Rhapsody (The Teplo Trilogy #2)

by Ayden K. Morgen

  "We can't. It's done, beautiful. I called your father this morning."

  "He's here," she whispered, looking stricken.

  Tristan nodded. The expression on her face ripped at his heart as he stared at her. He felt like such a bastard for doing this. He wanted to tell her that he changed his mind, that he didn't mean it, and that she could stay, but he couldn't say any of that when it wasn't true. As much as he wanted her here, he wanted her safely away more.

  And he didn't have time to talk her through it now. She was already scrambling from the bed, her expression morphing from hurt to anger and back again in rapid succession.

  "Lillian." He climbed to his feet too, fucking hating that he'd hurt her. He didn't want that, ever. And how fucked up was it that he'd pushed her so hard to beg him because he was a possessive bastard and now that she'd done it, actually begged him for something when she wasn't out of her mind with pleasure, he hated it?

  "No." She shuffled away before he could touch her, talk to her, and make her understand why he had to do this. Why she had to do it.

  "Beautiful, please let me–"

  "I said no!" She turned on him, her eyes ablaze in her flushed face. "I begged you not to do this and you did it anyway. You went behind my back and called my father." She drew a shuddering breath. Her eyes flashed fury. "Did you ever intend to let me stay, Tristan? Was I only here until you found a reason for me not to be?"

  He didn't answer her. What was he supposed to say? He needed her safe. Why did he feel like he should be apologizing for that now? He couldn't even tell her that he hadn't been looking for a reason to send her away because part of him wondered if maybe he had. If maybe he'd been trying to find something to give him the strength since the very beginning to get her out of this. He'd never wanted her involved, and had been so weak to agree with Jason on any of it. Had he been looking for a reason to let her go even while wanting to keep her here?

  He didn't know.

  She took his silence as confirmation. "You made love to me last night, and you knew even then, but you let me believe you weren't going to do this." She sucked in a deep breath as she stared at him, willing him to deny it.

  "I'm sorry," he said.

  She flinched, shuddered, and drew herself up, wrapping anger around her like armor.

  God, he hated this.

  "I can't talk to you right now," she said, coldly. The same tone she'd used on him after he'd kicked her door down. "My father is here." She shot him a final scathing look, grabbed her clothes from the chair where he'd placed them and limped into the bathroom.

  The door slammed shut behind her so hard it rattled the frames on the bedroom walls. He cringed, raked his hand through his hair…stared at the door she'd vanished through. She was angry. Really angry.

  Fucking hell.

  The doorbell rang again.

  He grabbed a t-shirt and pulled it over his head as he headed out of the bedroom toward the front door. One look through the peephole and he knew the shit-storm had just started. Daniel Maddox looked as displeased as his daughter. The only difference was that Mr. Maddox would probably shoot his sorry ass, and the scowl on his face wasn't nearly as beautiful as the one on his daughter's. Tristan steeled himself and opened the door for him.

  "Mayor Maddox," he said, really hoping the man didn't hate him as much as he suspected he did. This morning he'd been less than pleased to hear that Lillian had been lying to him every day for weeks. He'd been irate to learn that Tristan was a DEA agent. Furious didn't even come close to describing his reaction to hearing that she'd been hurt.

  "Mr. Maddox? This is Tristan Riley, your daughter's boyfriend. I need to speak with you."

  "Is Lillian okay?" the mayor asked immediately, alarm in his voice.

  Christ, Tristan had no idea how to answer that. He opted for a half-truth and hoped it'd suffice long enough for him to explain. "She's safe, sir."

  Daniel breathed a sigh of relief into the phone. "What can I do for you, son?"

  He glanced at Lillian a final time and slipped from the room, cursing himself for telling that half-truth already. "Lillian's safe, sir, but there's a problem."

  "Spit it out, Tristan." It wasn't a suggestion.

  Well, shit. "My name isn't Tristan Riley. It's Tristan Angelo. Special Agent Tristan Angelo, sir. I work for the DEA."

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said my name is–"

  "I heard what you said. You're telling me that my daughter has been lying about who you are for weeks?"

  "Ah, not exactly, sir."

  "Tristan? I want you to do me a big favor right about now." The mayor waited for his agreement. "I want you to think very carefully about what you're saying and how you say it. And then I want you to drop the 'sir' shit and tell me what the hell is going on with my daughter. Think you can handle that, son?"

  "Ah, yes…." He barely kept the "sir" from bubbling out.

  "Good. Now, what the hell is going on with my daughter?" her father demanded. "Does she or does she not know that you're Special Agent Tristan Angelo?"

  "She knows," he answered, flinching at the scathing emphasis Daniel placed on his name and title.

  Complete silence.

  "She wasn't lying by choice, sir," he hurried to explain, not wanting the man angry at her over any of this. They'd roped her into this, and that wasn't her fault. "It's complicated, but she didn't have much of a choice but to keep it quiet."

  "Uncomplicate it." That wasn't a suggestion either. "Now."

  "Lillian lives across the street from a club that I've been investigating for the last couple of months. I, we—the DEA—have reason to believe the owners are working with a cartel to prepare a new drug for transport to an international market. Several people have been murdered." How the hell did you explain a case like this to your girlfriend's father—who you'd been lying to—at six in the morning with no warning?

  "And Lillian is aware of this?"

  "She's been helping us, sir."

  "Come again?"

  Yeah, there was no way around it now. Mayor Daniel Maddox was going to kill him.

  "She's been helping us with the investigation."

  "Tristan," the mayor muttered as he stalked into the penthouse.

  Tristan stepped out of the way, cursing himself for getting caught up in how the conversation this morning had played out instead of how this one was going to go now. This morning had been brutal, but all in all, it'd turned out well. Daniel had promised not to kill him—only because he'd made it clear that he loved Lillian more than life itself—and had agreed that she needed protection.

  He was furious that there was a need, of course, but he'd been proud of her, too. What father wouldn't be? She'd been so fucking courageous doing any of this and had done a masterful job at it. She'd played her role to perfection.

  Christ, she had to forgive him for this.

  "Where's my daughter?" Daniel turned to stare at him. Glare, really.

  Tristan wasn't afraid of anyone, but Lillian's father? Totally different story. "She'll be out in a few minutes," he promised, bolting the door as he took in her father. He was all dark hair, dark eyes, and gruff exterior encased in a button down, jeans, and cowboy boots, the exact opposite of Lillian, but there was no mistaking the family resemblance. Tristan couldn't pinpoint exactly what screamed father and daughter—maybe the glare—but it did.

  The mayor glanced around. His eyebrow rose. "I didn't realize the DEA handed out such posh covers."

  "Tristan Riley isn't exactly a cover, sir. I was him until my parents were murdered. The DEA just hid a few details about what happened afterward."

  "Ah." The mayor paused. "Your parents were murdered?"

  "Yes, sir." He hesitated. "You didn't run my background?"

  "I ran your background as soon as Lillian gave me your name," Daniel said and glanced around. "Lot of good it did me, Angelo."

  "We're good at burying details, sir." He felt like he should be apologizing for the fact that the man'
s check had only come up with what they'd intended anyone to find, but that had been the point of having a cover, hadn't it? "Thank you for coming."

  "I didn't come for you."

  "I realize that, but I have to thank you anyway. She–" He cleared his throat as Daniel scowled at him. Screw it. He didn't have time to pussyfoot around. "Look, I realize you have no reason to like me, trust me, or want me anywhere near your daughter at this point, Mayor Maddox, and if I could change that, I would. But I can't change it any more than you can change your past. What I can do is swear to you that her safety and happiness are more important to me than anything else and I will do everything in my power to ensure both."

  "You've done a bang up job of it so far," Daniel retorted.

  "You're right. She never should have been involved in this, and I will regret that for the rest of my life." Tristan straightened. "But I love your daughter and the last thing I want to do is let her leave, but I'm trying to do the right thing by her now by sending her back with you. You may not believe that, but it's the truth. I love your daughter."

  Daniel glared at him before his scowl slipped. "I'm not sure I like you, Tristan, but I believe that. And I believe she loves you too. But"—he held a finger up—"if you put her in danger like this ever again, you will answer to me, federal agent or no."

  "Understood, sir." He barely contained a relieved sigh. Daniel might not like him or trust him, but at least he hadn't ordered him to stay the hell away from his daughter. Not that he had to at this point. Lillian would probably make that demand herself.

  Please let her forgive me for this, he prayed.

  "She's not happy about this, is she?" the mayor asked as Tristan showed him into the living room and offered him a seat. He didn't take it, but he did relax his stance. Slightly.

  Tristan couldn't help the harsh laugh of response.

  "Understatement?" Daniel guessed.

  "Something like that, sir." He raked a hand through his hair and glanced toward the bedroom, willing her to come out and talk to him. He had to go soon. He didn't want his last sight of her to be of her walking away from him.

  "Good for her," the mayor muttered.

  Tristan gaped at him.

  "What? I don't like any of this, but the girl knows her own mind," he said. "And the thought of her making your life hell for any length of time is inordinately pleasing to me right now."

  Yeah, Tristan was getting that.

  He glanced at the bedroom door, willing Lillian to hurry and appear.

  "Sir?"

  Jason lifted his head from the file in front of him and glanced at the young agent standing in his doorway with a goofy grin on his face. "You have something?"

  The rookie stepped into the office, a sheaf of papers in his hand.

  "Show me," Jason demanded, straightening in his chair. Thank God someone had something.

  "I believe so, sir," the young man said, holding the sheaf out to Jason. "We were able to run Agent Kincaid's physical description of the female suspect through the NGI and narrow it down that way. We came back with several potential matches. We were able to narrow it down further to six using the name and possible location criteria you suggested. These are the six."

  Jason took the papers and began flipping through. The first, a Mariah Luster, was an unlikely match. She was forty-five and her last known residence was in D.C. She had no criminal record, and worked for the city there. The second, Mariah Ward was a strong possibility. She had a history of drug abuse, and a history of arrest in the United States and Mexico. The third though….

  He read through the information on the page in front of him. Mariah Jeffries, thirty-one, record in both the U.S. and Mexico, parents deceased. He caught something halfway down the page. Read it again. And then again.

  Jesus Christ.

  "Were you able to pull up anything else on any of them?" he asked, still focused on that one line halfway down the page.

  "We're working on that now, sir."

  "Good. I want this one first." Jason glanced up at him and held the paper out. "Mariah Jeffries."

  "Yes, sir."

  "She and an Elijah Noel were arrested together in Jalisco, Mexico two years ago. I want his record, too."

  "Sir?"

  "Now!"

  The rookie didn't have to be told twice.

  Lillian stared at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the red-rimmed, hurt eyes staring back at her. Tristan had called her father to take her back to Oregon. She was so angry at him, she couldn't even think straight. He'd let her believe he was over that nonsense. He'd made love to her last night, letting her believe it. He'd pretended things between them were fine when she'd awoken, and let her believe it again. He'd let her believe it right up until her father rang the doorbell and he'd been forced to tell her the truth.

  Why was he doing this?

  She wasn't a child. She wasn't defenseless.

  You're not an agent.

  You're a ballerina, Lillian. A fucking ballerina.

  She wanted to put her hands over her ears to block out the memory of him saying those words to her. He hadn't even said them this morning, but he might as well have. She would never be anything more than a ballerina to him, someone incapable of protecting herself or fitting into his world.

  After telling him that she would never beg him, after hating the thought of ever begging anyone for anything, she'd actually done it for him. She hadn't even had to think about it. All she'd had to do was open her mouth and let the pleas come tumbling out. And he'd still refused her. Because, to him, she was still just a ballerina. Someone who got in the way. Someone who put them both in danger.

  A hole opened up in her chest, swallowing up every little bit of confidence he'd given back to her in the last weeks. Every word he'd said to her had been meaningless because when it came right down to it, she was just a fucking ballerina to him.

  She didn't want to leave, but what else could she do? It's not like she could go to her house. And she couldn't exactly stay here. She couldn't stay with Tony and Jennie either, not if doing so put them in any danger. That left Zoë, and she neither knew Zoë well enough to foist herself off on her, nor particularly wanted to ask her and Jason to choose sides in this.

  This was between her and Tristan.

  Had he ever seen her as his equal? Could he ever?

  What had she ever done to prove she could handle his world anyway? She'd panicked in Trinity. Panicked when he left her alone to go to the morgue. Panicked and left her gun at home last night. Panicked and let Malachi drag her off. Was it any wonder he didn't want her here now?

  He didn't blame her for Malachi, but he couldn't forget either. Of course he couldn't. She would have preferred if he'd blamed her, yelled at her. It would have hurt less than him sending her away like a little girl.

  A fucking ballerina.

  "God," she laughed aloud at the thought. All her life, she'd wanted nothing but to be a ballerina. Now, the fact that Tristan considered her a ballerina actually hurt. He'd lied to her. She wanted to scream at him for that alone. She wouldn't though. She was done trying to convince him that she was strong enough. She didn't have the energy to fight him this time.

  She packed up the few things she had scattered about his bathroom in silence, her heart hurting in ways that shouldn't have been possible after last night. Love really was exactly like she'd always performed it. Painful. Tragic. Hell.

  She still would have chosen him though.

  Even knowing how much loving him could hurt, she still would have chosen him.

  Tristan and her father stood together in awkward silence when she entered the living room a few minutes later with her bag slung over her arm. Both turned to face her, matching grim expressions on their faces.

  "Hi, Dad," she mumbled, jerking her gaze away from Tristan.

  "Lillian." Her dad stepped across the room and pulled her into a tight hug.

  Her arms went around him, clinging as tears welled in her eyes. She'd misse
d him so much.

  "Don't ever do that to me again, Lily Elise," he chastised gruffly.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know he called you."

  "Obviously," her father retorted before setting her back down on her feet. He stepped back and looked her over. Only when he was sure she was in one piece did he relax. "You should have told me."

  "I know." She did know that, but she wasn't sure she would have even had she not been asked, no, ordered to keep the truth from him. She hadn't wanted him to worry. Clearly that had been a wasted effort because he was worried anyway. "I'm fine, Daddy, really."

  "Are you?" he asked, gazing at her as if he could see right through her blank expression and carefully chosen words. He probably could. She certainly made no secret of the fact that she ignored Tristan. She shifted her position every time he came into her peripheral, forcing him right back out.

  "Yeah," she lied. "Are you ready to go?"

  His eyes widened at her flat, lifeless question. "Uh, sure, kid, whenever you are."

  "Beautiful–" Tristan started to speak but she didn't really want to hear him.

  "I'm ready now," she blurted, cutting him off.

  He sighed loudly in exasperation and stepped in front of her, refusing to let her block out the sight of him anymore. "Stop," he demanded, grabbing her shoulders in a gentle vise when she tried to turn away from him.

  She stared down at her feet instead, coaching herself not to cry. She could cry later. She'd humiliated herself enough for one day. "I have to go, Tristan."

  "Look at me," he demanded.

  She shook her head mutely.

  "Dammit, please look at me, beautiful. Please."

  Damn him.

  She peeked up at him, and had to bite her lip to keep from whimpering aloud at the powerful emotion in his eyes. He appeared so fierce and gentle at once. Like this hurt him, too. But it didn't matter now, did it?

  "What do you want?" she asked, steeling herself against that vivid blue gaze.

  "I don't want you to go like this," he whispered, stepping closer. "I don't want you to hate me for this."