capable of safely extricating her.

"You'll have them," Jason promised.

"Good." The knot in Tristan's stomach didn't ease any, but he knew Jason understood. If something went wrong while Lillian was inside, they were going in after her, case be damned.

"You're sure you want to do this tomorrow?"

Tristan gave a short nod. It had to be tomorrow, because there was no fucking way he was sending her in alone on Friday or Saturday night. The weekend crowd was a hell of a lot more frightening than those who stumbled their way through the doors on a Thursday.

Her fingers tightened around his, though he wasn't sure if she intended to offer him comfort or if she took it for herself. Both, probably. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, getting her as close to him as he could. When she was nestled against him, her chair flush with his, he focused his attention on Jason.

"How are we doing this?" he asked.

Jason leaned forward in his chair and began laying out their plan.

"Tristan, wait."

Lillian tugged on his arm as he led her toward the car an hour and a half later. The old-fashioned lamps lining the walkway reflected upward, casting her in a soft halo of light. God, she was beautiful.

She turned her face up toward his, her bottom lip caught between her teeth in a gesture he had become so familiar with since meeting her. She was frightened, more than she would willingly admit, and sought an outlet, a way to take of her mind off of what tomorrow promised to bring.

"What's wrong?" he asked, reaching out to tug her lip from between her teeth. She shivered at the brush of his thumb across her abused lower lip, but the worry lurking deep in those brown eyes didn't diminish.

"Can we…." She hesitated and then gestured in the direction of the cottage, indicating what she wanted. Her cheeks turned pink as if she were embarrassed to ask. "The cottage where you stay…?"

"You want to see it?" he asked, his gaze moving in that direction. The same old lantern styled lights lined the path from his aunt and uncle's to the small house on the edge of their property. Strings of lights were draped in trees, giving the entire property a soft, white glow. The porch light was on, illuminating the wooden wrap-around porch.

"Is that okay?" she asked softly, hesitantly.

He bit back the frustrated sigh working its way through him. When would she learn that he would give her anything she wanted, whenever she wanted it? Would she ever realize how thoroughly she owned him?

Instead of starting that particular conversation in the middle of the driveway, he shook his head and turned her toward the cottage. "Come on, beautiful. Let's go see the house."

A faint smile replaced the frown on her face at his exasperated tone.

It gave way to that same frown within seconds.

He lifted her carefully over the few wayward roots bulging from the ground like tiny, living hills. She murmured a soft "thank you" each time, but her teeth never retracted from her lip for long. He ached to reach out and free it once more, but knew it would do no good.

He helped her up the stairs to the porch instead.

"You really live here?" she asked, sounding surprised.

He followed her gaze, trying to see what she saw. The shimmering lights and soft, dark wood of the house couldn't have been more different than the penthouse. Which was exactly what he loved about it. The cottage was small, comfortable. Whimsical almost. Not pretentious or cold like the penthouse, but warm and cozy. Like Lillian's brownstone,
this
was a home, somewhere he could imagine raising a family.

A pang of regret washed through him. More and more in the last few years, he'd taken to staying at the penthouse, even between cases. Beyond an appreciation for the space it afforded him, he had no attachments to the penthouse. But he'd thought remaining there was better than the alternative, better than bringing his baggage and painful memories to a home he wasn't sure he deserved.

Like so much else, he was no longer sure that was true. He was so frigging tired of accepting what he thought he deserved. Of keeping his distance from the people who mattered to him. Of waking up from nightmares to find himself alone. He ached for a sense of home as much as he did for a way out of the life he'd long assumed would kill him.

And God, he could almost see Lillian standing on this porch, smiling at him when he drove up in the evenings after working all day. He could almost feel her lips pressed to his as she greeted him before he carried her inside and made love to her. He wanted that. So much.

But did he deserve it? Could he ever?

He wasn't so sure about that part.

"Not what you were expecting?" he asked, turning those thoughts off before he swooped down on her. Not being inside her was damn near intolerable, but there were things he had to say before he stripped her bare and got lost in her. Things she deserved to hear. The next time he was inside of her, she would have no doubts about what he wanted from her.

"It's very pretty," she said as he thrust his key into the deadbolt and turned it.

"It is," he agreed, swinging the door open and flipping on the light. The cottage was pretty in a natural kind of way. It wasn't frilly or feminine, but soft. Calming.

Her gaze roved around the living room, taking in the lightly painted walls and rustic furniture, the massive television and bookcases. His followed, taking in the space as if seeing it for the first time. Katherine kept the place clean and ready for him, ever hopeful that he'd come to stay, even if only for a few days.

"Swords?" Lillian asked, her eyes falling on the two Jian swords hanging over the bar separating the living room from the kitchen.

"Zoë bought them for me a few years ago."

"Ah." She scrutinized them before stepping closer. "You fence?"

"I practice Taiji Jian."

"What's that?" Her curious gaze flickered between him and the swords.

"It's a type of Asian swordsmanship."

"And you know it?"

"Yes."

"Okay then."

"What?" he asked, unsure what that meant. "Are you surprised?"

"Tristan, you constantly surprise me," she said with a light laugh. "But does it surprise me that you know the—what did you call it? The Tar-yi Juan?" She fumbled the unfamiliar words.

"Taiji Jian," he said.

"Taiji Jian," she repeated, waiting for his nod of approval before continuing. "No, it doesn't surprise me. You're very capable."