Chapter 5
Coop released the yellow tape on one side. It fluttered across the entryway as he unlocked the door. Before he pushed it inward, he glanced at her and repeated, for the third time at least, “You don’t have to do this, Erica.”
“If it will help find Cheyenne, I want to,” she reassured him, also for the third time.
He considered her for a moment, uncertainty shadowing his features, then pushed the door wide. The moment she entered, a pungent odor overwhelmed her.
“Forensics hit this place hard. The chemicals and dust linger,” Coop explained.
He wasn’t kidding. It burned her nose and made her eyes water, but she moved forward, determined.
The house felt wrong now. Not haunted but missing something vital.
As she glanced around the entryway, she folded her arms loosely across her stomach. “What made you decide to bring me here?”
Coop shut the door behind them. “We found a note.”
She looked at him when he didn’t elaborate. “It might help if I knew what it said.”
“It was a threat. If their demand isn’t met, Cheyenne is next.”
She tried not to picture the girl ending up like her mother, but the image formed in her mind. “We can’t let that happen,” she whispered.
“I’m going to do everything in my power to stop it.”
She believed him. “The demand was for money, I’m assuming?”
He nodded grimly. “I was hoping you might pick up on something here that might lead us to it. Or to Cheyenne.”
“Do you have the note? Maybe if I held it—”
“It’s evidence and is currently being analyzed,” he said more curtly than usual. She suspected it contained something he didn’t want her to see, so it must be really bad.
She moved down the hall, glancing left into a formal dining room that seemed cold and was probably seldom used. To the right, what she saw halted her in her tracks.
“That’s where it happened,” she whispered, staring at the brownish-red stain covering most of the area rug and a lot of the wood floor.
“Did you get something?” Coop prompted.
She shook her head. “Only what I can assume from the condition of the room. Debra is gone. There’s nothing left to reach me.” She looked at the staircase leading to the second floor. “Hopefully, that’s not true for Cheyenne. Where’s her bedroom?”
“Second floor, last door on the right.”
He moved with her when she started up the stairs.
She turned, eye to eye with him, from the step above. “You don’t broadcast, but I should probably do this alone, to make sure nothing interferes.”
“I’ll give you some space,” he agreed, unfazed by the request.
She climbed two more steps then glanced over her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. Suddenly, she didn’t like the distance. “Maybe not too much?”
A faint smile tugged at his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared. “I’ll keep you in sight.”
The treads creaked beneath them. At the top of the steps, a heaviness settled over her. It grew stronger at Cheyenne’s bedroom door, but the emotion behind it was still vague.
She paused on the threshold. It looked like a typical teenage girl’s room with posters, books, and a cluttered desk.
The walls were lavender, the comforter a mix of purple and cream swirls.
A bright pink rug covered the center of the floor.
It was cheerful, especially the stuffed rainbow unicorn in the middle of the bed.
She got none of the fear, confusion, and pain she’d felt from Cheyenne over the past few days.
Maybe if she touched something the girl cherished. The unicorn, which held a revered place in her room, was first. Moving toward the bed, a loud creak made her stop. It sounded different from the stairs. She shifted her weight, and it did it again.
She crouched and pushed the rug aside, scanning the boards. One had scratches at the end seam. She crouched beside it, not touching it yet.
“Coop.”
He appeared in the doorway almost immediately. “What is it?”
She pointed. “This board looks off.”
He knelt and ran his hand over the floor. Then he knocked, his eyes lifting to hers when it rang hollow. He pulled a folding knife from his pocket and pried the scratched end up with a creak.
Coop leaned forward and peered into the opening. “There’s a bag in there.”
“What kind of bag?”
“Looks like a duffel.”
When he would have reached into the hole, she grabbed his arm. “Wait.”
He sat back on his heels, brows lifting.
“Maybe it’s better if I do it,” she said.
“Why?”
“If you touch it first, I might lose the signal.”
He studied her for a moment before nodding at the opening. “It’s your show.”
Erica reached in and lifted out a white canvas bag with glittery pink letters. Taylor Swift’s smiling face was emblazoned on the side. The moment her fingers closed around it, a cold rush of fear slid through her. It didn’t feel fresh but left behind.
Images flickered, thin and uneven, like a flashlight dying. A bedroom door closing, the lock turning, and shaky hands lifting the floorboard. Cheyenne flooded her senses, frightened but determined as she shoved the bag into the space beneath the floor.
Hide it. Before he comes back.
The emotion wasn’t sharp like the collar, more like a bruise, tender and deep. Cheyenne wasn’t afraid for herself. She was protecting something. Or someone.
A different emotion surfaced, something darker, menacing, and violent. Then the scent hit her.
Blood. Hot and metallic. But also a cleaner, cooler scent. Was that mint?
That couldn’t be right.
Before she could process what it meant, an accented voice cut through the darkness—cold and unyielding.
“This is what happens when debts go unpaid.”
She saw hands, coated and dripping crimson. A man’s hands. Then the image shifted, and she saw Debra Wilson lying on the living room floor, surrounded by a widening pool of blood. Most came from the slash across her throat. The rest came from her left hand, missing a finger.
The images were so vivid, Erica’s hands flew to her mouth as her stomach roiled. The broadcast cut off the instant the bag slipped from her grasp, as though someone had flipped a switch.
Coop’s hands came to her shoulders, steadying her. “Talk to me.”
She swallowed hard as she tried to suppress the bile burning her throat. “Cheyenne hid it.”
“What?”
“Money. Lots of it.”
Coop grabbed the tote and yanked the zipper open. He stared at the contents a beat too long, trying to make sense of it.
“What is it?”
He angled the bag toward her, revealing bundles of neatly wrapped hundred-dollar bills. “The missing quarter million her father borrowed.”
“That’s what Cheyenne was afraid of.”
He looked at her, measuring her differently now. “Why would she hide this?”
“She thought she was protecting her mother.”
“Jesus,” he muttered, rubbing his neck.
Erica’s voice dropped. “There’s more.”
His head lifted. “What?”
“There was a man. He mentioned a debt.”
Coop went still. “You saw him?”
“No. I heard him. He has an accent. And I smelled him.”
“You what?”
“He reeked of mint. And blood.” Her voice trembled, and a shudder ran through her. “So much of it, his hands drip with it.”
Coop dropped the bag and grabbed her waist as she swayed. “Are you okay?”
“No. I need air.” She brushed past him, staggering a bit. In the hall, she picked up speed and practically ran down the stairs.
Out on the porch, Erica gripped the railing, gulping air until her stomach settled.
Coop followed a moment later, the tote bag dangling from his gloved hand, closing the door firmly with the other.
“Well,” he said, “that solves one mystery.”
“Which one?”
“Where the money went.”
She didn’t look at him when she spoke. “I saw something else. In fact, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to not see it.”
He took a step closer, showing support without touching her.
“I saw Debra. She’d bled out in the living room. From a fatal slash to the throat…” She inhaled deeply before she continued. “And a missing finger.”
Coop muttered something low she couldn’t make out. Her reaction shook him because he’d put her in this position.
Concern came first. Then regret. Next calculation, his focus shifted as if something she’d said didn’t quite line up.
“How did you see her? I didn’t think you could feel Debra.”
“I can’t. And she wouldn’t have seen her own body stabbed and bleeding out.” Horrified, she spun to face him. “My God. Do you know what that means? Cheyenne saw her mother after it happened. She was in the house.”
Coop grimaced. “No one should have to see such ugliness, especially a fifteen-year-old girl. But it has to be why they took her. They couldn’t leave a witness.”
Anger cut through Erica’s shock. “It was brutal. And her finger… Who does that?”
“The Russian mob.”
She stared at him. “You know?”
He hesitated only a second. “Sending a message with a severed finger is exactly their style.”
She closed her eyes, pressing her fingers to her lips as a wave of nausea swept over her. Then a thought occurred to her. “Please don’t tell me that’s what was in that box.”
He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.
When her knees buckled, Coop caught her with one arm before she hit the porch. “Easy,” he murmured.
“This case, it’s worse than the others,” she whispered, leaning in to him. His arm was solid around her, and warm. She soaked it in, just for a moment, grateful for his quiet strength.
“I shouldn’t have brought you here,” he said gruffly.
“That’s not it.” She lowered her head onto his chest, drawing on his strength as she explained.
“I’ve only sensed things from other victims. This is too close, too real.
I mean, it happened right across the street from me.
” She took a breath to tamp down her rising panic.
“And it’s the first time I’ve held a box with a dead woman’s finger. ”
His arm flexed around her. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think this would hit you like that. Honestly, I didn’t think we’d get anything at all.”
“Doubting Thomas,” she murmured, a shaky laugh escaping.
“Less and less by the minute.” When her head tipped back, she found him watching her with an intensity she hadn’t anticipated.
“Stop apologizing. I know you hated asking.”
His eyes flashed with emotion she could only guess at. “You have no idea how much.”
“Will it help your investigation?”
He inclined his head slightly. “It already has.”
For a heartbeat, neither of them moved.
Then his arm loosened, not letting her go yet. The other held the bag well away from her, which was good. She’d rather not touch it again.
He cleared his throat, and the shift that followed, subtle but deliberate, set a professional boundary. He moved away, gesturing toward the steps. “Come on. I’ll walk you home.”
She drew in a steadying breath, grateful for the distance and hating it at the same time.
Coop fell in beside her, close enough to catch her if her knees buckled again. At her door, he waited as she unlocked it.
“Will you be okay by yourself after that? I could come in for a while.”
Mercy, she was sorely tempted, but she glanced at the bag he still carried. The contents more than she’d seen in her life. More than she paid for her house.
“I’m sure you want to get the money secured.”
“It’s going directly to the lab. Kedrov may have handled the money. If he left prints or DNA behind, we can bring him in.”
“Go, then,” she said gently.
“Do you have a friend or family member you can call?”
“I’ll be fine.”
He hesitated. “You’ve said that before.”
“My family is gone, and I wouldn’t trouble my friends with this, or they wouldn’t be friends for long.”
“That’s a heavy burden to carry alone.”
He hadn’t dismissed it, hadn’t looked at her like she was broken or strange. She reached out, and this time, she didn’t stop herself, laying her hand on his forearm. “I’m used to it, but I appreciate your concern.”
He searched her face, still reluctant to go. “Call me if Cheyenne broadcasts again. No matter if it’s vague or you think it’s unimportant.”
“I will.”
“And try to get some rest.”
She glanced behind him at the Wilson house. After what happened, resting anytime soon was unlikely.
He cleared his throat. “Good night, then.”
Their eyes held, a charge arcing between them. She looked away first, before she did or said something she couldn’t take back. The attraction was unmistakable, but pursuing it wasn’t wise, not with a missing girl and a killer still out there.
She suspected he knew it, too, because he turned and walked away, his boot heels echoing on the steps. She stood there, her hand on the doorknob, until the sound faded. When she went inside, her pulse hadn’t recovered.