Chapter 15
Coop barely slept. Every time he drifted off, something indistinct moved in the dark. It slipped through a doorway, slowly creeping toward her. It never showed itself, but it was there, looming, just out of reach.
He’d wake with his pulse racing, the image dissolving into Erica across the dinner table, her smile easy and trusting.
The message was clear: danger was closing in, and he needed to protect all that she was—kindness, quiet strength, and beauty that ran far deeper than the surface.
He refused to let the dark overtake her. Not now, not ever.
Sleep didn’t come again. By the time gray light filtered through the window, he still lay staring at the ceiling, his mind running through it all—the crime scenes, the evidence, how the Wilsons, Kedrov, and Burnside fit together.
And then, inevitably, her.
He replayed every kiss. The first in her gallery, curious and interrupted too soon. The one in the foyer, that had quickly turned electric. In her kitchen, hungry and all-consuming. And the last… slow and deep, lingering long after he’d walked out her door.
He wasn’t a man who rushed into feelings.
He didn’t get swept up. Each time, he’d left before either of them made a decision they couldn’t take back.
But sometime around five in the morning, staring into the fading dark, he admitted something uncomfortable.
Erica was different. Not because of her gift.
He still didn’t know what to make of that.
She was different because she’d gotten under his skin in a way no one ever had. Because in forty-five years, he’d never felt this much this fast.
At 5:42 a.m., Public Information texted him a link.
He rolled onto his side, grabbed his phone, and opened it. The headline had him sitting up.
Rangers Act on “Unusual Tip” in Warehouse Rescue.
Below it:
Sources close to the investigation suggest law enforcement may have received “nontraditional assistance” prior to the raid.
His jaw clenched at nontraditional. It wasn’t language law enforcement used. He scrolled on.
The informant may have been previously connected to a West Texas investigation involving unconventional methods.
Informant raised a red flag too. So did unconventional.
Coop swung his legs over the side of the bed, planting his feet on the floor.
He hadn’t used any of those terms. His report stated a confidential source, which was very different in motivation. Confidential informants traded information for money or leniency. That wasn’t Erica.
His phone rang. Captain Reyes. At this hour, it couldn’t be good.
Coop straightened, already bracing as he answered, “Sir.”
“What the hell is nontraditional assistance?” Reyes demanded.
So, he’d seen it.
“I don’t know, sir. It wasn’t in my report.”
“Well, it’s in the damn article.”
“I’m aware.”
“Are we freelancing now? Running fringe sources I don’t know about?”
“It was a confidential source,” Coop said, striving to keep his tone even.
“Then why does this read like we consulted a fortune teller?”
“I can’t say, sir. When I spoke to the press, I gave them the usual. Nothing about an active investigation.”
A sharp exhale. “Someone must have, and these vague implications are enough to start rumors.”
Coop’s gaze dropped to the screen again. The wording was too careful to be accidental. This wasn’t a slip. It was bait. But who were they hoping would bite?
“Find out who it came from and shut them down,” Reyes ordered, then the line went dead.
Coop read the article again. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach.
Nothing definitive, but breadcrumbs. Anyone willing to dig a little would find where they led. Straight to Erica. And reporters were very good at digging.
***
At 6:30, he stood outside her door. Twelve hours ago, he’d told her she was safe. That no one knew. That her involvement would stay between him and O’Reilly.
Now, he wasn’t so sure.
He knocked.
Only a moment passed until she opened the door, smiling. “Back for seconds?”
He blinked. Surely, she didn’t mean—
“Food,” she clarified quickly. “I meant breakfast.”
“We need to talk. There’s been a leak.”
Her smile vanished. She stepped aside, inviting him in without saying a word.
Inside, he handed her the phone.
She read the article in silence, twin lines forming between her brows. “They don’t mention me by name.”
“No.”
“Or that it’s a psychic.” She glanced up. “I hate that term, by the way.” Her focus returned to the screen, scanning and slowly scrolling. Then she froze. “The byline. It’s Darren Holt.”
“You know him?”
“From El Paso.”
“I take it he’s not up for a Pulitzer.”
“He’s a snake.”
“Is he any good?”
Her eyes locked with his. “As a person? No. As a reporter? He’s tenacious. He’ll do anything, say anything, and break any rule to get a story.”
Not what he wanted to hear.
“If he’s sniffing around, someone pointed him my way. You and O’Reilly know,” she said, quieter now. “Who else?”
“No one.”
The twin lines deepened. “Do you think he said something?”
Coop wanted to say no, but right now, nothing was certain. “I don’t want to believe that, but nontraditional didn’t invent itself.”
Her thumb hovered over the screen. “If Kedrov reads this—”
“He won’t connect it yet.”
“I’m sorry. ‘Yet’ isn’t very reassuring.”
No, it wasn’t.
“They don’t know I’m across the street from the victim,” she said.
“And we’re going to keep it that way.” He moved closer, arms encircling her waist. Her palms settled on his chest as if they belonged there.
Dammit. He hadn’t planned on her, on last night, on how quickly she’d gotten under his skin. Now this, right as something real was taking shape.
He hated that the first thing he had to bring her this morning was a threat.
“Listen to me,” he said, voice low. “Right now, you’re not exposed. The article dances around something it can’t prove.”
“But if he digs—”
“I’ll handle Holt.”
“You can’t control him.”
“No,” Coop agreed. “But I can control what he gets.”
“And if Kedrov connects it?”
Her question wasn’t unexpected. He’d already considered it, planned for it, dreaded it. Still, it hung between them.
“If this escalates, we move you,” he said at length.
“Move me where?”
“Somewhere quiet. Off the grid. No trail.”
Her fingers curled in his shirt. “You mean disappear.”
“If it keeps you breathing, yes.”
He didn’t want that. Didn’t want her gone. Didn’t want distance after last night. But if it came to that, he wouldn’t hesitate.
She leaned in to him as though exhausted. “I don’t want to pull up stakes and run again.”
He pressed his lips to her hair. “Believe me. I don’t want that either.”
She tipped her chin up, uncertain as she searched his face. He thought she was going to refuse.
“I trust your judgment,” she said at last.
He exhaled slowly. “I’m going to the station. I’ll start with O’Reilly. See what he’s heard.”
“And if it’s not him?”
His expression hardened. “Then someone’s fishing in waters they don’t belong in.”
She watched him a second longer. “Please be careful.”
“That’s my line.”
His thumb traced her cheek, and he kissed her, warm and lingering. Needing it more than he wanted to admit on a morning that had tilted sideways the moment he saw that headline.
When the kiss ended, he held her gaze. “I like where this is going. And I’m going to protect it.”
He didn’t want to leave her, but promises meant action. After one last look, Coop made himself go.