Chapter 9
The pediatric wing was quieter than the rest of the hospital. Muted lights. Softer voices. A hush that felt intentional to keep from startling anyone who’d already been through too much. That was definitely Cheyenne.
Coop paused in the doorway, taking in the room. She looked even smaller in the hospital bed, a blanket pulled around her shoulders. Fifteen, according to the file, but right now she looked younger. A woman stood at her bedside, arms crossed, posture pure guard dog.
Both of them glanced up when he knocked lightly.
The aunt sized him up in half a second. “Are you the Ranger?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” Her hands moved to her hips, as if spoiling for a fight. “Because I have a lot of questions and very little patience.”
“Aunt Linda…” Cheyenne sighed like it had happened before.
Her aunt ignored her. “My sister is dead, lunatics kidnapped my niece—” Her voice cracked with emotion, but she powered through it. “And my idiot brother-in-law apparently borrowed money from criminals.” She shook her head in disbelief. “You know what he didn’t bother to have?”
Coop had a feeling he knew.
“Life insurance!” She threw up her hands. “Can you believe that?”
Cheyenne groaned. “Aunt Linda…”
“At least Diane had the good sense to have some,” Linda muttered. “Surprising, considering her lack of it when choosing a husband.”
Coop wasn’t put off by the sarcasm. Grief came in many forms. Aunt Linda’s had teeth.
He shifted his attention to Cheyenne. “I hear you’re heading to California.”
“I suppose,” she replied, her reluctance obvious.
“What part?”
“Aunt Linda lives in Ventura Beach.”
“Nice area,” Coop said, meaning it but also trying to put her at ease. “Ever been?”
“When I was two,” she said. “I don’t remember it.”
“Great surfing. You’re going to love it.” When he saw a spark of interest, he added, “My advice. Invest in a wetsuit. Compared to Texas, the water’s freezing.”
Cheyenne gave the first hint of a smile. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
Coop gestured toward the chair beside the bed. “Mind if I sit?”
She waved a hand. “Sure.”
He pulled the chair closer. “I need to ask you a few questions.”
“Okay,” she said haltingly, her fingers twisting nervously in her blanket.
Linda moved to the head of the bed, resting a hand lightly on her niece’s shoulder. “I’m staying,” she said firmly.
“Of course.”
Cheyenne studied him for a moment. “Are they going to come after me again?”
Coop tried not to react. The fact she had to worry about that after everything was a crime in itself. “The men who held you in that warehouse aren’t a threat anymore.”
Her shoulders eased a fraction. “I wish all of them were dead,” she whispered. Her eyes suddenly widened. “Is that awful of me?”
“Not at all,” Coop said gently. “That’s human.”
“What if there are more of them?”
He leaned forward slightly. “They kept you blindfolded, and, since we made it known we recovered the money, there’s no reason to come after you.”
Tears welled; one spilled over. “When I found all that cash, more than I’ve ever seen in my life, I knew something bad was going on.”
She wiped her cheek with her sleeve.
“I hid it,” she admitted, confirming Erica’s vision. Her voice broke. “That’s why they killed my mom. It’s my fault.”
“No.” The word came out terser than he intended. He gentled his tone. “These were bad people who did terrible things, Cheyenne. Once they were crossed…” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “What happened was probably inevitable.”
Across the bed, Linda sniffed, her composure cracking for the first time.
Cheyenne swallowed, nodding, though he doubted she was convinced. That question would likely haunt her for a long time.
Coop cleared his throat and reached into his folder. He laid a sheet of mugshots on the bed.
“You’ve already spoken to the detectives,” he said. “But I want to confirm something.”
Cheyenne leaned forward and tapped one. “That’s him. He was at our house, and I recognized his voice at the warehouse.” She trembled visibly, the stranglehold on her blanket resuming. “He was the worst of all of them.”
“How so?”
“He laughed a lot and said awful things. He hit me more than once.” Her voice grew smaller. “I think he’s the one who killed my dad.”
“Did you see it happen?”
She shook her head and said in a small voice. “Where they kept me was dark. And when they took me out, they blindfolded me, but I heard everything.”
The shipping container, the bloody blanket, the isolation… Rage roiled inside him. What he wouldn’t give for five minutes with the bastard, but he tamped it down for Cheyenne’s sake.
What she said matched what they already suspected, and it mirrored Erica’s visions. But he needed more, something tangible, to link this to Kedrov.
“I know this is hard, but try to remember if there was anything else? Sights, sounds, smells?”
Cheyenne frowned, thinking. “Sometimes there were other voices. More men came and went.”
“Did you ever see them?”
“No.”
“Could you make out what they said?”
“Mostly they spoke Russian, but a few sounded American.” She closed her eyes, concentrating. “One of them said something weird.”
He waited, knowing it was best not to push.
She tilted her head as if replaying the memory. “He said… ‘Badges don’t make saints.’”
A chill crawled up the back of his neck. That phrase didn’t belong in a warehouse full of Russian muscle.
“Why do you think you remember that phrase specifically?”
Cheyenne gave a small, tired shrug. “They laughed afterward. Like it was all a big joke to them.” She looked down. “I wasn’t exactly in the mood for jokes.”
Linda muttered something under her breath. The cadence sounded unmistakably furious. Coop couldn’t blame her. They’d abused and orphaned an innocent girl. Some wounds didn’t heal.
It was probably nothing other than thug bravado, but he didn’t like loose threads and made a note in the file.
When Cheyenne yawned, he ended it.
“I know talking about it isn’t easy. Thanks for taking the time.”
Coop closed the folder and stood.
The girl’s gaze followed him, but her voice didn’t. It went small and shaky, directed at her aunt. “What about Whiskers, Aunt Linda?”
At the door, he looked over his shoulder at Cheyenne, trying hard to keep it together. “Gray fur ball with attitude?” he asked.
“You saw him? Was he all right?”
“Yeah. A neighbor has been feeding him. What’s the problem?”
“My building doesn’t allow pets,” Linda explained, the fierce protector slipping to reveal a woman desperate to move mountains for a girl who had lost too much already. “We’ll figure something out, honey. Maybe someone can keep him until we get settled.”
“That’s not going to happen,” Cheyenne whispered. No accusation. Just the certainty of a kid who’d already learned how these things went.
For a moment, Coop saw his own daughter at that age: scared, trying not to show it, clinging to the one thing she could still protect.
If this had happened to his daughter, the kidnappers wouldn’t have needed to worry about Doyle Pruitt.
“I might be able to help with that.”
Cheyenne looked up, hopeful in a way that gutted him. If Erica said no, he’d take the damn cat himself.
“I know someone,” he said. “She’s kind and will make sure Whiskers has everything he needs until you’re ready for him. He found his way to her while you were gone, and he seems to trust her.”
“Do you mean Miss Stevens across the street?”
“That’s her.”
Cheyenne bit her lip then winced at the bruising. “I don’t really know her, but she always smiles and waves when she sees us,” she murmured. “Do you really think she’d take care of him?”
“Yes,” Coop said. “And I’ll give you updates through your aunt.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, fighting tears as she looked away.
Linda exhaled like she’d been carrying too much and finally set something down.
Coop reached into his pocket for a business card and handed it to her. “Please call me if she remembers anything else.”
“You’ve been very kind, Lieutenant.”
“No other way to be, considering what you’ve been through. I wish you both well.”
And he meant it.