Cooper didn't even hear it—not really—when the name was announced. He clapped because everyone else clapped. The tiara was placed on her head, and the girls clamoured around her for hugs and congratulations.

But when Annie's eyes found his, he was gutted. All other concerns fell to his feet; she'd been crowned Queen, and was sitting directly in the crosshairs. This was his job, his duty; it was what he'd been waiting for all night.

Cooper furiously scanned the crowd, and as people stood up to applaud, he panicked, hoping against hope that Truman had a better sightline, that Andy and Hawk and the troopers they'd called in for reinforcements had secured the exits and entrances. The music swelled and he lost sight of the glittering crown atop of Annie's head, just as the lights went out and the room was pitched into complete darkness.

Lights backstage began to flicker, the strobe effect they caused only serving to amplify to sudden alarm felt by everyone in the room. Cooper willed his heart to stop thudding in his ears as the first of the smoke bombs went off. He tried to find Annie through the mess.

She was standing at the edge of the stage, looking for him. He pushed his way through the throng to reach her, his eyes watering from the sting of the smoke and disoriented by the lights. The last thing he saw was Annie, a bouquet of roses in her arms, and the looming figure of Margaret Lanterman beside her. The flash of fire that shot up in front of him left him blinded a moment later. He heard a scream. The lights came back on. When his vision returned, Annie was gone.

Harry jogged up to his side.

"Harry, he took Annie."

"What?"

"He got Annie!"

"Bastard!" Harry clapped a hand on Cooper's shoulder. "He won't get half a mile from here. I'll get 'im!"

Cooper rubbed his eyes. Lost, unsure, he nearly collapsed to the floor right then and there. He might have, too, if Andy hadn't run up to him at that moment, continuing the inane conversation he'd been trying to have with him all night.

"What?" Cooper asked.

"I knew I'd seen it someplace before. I know where it's telling us to go. It's not a puzzle at all. It's a map!"

Cooper sucked in a breath, his throat burning on the acrid odor of the smoke and his own singed nose hairs from the flames a moment before. "Are you sure, Andy?"

"I've never been more sure about anything in my whole life."

Cooper somehow didn't find the statement reassuring. Nevertheless, he nodded at the young deputy. "Good work, Andy."

He heard Sheriff Truman barking orders into his two-way radio and without another word, he fumbled for the stairs off the stage, still blinded, disoriented.

He walked headlong into Audrey, knocking her into the wall.

"Agent Cooper!" she cried, pitching her arms around his neck.

Cooper held on for dear life. "Audrey, are you okay?"

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't—I let you down!"

"It's not your fault," Cooper said. "It was mine. I wasn't—"

Audrey placed her hands on either side of his face. "Dale, you'll find her."

He choked on the remnants of the smoke and his breath hitched in his chest. "Audrey, I have to go."

"You can't drive," she said. "Give me your keys."

And he did, giving them up without a fight, and was grateful that she led the way for them both through the crowds and out into the quiet of the parking lot. With a lead foot, she traced a path along darkened highways to the centre of town, to the sheriff's station parking lot, and as he felt his senses coming back to him, he became acutely aware of Audrey's hand on his.

"We're here," she said, her soft voice barely audible over the hum of the idling engine.

He stared out the windscreen, blinking away the light fog that still clouded his vision. "Thank you."

"Of course," she said, looking around briefly. "Agent Cooper, how am I going to get back?"

He shook his head. "Drive back. Take my car," he told her. "I'll use the truck or—"

"Okay."

He sighed, his hand hovering over the door handle. "You know…Audrey, I'm not—and she's not—"

"I know," she said.

"You know?" he asked. Of course she knows, he told himself against his surprise. Because she does. It's as simple as that.

Audrey shrugged. "But you still have to go. Because that's the kind of man you are. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

He had never before felt so understood. "Audrey—"

"I'll be here. Or…I guess, what I mean is—I'll be at home. At the hotel." She sighed and rolled her eyes, clearly wishing she had thought before speaking. She took a deep breath. "Whenever you need me. Just say the word."

Cooper was comforted but not just her words but the cooing sound of her voice, the warmth of her hand. He suddenly felt capable of fixing everything. For her, he knew he could. And she was right: he had to because that's what he did. That was his job. And knowing she was there—in whatever capacity—for the first time in a long time lessened his fears. He didn't know how to thank her.

So he didn't. There would be time for that, once Windom Earle was caught and Annie was returned safely home. For now, he whispered his assent: a soft "Okay, Audrey," as he slid his hand out from under hers. He wanted to kiss her and hold her and promise her that he'd be back, but he opened the door to his car and hurried into the station instead, dodging raindrops in the headlight beams. When he was inside the foyer, Audrey backed out of the lot and circled around and up the road that led to her father's hotel.

Where she'd be, if he needed her.