"Not Agent Ricci. Just Olivia." I settle back against her pillows hoping she’ll join me. "Where'd you grow up? What made you join the FBI?"
She studies me suspiciously, like I'm setting some elaborate trap.
Finally, she relaxes slightly. "Queens. Just me and my dad after mom left when I was three."
"Your father raised you alone?" I actually know some of this from my father, but she doesn’t need to know that.
A soft smile transforms her face. "Yeah. He was NYPD. Detective Mateo Ricci. He was my hero. Used to come home exhausted but still made time to help with homework, coach my softball team. Never missed a single game."
I keep my expression neutral wondering what she’d think that her father conveniently looked the other way during several Vitale operations.
The cop my father had in his pocket for nearly fifteen years.
Monthly payments, nice home in a good neighborhood, college tuition for his daughter, all courtesy of my family.
"He's the reason I went into law enforcement," she says, her voice warm with pride. "Watching him serve the community, put away bad guys, I wanted to make a difference like that."
"He sounds like a good man," I say, and mean it. I didn’t know her father well, but my sense is that he was on the take to provide for his daughter, not because he was an asshole like my father. A father who loves his daughter that much can't be all bad. After all, I’d break any and every law to protect my family.
"The best," she agrees. "He died six years ago. "
I remember the funeral. In a rare show of sentiment, my father sent flowers, anonymously, of course.
"I'm sorry," I tell her, genuinely meaning it.
She nods, then laughs softly. "He would absolutely lose his mind if he knew I was here with you."
You have no idea, I think.
I could tell her. Could shatter that perfect image she carries. It seems like something she should know, not to hurt her or somehow make me look less bad, but because it’s the truth of who he was.
But I can't bring myself to do it.
Some truths are better left buried, especially when they'd only cause pain.
Olivia hesitates, studying me. "I’ve always had questions about how he died."
Oh hell. Where is this going to go? “Oh?”
“He died in the line of duty, but there is some suggestion it was your father who killed him.”
Fucking hell. “Is that why you’re sleeping with me, Agent Ricci? To find out if my father killed your father?” I try to keep it light, but it’s not easy. My pride will be bruised if she’s using me.
Her eyes flash with heat. “Please tell me you don’t believe I’d use sex?—”
“But it’s why you keep investigating, isn’t it? This isn’t about me. It’s about your father.”
She looks down telling me I’m right.
“Why do you suspect my father?” And why fuck me if you think my father killed yours? Something isn’t adding up.
“I got the file that indicated he was investigating organized crime, your father in particular. And when I got your case, yes, I did think I might learn something.”
I laugh.
“What’s so funny?”
“I don’t get why we’re here naked after a very good fuck if you think my father?—”
