Chapter 4 #2
A thought blossomed, and I reached into the pocket of my cotton shorts and pulled out a business card that had been given to me at the hospital—it was a referral for a local psychiatrist. I was no stranger to counselors and therapists.
I’d only been sixteen years old when my parents had died and when Nana Cecily had taken me and my brother into her home.
Ryan had withdrawn completely, while I’d stayed strong.
In terms of outward appearances, anyway.
On the inside, I’d slowly deteriorated until I’d become a shell of the young, vibrant girl I’d once been.
Sometimes I wondered why Nana was so protective of me.
So fond. Nana had never been that way with Ryan, and the resentment he’d built up pushed him right out of Nana’s sprawling mansion and into the unsavory world of drugs.
My psychologist at the time had helped. Nana never liked talking about the accident, so that had left few people for me to confide in.
Jordan had never known how to manage my grief, which was understandable.
He’d been a teenager at the time, too. There wasn’t a chapter in the high school sweetheart manual, titled, “How to Handle Your Girlfriend Becoming An Orphan.” Jordan was simply ill-equipped, and I couldn’t fault him for that.
I could only fault him for sleeping with the neighbor girl behind my back for the final four years of our relationship.
Asshole.
I held the business card between my thumb and finger, grazing my touch over the name.
Maya Lowry, M.D.
Daphne was right; I needed to talk to someone.
Unfortunately, Daphne was not that someone.
Maybe Maya would be.
Cooper
I pulled into my driveway and smiled when I spotted Kate pulling weeds from the front walkway. She was on her knees, covered in dirt and sweat, her hands hidden by yellow gardening gloves. Her head turned when my car drove up, and she swiped away a strand of hair stuck to her forehead.
I enjoyed our arrangement. Kate was my landscaper, and I was her handyman.
It worked.
“Did Walker relieve you?” Kate stood, tugging off her gloves and wiping the back of her hand along her hairline.
Closing the car door, I tossed my keys into the air. “Yeah. Maybe I can actually get a nap in.”
“Jesus, Cooper. You look like shit,” she said, eyeing me with sisterly worry. “When’s the last time you got a full night’s sleep?”
I sniffed, unruffled by the assessment. The truth was, I hadn’t slept more than a few hours straight in weeks. I’d spent every waking minute working on Abby’s case. And when I wasn’t awake, I was dreaming about cuffing the son-of-a-bitch who’d taken her. “I’ll be fine, Sis.”
“Fine, my ass. You need to take care of yourself. You can’t catch the bad guys if you’re a walking zombie.” Kate brushed the front of her palms down her denim-clad thighs then gave her ponytail a tug. “How is she, anyway?”
I hesitated, debating my answer. Abby seemed oddly…okay. She’d even laughed, and the sound of it had caught me off guard. “She’s fine, I guess.”
“Fine?” Kate repeated. “Like the ‘fine’ you just claimed to be? God, I hate that stupid word.”
“Yeah. She’s fine.”
“She’s lying if she said she’s fine, Cooper. The poor girl was chained up in a van and nearly starved to death by some freakshow. Did you try talking to her?”
“Not really my place.”
Her head reeled back, both brows lifting. “Your asshole face was the first thing she saw after being locked away from the outside world for two weeks. You’re probably the only person who can reach her right now.”
That, right there, was the issue.
I did feel a connection. Hell, I’d felt it the second we’d locked eyes across the bar that first night.
But things were different now. Abby was at the crux of my investigation and I couldn’t allow myself to feel anything other than a sense of responsibility toward her.
I needed to solve her case, therefore, I needed to keep my distance.
“Look, my obligation to Abby doesn’t go beyond catching the guy who did this to her.
I’m not her friend.” I forced my tone to stay level and stony. It was the only way.
Kate tapped her sandal against the grass, her arms folding as she studied me. “When did you become so detached? Your emotions made you a good cop.”
“My emotions prompted me to marry a woman who was all wrong for me. I prefer to keep this strictly business.”
She glanced down, pursing her lips. “Yeah, well…Abby isn’t Maya. And I’m not telling you to marry the girl. Maybe she just needs someone to talk to.”
“She has Daphne.”
Kate snorted. “Poor thing.”
My sigh was weary. “I’m going to try to get some sleep. Thanks for stopping by.”
“I’ll be back with the perennials tomorrow.” Kate sent me a final look that glimmered with concern, then picked up her gloves and gardening tools.
I watched her head toward the car and tried not to let her words get under my skin.
Kate always had a way of chipping away at my walls and barriers, forcing me to question everything.
I’d left the hospital that first day conflicted and torn.
After two weeks of learning everything I could about Abigail Stone and obsessing over her case—losing sleep, canceling plans, neglecting my own needs—I’d felt an attachment growing.
How could I not? It came with the territory.
The thing was, I hadn’t actually expected to find her alive.
And I certainly hadn’t expected her to cling to me with such desperation, her eyes frantic and brimming with tortured emotion.
I hadn’t expected any of that.
I couldn’t seem to forget it, either.
James had sat beside me in the waiting room that day and offered to take charge of the interrogation.
I had readily agreed. It wasn’t that I couldn’t do my job, especially considering I had more insight into Abby and her history than every cop in Crow’s Peak and Ashland combined.
I was more than qualified and undoubtedly prepared to jump right in.
But I couldn’t.
And it was because of what she’d said to me in that hospital room, shortly before I’d stepped out.
I’d been perched at her bedside because she didn’t want to be alone. I could understand that—the woman had been alone for weeks, uncertain of when she’d take her final breath. It must have been petrifying.
So I sat there, silently, watching her fall in and out of restless sleep.
When I’d finally stood to leave, Abby had stopped me with words that had almost made me choke.
“When I was younger, I always had this vision of a knight on a white horse climbing up to my window and whisking me off to some faraway land. My hero.” Abby had been gazing up at the ceiling, wringing her hands together atop her stomach.
She’d smiled softly as childhood reveries washed over her.
“It was silly,” she’d murmured. “But when you lose everything, fairy tales are all you have sometimes.” Her eyes had shifted, landing on me across the room.
“Anyway…for a minute, I thought maybe you were him.”
My breath had caught in an unfamiliar place, lodging somewhere between confoundment and simmering affection. My jaw had clenched as I’d straightened, shuffling my feet to confirm my limbs were still functioning.
Hero.
Somehow, her definition had sounded decidedly different than my own.
At a loss for words, I’d dipped my chin and cleared my throat. “We’re going to catch him, Abby. I promise.”
It probably wasn’t the response she’d been looking for, but it was all I could give her. And I knew in that moment, it was imperative that I take a step back. Abby was vulnerable. Confused.
Traumatized.
And I was the officer assigned to her case.
I wasn’t her white knight.
I never could be.