“I’m not accusing you,” he continued, quieter now. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“You don’t know her.”
“Can you say you do? Really?”
Silence hung heavily between them.
O’Reilly grabbed a file off his desk. “I’ve got to go check on something.”
He didn’t storm out, but he walked fast, spine rigid.
Coop powered up his computer, fingers tapping as he waited for the login screen to blink on. “Let’s see who else I can piss off this morning.”
He searched public records until he found Darren Holt’s number. It rang to voicemail.
“This is Lieutenant Cooper with the Rangers. We need to talk sooner rather than later. Call me. I’d rather not have to track you down today.”
After hanging up, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “I need coffee.”
Chapter 19
The overhead lights buzzed faintly as she moved among the easels, offering recommendations and praise. Her Wednesday night class was winding down. Normally, she enjoyed watching her beginners’ progress with each session, but tonight, she was ready to be done. Only halfway through the week, and she was already wiped out.
Erica stopped beside Jerome, eyeing yet another lavender-and-eggplant sky.
“Less purple, more depth,” she advised gently.
Jerome grinned sheepishly at his canvas. “I like purple.”
“I know you do,” she said, pointing to the horizon line. “But without contrast, it’s flat.”
He seemed unsure, but added a streak of burnt orange. Then he tilted his head, looking at it from a different place. “You’re right,” he said, blending in more.
She moved on, her mind drifting.
Since the cookout on Saturday, nothing had happened. No strange cars. No glowing cigarettes. And blessedly, no horrific visions or dreams.
She was embarrassed to admit she’d stalked Shannon on social media. Her last two posts were the Dallas skyline on Instagram and a political function with the senator on Facebook. Both perfectly normal. Too normal.
It had her on edge as she waited for the other shoe to drop. Because in her life, there was always another shoe.
“Erica?”
Pulled out of her thoughts, she turned to Jerome. “Sorry. My mind drifted.”
He stepped back from his easel. “Better?”
Still more eggplant than natural, giving it a sci-fi feel, but she smiled. “Much.”
By nine, brushes clinked in jars, easels had been folded and tucked away, and polite goodbyes echoed through the gallery as her students drifted toward the exit.
Jerome was the last to leave.
“See you next week,” he said.
“Looking forward to it. Maybe we can try indigo and contrast with pink.”
“I was thinking something bold, like ultramarine.” He grinned and disappeared through the door.
