Duke was dead wrong. Her unhappiness had nothing to do with being female and everything to do with her mistaken belief that running Dove Investigations was all she wanted from life.
She rubbed her palm on her jeans. “Can I get back to you? I’m incredibly grateful, but I’m . . . rethinking a few things.”
“Do you want to tell me about it?”
Annabelle was so open, so nonjudgmental, that Piper nearly confided in her, but how could a happy woman with a successful business and a husband who loved her understand?
She fell back on a truthful but less revealing response. “It turns out that stakeouts bore me to tears, and I hate telling women their husbands are cheating on them.”
“Understandable,” Annabelle said.
“I need to reassess.”
“That’s good for all of us to do occasionally. Get rid of what doesn’t work and create something new out of what does.”
Great advice, except Piper no longer knew what did or didn’t work for her.
After their conversation, Piper went back inside only to have Berni shoo her away with the news that Willie was going to drive her home.
***
Piper had told him no. And no meant no, right? But Coop couldn’t sleep. Kept forgetting to eat. And he’d started staring longingly at the liquor bottles behind the bar. He’d been sure she’d finally pick up one of his phone calls or at least answer a text, but that wasn’t happening. He was no closer to speaking with her now than he’d been when she’d walked out of his hospital room one week and one day ago. He couldn’t take it any longer, and he drove to Piper’s old condo building.
On the way there, he kept remembering what he’d said to Jada about stalking, but trying to have a simple conversation with Piper against her will hardly constituted harassment, did it?
So maybe it was a gray area.
The guys who lived downstairs had buzzed him in before, but this time they didn’t respond, even though he saw movement through their front windows. Next, he tried Jennifer MacLeish but got no answer. He hit the button for Mrs. Berkovitz. “Who’s this?” she replied over the intercom.
“It’s Cooper Graham, Mrs. B. Can you let me in?”
“Cooper who?”
“Graham. Cooper Graham. Could you hit the buzzer so I can get in?”
“I would,” she said hesitantly, “but I . . . I hurt both my hands, and I can’t press the button.”
A flat-out lie, since she was already using the intercom.
“Try with your elbow,” he said with forced patience.
“My arthritis.”
He thought for a minute. “If I come up, maybe you could give me some more of that fudge? Best I ever tasted.”
A long pause, and then a hoarse whisper. “She won’t let me. She warned all of us not to let you in.” She stopped whispering. “It’s not good to play games with a woman’s heart. And that’s all I’m going to say about that.”
The intercom clicked off. That made him so mad he did the thing he swore he’d never do. He waited by her car, even though it made him feel like he wasn’t much better than Karah’s ex-boyfriend Hank Marshall. But he had to talk to Piper, and what else was he supposed to do?
He stood in the cold for nearly two hours before she finally appeared. She wore one of the puffy winter coats Chicago women relied on. She’d taken the scissors to her hair again, and it fluttered in soft little feathers.
She saw him right away and came to a dead stop. She shoved her hands deep into the pockets of her coat. “Leave me alone!” She spun around and charged right back into the building.
He was furious with himself. She’d sent a clear message, and he’d ignored it. He felt like he needed a shower.
He drove aimlessly, not knowing what to do now. Eventually he headed for the gym, even though the doctors hadn’t cleared him to work out. On the way, a cop stopped him for speeding but predictably refused to give him a ticket until Coop insisted on it. Piper was right. He was a demon behind the wheel, and he needed to be held accountable.
Piper with the gun at her head . . . The image had frozen in his mind like a frame of film stuck in a projector. It was at that moment the mist had finally cleared, and his brain had comprehended what his heart had been trying to tell him for weeks—how much he loved Piper Dove. She was part of him. His laughter, his comfort.
More than that. She was also his conscience and his touchstone. His challenge, too, but not in the way she believed. Being with her challenged him to become his better self, to find a place in the world that no longer depended on a scoreboard victory, to let another person in and trust her to help carry the weight.
But what was he to Piper? Thanks to Duke Dove, he might never find out.
Piper had told him enough about her childhood for him to figure out the rest. Pleasing Duke meant she had to swallow every emotion that displeased him. Her father had punished her tears and rewarded her stoicism. His mission had been to shape her into a warrior strong enough to survive the harsh world that had killed her mother, and he’d built that warrior. But then he’d tried to shut her down by refusing to give her the battlefield that was her birthright.
Coop’s own upbringing had been so different. Even as his father had battled his private demons, he’d never shamed Coop for the normal emotions all kids experienced growing up.
“Guys have to cry sometimes, son. It’s good to get it out.”
Piper hadn’t known that kind of emotional acceptance. Pleasing the father she loved meant she could never show weakness, or softness, or vulnerability.
Coop slammed on the brakes so fast he nearly got rear-ended. Of course she was afraid to talk to him. Being forced into a conversation that was guaranteed to be emotional—a conversation where he’d damn well make certain he said what he had to and make her say whatever it was that lay underneath all her bull—wasn’t what she’d been trained for.
The sight of that gun . . . The sounds of Jada’s sobs . . . And Pipe, standing there so helplessly, her eyes focused on only him, the message as clear as if she’d spoken it aloud.
Teamwork.
***
The sight of Coop standing by her car yesterday had undone whatever microscopic progress she’d made to move her life forward. Tall and sturdy, those big, capable hands stretched long at his sides, November sunlight striking his cheekbones . . . She’d grown dizzy with a longing so painful it had threatened to bring her to her knees.
She was staring blindly out her office window when Jada called. “You’re a detective,” the teenager declared. “Clara and I think you should do something about it.”
“I’m not exactly in a position to solve the problem of child sex trafficking.”
“But you could, like, pretend you were a kid or something on the Internet. And get these guys to maybe meet up with you and arrest them.”
“I’m a detective. I can’t arrest anybody.”
“You could work with the police,” Jada insisted. “And talk to important people about how they can’t arrest these girls as being, like, prostitutes.”
Jada’s passion was admirable, but Piper barely knew how to get through the day, let alone solve a problem of this scope.
When their call ended, Piper buried her face in her hands. Annabelle had offered her a job performing background checks, and Deidre Joss had called to talk to her about doing more work for Joss Investments. Dove Investigations was taking off, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Last night’s visit to Jen’s apartment had been the only bright spot in her week.
“I e-mailed you a YouTube link,” she’d told Chicago’s finest meteorologist. “Use it as you see fit.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’ll see.”
Piper had finally been able to help Jen by unearthing a video someone had recently posted, a video that had been made during Dumb Ass’s college years. Piper had immediately backed it up for posterity. The video showed a younger Dumb Ass on all fours, shirt off, wearing a bra
with a pair of women’s underpants on his head, as a hairy-chested frat brother rode on his back.
“Oh my god!” Jen had exclaimed. “That pompous ass is mine forever!”
Piper blinked her eyes at the memory. She was doing a lot of that lately.
Her office door clicked open. Her head shot up as Heath Champion walked in. “Long time, no see,” the agent said.
She couldn’t handle any more trouble. At the same time, she finally had a distraction from her brooding. “What do you want?”
“I’m here to negotiate a deal,” he said. “For Coop. He wants you to move in with him.”
“What? He sent his agent to negotiate this?”
“Football players,” Heath said in disgust. “A bunch of spoiled brats. They don’t know how to do a damned thing for themselves.”
She dug her fingernails into her palms. “I don’t believe this.”
“At least it doesn’t involve livestock. I hate it when I have to negotiate livestock.”
“Mr. Champion—”
“Heath. I think we know each other well enough by now.”
“Heath . . . I am not moving in with your client.” Her neck had started to hurt along with her stomach. And she wanted to cry. She dug her fingernails deeper. “Out of curiosity . . . Agents get ten percent when they make a deal for a client, right?”
“The percentage varies, depending on the type of negotiation.”
“So if you did negotiate this deal—which you’re not going to do—how would you get your cut?”
“Vegetables. Next summer.”
“I see.”
He leaned back on the heels of his very expensive loafers. “Just to clarify. You don’t want to move in with him?”
“That’s right.” Moving in with him would mean acting as though they were nothing more than sex pals. Before the first day was over, she’d be begging him to fall in love with her. Just the thought made prickles of sweat break out all over her.
“Then make a counteroffer,” he said.
“I don’t have to make any kind of offer!”
“It’s a negotiation. That’s part of it.”
His exaggerated patience made her want to leap over her desk and throttle him. “My counteroffer is for him to get out of my life.”
He had the gall to appear disappointed in her. “That’s not a counteroffer. That’s an ultimatum. In my experience—and I have a lot of it—these things go better when both parties negotiate in good faith.”
She’d stepped smack into the middle of Crazy Town, and ironically, that finally steadied her. She remembered her first meeting with Heath, when Coop had tossed her contract at him and Heath had negotiated more money. For her. These two didn’t have a normal agent-client relationship, and they wanted to suck her into their nutso world. Fine. Fight crazy with crazy. This was something she could handle. “A counteroffer? How about this? If he gets out of my life, I promise to send him all my Bears T-shirts.”
“I can guarantee he won’t accept a few T-shirts in lieu of life in a luxury condo. Surely you can do better.”
All she wanted was for the misery to stop, and that wouldn’t happen until Coop left her alone. She glared at the Python. “If he gets out of my life, I’ll personally fix him up with Deidre Joss.”
“You’re still not taking this seriously.”
She was taking it more seriously than he imagined. Why was Coop putting her through this? She should have talked to him yesterday. She should have stood in the cold and let him say what he had to say without uttering a word in return. But she’d been too big a coward. She still was. “I’ll do one free month of IT work for the club. But I’ll only work with Tony, and only if Coop forgets I exist.”
“Three free months.”
“Two months.”
“Reasonable.” He pulled out his phone. “Let me check with him.”
“You do that,” she said.
He headed outside into the parking lot. Through the window, she saw him talking on his cell. She watched him pace between her car and his SUV. Finally, he pocketed his phone and came back inside. “No dice. He wants a face-to-face meeting.”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t. “No.”
“I thought you wanted to get rid of him?”
“More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”
“Then offer him something he can’t resist. Other than yourself.”
She exploded out of her chair. “When did I get to be so fricking irresistible? Will you tell me that?”
“I’m not the person to answer. Not that I don’t find you charming.”
She bared her teeth. “I don’t want to talk to him!”
“I understand. But this is a negotiation.”
It was madness was what it was. “Two free months of IT, and I’ll do his employee background checks for a year. One full year!”
“Now you’re talking.” He slithered out into the parking lot again. She sank behind her desk. They’d made a pact to torture her.
On the other side of the window, Heath was talking. He braced a hand on his hip, pushing back the front edge of his sports coat. Talked some more. Finally, he came back inside.
“He turned you down.”
“Of course he did,” she said bitterly. “He hates to lose so much he’ll do anything to win, no matter how unconscionable.”
“Not the kindest assessment coming from a woman in love.”
She stared at a point right above his eyebrows. “I’m not in love. And you need to leave.”
“I could do that, but . . . it seems Annabelle’s stuck her nose in this whole affair, and she’s decided you and Coop need some kind of closure. I don’t know what it is with women and closure, but there you have it. I should warn you that dealing with me is easier than being forced to deal with my wife. I know she seems decent, but inside, she’s a desperado.”
“Annabelle wants me to do this?”
“She’s real big on that ‘closure’ thing.” He sounded regretful. “If I screw this up, I promised I’d call her, and she’ll be over here right away.”
Piper collapsed. She could fight the men, but not Annabelle.
A wave of weariness came over her. “I’ll meet him, but only in public.” She slumped back in her chair. “Big Shoulders Coffee tomorrow afternoon. And only if he gives me his word of honor that he won’t try to contact me again afterward.”
Somehow she’d pull herself together enough to get through it. The coffee shop was well lit and small enough for conversations to be overheard, so he couldn’t get too heated, and she’d be guaranteed to keep her clothes on.
“Hold on.” Heath whipped out his cell.
She wanted to scream. Or cry.
This time the Python stayed inside. “Coop, she’ll meet you, but only in public—Big Shoulders Coffee tomorrow afternoon—and only if you agree not to contact her again after that.” Heath listened, tapped his foot. “Uh-huh . . . Uh-huh . . . All right.” He hung up and looked over at her. “It has to be today. And not at Big Shoulders. He has a meeting at city hall, so he’ll see you in Daley Plaza right afterward. Two o’clock. It doesn’t get much more public than that. I think you should take the deal.”
How could winning matter so much? He already had her heart. Now he wanted to stomp it to death.
“Agree?” Heath said.
Her shoulders slumped. “Agree.”
“I’ll never complain about livestock again,” he muttered as he crossed to the door and let himself out.
She shot across the rug, flung the door back open, and yelled into the parking lot. “I hope you choke on your blood vegetables!”
He turned and gave her a thumbs-up, whatever that meant.
23
Piper marched toward the Daley Center as if she were heading to her execution. Anger would have been a more useful emotion than the panic that held her in its grip. She needed to get through this with at least a shred of dignity intact. No matter how much she loved him, how much she’d yearn t
o fall into his arms, she’d have to hang tough.
An alien-like Picasso sculpture dominated the large plaza in front of the thirty-one-story Daley Center building. Picasso himself had donated the sculpture to the city, and once an artist of his stature handed over such a thing, nobody had the nerve to return it. As Piper approached, the sculpture’s two metal eyes glowered at her, and she glowered right back. Glowering was better than running away.
The wind cracked the American flag, and women’s long hair blew backward. Her zippered sweater wasn’t warm enough for such a cold, damp day. She should have worn her puffy coat, but that would have required thought.
Coop was already there. He stood in the shadow of the Picasso with his head down, unrecognized by the people scurrying past. For a moment, she forgot to breathe.
He saw her, but he didn’t approach. Instead, he waited for her to come to him. He wore a dark, formal suit, white shirt, and repp-striped necktie. She stopped a few steps away, far enough to keep from curling into his chest. “You win,” she said stonily. “Say whatever it is you want to say, and then leave me alone.”
He gazed at her as if he were memorizing her face. She waited for something profound to come out of his mouth, but it didn’t. “What have you been up to?” he said.
“Avoiding you. It’s been a full-time job.”
He nodded, as if he were agreeing with her. He was watching her so intensely, she had to look away. “Get it over with, Coop. Why did you send your shark of an agent after me?”
“I needed to talk to you, and you were making that impossible.”
She couldn’t soften in front of him. “I’m here. Say whatever it is you want to say.”
“You might not like it.”
“Then maybe you’d better keep it to yourself.”
“I can’t do that. It’s . . .” He hunched his shoulders against the wind. “It’s tough, that’s all.”
She thought she understood. “You want to end this on your terms, not on mine, so go ahead. Break up with me. You’ll feel better if it comes from you, and I can handle it.”
“I don’t want to break up with you.”