Her Dangerous Revenge

CHAPTER 71

He stayed like that, poised on the edge of nausea, for the duration

of Vincent's interrogation, and again for his own. Detective

Michaels asked him a slew of standard questions, the sort that

made it quite obvious he knew he hadn't done a thing wrong. It

was a nice change of pace, and yet Cooper still felt as if he might

vomit at any moment.

Number four is dead. Who's next? Who dies before me?

After exhausting their resources, the police finally allowed

everyone to go home. Cooper and Calla waited while Vincent

grabbed his athletic bag from the locker room, and together they

trudged out into the parking lot. The sun had set in the time it took

to seal off the crime scene and gather testimony. Bright spotlights

from the lamps overhead washed the parking lot in an eerie, pale

light.

Stephanie, who'd parked in the side lot, gave Calla a hug before

jogging over to her car, as if afraid to be alone in the dark for even

a moment. Cooper didn't blame her.

"What a horrible day," Vincent muttered. "How have you two been

at this for so long? It's day one for me trying to figure this thing

out, and someone is already dead."

"Pro tip," Cooper offered sarcastically, "don't study criminal justice

in college. I don't think it suits you."

Vincent grumbled. It was a testament to how emotionally drained

he was that he climbed into the backseat of Cooper's Mustang

without complaint.

Cooper fell into the driver's seat, leaning forward to rest his

forehead against the steering wheel. He sighed heavily. "I haven't

even looked at my phone. Under or over five voicemails from Mom.

Vincent?"

"Over."

"Calla?"

"Under," she drawled, propping her head in her hands and staring

out of the passenger window.

"Excellent," he muttered, heaving himself upright and twisting the

key into the ignition. The Mustang roared to life, shuddering

slightly.

Vincent unzipped his athletic bag. "Wonder if tomorrow's

assignment for pre-cal is still due..."

"If it is," Cooper inserted, "Mrs. Lakewood deserves whatever

punishment is coming to her in hell."

"Agreed." Vincent tossed a stack of papers in the seat beside him

as he rifled around in his bag. The guy had no sense of

organization. It was an amazing feat that he hadn't somehow

managed to lose every possession he owned.

"Hey," Cooper warned. "Respect the car. Keep her clean, please."

"Yeah, yeah." Cooper watched Vincent in the mirror. He tossed a

nondescript scrap of paper in the floorboard.

"None of this makes sense," Calla muttered to herself, tuning the

both of them out. She glared out of the window, her brow

furrowed. "I thought we knew..."

"What was that?" Cooper asked, ignoring her. His eyes flickered

from the road to the rearview mirror, straining to see the mess

Vincent had made in the backseat.

"Huh?" Vincent shrugged, distracted. "I dunno."

Cooper's nausea came back in force.

"What was that paper, Vincent?" he asked, his voice very near

panic.

Calla picked up on his tone. She looked at him, assessing. And

then she turned, her dark eyes scanning the pile of discarded trash

at Vincent's feet. Locking in on the very thing Cooper had noted,

she strained against her seatbelt and snatched the scrap of paper

before Vincent could grab it.

Cooper slowed the Mustang to a crawl as she held the paper up to

the light, her hands steady.

"I don't know what that is," Vincent said, his voice almost

defensive.

Cooper swallowed but said nothing.

"I do." Calla sounded dead, her voice cold and empty. Together, the

trio stared at the piece of paper.

A red five glared back at them.