Ravished (The Teplo Trilogy #1) (8 page)

"What happened, Tristan?" Jason asked again, his disapproval coming through loud and clear.

With his hands clenched into fists around the file, Tristan told Jason the grim truth. He'd accused her of being a drug dealer, a murderer, and a stripper. Raged at her like she was subhuman, worthy of nothing but his disgust and hatred. The more he talked, the worst he felt.

What the hell had he done? Christ, what was wrong with him?

"I implied she deserved to have her leg broken," he admitted, his stomach roiling. He didn't know much about ballet or ballerinas, but he had a feeling breaking a leg like that would end a career faster than getting pregnant could. No wonder she'd slapped him.

"You did what?" Jason shouted, rising out of his chair. He narrowed his blue eyes on Tristan, clenching his fists. "When did you become such a fucking asshole?"

"What the fuck was I supposed to think?" Tristan asked. He'd come here expecting Jason to fire him, but hell if that made it any easier, especially now that he knew the full extent of what he'd done. Lillian hadn't done any of the shit he'd accused her of doing.

That fact should have relieved him, but it didn't. He felt exactly like the asshole Jason had named him. And that pissed him off. He didn't need Jason to tell him he'd messed up. Every time Lillian's tear-stained face flashed through his mind, he knew he'd screwed up. Big time. He'd jumped to conclusions because doing so was easier than dealing with the truth, wasn't it?

Had he hurt her practically dragging her across the street like he had? Christ, what if he had?

The thought made him sick.

You really are a prick
, he cursed himself.

"She's in the system because of her partner," Jason snapped. "He's the one S.P.D. investigated, not her. Had you done as I asked and stayed away from her until we had the entire story, Jackson could have told you that, but you didn't. You didn't even bother to confirm anything. You just fucking reacted!"

Tristan opened his mouth to defend himself, and then closed it without speaking.

Jason was right. After visiting the morgue, and thinking Lillian's bosses had killed that girl while Lillian kept him occupied, he'd been furious. He hadn't been thinking about anything but the dead teenager in Marita's freezer, and making Lillian rue the day she'd met him.

Nothing he said to her now would make up for his behavior, but he owed her an apology. She deserved that much from him.

He tossed the file onto Jason's desk and stood.

"Sit your ass back down and don't even think about it," Jason barked, glaring at him.

"I've got to go." Tristan brushed him off and strode toward the door.

"Don't fucking push me, Tristan. You'll regret it."

Tristan swung around to face Jason. "What the hell does that mean?"

"That means exactly what it sounds like. This girl has you so messed up, you can't see straight. You need to stay the hell away from her. Push me on this and I'll suspend you. Attempt to see her and I'll fire you. You're lucky she didn't press charges for the shit you pulled tonight. You will
not
go near her again."

"Don't, Jason," Tristan warned his friend, though he didn't know what he warned against. Threatening him? Demanding he stay away from Lillian? Reminding him that he had no right to speak to her again? All three infuriated him. Jason wasn't his fucking keeper.

"Read the fucking file." Jason snatched it off the desk where Tristan had set it, and flung it at him. "Her dance partner attacked her in the middle of a performance. He went on stage high, and damn near killed her."

Tristan ripped open the file and scanned the article he'd ignored earlier.

Lillian Maddox of the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company was rushed to the University of Washington Medical Center after dance partner and rumored boyfriend, Marc Rivera, attacked her in front of a horrified audience during a live performance of
Cinderella
last night. According to hospital personnel, upon arrival, Maddox was rushed to surgery with a compound fracture to her leg and a serious concussion.

Rivera was arrested at the scene. Sources claim Rivera has been secretly battling a heroin addiction for the last year, which may have played a role in the attack on Maddox. Seattle P.D. has refused to comment on the case, citing the ongoing investigation.

Maddox shot to stardom in 2010 when she debuted as a soloist with Pacific Northwest at age eighteen. Less than a year later, Pacific Northwest announced Maddox's rise to principal. Several companies throughout the world have tried to woo Maddox away to no avail, with Maddox stating the renowned Seattle based Company is home for her.

Whether she will be able to continue her reign as the star of the Company is unclear. The University's chief surgeon, Dr. Dale Oliver, refused to speculate on Miss Maddox's future, stating only that Miss Maddox remains in critical condition. He deferred all other questions to Kelli Zimmerman, spokesperson for the Pacific Northwest Ballet Company.

Fucking hell. He'd had accused her of deserving that.

"I have to see her," he muttered, tossing the file back on the desk.

"No, you don't," Jason said. "I can't afford to lose you right now, and Davis is going to go ballistic when he hears about this. Keeping you on the case will be hard enough without you making it worse now."

"Jase, dammit-" Tristan stopped, frustrated because his friend was right. Davis had been itching to pull him out of undercover operations for the last year. The only reason he hadn't was because Tristan was too damn valuable. Given a reason, he'd reassign him in a heartbeat, and that couldn't happen. He needed to see this case through. He owed justice to Elizabeth James and the other seven victims.

Which meant he had to stay away from Lillian, no matter how much she deserved an apology or how badly he wanted to make things right with her. If he tried, Jason would fire him. Tristan didn't doubt that for an instant. He'd gone too far this time. Way too fucking far.

Defeat and shame coursed through him in tandem, filling him with self-loathing and regret. "You'll get her out of there?" he asked, sinking back down into the chair across from Jason.

"Yeah, I will."

"Tell her I'm sorry, Jase. Fuck, I didn't know."

"I will, man," Jason promised.

Tristan took a deep breath, and then blew it out. "I'll stay away from her," he said, his voice full of reluctance and regret.

"I don't need to see a doctor," Lillian said for what felt like the thousandth time, wishing for her own soft mattress instead of the hard hospital bed beneath her. "My leg is fine," she added when Jennie just looked at her from the doctor's stool where she sat.

Her leg
was
fine. Mostly. It still ached, but not anywhere near as badly as her head did. The pounding there showed no signs of relenting anytime soon. In fact, every time she thought about Tristan, her headache grew by leaps and bounds. What right did he have to accuse her of anything?

He was a federal agent, for God's sake! And he'd practically slept with her on the dance floor in the middle of an investigation. Maybe she was an idiot for meeting him at the club, but at least she hadn't risked his safety and then castigated him for his role in their interlude.

She wanted to strangle him.

"Does it still hurt?" Jennie asked, her eyes on Lillian's leg.

"Not so much," she said, noticing for the first time how she massaged the muscles. She leaned back onto the lumpy pillow, frowning. "I shouldn't have tried to twist like that."

"I'm sorry." Jen shot her a sympathetic frown.

"Me too," she sighed.

"You know he's still in rehab." Jen slid the hair-tie from her hair and redid the messy bun, not looking at Lillian.

"I know."

She would never dance again. She might not ever walk without a painful limp. And Marc had been sentenced to six months in a rehab program. It wasn’t fair, but Lillian tried not to think about that injustice. When she did, she just hated Marc more. And hating him wouldn't make her feel any better or bring back the life he'd stolen from her.

Sometimes, when she tried really hard, she actually believed that.

"What happened with this Tristan guy, Lily?" Jen asked. "Was he the one you ran into at the restaurant yesterday?"

Lillian bit her lip, and then nodded. She should have known Jen hadn't bought her explanation when she'd returned to the table with swollen lips and her face flushed. "I met him at
Teplo
and things got… physical." Her cheeks burned. "And then he confronted me tonight, demanding to know who hired me, and if they paid me li-like some sort of prostitute! I feel so
stupid
."

"You aren't stupid."

"Aren't I?" Lillian blew out a breath, tears of frustration welling in her eyes when she turned to look at Jennie. "I had to find out from a complete stranger that the guy I let do things to me in the middle of a club is a DEA agent. I didn't even know his last name, and I almost slept with him."

"Why did you?" Jennie asked, not prying for more information into what she meant by
things
. "I mean, I've known you a long time, and you don't do things like that. Why was he different?"

Wasn't that the million dollar question?

"I don't know," Lillian said, unsure where to begin. "It's like I didn't care where we were. I wanted him and that's all that mattered at the time. No," she sighed as soon as the words left her lips. "That's not really true either."

Jennie said nothing, letting Lillian work it out for herself.

"My entire life, I've danced," she said carefully. "And then all the sudden, that was gone. Everything I worked so hard for, everything I dreamed about my entire life, just vanished, and there was nothing I could do about it." A tear slipped down her cheek. "But with Tristan, for just a little while, I got to remember what being alive felt like. I got to let go and just live in the moment. I didn't have to worry about anything. For once since Marc attacked me, I didn't hurt. I got to dance again. I just wanted – I don't know what I wanted."

She'd liked the way Tristan had made her feel. The look in his eye when he'd touched her and the warmth of his breath rasping at her ear made her ache in the best way possible. The way the beat of the music seemed to rattle in her chest shook something loose, that wanton woman she'd only just discovered. Tristan made her feel so out of control and so safe at the same time. Hell, she'd even liked coming apart for him in the middle of the dance floor. She didn't have to think or remember when she was with Tristan. For once, she got to be free.

Was that so wrong?

"It was stupid," she whispered.

Jen climbed onto the bed before wrapping an arm around her. Lillian rested her head against Jen's. For a long moment, the two sat side by side like they used to do, not speaking as someone paged Dr. Blue to the ICU.

And then, "I won't even pretend to know how you feel," Jen said, "because I don't. You lost so much because of Marc. You're allowed to want it back. You're allowed to be confused and make mistakes while you try to figure it out. That doesn't make you stupid or a bad person."

"That's the thing," Lillian whispered, swiping at the tear trickling down her cheek. "I'm so mad at Tristan right now, and I feel so stupid, but I'm not sorry for what we did. I can't convince myself that I wouldn't do it again if I had it to do all over." What did that say about her? That, despite everything, she still liked the way he'd made her feel? That, even though she wanted to strangle him, part of her still wanted his hands on her body?

"You like him," Jennie guessed.

Lillian nodded miserably, unable to lie to herself or to Jennie.

"What are you going to do?"

What could she do? She had liked him, but she didn't even know him. And she wouldn't forgive him for what he'd said to her either. She wasn't that weak and pathetic.

"I guess I forget about him."

"Maybe," Jen said, doubt lingering in her tone.

Someone tapped on the door and then swung it open. A nurse came in, followed by a tall, crew-cut blond man with DEA emblazoned across his dark t-shirt, a Glock holstered at his hip, and a federal badge hanging from a chain around his neck.