Coop studied her for a long moment. “You understand how unusual that sounds?”
“I do. But you have to understand, I didn’t ask for this.” Her chin lifted, unshaken by his doubts. “But it’s real.”
Coop rose slowly, looking toward the Wilson house before returning his attention to her.
“I’m going to need you to come down to the station and give a formal statement.”
She huffed a humorless laugh. “How did I know you were going to say that?” Without argument, only weary acceptance, she stood. “I’ll be right back. I need to lock up and grab my purse.”
He watched her disappear inside. Coop didn’t know what she was—a liar, a psychic, or something in between. But he knew one thing. He hoped she was making it up. Because if she wasn’t, time may have already run out for Cheyenne Wilson.
Chapter 3
From her living room window, Erica watched Lieutenant Cooper cross the street, his long stride unhurried, as cool as the man himself. Even with all the horror and drama swirling around her, she’d have had to be blind not to notice how handsome he was. All tall, rugged Texas charm. And heaven help her, he wore his Wranglers as if they’d been made for him.
An officer, who looked too young to be out after dark, let alone carry a badge and wear a chest holster, emerged from the Wilsons’ house and met him halfway. His partner, she surmised.
They were discussing her. The younger man’s frequent glances toward her house and the way he threw his head back and laughed left no doubt about the topic.
They didn’t believe her.
Every investigation she’d ever been pulled into began the same way: doubt, suspicion, and that quiet calculation of whether she was lying or unstable. She should have been used to it by now. She wasn’t.
Why did this have to happen with him?
The moment the big Texas Ranger appeared on her porch, dodging smoking projectiles as if it were just another Tuesday, she felt a pull. She couldn’t say why. Romance had stopped being an option for her a long time ago.
Not that he wasn’t handsome. He was, with dark, wavy hair, deep-blue eyes, and a day’s worth of scruff shadowing his jaw. And tall, although compared to her, everyone was.
He wore a shirt and tie with his jeans and the requisite Stetson. The boots went without saying. She’d seen plenty of cowboys in Texas. This one was something else entirely.
But that wasn’t it either.
More likely, it was her lack of reaction when he grabbed her to keep her from tumbling off the rickety kitchen chair. She hadn’t been flooded with his emotions or memories. That alone made him different.
She thought he might have felt something—a hint of interest, a small glimmer of attraction—until she told him about her gift.
Didn’t that figure? The first man who’d sparked something within her in longer than she cared to remember, thought she was a nutcase. It wasn’t fair.
But when had life ever been fair to her?
With a sigh, she grabbed her purse, checked for her keys, set the alarm, and locked up.
Lt. Cooper waited by his SUV, leaning against it, arms folded.
She made it halfway down the steps then slowed.
She knew this scene. Knew exactly how it went. A few more questions. A few more skeptical looks. Having to prove herself before anyone took her seriously. It got old fast.
Her fingers tightened around her purse strap.
Cooper pushed off the SUV and opened the rear door, waiting. Like she had a choice.
She gritted her teeth and closed the distance.
“I’ll follow you in my car,” she suggested. “That way I won’t have to call a cab when we’re done.”
“I’ll bring you home.”
