Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 29

A knock on the door made both Cooper and Vincent look up from their respective

spots on the couch.

The two had been lounging around Cooper's apartment all day, soaking up the full potential of a lazy Wednesday afternoon. No school meant no responsibilities, and they'd taken full advantage of that fact, binge-watching Star Wars and devouring every snack Cooper's mom had in the kitchen. Bags of chips, an empty Oreo pack, and a half-eaten can of Pringles littered the coffee table, a testament to their epic

day spent feasting.

Vincent had ignored not one, not two, but five calls from Astrid, insisting that he

needed a day without her drama. Cooper approved. He only wished that his

problems were half as simple as a scandalous affair.

He had an Oreo in hand when the knock on the door startled him out of his

thoughts. Vincent must have been likewise occupied, because he nearly jumped out

of his skin, knocking over the Pringles with his foot in the process.

"Crap." Vincent moved to clean the mess, shoving a couple of chips in his mouth

while he was at it.

"Hold on," Cooper called, forcing himself to stand. He had no idea who could

possibly be here at 4:00 in the afternoon, but he sincerely hoped it wasn't Calla.

He'd told her Vincent was coming over so she could keep her distance, but she was

unpredictable. She did what she liked, when she liked.

It was infuriating.

Cooper yawned as he answered the door, but it quickly died in his mouth when he

saw the two officers in front of him.

"Oh. Um." Cooper raised a hand in a half-wave. "Hi."

"Cooper Daniels?" the stouter of the two cops asked. Cooper recognized him as

Jeremy Hand. He lived at the apartment complex on the opposite side of town,

nearest the river.

He knew exactly who Cooper was, so why the hell was he asking?

Cooper raised an eyebrow. "Uh...yeah?"

Officer Hand cleared his throat, embarrassed. "Hey, Coop. Sorry for the formalities.

We just need you to come down to the station, if that's alright. Amelia here?"

Cooper blinked stupidly. "No. She's at work."

"Sheriff will give her a call." The taller of the two—Deputy Pendowski, who lived

three doors down from Cooper—gestured for him to step outside. Seeing him

brought back unpleasant memories. "If you would come with us."

Cooper looked down at his bare feet. He tried to ignore the pit of nerves gathering

in his stomach. "Um. Can I put on some shoes?"

They both glanced down at his feet and then looked at each other. Officer Hand

said gruffly, "Go ahead, kid. And a jacket, too. Could catch your death out here in

this cold."

Cooper nodded and shuffled to his room. Vincent was sitting upright now, watching

him with wide eyes. "Coop? What's going on?"

Deputy Pendowski answered for him, sounding surprised. "Townson! How are you, kid? Great game against the Yellow Jackets. I tell you what—"

Cooper shoved on his tennis shoes and threw on a hoodie, numb. All he could think

was that he was about to be thrown in a jail cell again, and he had absolutely no

idea why. He ran a hand through his hair and tucked it into a ball cap. He didn't bother putting on sweatpants. His gym shorts would be

fine.

He needed the cold air against his legs. Something to wake him up from the shock he was in now.

Vincent stood when Cooper came out of his room, eyes filled with worry. "Want me

to call your mom?"

"Yeah. Please." Cooper followed the cops outside. He looked back at Vincent,

unable to conceal his fear. "Tell her to come soon?"

"Will do, man." Vincent stood in the doorway, watching as his friend crawled into the

back of a police cruiser. They didn't bother turning on the lights or the siren, for

which Cooper was grateful.

No need to make this more miserable than it already was.

"Sorry 'bout this, kid," Deputy Pendowski said from the passenger seat, glancing

back at Cooper in the rearview mirror. He rubbed his short mustache and chuckled

sheepishly. "It's really just a formality, I swear. Got some questions that need

answering."

"This isn't my first rodeo," Cooper muttered, which made Officer Hand laugh.

The ride to the station was short. Once they pulled into a space they helped Cooper

out of the backseat and guided him to the front door, walking on either side of him.

No matter what they said about formalities and questions , he felt an awful lot like a

suspect.

The station was small and grey, and not quite as Cooper remembered from the

night of the Halloween party. It was less crowded, for one. The front desk, situated

directly in front of the entrance, was unmanned. A dying plant sat in the corner,

practically begging for water.

Deputy Pendowski led Cooper past the front desk to the bullpen. An array of desks

dominated the space, each covered with files and paperwork. Deputy Pendowski

pulled up a chair for Cooper and offered him a glass of water, which he gladly took—

and then instantly regretted, the urge to pee overwhelming.

Windows lined the wall to his right, though the dingy blinds were shuttered to block

out the afternoon sun; light still managed to slant through, casting a glow on the

linoleum floor. Two private offices sat toward the back of the building. One of the officers meandered over to rap on the

left door.

Cooper looked away, not wanting to come off as overly suspicious. His eyes

automatically wandered to the hallway on his left. He knew it well. He wondered if

he would be taken back there again—back to that cell.

"Daniels?"

Cooper turned around, swiveling in his chair. He was surprised to see Ryan Kane

sitting at the desk behind his, half-hidden behind a large desktop computer and a

stack of files, looking like he'd just rolled out of bed in sweatpants and a wrinkled t-

shirt. Ryan pushed his chair away from the desk, clutching an empty cup of water.

This feels familiar. Same suspects. Different murder.

"Ryan? Hey." Cooper adjusted his ball cap, fighting the urge to rip it off and run a

hand through his hair. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, I guess." Ryan shrugged, lifting the cup to his lips before realizing it

was empty. He set it down on the desk and sighed, running a hand over his head.

He'd buzzed off his thick black hair last year, devastating half of the female

population at Greenwitch High.

He was one of those guys who had hit puberty in middle school—tall, built, the kind

of kid who could pass for eighteen and frequently took advantage of that fact,

sneaking cigarettes and tobacco at the gas station.

Meanwhile, Cooper felt like he'd be stuck in this awkward, gangly body for the rest

of his life. If he buzzed his head, he'd look like a creep.

That was the last thing he needed in this town.

Cooper's phone vibrated. He quickly fished it out of his pocket. It had to be his

mom—

"Sorry, Coop." Deputy Pendowski approached, a plastic bag in hand and a latex

glove on the other. "I'm gonna need to see that phone."

Cooper hesitated, phone half-extended to the deputy, who smiled apologetically.

"We got a warrant for that. Gotta check everyone's phone who was with Rachel the

night she died. You understand, right Coop?"

Cooper sighed, still apprehensive, but surrendered his phone anyway. "Okay."

Deputy Pendowski smiled, his mustache twitching, and lumbered down the hallway,

disappearing around the corner. Officer Hand sat behind the front desk, leaning on

his elbows. Another man Cooper didn't recognize—somewhere in his mid-forties—

sat behind the desk across from his, wearing a suit instead of a uniform, a coat

thrown over the back of his chair and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A

detective's badge was hooked on his belt, gleaming dully in a bar of afternoon

sunlight.

"Hey." Ryan tapped his feet against the floor, anxious. "Any idea what's going on?"

"Nope." Cooper shrugged, heart hammering in his chest. "Kinda wanted to avoid

this place for the rest of my life, y'know?"

Ryan grimaced and nodded. "We've really got to stop meeting like this."

Cooper grinned, despite the circumstances. He liked Ryan. He had no reason to.

The guy had been chummy with Jacob, and he hadn't exactly stood up for Cooper

when Jacob had beaten him within an inch of his life. But there was something

so... sincere about the guy. Like a dog that had been kicked too many times and had

grown mean because of it—but was still good at his core.

Besides. Who was Cooper to judge? He was the one giving a psychopath free reign

to track down and murder another killer. He didn't exactly have a moral high ground

to stand on.

Then again, he thought, trying not to stare at Ryan's profile for too long, for fear that

the other boy would begin to notice something suspicious in the way he watched

him. It's my neck on the line. If there's a chance Ryan is the killer...

"Cooper Daniels?"

Cooper looked up to see a tired-looking man in his thirties standing beside his desk.

He wore a grey suit and had the hair to match, a silver badge clipped to his belt. He

held a bottle of water in one hand and a notepad and pen in the other.

Behind him, being led to the front desk by Deputy Pendowski, was Calla. She made

eye contact with him as she went past, but the mask she wore—grief, tinged with

confusion—never cracked.

What the hell is going on, Cooper thought, panicked. He tried not to let that panic

show, tried to channel whatever inner reservoir of creepy calm that Calla tapped into

so easily.

But he didn't have an inner reservoir of calm. He rubbed his palms nervously against

his shorts, glancing back up at the man in the suit. "Yes?"

"If you'll come with me." He gestured for Cooper to follow him and, after a

moment's hesitation, he did. Cooper sent Ryan a questioning look, but the other boy

just shrugged, his feet still bouncing wildly on the floor.

A look over his shoulder told him that Calla had already disappeared. He would get

no help from her. Whatever this was, he was going in completely unprepared.

"Sorry for all this," the man began, looking back at Cooper. He took a left at the end

of the hall. Rather than proceeding straight back to the cells, he opened a door on

the right. "I'm Detective Schuster, by the way."