My eyes widen, and I shift my gaze from Cooper to him.
“You were the one who assaulted her in the alley,” Cooper continues. “Warned her to leave town.”
The air feels like it’s closing in on me. It’s almost suffocating. I start crying harder because I know he’s right. I knew it, and hearing him say it out loud confirms it’s true.
“You’re out of line,” the officer says.
“What does her being here cost you?” Cooper asks, his voice low.
“Back up. Now.”
“Hell no. Tell me. What does her living in Rixton have to do with you or your brother?”
His grip on my arm tightens again, and I whimper.
“You’ve been watching her since she got here.” Cooper doesn’t stop. “You pulled her over when she first moved here. I’ve seen you parked in your cruiser outside of her place. I know it was you who broke into my house and took that photo, then tried to insinuate it was Brinley who gave them to you.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I think I do,” Cooper warns. “I think when people found out about Coach Dawson having a daughter, they started asking questions. You can’t have that now, can you? Those sorts of questions draw attention, attention you don’t want.”
I tremble, my gaze bouncing from Cooper to him.
“I guess I don’t know what I’m talking about, though, right?” Cooper smirks. “What would you say when those questions shift to you? What will you say when they start questioning you about your lifestyle, and how it doesn’t match your police salary? Or is that another one of those things you don’t want a light shined on?”
My heart pounds so hard my vision feels fuzzy.
“You need to be careful,” he warns.
“Careful about what?” Cooper presses. “Careful about reminding you that you’re using your badge to intimidate her? She’s your niece, you piece of shit.”
His eyes flick, almost frantic, his jaw tightening.
“Release her,” Cooper warns.
He doesn’t move, and I tremble against him.
“Release her. Now,” he repeats.
Cars are slowing now. People are starting to watch.
The officer exhales through his nose and reaches down to unlock the cuffs. I cry out when the pressure on my wrists disappears.
I wince as I rub them. Cooper studies me, checking me over to make sure I’m okay.
“You’re lucky,” the cop says, his voice still threatening.
Cooper steps in front of me without hesitation, blocking me from his view.
“Yeah,” he says evenly. “We are.”
They stare at each other for a long second. He doesn’t walk away at first. Instead, he takes a step in close, his chest nearly bumping against Cooper’s.
“Careful,” he says to Cooper. His voice is still low. “You’re throwing around accusations that could ruin careers.”
Cooper doesn’t falter, though. Instead, he shifts closer to him.
“You mean like yours?” Cooper asks quietly.
