Chapter 9 #2
“James, too. And possibly Kravitz if his new girlfriend has a higher alcohol tolerance than the last one.”
I chuckled. “I don’t know. The last time I decided to be social, I got bludgeoned and kidnapped.”
“Valid,” she agreed. “However, I do plan on making cupcakes.”
“Tell me when and where.”
Cooper
I sat in Daphne’s driveway that night, listening to one of my favorite true crime podcasts.
It was a brilliant summer evening. My window was rolled down and the cicadas were a calming soundtrack to my addled thoughts. Daphne had left for the bar, making sure to gift me with her signature look of scorn, paired with a middle finger as she’d swept by my cruiser.
Abby was alone inside.
I’d glance up every now and then as her shadow passed behind the lace curtains. I considered going in, knocking on the door. Apologizing for the uncomfortable misunderstanding that had transpired in regard to my meddling ex-wife.
Not that I should care what Abby thought.
But I did.
Luckily, my better judgment took over, as it usually did. I remained in my cruiser, sipping on stale coffee and relishing in the mild breeze that floated into the car. My favorite part of summer was the evening hours. There was something about the air; a little sticky, slightly musky.
Exhilarating.
I was just getting absorbed in a new podcast at nine p.m. when my phone began to vibrate in my pocket. It was my day off, so I was hoping it wasn’t the station calling me in since I didn’t want to leave Abby alone at nighttime.
When I glanced at the phone screen, I was surprised to see Abby’s name light up the face. I clicked accept. “Abby?”
“Cooper, can you come inside? I heard something. I’m a little freaked out.”
I was out of the car and on the front porch before she finished getting the words out.
Abby met me in the threshold, her eyes glazed with panic. My hand was on my gun, ready if necessary. “Are you okay? What happened?” I bulldozed through the doorway and reached for her. My hand landed on her elbow, noting how her arm trembled.
“I-I heard something in the bedroom. A crashing sound. Daphne’s usually here at night, so it’s probably my mind playing tricks on me, but—”
Crash.
“Oh, God…Cooper,” she cried, grabbing me and wrapping her hands around my bicep.
I pulled the pistol out of my holster, then turned to face her. “Stay here.” My gaze skimmed her face, drinking in her fear. She was ashen. Abby squeezed me tighter, not wanting to let go. “Hey, I’ll be right back.”
“What if it’s him? What if he’s waiting for me?”
Jesus.
That look in her eyes. Pure terror.
The Withered Man had made his mark on Abigail Stone, and she would forever be bound to the eternal nightmare he had woven.
She would always be followed around by his grisly shadow.
“Abby, I’m going to check it out. It’s probably nothing, but I want you to stay here.
” Part of me didn’t want to let her go either, but I had to.
I was thrown back in time to the day of the rescue when she’d clung to me with need.
In that moment, I had made my mark, too.
And that gave me a semblance of comfort.
Abby tentatively let go, slinking back, her hands lifting to her neck as her head bowed. I pressed forward with long, deliberate strides, inching closer to the spare bedroom that Abby currently occupied. I peered inside and heard a rustling sound coming from the closet.
These were the moments I’d trained for.
These were the blood-pumping, adrenaline-surging, mind-fucking moments every cop prepared for but could never truly understand until they were in the field. Until they were living it.
I’d had my fair share of moments like this. They were the ones that kept me sharp and resilient. They gave me power.
It was the woman standing behind me that made me falter and sway.
I inhaled a deep breath, blinking slowly, and flung the closet door wide open.
A cat ran out
Abby screamed.
There was only a brief sigh of relief before her sobs overpowered the sound of my swiftly beating heart.
I secured the pistol back in my holster and rushed to her, the yearning to hold her carrying my feet the entire way.
Abby collapsed against my chest, her hands balled up by her face, her warm tears dampening the front of my vest. I cradled the back of her head in my hand, my fingers tangling in her hair as I held her close.
Her body was tremoring with weeks of pent-up anguish, shock, and the unspeakable trauma she’d been burying.
I felt her releasing, felt her expelling everything she’d been clinging to; everything that had been weighing her down. “Shh. It’s okay,” I whispered. Her delicate wisps of hair tickled my chin, smelling like tangerines. “You’re safe.”
She began to soften. The tension slowly dissolved as her body molded against me, limp and unsteady. I held on to her, partially to keep her standing upright, but mostly just to feel her.
She finally glanced up at me, her eyelids red and smudged with mascara.
Drawing in a choppy breath while the emotions subsided, she stepped back.
Abby wrapped her arms around herself, as if a chill had swept over her, just as it had swept over me at the loss of contact.
“God, I’m sorry. I’m such a mess.” She looked down at her naked toes and curled them into the shag rug.
I swallowed, shaking my head. “You’re healing. You’re overcoming.”
“I’m falling apart,” she countered.
“Abby, no.” I stepped toward her, pulling her back into my arms.
She froze, not expecting the gesture. Admittedly, I wasn’t expecting it, either. I was momentarily taken off guard by my own unprecedented instincts.
I felt her relax, despite her heart rate increasing as it played lively beats against my chest. Something in the air shifted. Our embrace felt different. There was a new energy, a new charge.
Abby nuzzled her cheek against me, her breaths shallow and warm.
Her body heat radiated into me, igniting something inside me that I didn’t dare explore.
I had enough shit on my plate to investigate, so digging around my inner psyche and deciphering my feelings sounded like a draining use of my time.
I was about to pull away when she muttered softly, almost longingly, into my outer vest, “Will you stay with me for a little while?”
Those elusive feelings kept clawing their way to the surface, demanding my attention.
Abby’s wide, tormented eyes and full, quivery lips weren’t helping one bit.
I faltered, even though I knew exactly what my answer was going to be. “Of course.”
A few minutes later, we were on her couch. Abby was cocooned in a checkered fleece blanket, her feet propped up beside her, her toes tickling my thigh. I glanced at her as the light from the television screen illuminated her porcelain face.
“Anything you want to watch?” she wondered. “I need to get my mind off things.”
I leaned back against the cushions, my knee bobbing as I turned back to the screen. I needed to get my mind off things, too. “I’m not really a TV guy. I don’t have much time for it.”
“You mean, you don’t binge-watch Investigation Discovery and take detailed notes?” she asked, humor finally seeping into her tone.
Chuckling, I matched the playful shift in mood. “I don’t need to take notes.” I tapped the side of my head. “Steel trap.”
Abby smiled. “I wish I could say the same. My memory is terrible. That’s why I got into photography…so I could remember things better.”
I twisted on the couch to face her, my arm resting along the top of the sofa pillows. “Really? What else don’t I know about you?”
“I don’t think you want to go there,” she dismissed, flicking her hand at me. “It’s an endless rabbit hole.”
“What if I do?”
Our eyes met, and she chewed on her lower lip. “Fine. Ask me anything.”
“Favorite pizza topping.”
“Really? You had to go there first?” She sighed through a grin, sitting up straight. “You probably already think I’m damaged enough, but this is a whole new level.” Pausing for effect, she finally admitted, “Pineapple and black olives.”
“Shit. That’s dark.”
“Told you.”
Lifting my arm, I propped my head against the heel of my hand, my elbow digging into the back cushion.
I was enjoying the spark that had returned to her eyes.
I was enjoying it as much as I was enjoying the way her feet had found their way into my lap, and she didn’t even seem to notice. “Ask me something,” I challenged.
Her eyes twinkled for a fleeting moment, a smile pulling at her lips, but then she ducked her head. The humor fizzled out. “Why was Maya at your house?”
I winced.
The sound of my ex-wife’s name escaping her lips left a bad taste in my mouth.
Maya.
She was a viper, all right. She had slithered into my life like a snake, curling around me, squeezing the air out of my lungs and leaving me feeling emptier than ever.
When I’d found out she had been Abby’s psychiatrist this entire time, I flipped. I knew what she was up to. I knew exactly why she’d shown up on my doorstep at two a.m., drunk on white wine and bad intentions.
Of course, I hadn’t given in to her bullshit like I had so many times in the past.
But Abby didn’t know that.
I sighed, our eyes holding as she waited for me to respond.
“She stopped by my house after I got home from working at the bar the other night. She was intoxicated, crying, wanting to talk. She said Henry dumped her or something. I don’t know.
I was honestly too busy trying not to fall asleep to really pay attention.
” I watched as Abby studied me with curious interest. “Anyway, she passed out on my couch an hour later, and I went to bed. Nothing happened.”
“Why was she…dressed like that?” She fidgeted with the hem of the blanket, her eyes darting away from my face. “Sorry. It’s not my business. You don’t have to answer that.”
“She said she spilled wine down her blouse and had to borrow one of my T-shirts. Honestly, I think she was just trying to get my attention because she knows she lost it a long time ago.”
“Sounds like you have a complicated history,” she stated.
“Toxic is a better word for it.”
Abby looked up at me again. “Sorry to pry. Thank you for clarifying.”
I nodded. “Why did you come by that morning?”
“Oh…it was nothing. Totally not important.” She quickly changed the subject and peeled off her blanket, rising to her feet. “Can I get you anything? A drink? Something to eat?”
“I’m okay. Thanks.” My eyes trailed her, noting what she was wearing for the first time. She was dressed in cotton shorts and a white tank top, and the lack of a bra caught my attention in a big way.
I forced myself to look down.
Damn.
Abby didn’t seem to notice as she bobbed her head. “I’ll be right back.” Before she disappeared into the kitchen, she paused and turned back around to face me. “One more question.”
“Sure.”
Crossing her arms beneath her breasts, she sent me a perplexed frown. “Why the hell was there a cat in my closet?”
I blinked.
She blinked back, a smile cresting.
And then she started laughing, a sound that prompted my own laughter to break through the haze of inappropriate thoughts that had been inching their way inside me.
I enjoyed the sound of her laughter.
It might have become my new favorite thing.