by Layne, Ivy
I sat up awkwardly and swung my feet to the side of the bed, sucking in a breath at the woosh of my empty stomach. Still queasy from the pills I'd taken the night before and the throb in my head, I let Cooper pull me to my feet and walk me across the room. He nudged me into the bathroom and left, calling out behind him, “If you're not out of there in five minutes, I'm coming in after you.”
He would, too. That was okay. I didn't need five minutes to go to the bathroom and wash my hands and face. I tried not to look too closely in the mirror. I looked like crap and there was nothing I could do about it.
My usually neat bob was a mess, my black hair sticking out all over the place, bangs a disaster. Every shred of makeup from the day before was long gone. I looked about as good as someone who'd been through an explosion could expect to look.
At least all my parts were in the right place. At least I wasn't dead. I had a flash of the man coming down the stairs, of raising the gun and squeezing the trigger, his feet flying from the steps as the house bucked from the explosion.
I'd heard people with head injuries couldn't remember the things that happened when they got hurt. Too bad I wasn't one of them. I remembered squeezing the trigger with crystalline clarity.
I thought of the little boy in the safe room. Adam. Innocent and still alive because he had me between him and the bad guys. That was what I had to focus on.
Looking down, I caught what I was wearing and winced. An oversized Sinclair Security T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants cut off at the knee. Neither of them mine. I knew who they belonged to.
I'd seen them both often enough when Cooper stopped at the desk after a morning workout. Why was I wearing Cooper's clothes? He could get into my place. He proved that when I walked into the main room of the apartment to see a stack of my things on the kitchen island. A lightweight zip-up hoodie and matching tank. A pair of lace bikini panties and soft lounging pants that flared into ruffles just below the knee.
I was going to ignore the fact that Cooper had been in my underwear drawer. I hoped it was Cooper. “Please tell me you didn't send one of the grunts to root around in my underwear drawer.”
Cooper shot me a wicked grin. My heart skipped a beat. “I got you some things I thought you'd need. Eat your breakfast before you change, or it will get cold.”
A flash of relief at the knowledge that one of the junior employees hadn't been rifling through my underwear drawer, then heat hit my cheeks as I imagined Cooper at my dresser, taking in lacy wisps of nothing right next to my granny-panties, my laundry-day underwear, and the underwear I only wore when I had my period. Oh, great.
Deciding not to think about it, I picked up my still-warm breakfast sandwich, hoping the buttery croissant and smoky bacon would do something to dull the pain in my head. Cooper slid a to-go coffee cup with the logo of Annabelle’s Café in front of me.
I knew it would be a skinny vanilla latte. That’s what I drank, and Cooper knew everything. After nine years, he wouldn’t get my coffee order wrong, even though I was the one who always ordered the coffee. Swallowing the bite of sandwich, my stomach grateful for food, I took a sip. Yep, skinny vanilla latte. Two white pain pills sat beside the cup. I took them without argument, washing them down with another sip of latte and another bite of sandwich. Maybe with food in my stomach they wouldn’t make me so queasy. Cooper had thought of everything.
Just when I was feeling all warm and appreciative, Cooper had to open his mouth and ruin it. “I have to go to work. You’re staying here. Rest. Watch TV or something. Just stay still.”
“I can work,” I insisted, though for once I didn’t really want to. If something came up I could be there, but I wasn’t sure I had it in me. Not with this headache.
Cooper didn’t bother to reply. He shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to go. “I’ll check in on you later, bring you lunch. When Agent Holley gets here, I’ll bring him up.”
I popped off of my stool, putting down my sandwich to follow him to the door. “You don’t have to bring me lunch, Cooper. I have food downstairs. As soon as I finish eating I can go—”
“You’re staying here,” Cooper said again.
“Why?” I had to ask.
“Because I don’t trust you in your place. You need to rest. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.”
I stalked behind him as he headed for the door, trying to ignore the throb in my head with every step. I was still staring at his back as the door closed behind him, the deadbolt turning with a snick.
Wait a second, why would he lock the door from the outside? I could just… I reached out to flip the lock open. The bolt refused to turn. It might as well have been welded in place.
Did that bastard just lock me in?
I crossed my arms over my chest and stared at the door.
He had. Cooper Sinclair had locked me in.
I stood there, thinking. I could pitch a fit, call the office and raise hell demanding he let me out. I could, but if I went to war with Cooper, I wasn’t sure I’d win. The guys would have their hands full dealing with the aftermath of the explosion and the man I’d shot.
Just this once, I’d stay put. Just this once. I didn’t want Cooper getting any ideas he could order me around whenever he wanted.
I finished my breakfast, leaving the cookie for later, and brought my coffee to the huge L-shaped couch facing the gigantic TV. Cooper’s couch was more than big enough for his tall frame. It swallowed me whole. Plumping up the soft pillows and dragging a blanket over me, I grabbed the remote and decided to channel surf.
That lasted less than an hour. Nothing against TV. I binge-watched here and there, but not like this, just lying on the couch doing nothing. I’d turn on the TV for company when I cooked or worked on one of my projects, but just sitting around? Even with the pain pills kicking in, I wasn’t bored enough for that.
It’s a vice or a virtue depending on your point of view, but that’s me—if I’m not sleeping, I’m moving. I’m constitutionally incapable of vegging in front of the TV.
I changed the station to one with music and sat up, only a little woozy from the headache and the pain pills. Once my brain settled in my skull, I got up and looked around for something to do.
Cooper’s place was decorated in a style I think of as vintage bachelor. Not a lot of knickknacks, only a handful of pictures—mostly him with his brothers and friends. The main room was flooded with light, one whole wall dominated by more of the floor-to-ceiling windows he had in his bedroom.
This part of Cooper’s place was open plan, each space flowing into the next. The kitchen was all stainless steel and black granite, with breakfast counter and island beside a dining space with a long, dark, shiny table, gleaming in the morning sun. The lounging area with the couch and huge tv was opposite both.
What I could see from here was spacious, but Cooper’s place covered the entire floor. There had to be a lot more than his bedroom and the open plan living area. What else did Cooper have up here?
I felt not a smidge of hesitation as I set out to explore. If he didn’t want me to poke around he shouldn’t have locked me in his apartment. He would reap what he’d sown.
He’d gone through my underwear drawer? I had all day to go through his.
Never mind the flutter in my chest at the thought of Cooper’s underwear. You have nothing to do with Cooper’s underwear, I reminded myself.
I wandered down the hall to Cooper’s bedroom and discovered a laundry room with a massive washer and dryer, one whole wall neatly organized with a bench, hooks hung with jackets, cubbies filled with boots and running shoes.
That room led into another that was empty except for a padded floor. A tall wooden staff leaned against the wall, a few sets of free weights beside it. Why did Cooper have a home gym when he had the company gym downstairs? I took in the room again and realized he used it to practice his martial arts
.
They had a sparring room downstairs, but I could see he might want privacy sometimes. Or just quiet. I didn’t spend much time in the company gym. Despite the eye candy, it was weird being one of the only women with all those guys. Anyway, I liked to take classes. I couldn’t imagine anyone on the team doing Zumba.
Further down the hall I passed Cooper’s bedroom again and decided to save that for last. There were three more bedrooms, one filled with a bunch of boxes and an old desk. The other two were decorated in generic guest room.
The hall turned and I faced two doors—one an interior door that could have led anywhere. I wouldn’t know because it was locked. The other door was painted to match the interior, but after a knock, I realized it was metal. Did it lead outside? Maybe that was the stairwell door. It, too, was locked.
I turned and headed back to Cooper’s bedroom, swaying as I walked. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken prescription pain meds. They hit me hard. Maybe it was a good thing I wasn’t at work. I’d probably end up ordering five hundred reams of paper instead of five or fucking up the schedule.
Still, Cooper didn’t have to lock me in. Grumbling under my breath about controlling asses, I went straight for Cooper’s closet. What was good for the goose and all that.
Cooper’s closet was as neat and organized as I’d expected. Everything hung just so, arranged by color and type. His sock drawer was the same. I had my hand on the pull for the drawer above, saw just enough to catch rows of neatly folded boxers, when from behind me I heard, “Snooping?”
I jumped, spinning to face him, and wobbled, the sudden motion sending a stab of pain through my head. Hands closed over my shoulders, gently steadying me. Cooper looked down, a smirk on his face. “Don’t let me stop you. You want to look at my underwear, Alice?”
I glared up at him. Why was he so tall? My head swimming, I blurted out, “What are you doing up here?”
“I told you to stay put. You’re supposed to be resting, not wandering all over the place.”
His words trickled through my ears, into my brain, slowly assembling a picture that sent my temper skyrocketing.
He’d said he wanted me where he could keep an eye on me.
He knew I’d been wandering all over the place.
“You have cameras in here,” I accused.
Cooper’s icy blue eyes stared back, admitting nothing, but I didn’t need the words. Cooper ran Sinclair Security. Surveillance was part of what they did, and they were damn good at it. I should know. I helped order the equipment, had been a guinea pig for testing. Most of the building was wired, except for the second-floor apartments and Cooper’s place.
“When did you put in cameras?”
That smirk still curling his lips, Cooper said, “This morning. What do I have to do to get you to lay down and rest?”
Mulishly, I said, “Give me my laptop.”
“No.”
“Okay, then.” I turned around and started to open his underwear drawer again. “You really like navy-blue, don’t you? I don’t know why I never noticed that. Maybe because everybody wears blue suits, and I’d never seen your bedroom, or your underwear—” Cooper reached around me and pushed the drawer shut.
“Fine, I’ll bring you your laptop.”
“And a phone.”
“No fucking way. No phones. Just the laptop, and if you get sleepy you take a nap. Agreed?”
“Fine.” I stalked back to the living room. Or, I tried to stalk. Between the effects of the pain pills and my headache, it was probably more like a shuffle. Cooper strode to the door.
“I’ll be back with your laptop. Agent Holley will be here in an hour or two, so you might want to change. Or not. You look good in my T-shirt.”
Chapter Three
Alice
The door swung shut behind him and I stared at it, jaw dropped.
Since when did Cooper notice what I looked like?
Since never. Cooper was everything appropriate in the workplace. He’d compliment me on a job well done, but he never mentioned my appearance.
He was the only one who didn’t.
I have a style. People either like it or they don’t get it. Rockabilly is fifties-inspired, with a dash of rock and roll whimsy. I put on my first rockabilly dress in college and I never looked back. Most of my dresses are vintage fifties, with a fitted bodice, nipped-in waist, and full, knee-length skirts. Both intensely feminine and modest, I’ve always felt like the line of the dresses and bright colors give my small stature more presence.
Over the years I’ve made the style my own, but I’ll admit my look can be a little unexpected. Not unprofessional, but unexpected. Most of my dresses are fairly tame, but occasionally, when we don’t have a client meeting, I’ll bust out something more fun.
Cooper never said a word about the dress covered in lollipops or the one with miniature pieces of sushi, but he noticed me wearing his old T-shirt?
Maybe he was the one who got hit on the head. Or maybe the pain pills were hitting me harder than I thought. I looked at the pile of clothes on the kitchen island and realized Cooper could be back any second.
Moving as fast as I could without aggravating my head, I grabbed the clothes and went to his bathroom to change. He might have cameras in his place, but even Cooper wouldn’t put them in the bathroom. He was controlling and overprotective, but he wasn’t a perv.
I changed into the lounge pants and hoodie Cooper had picked out and looked through his drawers for a comb or brush. My vanity wanted to demand Cooper go downstairs and get my makeup so I didn’t look like a sickly ghost when Agent Holley came to take my statement.
I pictured confessing to murder with my hair done and red lipstick on. Probably not the best idea. Wan and pathetic might be better.
I wasn’t up to makeup anyway, much less trying to do something with my hair. This might be the one time in my life when leaving my armor behind and looking like crap was the best plan.
Cooper returned with my laptop, handing it to me with a strict warning to behave myself. I wouldn’t put it past him to have keystroke tracking software installed or a second laptop on his desk so he could watch what I was doing, just to make sure I was following orders.
He didn’t have to worry. The general email box had piled up since the afternoon before, and after two hours of dealing with that, I didn’t have the energy to get into trouble. I closed the laptop, set it on the coffee table, and curled into Cooper’s comfortable couch, my eyes sliding shut as soon as the throb in my head eased.
The sound of the door closing woke me. I sat up, still a little woozy but feeling much more myself. The pain meds from the morning had worked their way out of my system, and my head didn’t throb as badly as before.
Cooper hadn’t come alone. Beside him stood Agent Holley. A tall, lanky man with kind eyes, Agent Holley stared down at me with concern.
Cooper handed me another coffee, this one from the machine downstairs in the office. I moved to stand, but Agent Holley waved me back down.
“Don’t get up, Alice. It’s good to see you again. I just need you to take me through what happened yesterday.”
I did, surprised when Agent Holley put his notebook away after asking only a few follow-up questions.
“That’s it?”
“That’s it,” he confirmed, sharing a look with Cooper.
“Aren’t you going to tell me not to leave town or something?” I had to ask.
Agent Holley gave me a rare smile. “Don’t leave town, Alice. I can’t formally let you off the hook yet. This is still an active investigation. But from everything you’ve told me and what I saw at the scene, it’s clear that you were acting to defend not only yourself but Adam Spencer. There was a bullet in the wall opposite the stairs. Between your shot and the explosion you might have missed it, but Tsepov’s man fired on you. Adam Spe
ncer is lucky you were there.”
My throat choked with useless fear at the thought of the bullet that could have killed me, a wave of relief washing the fear away. Agent Holley believed me. I wasn’t going to jail. Good news.
I nodded and shook the hand Agent Holley held out. I heard Cooper say, “Hold up a sec, I’ll walk you out,” before turning back to me. “What do you want for dinner? Do you need another pill?”
“Maybe something over-the-counter if you have it. No more of the stuff from the doctor. My head’s not that bad. I swear,” I added when Cooper looked like he was about to protest.
He checked the time on his watch, judged it had been long enough since the pills this morning, and brought me a small red and white bottle from the top shelf of the pantry. I washed two of the tablets down with the coffee.
“So, dinner?” he prompted.
“I should go home, get out of your hair—”
“Had enough of me already?” Cooper asked, that smirk curving his lips again.
“No, I just… I just thought I should probably go home,” I said, lamely.
Before, I’d wondered—was it the headache and pain pills throwing me off, or was Cooper being weird? Now the headache was manageable, the pain pills had worn off, and I knew for sure.
It wasn’t me.
Cooper was being weird.
“Sushi, Thai, or Italian?” he prompted.
Without a thought, out popped, “Italian. Lasagna. I need lasagna.” Lasagna was as good as chocolate or coffee when it came to smoothing away the rough edges of life. Melting cheese and pasta. Mmmm yeah, lasagna.
“Garlic knots?”
“Duh.”
Another grin that was half wicked and half smirk. What was up with him? I wasn’t surprised he knew my dinner order. Like the coffee, I was in charge of getting takeout most of the time, but Cooper knew what I ordered because he saw it on my desk. The Italian place we got food from had the best garlic knots on earth. I could make a meal just of their garlic knots.