Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2) (8 page)

"Hey!" Jordan held his hands up, puffing his chest out with exaggerated pride. "I'm damn fine."

John laughed. "You're incorrigible, son. You have been since the day Zoë dragged you home with her."

"Don't hate, old man. You know I'm awesome." Jordan checked over the Beretta in his hands before aiming at the row of cans set up on a stump at the far side of the clearing. He wasn't a terrible shot, despite all of Tristan's teasing, and hit the first can. The second bullet plowed into the stump half an inch below the next can, sending a flurry of chips upward to knock it off the stump. He hit the third and fourth in rapid succession.

"Not bad," Tristan said.

"Thanks." Jordan handed the gun over as John moved across the clearing to set up another line of cans. He leaned up against a tree at the edge of the clearing. "I'm not trying to give you shit about her, you know. You seem happy."

"I am happy," he acknowledged, avoiding Jordan's probing gaze. It wasn't that he didn't want Jason's brother to know how he felt about Lillian. He simply didn't know what to say. He and Jordan weren't close like him and Jason. Plus, there were some things he had to tell Lillian first. Things he should have told her already.

"Well, I think she's a good match for you," John said, rejoining them. "She obviously cares for you a great deal."

"She does." Tristan grinned while John fired off a few rounds. He still wasn't quite sure how he'd gotten so damned lucky, but as Lillian had made abundantly clear, she loved him. He wanted to fall to his knees and thank God for that miracle while simultaneously apologizing to her for all the bullshit he'd invariably put her through as a result. All the shit he'd
already
put her through.

He'd thought about his future all day, and he knew what he wanted,
who
he wanted. But knowing he had to talk to her still made him feel uncomfortably bare. He wasn't good at letting people in, at letting them see all the fucked up parts of him. When he really let her in, it would mean something to him. It would mean
everything
to him. And if she walked away afterward, it would destroy him as surely as it would if something happened to her because of him.

"How's she doing with the case?" John asked as he lowered the weapon after destroying the last can. He never asked for details about Tristan's work, and Tristan didn't share them, but he and Jason had gone to John for help this time. They'd required his medical expertise. "Jason said the dilation drops didn't work well?"

"They were a bad idea," Tristan said with a shake of his head while reloading the cartridge on the Beretta so Jordan could fire off a few more rounds. He filled them in on the way she'd panicked, though he left out the details about Jayme Cordova's involvement in that little episode. Zo and Jayme were friends; he didn't want his cousin pissed at her when she'd meant no harm. Like he'd told Lillian, there was nothing between him
and
Jayme beyond friendship. And that was perfectly fine with both him and Jayme.

"She's had a difficult year, son. I imagine any of us would have reacted the same had we been through what she has." John hesitated as if making a decision. "How much do you know about what happened to her?"

"Most of it," he answered, familiar anger burning through him at the thought of what Marc Rivera had done to her, and all she'd suffered afterwards. The gossip magazines had torn her to shreds, twisting things until Rivera looked like the victim. Every word was bullshit, but the damage couldn't be undone now. Rivera had walked away with a slap on the wrist, while Lillian would never dance again. She'd lost her hopes and dreams, and sooner or later, he'd walk out of rehab as if nothing ever happened. Bastard.

"Her injuries were extensive," John said.

Tristan glanced up, surprised that his uncle knew so much.

"I didn't work on her, if that's what you're thinking. But I know the surgeon who did," he said. "He had to piece her leg back together. They had her in surgery for over six hours. She's lucky to be walking at all."

"I know."

"I saw her in passing during her therapy a few times before she transferred facilities," John mused. "She worked harder than anyone else. Her therapist had to force her to take breaks, and you could tell she hated every minute of being confined in that wheelchair. She wanted to be up."

"She still pushes herself hard," Tristan said, remembering the day he'd walked in on her in her studio, trying to do things her body couldn't handle any longer. He'd been so pissed at her for doing it alone, so afraid she'd hurt herself and he wouldn't be there to stop her.

"Everyone talked about her, whispering behind their hands." John shook his head, a look of disgust on his face. "Other dancers would come out of her room smiling, like they were happy to see her in that bed. I don't know if she realized at the time how spiteful they were, but I was there the day she banned them from her room. On her way back to her room from therapy, she caught one of the girls laughing about how she'd never steal another part from them. She didn't say a word to the girl, but she called the nurse's station five minutes later and stopped accepting visitors. She transferred facilities two days later."

"Jesus." Tristan closed his eyes, trying to fight down the surge of fury John's story sent through him. Lillian had told him how bad things had been, but it killed him to think about her facing that sort of cruelty and hatred when she was the most vulnerable. It pissed him off that anyone could be so vicious to someone like her. That they could hurt her like that when she'd done nothing to them. And it infuriated him that he hadn't been there to stop it. He hadn't even known her, but he wanted to go back and fix it for her.

"That's fucked up," Jordan said, scowling.

"Yeah, it is," Tristan agreed, opening his eyes. "But there are all kinds of fucked up people in this world." He'd seen the worst of them. And so had Lillian. She'd endured more than anyone ever should, but she still had hope. For the first time in a very long time, so did he. She'd given that to him. "If anything happens to her because of me, it'll kill me," he confessed, looking at Jordan and his uncle. "I need her."

"Son." John handed the Sig over to Jordan before stepping up beside Tristan. "I have no doubts that you'll keep her safe, but you can't be everything, do everything, and save everyone. When are you going to realize that?" His eyes bored into Tristan's—compassionate, earnest, and sympathetic. So much like Tristan's mom, it made him ache.

"I don't want to save everyone," he murmured in response. "But it'd be really frigging nice if I could." That was nothing but truth. Losing people never got easier and it sucked. That would never change, no matter what else did.

John smiled sadly. "I've been a surgeon for a long time and it doesn't work that way. You save who you can save and let God sort out the rest. That's just the way it works."

"And if I lose her?" he asked, the thought hitting him like a hammer blow as it always did. He squeezed his eyes closed, tilted his head back and took a deep breath, trying to convince himself that he wouldn't lose her. The assurance didn't help much.

"Would you let anything happen to her?" Jordan asked.

"Of course not," he answered. Even here, where he knew she was safe, he itched to get back to her, where he could see for himself that she was okay and ensure she stayed that way.

"I don't know half of what you do for Jason," Jordan said, looking thoughtful. "You two have never shared details and I try to respect that, but I know you. And you've never failed to finish what you start or protect the people you set out to protect. This case is no different. You merely have more incentive to do it right this time around. Anything beyond that doesn't matter, so let it go."

"You're good at what you do, Tristan. One of the best from what I understand," John said with a proud smile when Jordan finished speaking. "You'll keep that girl safe because that's who you are. She's a smart girl, and she's a fighter. She's not going to let something happen to herself. Trust her. Trust yourself."

Trust himself.

He was trying.

Chapter Six

"Hey." Tristan grabbed Lillian around the waist and dragged her into his arms as the rest of the family headed toward the formal dining room. He, Jordan, and John had been out for forty-five minutes and this was the first time he'd had an opportunity to touch her since walking in the door.

He had to have his hands on her like he had to have air.

"Hey," she answered, melting into him with a contented sigh.

He nuzzled his face into her neck. God, she smelled good. Like flowers and peace and home. She felt even better. Her lithe body fit perfectly against his, like a puzzle piece locking into place.

His anxiety drained away.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I fucking missed you though." He pulled her closer, his tongue darting out to lick along the pale skin of her throat. The uncomfortable pressure in his chest eased as her familiar taste exploded on his tongue, pulling another groan of appreciation and desire from his lips.

"Missed you too," she mumbled, burrowing into him. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, we had fun."

"No deer incidents?"

"Not this time." He laughed. "Did you have fun with the girls while we were out?"

She hummed into his neck. "It was interesting."

"Interesting?" He tilted her chin up so he could see her face, not sure he liked that answer. "What happened?"

"You worry too much." A sweet smile played at her lips.

"Lillian."

"Nothing happened; we just talked."

"About?"

"You."

He searched her expression, looking for any hint that Zo or Rachel had gone too far, but found none. He knew how invasive his family and friends could be. They meant well, but when they wanted to know something, nothing was sacred. They were tenacious, relentless. He was used to the frank discussions between his cousin and Rachel, but Lillian wasn't. For all of her bravado and maturity, she was still innocent, having spent her life in dance classes instead of gossiping with girlfriends or dating. And Zoë and Rachel were a handful at the best of times.

"You never told me you played the guitar," she said when he brushed his fingers down her cheek and smiled at her, content that they hadn't pried too much.

"Ah, hell," he said, blinking.

"Will you play for me sometime?" she asked.

"Yeah, beautiful. I'll play for you." There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for her. Leaning down, he brushed his lips across hers. He kissed her, groaning when she pulled his bottom lip into her mouth with a soft tug before releasing it. She sighed when he broke the kiss, letting him hold her.

"When are we going to talk to Jason?" she finally asked.

"After dinner." He hadn't had a chance to say more than two words to Jase since he walked in the door. Zoë had jumped on her husband as soon as she spotted him, leaving no time for anything other than a rushed hello as she'd dragged him off for a few minutes of privacy.

"Okay." Lillian shivered in his arms, pressing her face deeper into his neck.

"What's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she admitted.

His arms tightened around her like he could physically fend off whatever frightened her. He wanted to be that for her—wanted to make her feel safe no matter what.

"Talk to me," he pleaded when she said nothing further, tilting her face up and pressing his forehead to hers. "Let me help you."

"I'm scared you'll shut me out again if you hear something you don't like," she confessed, avoiding his gaze.

His heart sank. He hated that he'd shaken her so badly last night that she was afraid to trust him. The last thing he wanted was for her to fear putting her heart into his hands. He didn't know much about love and relationships, but he knew how she made him feel. He wanted her today, tomorrow…forever if she'd have him.

"What can I do? Tell me, and it's yours."

"I don't know." A sad smile twisted on her lips.

"I'll do anything for you, baby. Just name it."

She blew out a soft breath. "Don't push me away," she whispered her plea. "If you don't want me, tell me, but don't push me away because you think it's best for me. Whatever it is about us, it's not that easy, you know? I'm here because I want to be. With you, I mean. I want to be with you."

She was right. Nothing about them was easy. And yet, they felt right. Inevitable, almost. As if this thing between them was meant to happen. She drove him crazy, reordered his entire universe moment by moment, but he'd never really had the desire to fight how she made him feel. He'd tried, for her sake, but for his own? He'd been ready to give her whatever she wanted damn near from the very beginning.

"I've wanted you since the day I met you, sweetheart," he said. "That won't change."

She met his gaze before she nodded once. "Then we'll figure out the rest of it. Together."

Together.

Yeah, he liked the sound of that.

Holding her face between his palms, he stared at her intently to ensure she understood that he was serious. He didn't want her worrying about this anymore. She'd already worried about it enough because of him. "So long as you want to stay, you're stuck with me.
Aut viam inveniam aut faciam
."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that it's time to eat." He grinned at her.

"Does it really?"

"No," he said against her lips. "It means I'm keeping you one way or another. But Zoë will be in here to drag you away in about two seconds."

Lillian sighed heavily as if she didn't want to give up this time with him.

"We'll be alone soon enough," he promised.

That time couldn't come fast enough for him. He hadn't realized until they'd left their little bubble exactly how much he loved having her to himself constantly. Sharing her with everyone else sucked.

The rest of the evening passed without incident. Tristan kept Lillian by his side at dinner, finding every available opportunity to touch her as she chatted with his family. He loved seeing how easily she fit in with them, how quickly they accepted her. Seeing it sent that same twisting sensation through his heart. The one that made him want to sweep her up in his arms and keep her.

As dinner wound down, he began to notice how she avoided looking at Jason. Every time her eyes met his across the table, she tensed before looking hurriedly away. Tristan didn't like it, but he understood. He watched the two of them, trying to figure out how to fix things between them.

When he caught Jason's gaze though, Jason shook his head as if to say leave it alone. He'd lied to her, allowed her to believe that Tristan had used her. If she was still angry with him, they couldn't really fault her for it. But he hoped she would give Jason a chance sooner or later. He might have been a manipulative bastard at times, but he was a damn good friend to have at your back. And Tristan knew Jason would ensure Lillian was safe no matter what.

He and Jason didn't always see eye to eye, but they were a whole hell of a lot alike. The sense of responsibility, the willingness to do whatever it took to close a case…those were simply the tip of the iceberg of similarities between them. They both adored Zoë, they were both martial arts instructors, and they both had similar reasons for recruiting to the DEA.

Jason and Jordan had grown up on the Mexican-American border. Jason had seen more than his share of the violence and chaos caused by drug cartels in Mexico. Shortly after graduating from high school, he'd joined the military. While on his tour, his best friend was murdered by a cartel. Losing Chris had weighed heavily on Jason. He hadn't re-enlisted when his time was up, choosing instead to stick closer to home. The DEA had snatched him up without hesitation, requiring someone with his particular skill set, and set him to working the border.

If anyone understood why Tristan struggled so much, Jason did. He'd cleaned up after the cartels more than once before being transferred to Seattle to help clean up when MDMA began pouring in through Canada. He knew what it felt like to lose someone you knew to the war. He understood, perhaps better than anyone, Tristan's determination and inability to give up and let people like Vetrov win.

Unlike Tristan though, Jason had found something to keep him grounded. Falling for Zoë had shifted Jason's priorities on a grand scale, but Tristan knew full well that his fourteen and sixteen hour days at the office were as much by choice as necessity. Jason was no more capable of walking away from the responsibility he felt than Tristan was.

But more and more lately, Tristan found himself mulling over the prospect of walking away. Trying to imagine actually doing it, though? To imagine walking into Davis's office and handing over his resignation? He couldn't quite see it, and he'd been trying all day. He was good for one thing and one thing only: keeping motherfuckers like Anton Vetrov from winning. He'd devoted his life to that mission.

What was left when that ended?

He still didn't know, and he was honest enough to admit that finding out scared the shit out of him. But when it came right down to it? There was no contest. He needed Lillian safe more than he needed to continue fighting this war. An end to the violence was the only thing he could give her.

"Hey." Lillian nudged his arm.

He glanced up from his empty plate to find her frowning at him. Everyone else had risen to begin cleaning up. He'd been too caught up in his thoughts to notice.

"You okay?" she asked, her bottom lip between her teeth again.

He reached out and gently pried it loose. "I'm fine," he promised, tracing her now freed lip with the pad of his thumb. "I was just thinking."

"About?" The little minx's tongue darted out to brush across his skin.

"Jason," he said, fighting to stay on topic.

Lillian blinked at him, confusion clouding her eyes.

"He used to work the Mexican border," Tristan said, regretfully removing his hand from her face and settling back in his chair. He nodded toward Jason, who laughed at something Zoë murmured in his ear.

"I didn't know that." Lillian's gaze followed his across the table to where Jason stood in the doorway with Zoë in his arms and a grin on his face.

"He and I are a lot alike," Tristan admitted, watching Lillian as she watched Jason. "The cartels killed his best friend a long time ago."

Her eyes snapped back to his. "I didn't know that."

"That's why he got involved with the DEA. He wanted to keep that from happening to anyone else. He doesn't like to lose anyone either."

Her brows furrowed as she watched Jason and Zoë. "That's why he lied to me, isn't it?" she finally asked, glancing over at him. "At the hospital? He didn't want me to get hurt either."

"That was part of it," Tristan agreed.

"And the other part?"

"The other part?" He sighed before admitting the truth. "The other part was your father. He could have caused quite a few complications."

"Such as?"

"He could have forced Tristan from the case," Jason drawled.

Lillian jumped as Tristan turned to face his friend. Neither had realized he was listening to their quiet conversation. Of course he'd heard it though. Zoë had too, for that matter.

"In four years, Tristan has never once failed to locate the source of the drugs and garner a conviction. He's one of the best we have, but had your father demanded it," Jason explained, looking at Lillian, "I would have jerked him off the case and fired him."

"Why?" She asked, shock flitting across her face. "You said yourself that he's the best you have."

"Because what I did was unacceptable," Tristan answered for Jason, being honest. "I put you at risk by approaching you in the club, and then I kicked your door down and said a lot more than I should have. Had you worked for Anton Vetrov like I believed, my behavior would have destroyed the case."

"Oh." Lillian blinked, looking uneasy. "You really would have fired him?"

Jason nodded. "But let's be perfectly clear about something," he said, his voice quiet. "Had I fired him, it wouldn't have been just because your father demanded it. I would have fired him because of what he did to you that night. His behavior was reprehensible."