your apartment.”
The call ended. Francesca stared down at her phone in shock.
Viggo appeared in the bedroom doorway, yawning and stretching. He was wearing nothing but his boxer briefs, and he looked absolutely devastating.
“Are you making breakfast?” he asked. “Come back to bed first.”
She wanted to. More than anything, she wanted to take his hand and allow him to take her back to bed, to repeat everything they had done last night.
“I can’t,” she said. “My boss just called. He knows I’m in New York. I have to go in to the office.”
Viggo frowned. “You’re going to be in trouble, aren’t you?” he asked. “For coming back without telling him. Lying about where you were.”
“Yes, probably.” She nodded her head slowly, putting the ingredients away. “I have no idea how he knows I’m here.”
“You don’t think your partner gave you up?”
“No.” Francesca was confident about that. “He was committed to lying for me. Voles must have had my phone traced or something. I didn’t think he would have any reason to do that, but of course, he can. If he wants to.”
“I don’t think you should go in,” Viggo said, moving closer to her. “I don’t have a good feeling about it. Stay here. Ignore him. He’s going to fire you anyway, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Francesca said, trying not to let her voice betray her swirling emotions. “But I have to go. If I don’t, he says he’s going to send an agent to investigate the apartment, and that really is the last thing we want. We can’t have them finding you here.”
“I never meant to make this kind of trouble for you.”
“It’s not your fault,” Francesca said. “I don’t regret bringing you here. And I don’t regret helping you. We’ll still be able to clear your name. I just need to go in and deal with this first.”
He nodded. Taking her by the hand, he pulled her close and kissed her gently.
“Last night was incredible,” he said.
She nodded, wishing she could ask him the thousand questions flooding her mind about their encounter and what it had meant.
“Stay in the house,” was all she said.
Chapter 19
Chuck Stevens met her at the door.
“You’d better get inside,” he said. “Voles is waiting for you in his office.”
Francesca could see that he was trying to suppress a smirk. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said.
“It would have killed you if I’d managed to close the books on this case.
He chuckled. “Honestly, Bellucci, it never once occurred to me that you would.”
She pushed past him and went into Voles’ office.
He was sitting at his desk, and he pointed at the chair opposite his, not smiling. Francesca sank into it.
“I can explain,” she said.
“Can you?” Voles asked, turning his computer screen to face her.
Francesca suppressed a gasp. She was looking at a photo of herself and Viggo in the alley last night, locked in a passionate embrace.
“‘Hit-and-run suspect has new look, and a new lady,’” Voles read. He turned to Francesca. “Is this what you thought your assignment was? To seduce Lindström?”
Francesca stared at the picture. “That’s not…” she began helplessly and trailed off.
“Of course it’s Lindström,” Voles said. “It’s obviously him. Did he cut off his hair when he fled the country? Or was it your idea to do that when you brought him back? If it’s the latter, I’m disappointed, Bellucci. I thought you were smarter than that.”
Francesca didn’t know what to say, so she said nothing.
“Of course, I thought you were smart enough not to do any of this.” He sighed. “You wanted to prove that you were good enough to compete with the men in this department. That was what I thought.”
“I am good enough,” Francesca said, not giving an inch. She would tell him what they had discovered at the club last night. Then he would understand.
But Voles was shaking his head. “I can’t imagine what you think you’re doing by getting sexually involved with a suspect,” he said. “There’s really no excuse for that at all.”
“The kiss—it was nothing,” Francesca insisted. “It just happened. And it doesn’t matter. We got caught up in the moment is all.”
“He’s a suspect.”
“That’s the thing,” Francesca said quickly. “He’s innocent. And I can prove it.”
Voles shook his head. “I told Laird to tell you that you were off the case.”
“Well, if I’m off the case, then why does it matter who I kiss?” Francesca snapped.
“Because, Agent Bellucci, you are still a member of this department, and he is still