“Otherwise, you’re okay?”
“A little heavy-headed, which is normal for me after everything.”
He exhaled, the sound almost relieved.
For a moment, he didn’t fill the quiet.
“I’m covered up with this case, but I want to see you again. To see for myself you’re all right,” he added quickly, as if he’d said more than he meant to.
“You know where I live, Lieutenant.”
“That I do. And it’s Coop, remember?”
“Do you have a first name? Or were you born Coop Cooper?”
“It’s Vincent. Vince to my family.”
“I like that,” she said softly. “Thanks for checking on me, Vince.”
A voice, low and warm, carried through the line. “Get used to it, Erica.”
No one said goodbye. The call simply ended, the kind where neither wanted to be the first to disconnect.
Her assistant returned from the storage room a moment later and gave her a strange look. No wonder. Despite the horror of the past few days, she was staring at her phone, smiling.
***
It was dark when Coop turned into Erica’s driveway. He killed the engine and sat there, hands loose on the wheel, wondering why he’d driven across town on a Friday night. This could have waited. The items in the envelope on the passenger seat weren’t urgent. But something about her had burrowed under his skin and refused to leave.
He grabbed the envelope and walked up the front path.
Coop knocked and waited. Nothing.
He knocked again, glancing at the glow of light through her front window and her car in the driveway. Still nothing.
He considered waiting until Monday during regular business hours, what he should have done in the first place. Her normal hours, at least. For him, they didn’t exist.
When he turned to leave, he heard a faint, rhythmic creak of wood. He cocked his head, listening. It seemed to come from the backyard.
He followed the sound around the side of the house.
And there she was, sitting sideways on the swing, one bare foot brushing the boards to keep it moving. A cat was curled against her hip, purring like it owned the place.
He couldn’t remember ever seeing a house with a swing on both the front and back porches. With what she dealt with, he didn’t blame her for needing the quiet.
She wore another gauzy skirt that fluttered gently as she moved. The porch light caught the gold and copper in her hair that fell loose around her shoulders, left bare by the fitted top. A glass of wine dangled from her hand.
She looked beautiful and relaxed, and he had no business interrupting her or wanting her. He moved forward anyway.
When he reached the bottom of the steps, she looked up, unfazed that he’d intruded upon her peaceful moment. The simple curve of her smile hit him harder than it should have.
“Long week?” he asked, nodding toward the wine as he climbed.
She exhaled. “Try exhausting.”
His gaze shifted to the gray ball of fur that had begun to stir. “Is that Cheyenne’s cat?”
“It is,” she said, scratching between its ears. “His name is Whiskers. He’s made this his second home since his went dark.” Erica lifted her glass slightly. “Care to join me?”
