Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
COOPER
The ensuing hours had flown by in a blur of phone calls, fellow police officers, and more questions than answers.
I was never far from Abby’s side. She was handling the situation with as much grace as possible, but I knew she was shaken. Her eyes glistened with a glaze of fear. She looked lost, wandering through a maze of numbness and uncertainty.
Scratching my cheek, I headed into the kitchen, where Johnny was examining the dead bird.
We had tried to pinpoint something distinguishing about the animal.
I was hoping it was a rare bird—maybe something that could be traced to a local pet shop—but it was clearly a robin.
A common, wild bird. The knife was a run-of-the-mill kitchen knife, but we’d still taken it in for processing.
“Anything of interest?” I inquired, stepping over to the kitchen table and leaning forward on my palms.
Johnny shook his head. “Nada.”
“I couldn’t find shoe tracks out front, either. There wasn’t any mud or soggy patches to leave prints.”
Whomever had left the bird at the door had to have been quick.
The Withered Man didn’t exactly scream fast and nimble, but he certainly made the most sense as a suspect.
The “Little Bird” detail hadn’t been disclosed to the public, so the only people who’d correlate a dead bird with Abigail Stone would be the police, the suspect, and…
Wait.
A thought struck me.
A terrible thought; one that made my stomach churn.
Pacing back into the living room, I approached Abby, who was curled up on the couch with a blanket, sipping on a cup of tea. “I have a question.”
She glanced up with bloodshot eyes, then nodded for me to proceed.
“I’m probably way off base here, but…” Damn. It was a struggle to even spit the words out. “Did you ever tell Maya that the suspect called you ‘Little Bird’ during your therapy sessions?”
Her eyes widened as she turned ashen. “Oh, my God. You don’t think…?” Abby’s grip tightened around her mug. “I did tell her. Yes.”
Collapsing beside her on the couch, I leaned back with a sigh. “Honestly, I don’t think she has it in her, but she does have inside knowledge about your case. I can’t rule her out.”
What the hell did it mean, anyway?
Little Bird.
It was a detail that really had me scratching my head. At first, I thought it may have been a reference to the town name of Crow’s Peak. I’d wondered if a crazy person had snatched her up and decided to associate her with The Crow.
Now, I wasn’t so sure.
Of course, I’d asked Abby if the name had any connection to her past, but she’d always rejected the possibility. I’d inquired about her city, her school, her pets, her friends. Nothing had rung a bell.
What did it mean?
“You don’t think it was my kidnapper?” Abby asked me, her voice sounding small and far away.
“I don’t know.”
Unfortunately, that was the truth. I glanced over at her, watching as she glided a finger along the rim of her mug.
This particular stunt didn’t fit the profile I’d woven of the suspect.
The Withered Man had been messy. Nothing he’d done had seemed to be thought-out or well-planned. It had all felt spontaneous and sloppy.
But this?
This was sneaky. Deliberate.
Something about it felt off.
Abby pressed into me, her breath shuddering. “I feel like I’m never going to wake up from this nightmare,” she whispered, sighing against my shoulder. “I wish Nana were here. She always knew how to make the nightmares go away. She could fix anything.”
I sat in thoughtful silence.
I hadn’t done too much digging into Cecily Stone.
She was dead, after all, and her fortune had gone to Abigail.
Her husband, Rodney Sr., had passed away from heart failure far too young, well before Abby had even been born.
The couple appeared to have been pillars of society, and old newspaper articles praised their charitable donations to the small, affluent town of Kenilworth.
Something nagged at me, so I pulled out my cell phone to call James, who was already at the station processing the knife into evidence. As I stood from the couch, I pivoted to Abby. “I need to make a call. I’ll be right back.”
She nodded with a faint smile, and I disappeared into one of the spare bedrooms, dialing James’ cell.
“Walker,” James answered.
“Hey, can you do me a favor? I’d issued a subpoena for Abby’s financial records when she went missing.
She shares the account with Cecily Stone,” I explained.
“I only looked through the recent transactions, but I want to dig a little deeper. Can you go through past statements? Deposits, withdrawals…see if there’s anything suspicious. A red flag or something.”
“Theory?” he probed.
“Not really.” Leaning back against the wall, I scrubbed a hand over my face. “Just a feeling.”
Abby
It was after ten p.m., and the chaos had finally begun to settle.
My house was no longer a crime scene, even though the aftershocks of my “gift” were still fresh.
I shivered as I stared out the front window, studying every shadow that loomed and drifted across my property.
The towering trees in my front lawn normally gave me comfort, but tonight they looked ominous, sending a chill down my spine.
I wrapped both arms around my midsection for warmth, then closed the curtains. When I turned around, Cooper was behind me, propped against the sofa with a pensive expression.
A smile pulled. “I’m sure you’re dying to get out of here. I really appreciate you being so dedicated, Cooper.”
His gaze drifted over me, and for a brief moment, we were back in my garage, entangled in a haze of what-ifs, almosts, and could-have-beens.
Cooper straightened as he stepped toward me. “I’m going to stay here tonight.”
It wasn’t a question or a suggestion.
It was a fact.
I chewed on my cheek as I brushed a piece of hair from my face. “You’re welcome to, of course. I’ll definitely sleep a little easier.”
“I’ll take the couch.”
My head swung back and forth. “I have two guest rooms going unused. Please take one before Cupcake claims them both as her own.”
He chuckled lightly. “Okay.”
We faced each other, silence washing over us.
I forced my feet to move. Sweeping past him, I made my way down the short hallway to the linen closet and pulled out an extra set of bedding.
I felt him in the doorway after I entered the spare room, adjacent to mine.
He watched as I fitted the sheets and fluffed the pillows.
“How are you?”
His question was expected. Warranted, even. But I couldn’t seem to piece together an answer.
I glanced up from the bed covers and eyed him in the entryway, his shoulder wedged against the frame. “I’ll be better when this is over.”
It was a suitable response, but I didn’t entirely believe it.
Cooper lowered his gaze to the floor, his hand reaching behind him to rub the back of his neck. “I’m really sorry I haven’t caught the bastard yet. It kills me,” he murmured, sounding tortured.
His guilt was tangible. I couldn’t help but approach him, my steps sure and certain. Cooper had no business feeling guilty, as he’d gone above and beyond his listed job description.
He looked up when I moved toward him and reached for his hand, much like I’d done earlier in the garage. “It kills me that you’re apologizing,” I said earnestly, squeezing his fingers. “I’m not sure what I did to deserve you.”
My mind raced back to when I was in that hospital bed, shortly after my rescue.
I’d had painkillers coursing through my system, leaving me exhausted and run down.
I’d told him I’d thought maybe he was my white knight.
It was an embarrassing proclamation when looking back, but part of me still wondered if it was true.
Cooper pulled me to him by the hand, then wrapped his arms around me. His embrace was tender yet protective. “You’re an incredible woman, Abigail Stone,” he said, breathing the words into my hair and kissing the top of my head. “You deserve more than you’ll ever know.”
I inhaled sharply, nuzzling my face against his chest. God, his words. His beautiful words made me feel things I couldn’t even begin to process. Cooper had said that kissing me wasn’t right, but how could that be true? If this was wrong, I had lost all faith in love.
The thought had me stiffening in his arms.
Love.
Before I had time to ponder why that word had slipped through, Cooper was pulling away.
“Goodnight, Abby. I’m right next door if you need me.”
I swallowed back a thousand responses and settled on, “Goodnight.”
Racing past him, I felt flushed and flustered.
I spared him a final glance in the hallway before disappearing into my room, closing the door, and leaning against the wood with a pounding heart.
I heard Cooper on the opposite side of my thin wall, settling in for the night. It was a comfort having him so close.
It was also a curse.
I changed into a loose-fitted nightgown and climbed into my queen-size bed. My headboard pressed up against the wall, dividing me from the man on the opposite side. Crawling to my knees, I held my hand up to the wall, imagining him doing the same thing.
Silly, silly girl.
I had to laugh at my own whimsy. Pulling back, I hesitated before I slipped underneath the covers. Another foolish thought fluttered through my mind, buzzing in my ear like a bumble bee.
I smiled.
Then, I raised my hand to the wall again.
And I knocked.
Once. Twice.
I waited, holding my breath. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting; not really. It was likely Cooper hadn’t even heard me.
You’re an idiot, Abigail.
I shook my head, embarrassed for still believing in fairy tales, and was about to toss the covers back when I heard it.
Yes.
I heard it, loud and clear.
Cooper knocked twice on the opposite side of the wall.
The sound sucker-punched me, warming me up inside.
I fisted the front of my nightgown, picturing him facing the same wall.
Part of me wanted him to punch his way through the plaster and fall into bed with me.
After all, it was an old house with shoddy framework and flimsy walls. He could easily break through.
But I knew that it wasn’t this wall holding him back from me.
The other wall—his wall—seemed to be devastatingly indestructible.
Cooper
I awoke to the sound of a scream.
Her scream.
Bolting out of bed, I grabbed my pistol off the nightstand and charged into Abby’s room. She was sitting up in bed, close to hyperventilating. I glanced around the darkened space, not seeing anything alarming, and approached her bedside with caution. “Abby?”
She started crying.
Ah, hell.
A nightmare.
I set my gun on the dresser and sat down beside her on the mattress. Her hands were over her face, her shoulders heaving up and down as she shook with tears. “Shh. You’re okay,” I hushed, reaching out and pulling her to me.
Abby sniffled into her hands. “I-I’m sorry. I hate this,” she croaked. “I hate this so much.”
“Don’t you dare apologize.” I pulled her hands away and lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her eyes on mine. “Hey. I’m serious,” I said. “Don’t be sorry. Don’t be embarrassed. Especially not with me.”
She nodded, her eyes glossy.
“Come here,” I whispered, not stopping to think as I slid underneath the covers with her. Abby laid down, and I tugged her into my arms, letting her cry for a few minutes before we settled into silence. I wondered if she had fallen asleep, until she raised her head to look at me.
“Do you want to talk about it? Your dream?” I asked.
Her gaze darted across my face, studying me. Drinking me in.
What did she see?
I wasn’t sure what I was giving her, or the signals I was sending.
“I dreamt…that he shot you,” she told me. “My captor. I thought you were gone.” Her voice was low and raspy, cracking with each word. “My nightmares feel so real.”
I cupped her face between my palms and brushed a kiss to her hairline.
She reminded me of a butterfly. A beautiful, broken butterfly. It wasn’t dead; it was still alive and just as exquisite as it had ever been, but someone had touched its wings.
It could no longer fly.
Goddammit.
I couldn’t accept that. She wasn’t doomed. She would do more than crawl, do more than just exist.
She would flourish.
One day, Abigail Stone would fly again.
I would make damn sure of that.
I braided my fingers through her hair, then grazed my fingertips over her shoulder and down her arm. “I’m not gone,” I said to her. “I’m right here.”
She closed her eyes and moved in closer, pressing her trembling body against mine. It was almost as if she wanted to slip inside of me and burrow into my heart.
Little did she know, she already had.
Her nightgown rode up her waist, her bare thigh caught between my legs.
I didn’t know if she even realized it, but regardless, it was happening, and now other things were happening.
Thank fuck I was wearing jeans, otherwise those things would become rather noticeable rather quickly.
My jaw clenched as I tried to ignore her soft curves molding into me, just as I tried to pretend my dick wasn’t straining against my zipper.
Shit.
I inched my hips backward, feeling like an asshole for getting hard during her emotional crisis. Damn inconvenient timing.
Abby’s voice broke through my lusty fog. “Will you hold me until I fall asleep?”
Moonlight slipped in through the parted drapes, casting an ambient glow across her face. Tear stains glinted on her cheekbones, and I could visibly see the pain in her eyes. She looked lost and vulnerable, desperate for me to pull her into my arms like her white knight.
I would.
“I’ll stay with you,” I whispered back.
I grazed my knuckles along her cheek, watching as the pain in her eyes shifted to something else.
Relief, maybe. Possibly more than relief. Whatever it was, it shot straight through me, and that’s when it happened.
A feeling.
More than affection, more than attraction.
Just…more.
It was an indescribable feeling, one I’d never felt before—not with Maya, not with anyone.
Fuck.
I felt unhinged, frazzled, confused, as I inhaled a flimsy breath. Abby snuggled in closer, her face pressed against my chest. Only a few minutes ticked by before I felt her breaths become steady and rhythmic.
She was asleep.
Finally at peace.
And despite the wayward emotions coursing through me, despite the frightening unknown…
So was I.