“Yeah, that’s a fine idea,” he said, and he pulled it over her head. There was a good thing about beginning not more than a dozen feet from the bed, Lucy thought. When they fell on it together, Coop cushioning her as best he could, she let out a yip of pain, and laughed. “I guess it’s going to have to be easy going tonight, Agent McKnight. I’m still a mess.”
When she at last fell into a dazed sleep, pressed against his side, her head on his shoulder, her palm flat on his belly, she slept deeply, without nightmares, without pain, and with a sense of rightness she didn’t think she’d ever felt before in her life.
The mattress felt as soft as a cloud.
CHAPTER 54
At exactly seven o’clock in the morning, Lucy danced barefoot into the kitchen, already showered and dressed, her hair still damp and tucked behind her ears to hang loose down her back.
Two people had tried to kill her yesterday, but today she felt buzzed and happy, thinking of the huge smile on her face when she’d looked at herself in the bathroom mirror thirty minutes before. She smelled coffee, nearly shuddered with pleasure at the thought of it, and laughed, marveling at how the most special moments in life came at you out of left field. It took nearly getting herself killed to finally take the big step with Special Agent Cooper McKnight.
She called out, “You’re a coffee god. I will worship at your feet if I can have some.”
He was speaking on his cell. He looked up at her and smiled, but it wasn’t the kind of smile she was expecting, it was a distracted, perfunctory smile, one that didn’t say anything like
He picked up a pen from the kitchen counter and scribbled on his grocery pad as he listened. When he punched off his cell, he said, “Savich said they traced the VIN of the burned van to the last registered owner, a woman named Claudette Minsk. She lives in Welling, Maryland—actually, just about four miles from your grandmother’s house in Chevy Chase. She was a florist, owned several shops, but her family is selling them now. She’s seventy-nine years old, and unfortunately, she’s developed Alzheimer’s.
“The son said he sold the van and one just like it to two men he’d never seen before a couple of days ago, for cash. The vans still had his mother’s florist logo—a big bright sunflower with MINSK’S MARVELS in gold script written beneath it—so they must have painted over them.”
“What about the dead man, Coop?”
“Forensics got a hit on his partial fingerprints, and then matched some tattoos on his neck to the same man’s mug shots. His name was Ben Eddy Dukes; he’d been in jail for attempted murder, so why not step up to first- degree? He was thirty-seven, on parole out of Briarwood State Prison for a couple of years, and had been suspected of a spate of robberies in upscale neighborhoods in cities all over Maryland.
“Savich is getting his photo over to Welling to confirm he was one of the men who bought the van. It sure looks like they were hired to kill you. Ben Eddy Dukes was a real badass professional. As for the other man, they’re trying to get a description of him from Minsk.”
Lucy said, “Yeah, we knew that was the case. It will be harder to find out who hired them. It’s progress, though.”
His eyes were fixed on her face. He reached out his palm and lightly cupped her bruised jaw. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen your hair down before last night. I like all the cool shades. No more bandages on your head. You almost can’t see those little butterflies covering the wound, and the bruise on your jaw looks like it might be fading. I think you look good to go, Lucy.”
He dropped his hand, turned, and said over his shoulder, “Here’s your coffee, no cream, no sugar.” He waited until she took a sip, and asked, “How are all your sore spots doing this morning?”
“I worked at Starbucks when I was a teenager, got my addiction there. You’ve got to taste the mean nonfat mocha latte with just a touch of cinnamon I learned how to brew. My parents assure me it classifies as ambrosia.”
Who cared about tasting fricking nonfat mocha latte—with cinnamon—when he was standing not five feet away from her, and she could cover that distance with a nice long jump and end up with her legs wrapped around his waist?
He turned away to put two slices of wheat bread into the toaster. “I’m making scrambled eggs. I only use half the yolk, so your arteries won’t clog.”
She drank some more coffee, sat down at the kitchen table where he’d already set out plates and silverware. The kitchen was large and bright, even in the dismal gray morning light.
“You’ve got lots of gadgets. Do you use them all?”
He said over his shoulder, “Not really. My parents are the real cooks and like to give me these things. The panini press is their latest gift. I haven’t used it yet. Maybe if we’re here at lunch, we can give it a try.”
“Coop?”
“Yes?” He didn’t turn away from his skillet. She smelled frying bacon.
“Did Dillon want anything else?”
“Yeah,” he said. “He’d like to see your grandfather’s letter. So would I, for that matter. We can stop at your grandmother’s house after breakfast, take it with us to the CAU.”
As he spoke, Coop walked over to her, slipped his hand into her blouse, and pulled up the chain holding her ring. Lucy froze. He said quietly, “I saw you take it off last night. I remember you said you had no clue what these symbols mean. And this single word—how do you pronounce it?”
Her heart nearly stopped when he whispered the word closely enough.
“SEFYLL.”
She waited to see a reaction, just as she’d waited, frozen, when Dillon had said the word, but she already knew nothing would happen when Coop said it. She was right; everything continued as it was supposed to.
She lifted his fingers from the ring and put it back inside her shirt.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how anyone knew I even had this.”
He turned to face her, looking very serious. “Before I made the unforgettable decision to see if you were okay last night when I heard you moving around, I was lying awake in bed, asking myself that same question. If this ring is the reason your grandfather was killed, then someone must want it very badly. Maybe they were tipped off by somebody who knew you’d opened that box, or they could have been following you, or even have your grandmother’s house bugged.”
“I thought of that, but I wondered if I was getting too paranoid. I think you made a fine decision last night, Coop. After all, I’m your guest, and you had to make sure I was all right.”
He stared at her—no, at her mouth.
She said, “All right, all right. We can go over right after breakfast. It will be interesting having a conversation knowing we might be bugged. What would you like to talk about?”
He lifted the skillet off the stove, gave her a slow smile as he leaned back against the counter and said, “We don’t have to go right away. Come here.”
CHAPTER 55
