Chapter 7

Cooper Haynes breathed in the scent of his wife's hair and neck as he snuggled up against her in bed. He had about a minute this morning before the alarm went off, but he didn't want to leave this nest until the absolute last second. He splayed his hand over her abdomen where their baby was growing. Incredible. First Mary Jo Kirshner, their surrogate, had discovered she was pregnant and they'd barely gotten used to that wonderful news when Jamie herself learned she was going to have a baby. An abundance of riches, Jamie had said, shocked, as she'd looked up from the pregnancy test she'd taken. Now they were getting ready for two children.

Jamie murmured and half turned toward him. He kissed her jawline and the alarm began its annoying beep, beep, beep, beep until Jamie slapped her hand down on it and said, "I hate you," as it cut off.

Cooper took no offense as this was Jamie's relationship with the alarm clock. "Don't go," she said, reaching for his hand as he slipped from beneath the covers. "This is the most excitement I'm going to get all day."

"You don't have to spend every moment in bed," he said.

"Did you hear something different than I did?" She gave him a look.

Jamie was about six months along and suffering from pre-eclampsia. There was worry that she was going to lose the baby. Bed rest had been ordered by her doctor, but it was a controversial stance amongst the medical community these days. Some doctors felt it didn't really help. Others believed in it entirely. Jamie had endured some early bleeding and was terrified she would miscarry. She'd started the school year teaching second grade but had had to give that up several weeks ago. Now the question of whether she should spend the next three months— three months! —in bed was up for debate, and Jamie was trying to comply by limiting the time on her feet. Cooper knew that if the pregnancy failed Jamie would blame herself, but he couldn't imagine her staying sane after that much time confined to a bed. He knew he wouldn't.

"Moderation," was all he said as he headed for the shower.

Twenty minutes later, he was shoving his arms in his sport coat and heading out of the room. Detectives at River Glen P.D. weren't required to wear a tie any longer, so his white shirt was unbuttoned at the throat. However, RGPD's chief of police, Marcus Duncan—nicknamed Humph for his long, world-weary, Humphrey Bogart face—still wore a tie.

Cooper started to open the door and Jamie said, "Don't let the cat in," at the same moment Twink streaked into the room and hopped up on the bed, turning its black-and-white face to Cooper as Jamie growled and pulled the pillow over her head. Twink, short for Twinkletoes, was a black-and-white tuxedo cat who'd recently become part of their family when Jamie's sister, Emma, had brought it over from Ridge Pointe Independent and Assisted Living, where Emma lived. The cat had become persona non grata with the administration at the retirement home because of its uncanny ability to sneak into residents' rooms and settle next to them in bed right before they died.

Emma had been on a mission to rescue Twink from Ridge Pointe over the past months and had finally gotten her wish. With only a few beds in their home, the house Jamie had been bequeathed by her deceased mother, and with Jamie in bed most of the day, the cat had apparently decided there was only one place to be: the master bedroom. It didn't help that Twink loathed Emma's dog, Duchess, who traveled with Emma every time she visited, which was more and more often now that Jamie was incapacitated.

"I'm no match for the cat," apologized Cooper as he watched Twink chew at and lick one of her front paws.

"None of us are."

With a sigh Jamie propped herself against the pillows and reached above her head, desultorily petting the cat. Twink immediately pushed her head into Jamie's hand, reveling in the attention and purring. "Can you knock on Harley's door?" Jamie asked. "I'd do it myself but . . ." She threw out an arm to encompass the bed, the baby, the whole situation.

"I'll get her up." He came back to kiss Jamie on the top of the head and she groaned. Twink took a playful swipe at him and he muttered, "Cat thinks she owns you."

"She probably does," Jamie said on a heavy sigh. "And you make me feel like an invalid. Okay, I am an invalid, but you don't have to make me feel like one."

"You're not an invalid. You're a hot babe in a flannel nightgown."

She looked down at herself. "It's not flannel, it's Pima cotton."

"What's the difference?"

"Do you even know what flannel is?"

Twink worked up a yawn, her pink tongue stretching between sharp white teeth.

"We're boring the cat. Goodbye. See you tonight."

"I'm not a hot babe, I'm boring . . . What will I be like by the end of this prison term . . . ?"

"Still hot!" he called after her as he left the room, walking down the short hallway to rap on Harley's door.

"I'm sleeping!" she yelled at him through the panels. "I don't have to be in school till eleven."

"What about your mom's breakfast?" Harley made a sound in her throat but Cooper heard the thump of her heels on the carpet. "Will you pick up Emma before dinner?" he asked.

"On it," she called back.

Harley was Jamie's daughter from her first marriage . . . and a college freshman at Portland State University. The gap between Harley and her soon-to-be two half siblings was a pretty big one and they were all a little boggled, but the excitement was growing. Even Emma, who rarely showed any emotion—the result of a terrible attack her senior year in high school that had forever mentally altered her—showed how agog she was as well by all the plans she was continually making to get ready. She'd even announced she was moving back to the house to take care of Jamie, but that was still up in the air as Emma's help, though well meant, sometimes interfered with the actual running of the household, and with Jamie incapacitated Cooper wasn't sure how well he and Harley would bridge the gap with or without Emma.

He headed downstairs and out of the house, grabbing a banana on the way. Better than the perpetual donuts in the break room. He'd managed to ignore them most of his years at River Glen P.D., but he could already see his eating habits were going to deteriorate.

* * *

As he entered the department, his partner, Elena Verbena, said, "Gavin Knowles is at Laurelton General. He was involved in a car accident early this morning." She was just sitting down at her own desk, which butted up to and faced his.

Cooper stared at her. "How bad is it?"

"Don't know yet. We heard from Laurelton P.D. Detective Sandler, who was called to the scene and now techs are checking if it was a one-car or two-car."

Cooper had met and exchanged information with Detective Gretchen Sandler a time or two as the cities of Laurelton and River Glen were next to each other. "He was forced off the road?"

"That's what they're checking."

The good feelings Cooper had carried into work from his family dynamics faded into the background. "Any indication alcohol was a factor?" he asked.

She shrugged and shook her head. They'd both been to yesterday's funeral, though Verbena had taken a call and missed the grave-site service because of a family matter. It wouldn't surprise either of them if the Knowles family, gutted by Tim's death, downed a few drinks after the stressful events of the past week. In fact, it would be more than likely.

Verbena added, "You could ask Mackenzie Laughlin. She and Jesse Taft were at the scene last night as well. Knowles was apparently on the phone with Laughlin at the time of the accident."

Cooper felt a jolt of surprise. He'd mentioned to Mackenzie that he felt something was off about Tim's death. Had that had anything to do with her being on the phone with him? "What time was the accident?"

"Around three a.m., I think. Thereabouts. Check with Sandler. . . or Laughlin."

Or Taft . . .

Cooper knew the private investigator as someone who cut to the truth. Some of his colleagues in law enforcement thought the ex-policeman had sold out, gone to the side of the enemy, and Cooper had half shared that opinion because Taft had been linked with Mitch Mangella, whose own reputation of stepping across the legal line was well deserved. But Taft had always shown himself to be a canny investigator and Cooper knew his recent split from working with Mangella was his own choice. Now Mangella was dead, having fallen off the roof of his own home, which had raised a few eyebrows itself, though no one currently at River Glen P.D. was overly anxious to dispute that his death was an accident. The department had no love for the likes of Mitch Mangella, even though at one time he'd been such a rising star in the business world that the mayor and others in the city's public office had touted knowing him. Not so anymore.

"How's your mom?" he asked Verbena, as he took his seat at the desk and looked across at her. The squad room accommodated about twelve desks, though they were the only ones around at the moment.

"Home again. Low on salt this time." She splayed her hands and shook her head, meaning she had no idea what was coming next. Her mother had been having a series of medical events that led to ambulance trips to the hospital. She'd just stepped outside of the funeral home yesterday when she got the message that her mother was in an ambulance after being found unconscious on the bedroom floor.

"Anything for today yet?" Cooper asked her.

"Not so far."

They both looked toward the door to the chief's office. The blinds were drawn and the room was dark. It was early yet, but Chief Duncan was notoriously slow to get to the office, though he often stayed later than most of his staff.

Cooper thought about Gavin Knowles, lying in a hospital bed. He wasn't sure if his accident had anything to do with what had happened to his brother, apart from the result of grief and bad luck, but he knew he wanted to reexamine the facts surrounding Tim's death and Gavin seemed like a good place to start. But Gavin Knowles's accident had taken place in Laurelton and was therefore under their jurisdiction, so there wasn't a lot he could do until he knew what the techs uncovered to even decide if his crash was purely an accident.

But if it was discovered another car was involved, then he was going to do his damnedest to shoulder his way into that investigation as well. He could feel in his bones something wasn't right about Tim's death; the reported circumstances leading to it were woefully incomplete, in his opinion. He picked up his phone and searched his contact list for Jesse James Taft's number.

* * *

Bzzzzz . . . bzzzzzz . . .

Mackenzie stepped out of the shower, awkwardly leaning on the sliding door handle to hold her weight, swearing a blue streak, before managing to grab a towel and hobble to her bed where her cell phone was still ringing. She didn't recognize the number, so she took a moment to tuck the towel around her torso before sinking onto the bed and answering. Being dressed, such as it was, made it feel like she could concentrate more.

"Hello?"

"Mac? Mackenzie?"

Ah, yes. Leigh. She recognized her voice and made a mental note to add her to her contact list. That thought was immediately followed by the realization that Leigh likely knew about Gavin.

This theory was proved right when Leigh asked in a tremulous voice, "Have you heard what happened to Gavin?"

"Hi, Leigh. Yes, I do know about the accident . . ." She wasn't sure how much she wanted to reveal about her involvement at the scene yet.

"Do you think it was a suicide attempt?"

Now that surprised her. "No. That really hadn't occurred to me."

"He's just been so . . . morose. Living in the past and all. It's been hard on everyone." She sounded like she was barely holding back tears. "He's been obsessed with Ethan's death. Well, you know, he talked to you about it."

Mackenzie blinked. She hadn't told Leigh anything about what she and Gavin had discussed upon leaving the grave site. "How do you know what he talked about with me?"

Now she was sniffling. "Well, I just assumed. He's been talking about it for weeks. You don't think it was a suicide attempt?"

"No . . ."

"What do you think happened?"

Mackenzie really didn't want to go into it all. "I'm half dressed. Can I call you back?" She needed some time to think things through.

"I guess. Will you call me right back?"

"Sure."

Mac clicked off, put on underwear and eased her injured foot through the leg of her jeans. She pulled the jeans up and hobbled to her dresser where she grabbed a blue V-neck sweater. Her ankle wasn't too bad if she stayed in one place, but any movement of her foot and leg caused her to clench her teeth. How long is this going to take to heal?

She brushed out her hair while standing on one foot and balancing herself with her free hand on the counter. Sighing, she made her way to her chair. It was going to be far more difficult than usual for her to conduct any investigation, either for Leigh or Gavin or anyone else.

She sank into the chair, feeling tired to the bone. Not enough sleep, by a long shot.

She really didn't want to return Leigh's call, but she'd said she would and she'd agreed to work for her.

As she pressed Leigh's number she thought back to Gavin's panicked call: . . . They're coming back! THEY'RE COMING BACK!

He'd believed he was being targeted and maybe he was. She wondered what chance she might have to see him at the hospital today. Maybe he'd awakened from his coma and she could find out exactly what he remembered, although with his mother out for blood and Gavin's condition unclear at this time, it was hard to know what was real and what wasn't. He'd certainly been scared last night.

"I just want to know if you're going to look for Mia," Leigh said after she answered, getting right to the meat of what she wanted.

Mac looked down at her bare, injured foot, rotating it a bit, wincing from both the pain and the expectation of the pain. Leigh had already given her a hefty retainer and there was nothing holding her back except for her swollen and colorful ankle, which she was not going to let stop her from doing what she wanted. And though she'd tried to dismiss Gavin's words about Ethan Stanhope's death, he'd stoked her curiosity, which had been further ignited by last night's accident. Maybe it was worth delving into the past after all. And looking for Mia gave her a legitimate reason to ask questions.

"Yes," she said determinedly, to which Leigh sighed in relief.

"Good. Thanks. Just one thing, though? Don't talk to anyone else about her when you learn her whereabouts, come directly to me first, if and when you find her, which I know you will."

"I'll do my best," Mac answered.

"So, no one else. Just me. I'm the only one you talk to."

"That's what you're paying me for."

"Good. I'm just so . . . flustered and sad. I just don't want to advertise the fact that I'm worried."

"Well, I will be asking questions."

"Okay . . . I did tell my friends about your investigation."

Mac blinked. "Yesterday you were adamant that no one should know."

"I know. I still don't want Parker to know. I just don't want the grief, but The Sorority . . . I don't care."

"Okay. I'll probably start with Mia's family." Mackenzie vaguely knew the Beckwiths. Couldn't remember the parents' names, but knew Mia's brother, Mason, was a few years older than Mia.

"Let me know as soon as you've got anything."

"Will do."

She'd just managed to get herself back from a trip to the bathroom when she heard the loud rap at her front door. Sweeping up her phone from the side table, she checked the time as she made her way carefully toward the door. Almost ten. Her tiredness was still persisting and probably would all day.

"Hey," she said, opening the door to Taft.

He held up a small sack for her to see.

"What's that?"

"Ace bandage. I'm here to help."

"Great. Thanks. How do you look so wide awake?" she grumbled, moving back into the living room.

"Have you had breakfast?"

She snorted.

"I should've brought you something."

"What is this? You don't have to take care of me." She eyed him suspiciously as she propped her foot on the rather worn ottoman she'd taken from her mother, and Taft pulled out the elastic bandage and started wrapping it around her ankle.

"Tell me if it's too tight."

"It's too tight," she said. In actuality she was having trouble concentrating again as his fingers moved gently and smoothly around her tender skin as he began wrapping her ankle.

He stopped short. "Is it?" His blue eyes regarded her intently.

"No, maybe not. I don't know. I don't really . . . think I need all this. I'm good, really."

He sat back and regarded her with a faint smile. "No, you're not. What's going on? Just let me finish and we'll see where we are."

She braced herself as he kept winding the elastic band around her foot and across her ankle. She was propped on the heels of her hands, shoulders at her ears, by the time he was finished.

"How's that?" he asked, smoothing the elastic, testing its tightness. He looked up from his work, saw how she was braced, and said in surprise, "Does it hurt? I can unwind it," and bent to do just that.

"No, no. It's fine. Really. I think it's going to be good."

"Then why do you look like you're about to leap out of your skin?"

"Because . . ." You're touching me. She wriggled her toes. "Actually, if feels pretty good. Thanks. I mean it."

"It's got to be tight enough to give you support."

"I get it. Good." She closed her eyes to block out his face so close to hers. But his face seemed imprinted on her retinas. She could still see the blue and green striations in those eyes, the light raffish beard that she wanted to feel against her skin, the hidden dimples, the curvature of his jaw . . . She blinked open immediately.

"You thought of something?" he asked.

A great excuse . . . one she could use rather than feeling like she was going to groan with desire if he didn't get away from her. "Yes, I . . . uh . . . want to see Gavin Knowles today. Think I can get past Brighty?"

"Depends on how he's doing," he answered. "I called the hospital but they wouldn't give me out any information. Maybe we'll have to go there and see for ourselves."

"Yeah, we? Okay? You done wrapping?" she asked a little breathlessly.

"Let me check." He smoothed the bandage with his hands once more, checking for creases that could irritate, running his hand under her arch, brushing against the ball of her foot, which was still bare skin.

So help me God . . . She slowly inhaled, hoping to calm her suddenly galloping heart. It wasn't hard to imagine his body atop hers.

"I think you're good. How does it feel?"

Like I want to melt into the cushions right here. "Not bad." Did her voice crack? It felt like it cracked.

"So, what do you want to do?" he asked, watching her.

"I . . . think I'll . . . go to the Beckwiths. And ask them about Mia."

"This is the job your friend, Leigh, asked you to do?"

"Mmm-hmm."

"So, you decided to take it." He got to his feet and leaned his head in the direction of her ankle. "That slipper you had on last night . . ."

"Yeah, it's toast."

"You got a shoe that'll work?"

"I got some clogs with a back strap," she said dubiously. About a hundred years old, brown, and ugly as sin.

"Put a tennis shoe on the good foot for support. You might need crutches."

It was better now that he'd put a little space between them. She'd worked with him long enough to be over this. What the hell was wrong with her?

You must be in a really weak state.

"Want to try putting some weight on it?"

"Sure."

She started to lift herself up, but Taft reached for her hands. She held them out and he closed his over them and pulled her up from her chair. It put her in close proximity and she waggled a bit, placing a hand on his chest for support. She felt the heat beneath his shirt and snatched her hand back, nearly overbalancing.

"Whoa!" He quickly grabbed her arm, steadying her. "You gotta put some weight on that foot."

"Sorry. Yep. You're right."

It was clear he wasn't feeling anything that she was.

For the best , she told herself. For the best.

Taft's cell buzzed and he pulled it from his pocket, his brows lifting. "Cooper Haynes," he said.

"Really?" That caught Mac's interest. Though Taft knew the police detective, their respective jobs often kept them on opposite sides of an investigation with the police considering PIs a nuisance and sometimes even an impediment.

"Taft," he answered, taking a few steps away.

There was a very long pause while Mackenzie had a chance to view Taft's profile, his strong chin and dark brows, the faint curl of his hair at his nape, his jeans and gray, long-sleeved collarless shirt. The outline of the taut muscles of his upper arms. He'd tossed his jacket over the back of Mac's love seat when he'd come inside and now he picked it up, listening hard.

"When do you want to meet and where?" he asked. A pause, and then he said, "Come to my place. I'll be back there in twenty, thirty minutes." Another pause, and then, "Okay," and he hung up.

"Well?" asked Mac.

"He wants me to work the Tim Knowles case. The department's closed it, but he thinks there's something there."

"It must be really eating at him to go behind the department." Now it was her brows that were lifting.

Taft smiled faintly. "A little like rejoining the River Glen P.D. again, without all the restrictions."

"Don't get Cooper in trouble over this."

Taft moved his hands toward his chest in an innocent Who, me? gesture.

"Yeah, right," she muttered, glad that her crazy sexual pique was a little more under control . . . at least as long as he stayed over there.

"I'm not going to get anybody in trouble. I'm just going to do the job."

"Legally."

"Of course." He gave her a quizzical look. She knew it wasn't like her to caution him about how to conduct himself. It wasn't her place and she wasn't one to give advice anyway. But she also knew Taft had a tendency to step outside the lines, which was a) why he'd failed at being a police officer in the first place, and b) that walking the knife's edge seemed to be his favored modus operandi.

"Now that you're digging into Tim's death, am I on my own to try and see Gavin?" she asked.

"No, I want to talk to Gavin about both his accident and his brother's homicide. Hopefully they'll let us see him. I'm not meeting Haynes until he's off work, so I'm at your disposal this afternoon. You might need to lean on me to get around."

"I might be going to the Beckwiths . . ."

"If you think it would be better to interview them alone, I'll stay in the car. Or walk you to the door, if you want." He smiled, getting a kick out of this reversal of roles as he was generally their lead investigator. "I'll get a driving cap and you can call me Jeeves."

"Okay. Sure."

But all she could think about was a day of leaning against Taft's strong frame, his arm under hers for support.