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Chapter 4

You know how when some people are mad, you can see a vein pop out in their forehead? Or their nostrils flare? Or they clench their fists? Or yell? Well, Cooper is not one of these people. He does none of these things. Much like with every other emotion with Cooper, it's really hard to tell if he's angry. But having made him angry often enough, I now know the signs. Or sign, rather.

He's a jaw-clencher. Yeah. He gets this serious look – about as unreadable and mysterious as all his looks – and he tightens his jaw. And… well, that's it! That's Cooper mad. This doesn't seem bad, right? Wrong. When Cooper does this, I want to run and hide (and rip all his clothes off, because he looks so sexy when he's mad… but that's hard, what with my initial reaction being to run and hide and all).

I look at him as he stares at me. He's waiting for me to say something. But he's the one who came barging into my office. He's the one who mentioned something about saying he was just about to say the exact same thing to me! The exact same thing being that "we need to talk." Once again… four of the most awful words in the English language, when strewn together like that. Because unless he wants to talk about how it was high time we made out, I'm not sure I want to hear what he has to say!

But still I say, cautiously, "you go first."

"Well," he starts, putting his hands in his pockets. Oh yes. That's another thing he does when he's mad. He puts his hands in his pockets. Maybe that's where he clenches his fists. "I was just out and about, doing my job—"

"Where were you? What were you doing?" I ask in what I hope is a sweetly curious way. When he looks at me kind of murderously, I shrug and say innocently, "I just wanted to paint a picture of the scene as you talk."

He chooses to barrel on and ignore me. He takes a deep breath. "My cell phone rings and it's a friend of mine from the NYPD. He tells me he thought I'd be interested to know about this man that drowned at a pool yesterday afternoon at Fitness World."

He looks at me pointedly and I immediately look at my hands, examining each nail carefully. How annoying he has all these connections! A girl can't keep a secret from her roommate and would-be-boyfriend anymore.

"And you know," he continues, "I'm wondering why on earth I'd be interested in hearing about a guy drowning. Do you know why I'd be interested in this?"

I can see he can barely contain his anger, and I'm starting to wonder why's he so upset! I was just about tell him the whole story (not that he knows that, but still).

"He thought I'd be interested in the list of witnesses at the scene. One witness actually. One Heather Wells," he says, finishing in a huff. His look softens just a bit as he shakes his head disbelievingly. "Why didn't you tell me about this last night?"

"I… I don't know. I just didn't want to think about it," I say lamely. "It was pretty awful, and I just wanted to forget about it for a little while."

"I'm having a bit of déjà vu. People dying, somehow you're there in the middle of the action—"

"—I wouldn't exactly call me seeing a man after he's died action—"

"—and you're withholding things from me. I knew it last night. You weren't telling me the whole story. You weren't telling me anything. Then I get this call today and I get this feeling. Something's wrong and you're not telling me. Something's been wrong for awhile and you've got me at arm's length. Dammit, Heather," he says, nearly whispering, shaking his head again, looking at the ground. He slowly lifts his gaze back up and catches mine. "I hate when you lie to me."

"Why?" I ask.

What am I doing? What am I doing?

"What do you mean, 'why'?" he asks.

"I can't lie to you? Or withhold information from you? Simply omit parts of my day?"

Oh god, someone shut me up. Now! This is my future boyfriend and I'm so going to ruin it.

But the fact is, I saw a man die, I've been threatened, I'm dating a man I really don't like, the man I do like is yelling at me in such a hypocritical way… I just can't handle it! I want a hug. Not a lecture! Can't he ever just give me a hug?

"I just don't understand," I continue, because no one has come forward to shut me up, "why you're so upset. I was going to tell you. I was. But… it's not fair, Coop! You have these double standards when it comes to our relationship. I have to be completely forthcoming and honest, whilst I have no clue what you do all day! Are you in danger? Why do you know a drycleaner that's great with bloodstains? Have you been hurt before?" I ask, my voice shaking. This has been on my mind since after that first… well, investigation as I think of it.

He just stares at me, once again – a completely unreadable expression on his face. Although he's doing the jaw-thing. He's mad. That I can tell.

"How many people have you ever seen dead? When was the last time you saw someone croak? What was your first investigation? What made you want to be a detective? Where do you spend your nights when you're not home? I know there are nights… but I don't ask. And I certainly don't give you attitude about it.."

Please someone. I'm on a roll, but it's not a good roll to be on. SHUT ME UP!

"I know. You're going to say that I have no one. That you feel like you have to protect me. That you just worry about me. But you don't have anyone either! And newsflash – I do worry about you! All the time, as a matter of fact. But I try not to think about it, because I know wild horses couldn't drag some small fact, that I'm dying to know about you, out of you!"

I finish and realize that at some point in my tirade, I stood up. I'm practically nose-to-nose with the man. Close enough to kiss. But… well the moment doesn't seem exactly right. Kisses borne from passionate arguments are great in the movies. But with Cooper… I kind of want our first kiss to happen when we're not at each other's throats. I want it to happen when we're in the middle of laughing or sharing bodega chicken or something. Something natural. Something great. Something us.

"You want me to tell you about my cases?" he asks, raising his eyebrows, looking at me with some amusement. "Heather, you'd probably get involved and make my work that much more complicated. I'd be trying to solve a case, but I'd have to stop to save your life. Again."

I flinch at that last word. He makes saving my life sound like a hassle. When he came up the elevator shaft to save me, when he ran out onto the balcony, when he saw Doug Winer and his crew get taken away and realized I was safe… well, it kind of felt like I mattered to him. A lot. Like more than a friend. Okay, maybe a best friend and not a girl friend. But either way, what I saw in his eyes in those moments was amazing. But I've been just kidding myself. He feels saddled with the responsibility that is his little brother's poor ex-girlfriend who one day realized she has nothing. And he does have a Superman complex.

That's it. I'm just a cause. A cry to Superman.

He glances up, pleadingly, at the ceiling, and I can see it. He wants to bolt. This isn't how it was supposed to go. I was supposed to just say, "I'm sorry, Cooper, I should've told you everything." And okay, I probably should've told him everything. But I do feel that it's some kind of double standard. And, much as I hate fighting with him, of all people, I am happy I said what I said.

"Heather," he says, finally. But then his phone rings. He grabs it and looks like he wants to throw it. He groans and looks at me, kind of desperately.

I gesture weakly for him to take the call, and I sit back down. He walks into the hallway. I stare at the letter. Something about the letter feels very familiar to me. Very odd. Very off. I re-read it, wracking my brain for some clue.

The guy's from New Jersey. He's stalking me.

Ladies and Gentlemen: Heather Wells, Detective at Large.

"I've got to go," Cooper says, reappearing in the office.

"Uh, okay," I say, holding the letter, thinking how if I had just kept my mouth shut, Cooper would know about the letter and the full details of the phone call and we'd be halfway done solving the crime!

"We'll finish this later," he says, before turning on his heel and leaving quickly.

Oh, goodie!

I sigh. I don't want to move. I'm rooted to the spot in fear, a letter threatening my life in my hands and a voice as cold as ice playing on an endless loop echoing in my mind. I just want to go home. But… Cooper's gone. He's really gone. I've all but ruined any chances we had. I mean, I completely lashed out at him when he came to show me concern! I think. I'm not sure exactly why he came. I never really did give him the chance to say much.

All I know is… Cooper was my safety blanket. He's been ripped away by… well, by me. And now, I'm cold and scared and I want to go home.

When the day ends – what seems like an eternity later – however, I head to Tad's. I don't want to be home. The idea of being in the company of a strong, muscular man is very appealing right now, what with my paralyzing fear and all, and I still have to break up with him. No time like the present right?

Wrong.

Tad never lets me talk. I put my head back against the back of a rocking chair and rock quietly while he goes on and on about how I can really make it again. Make the ultimate comeback in music! I can lose weight and come out a new artist, with my own material, looking all "hot and bothered" because of how the man got me down…

I decide not to break up with him. Don't ask me why. I can't stay and listen to him talk about a workout routine or gigs in the area anymore, so I tell him I have to go home. I just can't be there anymore.

So I leave. I can't go home, of course. So I decide to take a little walk. I think about my whole nightmare day. Well my two nightmare days, with the one bright spot of sharing takeout with Cooper while he tells me that his home is my home, and that he's not asking me to leave, that I'm perfectly fine and shouldn't be with Tad. Those thoughts comfort me. Those thoughts keep me warm. Those thoughts…

… get me lost.

I realize I've walked too far. I look around. Nothing familiar.

I take out my cell phone. Dead. Damn, I forgot to charge it at work. I take out my wallet. No money. Damn, I forgot to go to the ATM. But I have had other things on my mind! Like… the killer that wants me dead.

Oh god.

I'm on a weird street, I'm lost, with no money or phone… and a killer's after me.

In a panic, I start running.