Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (3 page)

"I'll be fine, just tired," she said.

He watched her for a long moment and then nodded before turning to leave. "Lock up behind me, and don't open the door for anyone," he said, and then pulled the door closed, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

She stood where she was until his footsteps faded and then sighed heavily and locked the door as requested. That done, she turned and took in the room again, unsure what to do with herself. The penthouse was so quiet,
too
quiet.

"Where are you, Tristan?" she asked.

As if in response, her phone rang, the loud sound ripping through the absolute silence in the room. She jerked it from her bra and fumbled it to her ear, trying to calm her racing heart.

"Miss Maddox?" Jason Ames, Tristan's boss and his cousin-in-law, drawled.

"Yes. Jason! Have you seen Tristan? Is he okay? He won't answer the phone and–"

"Whoa, whoa, slow down, doll."

Lillian snapped her mouth closed and took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing back the sob building in her throat.

"Tristan's safe."

"Oh, thank God." Even though Michael had promised Tristan was fine, breath left her in a rush at Jason's confirmation. Relief coursed through her veins before worry shot through her once more. She made her way into the dining room and sank down into a chair, staring out at the twinkling city lights spread below. "Is he okay?"

Jason sighed, causing that static-like crinkle to sound over the line. "He's not hurt."

"But he's not okay," she stated, reading between the lines.

"He's had a rough night."

Guilt bubbled through her.

"Are you okay?" Jason asked her.

"No." A hysterical laugh broke from her lips, tears stinging her eyes.

"What's going on?"

What's going on?

Was he serious?

"First, he made me wait outside the club so he could break into the storage room," she said. "On my way to do as he requested, I found out someone else—someone we talked to inside the damn club—was murdered. Not exactly something you want to hear when your boyfriend is trying to sneak past the people who probably murdered her, I might add."

"I–"

Lillian spoke right over him, every bit of emotion from the last several hours coming out in a furious burst. "He then demanded I wait at home for him, and then Michael Kincaid showed up and told me I had to leave in handcuffs. I spent hours at the precinct, waiting for someone to call me back before Agent Kincaid brought me to Tristan's penthouse and instructed me not to leave. I thought Tristan was dead or being held hostage!" The sob she'd been fighting to hold back for hours burst out. "I thought I got him killed."

"Hey, breathe, doll," Jason said.

She took a deep breath and then another, pushing back the tears and fear. Wherever he was, Tristan was safe. He wasn't bleeding to death in an alley somewhere. Anton Vetrov wasn't holding him hostage, or dumping his body in a ditch.

"Feel better?" Jason asked.

"No. I think I got that girl killed, Jason," she whispered.

"You didn't get anyone killed," he said, his voice calm, quiet, firm.

"What am I even doing here? I'm not a federal agent." Tristan had said the same thing to her before, and it had pissed her off. After all she had endured tonight though, she now understood exactly what he meant.

Jason was quiet for a moment. "You're more valuable than you know, Lillian."

She snorted her disbelief.

"Did Tristan ever tell you about his parents?"

"Yeah, he did." They were murdered by a drug dealer over an uncle's debt. Drug violence was so senseless, so stupid. Innocent people paid the price and no one even cared.

"You know he blames himself," Jason said. "He was a stupid kid, and made a stupid mistake, but he's spent his entire life punishing himself for it. Until you, he never let anyone get anywhere close to him. He's kept himself apart from everyone, burying himself in a job he hates, pushing everyone away, refusing to let anyone in. And then he met you."

"And I forced him to let me in," she mumbled, hating the way Jason confirmed everything she'd hit upon herself. Only, it sounded so much worse coming from him. There was a reason Tristan did what he did, isolated himself and worked himself to exhaustion. And she'd forced his hand. "I refused to listen to him and leave like I should have, and now a girl is dead."

"You didn't make him do anything," Jason said. "You think I couldn't have made you leave had I wanted to do so? Or that he couldn’t have done so? One call to your father, and you'd have been out of there."

"Then why
didn't
you call him?" she asked, shaking her head. "Why did you ask me to help when I only made things worse for Tristan?"

"Because, for once in his life, he isn't punishing himself for what happened to his folks; he's fighting for something he wants. He's fighting for
you
. And maybe as his boss, that shouldn't matter to me, but as his friend? As his family? That's the only thing that matters to me, Miss Maddox. I let him drag you into this because you're the only thing he's ever wanted enough to reach for it. And maybe he picked a hell of a time to fall in love and it'll blow up in all of our faces, but my job is to make sure my men make it home at the end of the day. And I have no doubts whatsoever that Tristan will make it home this time because he's too damn obsessive to let himself die if it means leaving you in danger."

Lillian opened her mouth and then closed it. What was she supposed to say to that? Hell, what
could
she say to that? She didn't know, so she didn't try. "Where is he?" she asked instead.

"I think he should be the one to explain that."

Lillian sighed, knowing getting that explanation from Tristan would be like pulling teeth. He told her what he wanted her to know, and nothing more. And maybe that was for her own good, she didn't know, but she didn't like it. Especially not after what Jason had said. Tristan was fighting for her, and maybe Jason thought that would keep him alive, but she wasn't so sure. If the Vetrov family was willing to kill a girl they'd spoken with once, what was stopping them from doing the same thing to her or Tristan?

"Thank you for calling me back, Jason."

"Lillian, wait."

She hesitated with her finger over the
End
button.

"Shit," he cursed into the phone. "I know you're pissed right now, but take it easy on him, okay? This is harder for him than you can imagine."

She swallowed the painful ache worming its way up from her chest into her throat. "I get that. But has anyone bothered to consider that maybe this is hard for me, too? You got what you wanted because Tristan is fighting to save my life, but did you ever stop to think that maybe, just maybe, I'm the one who's going to feel responsible if you're wrong and it's not enough? If he dies trying to protect me, I won't survive that, Agent Ames. And maybe you knew the risks when you asked me to do this, but for the first time, I'm realizing that I didn't know exactly what was at stake here. I didn't know it was Tristan's life you were trying to save, or how it would feel to know that we might have gotten a teenager killed. And I'm terrified to find out how it's going to feel if you're wrong and I'm the reason he dies, too."

"Ah, I didn't consider how that might feel to you," Jason said, sounding apologetic and surprised at once.

"Yeah, well, I've spent the last six hours unsure if he was alive or dead or dying in an alley somewhere, and it sucks, Agent Ames."

"Jason, Lillian. Please call me Jason. And for what it's worth, you weren't alone. Before Kincaid got there, Tristan had an unmarked car out front."

He did?

"Not the point," she mumbled, refusing to be placated that easily. Jason had manipulated her and Tristan both, and maybe he'd meant well, but he'd been playing with fire, and they were all going to get burned as a result. The Vetrov case wasn't the simple thing they'd thought, but something a whole lot bigger and more dangerous than they'd been prepared for.

"I'm sorry for any distress I've caused you," Jason said. "But don't count him out yet, Lillian. And don't blame him for my mistake. He needs you. Don't walk away because you're pissed at me. If you care about him, fight for him. Please?"

"I'll try," she sighed, surrendering to the inevitable. She didn't have a choice. There was no way in hell she'd walk away when Tristan needed her. Even if he didn't feel the same, she loved him. She had to make sure he survived this case, even if he walked out of her life for good when all was said and done.

Chapter Three

Lillian sat at the table, staring blankly at her phone. She ached to talk to her father or Jennie Rainey, but she didn't dare. The non-disclosure agreement she'd signed in Jason's office what felt like ages ago had been iron-clad. She wouldn't break it now, no matter how much else had changed since that day.

And things had changed.
She
had changed. Somewhere since falling for Tristan, she'd stopped grieving over the life Marc Rivera had stolen from her, and started looking toward a future without dancing. She wasn't sure exactly what that future held for her, but thinking about it didn't hurt nearly as bad as it had even a week ago, or a week before that. She would always miss dancing. Part of her would always grieve for what she had lost—her freedom, the ability to walk without a limp, to lose herself in dance as she had for her entire life—but her life wasn't over. Marc hadn't stolen that from her, no matter how hard he'd tried.

She had Tristan to thank for reminding her of that. Because of him, she'd begun the healing process she'd fought for the last year. Seeing the things he saw had lent her a new perspective. Dancing wasn't everything. There were far more important things in life.

"Beautiful?"

She screamed, spinning in her chair to find him standing right behind her.

"I didn't mean to scare you," he said, pulling her to her feet.

"Don't sneak up on me!" she shouted at him. And then she realized he was really here. Safe.

The overwhelming, gut wrenching relief racing through her bled away in an instant as he attempted to pull her into his arms. She pushed him away and glared up at him, ignoring the way her stomach bottomed out at the desolate look in his blue eyes.

"Thanks for calling me back," she growled.

He flinched but didn't say anything. He looked like hell, his expression guarded, his dark hair a wild mess, and his jaw clenched tight. Splatters of mud marred the dark button-down stretched over his chest. The bottoms of his jeans and his boots were dirty too, as if he'd spent the night prowling through a park. Part of her wanted to throw herself in his arms and hold on for dear life until that broken look on his face went away, but the other part—the overwhelmingly pissed off part—refused to give in that easily.

"How would you feel if I disappeared and you didn't hear from me for hours?" she demanded, glaring at him.

"I was never in any danger, Lillian."

"How was I supposed to know that? You didn’t tell me anything. You
demanded
I go home and wait for you."

"I had to talk to Warner."

"And that took you over eight hours?"

"No, I went to the morgue and the crime scene." He raked a hand through his hair and grimaced. "Can we not do this right now?"

Was he serious?

She gaped at him for a minute before shaking her head. The emotions feeding her outburst—anger, hurt, fear, worry—drained out of her as if poured from a strainer. If he didn't want to talk to her, she couldn't force him. It was that simple.

"Fine," she mumbled.

"Dammit, Lillian, wait."

He reached out and grabbed her arm as she limped past him, fighting the urge to cry. She wasn't that girl, the one who cried every time someone hurt her feelings. And yet, every time he hurt her feelings, tears came, unbidden.

"Let me go, Tristan." Her traitorous voice shook.

"Please." He tugged on her arm, trying to pull her back toward him.

"You don't get to do this. Let me go."

"Do what?" he asked.

"You don't get to shut me out, and then get your way because you say please. You left me there alone, left someone else to explain the situation to me and march me out in handcuffs, and now you want to walk back in like nothing happened. I'm not doing this with you right now, so let me go." She glared up at him, steeling herself against the flutter in her stomach and in her heart when those eyes of his locked on her face.

"I'm not trying to get my way, Lillian. I just want to hold you."

"Yeah, well, it's not like what I want matters," she retorted, feeling like a spiteful bitch as soon as the words flew from her mouth.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course I don't!" she cried, frustrated. "You won't talk to me. You're allowed to worry about me, but I'm not allowed to worry about you? You're allowed to rush off without telling me where you're going, but I'm here under armed guard. Do you know how ridiculous that is? I'm not the one at risk of doing something rash and getting myself killed."

He blinked. "You really think I'm going to do something stupid and get myself killed?"

"Aren't you?" she challenged him.

He didn't say anything, which said all she needed to know. And after what Jason had told her tonight, after everything she'd gone through waiting for him to reappear, she couldn't deal with this, too.

"I'm going to bed, Tristan," she said, shaking her head sadly.

"Shit," he swore, reaching out to grab her again. Before she could comprehend how she'd gotten there, he had her pressed to the wall, his mouth inches from hers. "I'm not trying to shut you out. And I'm damn sure not about to do something to put you at risk. I'm trying to do my job," he growled. "You think I wanted to send Kincaid to watch over you tonight, baby? You think I wanted Warner to walk you out of your house in handcuffs?"

She didn't say anything. She couldn't.

Part of her wanted to stay angry at him, but he was pressed so close, all she could feel was him, all she could
think
about was him. That he was here and safe and the last few hours had been hell. That he owned her heart and soul, and that everything else—anger and worry and hurt feelings—were insignificant compared to that truth.

"The entire time I was gone, I wanted to be with you. I wanted you naked beneath me, screaming my name. I wanted my arms around you while you slept. I wanted you blushing for me and your heart racing because of me. Instead, I was at the morgue trying to figure out how to keep you safe from a bunch of twisted psychos who murdered an eighteen year old girl for no reason. I'm sorry I didn't call you. I'm sorry I worried you. But I'm not sorry for doing what I have to do to keep you safe. I'd fucking
kill
to protect you."

His honesty hit her as hard as his earlier dismissals had. The angry glint in his eyes, the way his breath rasped across her face, and the rise and fall of his chest above hers shook loose something inside of her. The greedy part of her that wanted more from him.

"I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Lillian," he continued quietly. "Whatever it takes. Getting you out of this safely is my motherfucking job, and if I have to sacrifice my life for yours, so be it. Making sure you don't pay for my mistakes is my priority. Not whether doing so hurt your feelings, though I'm fucking sorry it did."

"You left without a word, Tristan. I didn't know if you were okay, or where you were, or what you were doing. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again. You left me there, and made someone else tell me what was going on. I've never balked at going into
Teplo
. I've done whatever you asked, but you couldn't even answer a phone call to tell me you were okay. Do you have any idea what that feels like?" A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Please don't cry," he breathed, reaching out to wipe it away with the pad of his thumb. He kept his hand on her face, cradling her cheek as he stared into her eyes, his expression no less fierce, but ten times more regretful. "I didn't mean to worry you."

"Did you even plan to come here tonight, Tristan?"

He stared at her for a long, silent moment, and then sighed. "You'd be safer if I hadn't, but I couldn't stay away from you. I don't think I ever had a chance when it came to you. Christ, beautiful." He rested his forehead against hers. "You make all this shit tolerable."

"How do you think I feel? I agreed to do this for
you
. All I think about anymore is you. I get that you're going to do what you have to do, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to worry about you when you do it. You tell me you'd sacrifice your life for mine, and pretend I'm not supposed to care about that. You're important to me. Don't you get that?"

He frowned before shaking his head, though whether in denial or confusion, she didn't know.

"I can't breathe when I think about you getting hurt. I can't move." She shook her head, not sure how to explain the way it felt to think about him being injured or killed. She understood loss. She lived with it every day. But she would give up so much more if it meant Tristan walked safely out of
Teplo
every single night. Because nothing had ever mattered to her as much as he did. Compared to what she felt for Tristan, even dancing was a dying star. He was the sun. Vast. Bright. Vital.

"Beautiful."

"I need to know you're safe, Tristan. Do you not understand that? I
need
you to be okay." So much that it scared her. Falling in love wasn't supposed to be like this, so fast and so much. But for her, falling for him was exactly like that. Fast, intense, as consuming as she'd always known it would be with him. And it was far, far too late for her to protect her heart now. It belonged to him, whether he wanted it or not.

"Lillian–"

Whatever he meant to say got lost as she tangled her fingers in his button-down and pulled him into her, her mouth seeking his. She had to make him understand. Maybe she didn't know how it felt to visit people in morgues and never forget their faces. But she knew what it felt like to feel helpless. She knew what it felt like to feel responsible. To hurt for people she didn't know. To want to help them. She felt all of those things. Not because she had to or because it was her job, but because it was
his
job. Because that was the burden
he
carried. And he didn't carry it alone, not anymore.

She
loved
him. When would he grasp that?

"Oh, Christ," he groaned, his entire body shuddering like a breeze had gone through him. "Say it again, beautiful."

She hadn't even realized she'd said it out loud, but she gave him what he wanted. "I'm in love with you, Tristan," she whispered against his lips, unable to keep the truth from him now any more than she had been able to outside of
Teplo
. She didn't want to keep it quiet. She wanted him to hear it, to feel it. She was his and he could shut her out all he wanted, but it wouldn't stop her from caring. "I've been falling for you since the very first night."

His kiss this time was brutal in its intensity…punishing, healing. Whatever he'd seen tonight disappeared. His mouth moved over hers recklessly, freely, his tongue delving inside and making frenzied, deep sweeps before retreating and then plunging again. Over and over as he leaned into her, his hand at her nape, hers twisted in his shirt.

"Again," he demanded when she gasped.

"I love you," she said.

He lifted her off her feet and stumbled backward. A chair scraped across the floor, kicked out of his way as he rained kisses across her face. The cool wood of the table bumped the backs of her knees, pulling a soft cry from her lips. She clawed at his shirt, trying to get it off so she could feel him. Not fabric, but
him
. Smooth, hard muscle under olive skin. Safety and strength and a release from every image the last hours had seen running through her mind in a macabre dance.

His hand shot out and swept the table clear of the few items she's set on top.

She didn't care if he shattered them all.

"Again," he demanded as he pressed her down onto the table and crawled up her body. The table shuddered beneath their combined weight and then steadied.

She hitched her good leg around his hip, bending the other at the knee.

She pulled him closer as he prowled up her body.

Their mouths met.

Tristan demanded she say the words over and over between greedy, demanding kisses and grasping, desperate touches. She gave them to him each time, arching beneath him as he trailed open-mouthed kisses from her swollen lips to her neck and down onto her collarbone. His shirt finally came free in her hands and he shucked it off, rising above her as he tore it from his body and let it go.

She moaned at the sight of him hovering over her like a blue-eyed angel, the wings of his tattoo rippling as he breathed. The muscles in his chest and arms bulged as he held himself above her, carefully keeping his weight from her. He didn't give her long to look before he was back, stripping her shirt off and flinging it in the same direction his had gone.

His hands were all over her then, sweeping across the valley of her stomach, brushing over the peaks of her breasts, pulling at the fabric separating him from the pebbled flesh begging for his touch.

"Again," he demanded hoarsely as the clasp on her bra gave and her breasts spilled free. He inhaled at the sight. Froze for an instant as his eyes flashed to that predatory blue-black she knew so well, and then his breath was a warm, welcome rush across her skin as he pulled her nipple into his mouth.