“What is it? Are things good between you and Lexie?”
“You could say that.” The smile turned into a full-fledged grin. “We’re going house-hunting in the suburbs.”
She blinked, startled. “Wow. I knew you’d settled things after the auction, but…moving? White picket fence and all?” She leaned back in her seat, more than a little stunned.
He hadn’t mentioned marriage, but, divorced once, Coop still believed in the institution. Lexie, the world traveler, had obviously come around despite her initial reluctance for anything permanent. Sara couldn’t think of anything more permanent than buying a home together.
“It’s called compromise. We’ll travel and have a home base.” The light in his eyes told the whole story.
“I’m happy for you, Coop. I really am. I will miss having you as my neighbor, though.”
“Hey, I work in the city. At least for now. That’s another piece of news. I may give my fiction writing a real shot. You know, full-time in between world traveling. Lexie and I are still working out the details.”
Sara shook her head. Things had changed almost overnight, she thought. “I hope all your dreams come true. You deserve it. So, she’d better treat you right.” But Sara no longer worried about Lexie’s motives for being with Coop.
They were truly in love. Apparently, it had existed for some. Ever the cynic, she still wasn’t a believer.
“Back at you,” Coop said. “Don’t forget you’ll come visit us. We’ll see each other all the time.”
Sara forced a smile. She knew that once he moved out, their lives would take very different paths.
“You could have the same thing, you know,” Coop said. “If you would ever open yourself up.”
She rolled her eyes. “Here we go. A critique of my belief in marriage.”
“Lack of belief,” he corrected her.
She gripped the armrest even harder. “I guess I need to explain my family tree to you again. Police work and marriage can’t coexist,” she reminded him. “My grandparents fought over the hours and danger, broke up, Grandpa moved out, the kids suffered. They’d make up, he’d move back in and everyone would be miserable. One of my uncles is a divorced and unhappy SOB because his wife never let him see his kids. My aunt holds the distinction of being the first female cop in the family. She was so proud. Her husband wasn’t. He took off because he couldn’t handle his wife being the more powerful one. He hated the danger, too. One of my cousins died in the line of duty, leaving his wife to raise their baby. She’s resentful, angry and not the best mother at this point. And we won’t even mention my parents….” She paused for a long, deep breath.
Coop, who’d been eyeing her, just waiting for a chance to jump in, finally spoke. “What about the one and only success story? Why deliberately leave them out?” he asked, challenging her the way only a nauseatingly happy man in a relationship could.
Her cousin Renata—Sara had called her Reni since they were kids—she and her husband were happily married.
So Sara couldn’t argue the point. “They have to work damn hard to make their marriage work. And in my opinion, life is hard enough. Being a cop is stressful enough. Why add more strain to the mix when the odds are stacked against you?”
“Because happiness is worth it?” Coop challenged.
“Ugh.” She threw her hands up in the air. “Okay, enough sappy conversation.”
Her gaze fell to the newspaper, and a more important subject took precedence in her mind. “What am I going to do about this?” She pointed to the department-issued photo of herself after the stabbing alongside one taken of her in her gown the night of the gala. “If your experience with this blog is any indication, the lunatics are going to turn out in droves,” she said in disgust.
Coop let out a knowing laugh, but he didn’t contradict her, either.
She pulled her hair off her neck and knotted it on top of her head. “Is it me, or is it hot in here? I thought the super said he’d fixed the AC problem.”
“He says a lot of things. It’s warm,” he agreed. “But I think you’re more nervous about being the center of the Bachelor Blogger’s attention than anything else.”
“Of course I’m nervous. I’m supposed to lie low. When my captain and the district attorney see this…” She glanced at the paper, the cause of all her trouble. “This anonymous person works for your newspaper. Any idea who it could be?”
He shook his head. “And whoever knows, nobody’s talking.”
“Swell.”
Sara’s telephone rang, interrupting her. She glanced at Coop and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”
Captain Hodges was on the other end.
Sara listened, her stomach cramping more with every word he spoke. “No, I understand. Yes, I know, and I’ll let you know what I decide. Thanks for calling.” She hung up and faced Coop. “Know a reporter named Mark Pettit?”
Coop nodded. “A guy with few scruples. He’d sell his own mother for a story. Why?”
“He sold me. The Journal just published a story about the lady the Bachelor Blogger mentioned and her link to the notorious Morley murder. The entire city now knows I’m the star witness. And thanks to the Bachelor Blog, it’ll be easy for Morley’s partners or their associates to find me here.”
She shook her head in frustration, her mind already whirling with possibilities of how easily someone could get to her.
“Do you really think they’d go after a cop?” Coop asked.
“They stand to lose everything once I testify.” She held her hands out in front of her, weighing their choices. “Money versus murder. If I disappeared without a trace, who could prove John Morley, who’s in jail, or his partners had anything to do with it?”
“What are you going to do?” Coop asked.
Sara paused. “I’m really not sure.” She drummed her fingers on the nearest table.
“What did your captain say?” Coop gestured to the telephone.
“He thinks my injury puts me at greater risk.” She rose and paced the small length of her apartment, limping her way across and back, each step reinforcing his point. “He says with this knee, I’m a sitting duck.”
Sara normally didn’t panic or overreact. She was a cop. She could handle herself in any situation. Except one in which she couldn’t protect herself. Thanks to her bum knee, she was in a position of weakness, not strength.