Cooper Vengeance

He made no attempt to move out of her way. She faltered to a stop in front of him, drawing herself up to her full five feet nine inches, and he was still several inches taller than she was.

“You couldn’t look me up on your computers at the station?”

She lifted her chin. “I’m on administrative leave.”

“For breaking and entering?” he shot drily.

She supposed she deserved that. “Because apparently the department-ordered psychologist thinks I’m a danger to myself, my fellow deputies and the public.”

“Are you?”

“No.” Though she couldn’t muster much conviction in the denial, considering he’d just caught her snooping in his motel room without permission.

His lips curved, as if he could read her mind. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

She glanced over at the photos on the bed. “Maybe more than I was looking for.”

“Your sister looked like those women.” He wasn’t asking a question, just making an observation. Carrie’s picture had been included in the Banner article. He must have seen the similarities between her and the victims in those photos. It was probably what had drawn him here in the first place.

“I found her body,” she confessed in a reed-thin voice, wishing in vain that she could be stronger and more professional at this moment. “She was lying on the kitchen floor at Annabelle’s. Stretched out straight. On her back, with her arms by her sides. Palms down. You’d have thought she was asleep.”

“Except for the blood.”

Her gaze snapped up to find him looking at her, his expression soft with sympathy. “Except for the blood,” she agreed. “Twelve puncture wounds. Deep. Tore up her insides.”

“He twists the knife.” J.D.’s words came out in a growl.

Her chest ached in response. “Yes.”

J.D. finally moved out of the way, crossing to the bed. Setting the newspaper and gun case on the bedside table, he silently gathered the photographs and returned them to the folder. He put them back in correct order—the way she’d found them before she had spread the photos out on the bed—apparently, he knew the folder contents by heart. He tucked it against his chest, holding it with one arm as he might hold a child.

The door in front of her was open. There was no reason she shouldn’t leave while she had the chance. But a question that had nagged at her since the day before wouldn’t remain unasked. “How did you know to come here?”

His head snapped up, as if he had forgotten she was still there. “You mean to Terrebonne?”

She nodded. “What made you think Carrie’s murder matched the others you’ve been looking into?”

“She looks like Brenda.”

“Your wife?”

“Your sister looks more like her, in some ways, than any of the other victims.” His faraway gaze focused on Natalie. “Not much like you, though.”

“Carrie looked like my mother,” Natalie explained. “I take after my father.”

“Brenda was from here. She grew up right here in Terrebonne.” He set the folder on the bedside table and sat on the unmade bed, one hand smoothing the wrinkles she’d left. “Her parents still live here—George and Lois Teague—”

“No wonder Carrie looks like your wife. She’s a distant cousin. Her mother and mine, I think—we didn’t really socialize much.” Natalie felt strange just standing in the open doorway, so she closed the door behind her and crossed to the chair by the bed. She paused before sitting, silently requesting permission. She took his slight nod as an invitation and dropped into the chair, her wobbly knees grateful for the respite.

J.D. glanced toward the file folder he’d laid by the bed. “What did you think?”

“I think those murders definitely seem to be connected.”

“And your sister’s murder?”

“Body position was similar. She fits the profile. But—”

“But you already have a suspect—your brother-in-law.”

She knew everyone in town thought she was crazy. Or jealous of her sister’s marriage. Or both. But Hamilton Gray was not the grieving widower he portrayed. He didn’t even try hard to pretend with Natalie, as if he enjoyed toying with her, making her seem a fool in front of her family and colleagues.

“Have you ever known, in your gut, that you were right? Even if everybody else in the world said otherwise?” she asked.

“That’s exactly how I feel right now. I know in my gut that the same guy who murdered my wife also murdered your sister.”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to disagree. Because I know Hamilton killed Carrie. He may not have done it with his own hands, but he was involved.” Natalie leveled her gaze with his, making sure he understood her meaning. “Nothing’s going to stop me from proving it. Not the sheriff, not Hamilton—”

“Not me?” When she didn’t answer immediately, he added, “You called the police on me yesterday, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” No point in pretending she hadn’t.

“Because you thought I was doing something illegal? Or because you wanted me away from the crime scene?”

“You were doing something illegal—”

“And you broke into my motel room. Let’s call it even.”

She sighed. “It’s going to be hard enough for me to keep investigating my sister’s murder under the radar without having to deal with you dogging my every move. I don’t need that. So if you’re going to play follow the leader with me—”

“I didn’t follow you to the restaurant last night.”

“Nevertheless, there you were. In my way.”

“What were you going to do there?” he asked.

“Look around. See if we missed something.”

He leaned forward, the movement bringing his muscular torso that much closer to where she sat. She caught a stronger whiff of the masculine scent that had haunted her earlier while she was searching the room. “Maybe we should work together.”

It was the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Together? On the investigation?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“At the moment, you’re not really, either. And I know these murder cases better than anyone else.”

“You’re assuming they’re connected. I don’t assume anything of the sort.”

“Doesn’t matter. You’ll investigate your way, I’ll investigate mine. I’ll watch your back. You watch mine.”

She frowned at him, hating herself for finding the suggestion even the smallest bit tempting.

His voice deepened to a velvety growl. “We want the same thing, Natalie. You want to stop the man who killed your sister. I do, too. I don’t think it matters that we don’t agree who he is. Maybe that’s a good thing. It’ll keep us honest.”

He was making sense. She didn’t want him to make sense. She wanted him to go away and leave her to investigate in peace.

But he clearly didn’t intend to go away. So why not agree to work with him? She could make him think they were partners while she investigated around him. At least she wouldn’t have to conduct her investigation while checking over her shoulder all the time to see if he was there.

“You’re right,” she said aloud. “We do want the same thing. So let’s do it. Let’s work together on this case.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, as if he found her capitulation a little too easy. She schooled her features, determined to appear transparent.

“Okay,” he said finally, leaning back again, taking away that spicy, tempting scent that had damn near mesmerized her for the last few minutes.

She resisted the urge to lean toward him for another whiff, extending her hand toward him instead. “Okay.”

His fingers engulfed her, his grip firm but gentle. A tingling warmth in her palm caught her by surprise, making her feel like a teenager with her first crush, giddy and light-headed.

It passed quickly and she released his hand, scooting her chair back to put more distance between them. “I should go—”

“What are you doing tonight?” J.D. asked.

She looked up at him, quelling a sudden nervous ripple in her belly. Was he going to ask her out to dinner or something? “I don’t know—I mean—” She stuttered to a stop, her cheeks burning. For God’s sake, Becker, get a hold of yourself. “I don’t have any plans. Why?”

His face creased with a slow smile. “Because we have some investigating to do.”

Chapter Five

“This is investigating?” Natalie’s voice sharpened with impatience. Her half profile was taut with irritation.

J.D. saw all the symptoms. She was where he’d been years ago, raw with fresh grief and driven to action to take his mind off the pain and the senselessness of it all.

But action wasn’t always the answer.

“Just wait.”

“Your Zen master act is annoying. And cryptic. Why don’t you just tell me why you wanted to come back here in the middle of the night?” She gazed at the darkened facade of Annabelle’s. The rising moon shed pale light over the building’s whitewashed clapboard siding, making it glow faintly in the dark. The dashboard clock read seven thirty-five, hardly the middle of the night.

“Your sister’s time of death was clocked somewhere between 7:00 p.m. and midnight, when you found her body.” He glanced at her. “What were you doing here at midnight?”

Her brow furrowed. “How do you know her time of death?” she countered suspiciously.

“My brother, the sheriff’s deputy, requested the report.” J.D. had called Aaron this morning after the meeting with Marlon Dyson ended fruitlessly. Aaron had called J.D. back with the details before he reached the motel.

He could see the moment his strategy dawned on her. “You’re trying to re-create the situation, aren’t you?”

He nodded. “Have you ever sat here since the murder to see what goes on out here this time of night?”

He saw dismay in her eyes, as if she realized the idea should have occurred to her without his help. “No. But I should have.”

“You’re a little distracted by your emotions.”

She bristled. “And you’re not?”

“Constantly,” he replied. “I’ve just had twelve years of practice keeping them in check.”

She settled back against the seat, looking ashamed for snapping at him. Silence wrapped around them like a cocoon until J.D. thought the tension would smother him. When he spoke, it sounded like a cannon going off, even though he kept his voice even and low. “Do you have someone to talk to—”

Before she could answer, a sharp crack of gunfire split the air outside the Lexus. J.D. flinched, dropping lower in the car for cover. On instinct, he reached out and dragged Natalie down with him.

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