by Dianna Love
Celina sat looking at the house while Cooper grabbed her bags out of the back. He came to her side, opened her door, and gave her his hand to help her out. Bobby Dyer had told her once that Cooper never invited anyone to his house. It was his private space, his personal sanctuary where he balanced out the demands of his career. Bobby had been there, of course, but not the others on the taskforce. He doesn’t mix work and his personal life, Bobby had once told her. Just like he doesn’t bring personal stuff to work.
Celina sat still, ignoring Cooper’s hand. “You shouldn’t have brought me here.”
“I passed the shouldn’t line with you a few days ago.”
“There’s a line?”
“Between you and me, yes.” His eyes were so tired, Celina felt sorry for him. “At least there was, until I crossed it in Des Moines.”
“So you brought me home with you because you suddenly realized you’re in love with me?” She tried to sound coy, like she was joking, even though she wasn’t. “This is your knight-in-shining-armor mode? Like at the hospital?”
He simply stared at her.
“Okay, not so much. So why did you bring me here?”
“You need a safe place to stay. I need some sleep. So far, I’ve sucked at my bodyguard job, and I intend to step up my game.”
Logical, of course. Celina sighed. “I’ll be safer here than I was at the hotel?”
“Yes.” Cooper grabbed her good arm and guided her off the seat. “But not if we continue to stand out here and yak.”
Cooper led her through the side entrance off the carport, which brought them into an open kitchen and dining area. A modern glass and steel dining table sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window. It looked out on fichus trees, palms, and ferns. A fifty-gallon fish tank held various brightly colored fish, some as big as Celina’s hand.
Cooper set down her bags on the floor, pressed keys on a security alarm system pad. Moving to the kitchen, he flipped a light on over the sink, offered her a bottle of water. Celina took it and leaned on the counter while he grabbed a second bottle for himself. In silence again, they both drank.
“Thought that was you.” Bobby Dyer zoomed into the kitchen in a motorized wheelchair.
“Bobby!” Celina threw her arms around him, bending down to hug him as best she could with her water in one hand and the other immobilized.
“Hey, gorgeous,” Bobby pulled her tight. “About time you came to see me.”
Celina stood again, motioned at his face. “Nice beard. You look like Colin Farrell in The New World.”
He rubbed his chin with a hand. “Exactly what I’ve been telling Eliza. She says Ferrell’s still hotter. Can you believe that?” He lowered his eyebrows and dropped his chin. “I’ve even got the tormented glare down pat. What do you think?”
Celina laughed, forgetting for a moment. “I think Colin better move over.”
“Smart girl,” he said to Cooper.
“So not a girl,” Celina countered.
Cooper drank more water. “What’s the latest?”
Bobby grew serious. “Emilio’s in the wind, so is Val. Fingerprints from the hotel and the apartment confirm both men were there. The rifle he used to shoot at you, Coop, was stolen. Identification number filed off, but ATF believes it came from a shipment they confiscated over a year ago in El Paso. Same make and model as a dozen others. Our Mexican compadres are mining the tunnel to see where it leads, but that will take days. Meanwhile,” he turned his wheelchair around and said over his shoulder, “I’ve got some new toys for you.”
Down a hallway, Celina followed Cooper who was following Bobby. She glimpsed a stone fireplace in the living room, which was done in chocolates and blues. A bar and lounge area came next. The glass doors led outside to a pool. A master bedroom filled with guitars and surfboards made her gawk.
Cooper cleared his throat and she hurried to catch up. The room Bobby led them to was replete with high-tech gadgets. Windowless, it was part recording studio, part computer hub, and part security center. Dark paneling covered the walls. Hanging from the walls in a semi-circle were flat screen TV’s showing camera shots from around the house and driveway.
Acoustic tiles overhead flattened Bobby’s voice as he spoke. “Percocet.” He lifted a small brown bottle off the table beside him and handed it to Celina. “For pain management. One pill every six to eight hours. You can supplement Motrin in between doses if you need it.”
The afternoon had been full of the search for Emilio. Celina had used that as her pain management. It had made her feel better to be hunting Emilio, rather than waiting for him to show up.
On the endless ride back to Carlsbad, she’d felt the swelling and sharp pains in her wrist catch up with her, and had almost asked Cooper to stop at the drug store for aspirin.
“Thank you.” She took the bottle and skipped the lecture about sharing prescriptions. “Have you heard how Ronni’s doing?”
“Her condition’s improved. Before you left the Tijuana site, Coop called me and asked me to check on her. You can call her any time now. Doctor said she could talk to you.”
Bobby held up a cell phone, “And you can do it with this new phone, properly bugged and wired and encrypted so Emilio can’t locate you when you use it, but if he does, I can trace a location he’s calling from faster than with your old phone. I got most of your address book entered already.” He smiled at her. “The only thing left to do is set up your speed-dial numbers.”
Celina was touched. She slipped the flat black case into the back pocket of her jeans. “Thank you. Does Ronni remember what happened?”
Bobby shook his head. “It may be a few days or even longer before her short-term memories come back.”
He pointed at a line of Motorola two-way radios docked in separate stations. “Next, we have these babies. One for each of us. I borrowed these from my friend in the Army. Each SC700R has a range of twelve miles even in backcountry where cell phones won’t work. Rechargeable with battery backup. This call button,” he pressed a red half-moon and the other radios emitted a high-pitched squeal, “gives an emergency alarm. Trouble finds you, hit the button. The others give a readout of your GPS coordinates.”
Handing Celina and Cooper each one, Bobby stuck one on his belt buckle. The fourth, he pointed at. “I’ll give this one to Thomas when he shows up.”
“And why do we need these?” Celina asked.
“Easier and faster communication,” Cooper told her. “Ever try dialing a phone with your left hand? Even 911 is a bitch with a broken wrist. Cell phone towers go down or you’re out of their limited range, you’re in trouble. If you get into a situation, you need either one of us, hit the button. We’ll find you. Of course that is, if you’re in range.”
Celina looked back and forth between the two men in front of her. “You think Emilio and Valquis will track me here, to this house.”
“They’re getting bold,” Bobby said. “You ditched the tracking device Em had on you but he still has a lot of resources, his biggest one being Valquis. It’s too risky not to take every safety precaution.”
“The net around him is growing smaller,” Cooper added. “Should have had him today.”
“Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” Bobby chanted. “Forget it. We move forward and we do it smart.”
Cooper played with his radio. “We need to figure out how to stop them.”
“Sara showed me the tape of the hotel,” Celina said. “It was definitely Valquis and Emilio.”
Bobby backed up his wheelchair, swiveling it so he was facing a flat screen computer and keyboard. “I’ve got the video from the safe house and the hotel. Let’s watch them together and do some brainstorming.”
Cooper pulled up a chair for Celina, grabbed one for himself. The three sat in silence watching the scenes unfold. Over the next twenty minutes, they rewound, played, discussed, argued. There were moments Celina had to look away from the screen. Look away from Valquis, who still lived in her nightmares. She gingerly t
ouched the bandage on her collarbone. Rubbed her arm.
The alarm system alerted them a car was approaching the house. “Eliza,” Bobby told Cooper. “I sent her for groceries.”
As Cooper took three environmentally friendly bags out of Eliza’s hands in the kitchen, Celina greeted her with a hug. “It’s good to see you,” Eliza said, gently squeezing Celina’s arms as she looked her over from head to toe. Her kind eyes lingered on Celina’s injuries. “How are you holding up?”
Cooper flipped a light switch and under-the-cabinet recessed lights came on. Eliza’s long hair was pulled back in her signature braid. The tiny crow’s feet in the corners of her eyes were visible even in the soft light, but Celina liked them. They reminded her of her mother, whose kind eyes and soft voice were always reassuring.
“I’ve had better days,” Celina admitted, “but I’m not complaining.”
Eliza offered another hug and Celina rested her cheek against the older woman’s shoulder. “We’re all so glad to have you back.”
If Celina had closed her eyes, she would have fallen asleep in Eliza’s embrace. She was that tired.
Eliza stepped back. “Let’s put the guys on kitchen duty and you and I will get you settled in the guest bedroom, okay?”
Celina nodded. The guest bedroom.
“Put her in my room,” Cooper said, and when everyone looked at him, he added, “The guest bedroom isn’t a bedroom anymore.” When no one moved, he said, “I’ll sleep on the couch.”
Eliza nodded, patted Celina on the shoulder, and helped her gather her camera and overnight bag, both of which Sara had returned to her. They left Cooper and Bobby in the kitchen.
Cooper’s bedroom was all straight lines and clean surfaces like the rest of the house. The bed was unmade, the black and tan comforter on the floor. Eliza picked it up, shook it out, and gave the bed a cursory glance before biting the inside of her cheek. “I’ll find some clean sheets.”
A dark-stained credenza of drawers ran underneath a bank of windows that looked out at the backyard. What yard there was, anyway. Twenty feet beyond the pool was a screen of thin-trunked trees and behind those, the cliff. Beautiful, but Celina barely registered the view.
Her gaze stayed fixed on the credenza where a framed photo was perched. A photo of a woman and a young boy.
The woman stared back at her with long sun-bleached hair and a wide smile, the boy hung over her left shoulder, his arm around her neck. He, too, was grinning at the camera. Carefree, happy. His eyes, his face, familiar. Small replicas of Cooper’s.
Celina’s legs went weak. When Eliza came back with a stack of clean bed linens, Celina sat on the bed, the photograph in her hands.
“That’s Cooper’s wife,” Eliza said, and at Celina’s horrified look, corrected herself. “Ex-wife, excuse me.” She smiled sadly, setting down the sheets. “Her name’s Melinda. Cooper never told you about her?”
Celina could no more than shake her head.
“It was a brief marriage when they were both very young. Only lasted a few years, but they had Owen. Isn’t he mischievous looking?”
Celina’s headed nodded yes of its own will.
“He’s a good boy. Misses his dad a lot.”
Celina gave her a questioning look and Eliza again smiled. “Oh, Cooper’s a good dad, don’t get me wrong. He spends as much time as he can with him, but his job…” Eliza shrugged. “It’s demanding. And dangerous. He claims he doesn’t see Owen enough because of his odd hours, but between you and me, I think Cooper worries about someone trying to get back at him by using Owen.”
Celina returned the photo to the credenza and went through the motions to help Eliza strip the sheets off Cooper’s bed and replace them with clean ones. Eliza chatted lightly about the weather, about Bobby’s vices, about Cooper’s good nature. Celina said nothing.
She’d known little about Cooper’s past until that moment. He was a secretive person. No Facebook page or other social media, and his personnel files were off limits to everyone except the upper echelons of the DEA and FBI. Celina wasn’t one to snoop anyway, and had convinced herself she didn’t care what skeletons he might have in his closet. Everyone had a bony secret or two to hide.
But she’d never suspected Cooper had a son. An ex-wife.
He’d never mentioned them. No one on the SCVC taskforce had either during Celina’s stint with them. Of course, her assignment with the group had lasted only a few months and most of that time was undercover, not in the office where the men and women discussed personal issues and gossiped.
When Eliza left her alone to unpack her stuff and use the master bathroom, Celina sat on the bed again and stared at the picture.
Cooper was a father. It was hard to wrap her mind around it.
Chapter Twenty-six
Celina, standing in the open doorway, stared at the covered pool.
As Cooper walked by, he used the tongs in his hand to point at it. He was grilling dinner for them. “Do you want to swim? Or at least soak your toes?”
Winter in Southern California was balmy compared to what she’d left behind in Des Moines. The current high temperatures were record setting for this time of year. Still, the thought of stripping down and diving in, stepping out from the doorway of Cooper’s fortress and out into the early evening made her feel exposed. “Too cold,” she said, shaking her head. “And I don’t have my suit.”
“Pool’s heated,” Dyer said from behind her.
Cooper brushed by her on his way to the kitchen, stopped. “I’ve got some trunks you could use. Probably an old tank top.”
Celina glanced back and forth between the two men. They’d both been watching her intently. Too intently. “Can’t swim with this,” she said, holding up her casted wrist.
“I can wrap it.” Eliza set a stack of plates on the table. “We can put a plastic bag over it and tape the edges down to keep it dry. Might not be graceful, but you could at least get in and not worry about getting it wet.”
Celina tucked her wrist against her stomach. It felt like a brick at the end of her arm. She couldn’t stroke, that was for sure, but they were all so worried about her, so intent on helping her somehow, she felt the need to comply. She glanced back outside at the pool. Even with the cover on, it was sleek and inviting. Solar landscape lights dotted the edges of the patio. Fire leapt in the stone fireplace, the sound of sizzling meat reaching her ears as the steaks shed droplets of fat.
“You’re safe here,” Cooper said, suddenly beside her. His voice was barely above a murmur. Beyond the soft light of the pool area, the thin trees and cliff blended into a dark wall, surrounding the house.
I won’t be safe until Emilio’s dead, Celina thought. Until Valquis is dead.
“Okay,” she said, wanting to please him. “I’ll go for a swim.”
Stroke…slap…stroke…breathe. Stroke…slap…stroke…breathe.
Cooper’s pool was a standard rectangle, perfect for laps. The water rushed past Celina’s face and over her body like cold fingers. She closed her eyes and kept her pace as steady as she could with the brick on her wrist. It had taken her more than a minute to find her balance and a productive rhythm. Her heart now beat solidly in her chest and her mind cleared. For now, it was just her and the water.
Stroke…slap…stroke…breathe.
She lost track of her lap total and finally stopped when her muscles were on fire and her lungs screamed for relief. Instead of getting out, she floated on her back and stared at the sky. Flat gray clouds covering everything, threatening rain. She thought of the sky back in Des Moines where clouds like those meant snow. She thought of Forester and Sugars, who would never see clouds again. She let the tears she’d been holding back slide out the corners of her eyes and down into the chlorinated water.
Exhausted, she finally climbed out of the pool. The cool night air sent her scurrying for the stack of navy blue and white striped towels Eliza had set next to the lounge chairs. They smelled freshly washed and felt war
m against her cold skin. With clumsy movements, she wrapped her hair in one and used another to dry her body. Then she grabbed two more, wrapped herself in them, and sank into the nearest lounge chair.
Cooper came out of the house carrying a platter for the meat. He moved some foil-wrapped potatoes over on the large stone grill and flipped the steaks. Then he stirred the coals underneath and flames leapt up for a moment before dying back down. He sprinkled seasoning over the steaks and took a swig from his nearby beer bottle. He swept a look at her and then disappeared into the house.
A minute later, he returned with a fresh beer and a fleece blanket. He offered her the beer, but she shook her head no. Setting it down on the nearby tabletop, he threw the blanket over her legs. It was winter white with blue polar bears. The blanket stitch around the edges matched the bears. Celina snuggled under its weight as he tucked it under her chin, over her shoulders, under her legs and around her feet. She tried to speak, to say thank you, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, mummy-like, she watched him take the beer and walk back to the grill. Content just to watch him, she closed off thoughts about Emilio, about the men he’d had Valquis kill because of her.
Cooper’s sure movements as he cooked and replaced the pool’s cover consumed her. His stillness as he watched the quiet woods next to the house and enjoyed his beer gave her relief. A rock steadiness that was better than pills at easing her pain, better than a high-tech security system, and trained SCVC taskforce members camped around the perimeter of the house. Contemplating this, she fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-seven
The steaks were done and Cooper was ready to eat. Celina, however, was sleeping on his lounge chair. “If I leave the meat on the grill any longer,” he said to Dyer as they watched Celina from inside, “it’ll overcook. If I pull it off the grill, I have to wake her up.”
Dyer seemed to find Cooper’s predicament amusing. A small smile danced around the edges of his mouth. “What happened when she saw her chief’s body?”