Page 4 of The Gift
Coop responded on instinct, catching her around the waist and lifting her off the chair before it toppled.
She yelped, body going rigid the instant he touched her. Not startled, braced. When he set her on the floor, steadying her until her boots found traction, she pulled away as soon as she could, looking unsettled.
His suspicion flared at her reaction. Was it him or the badge? He couldn’t reason it out with the alarm shrieking, however.
“I’ll get it,” he said, reaching up to pop off the cover.
Almost instantly, blessed silence fell over the room.
She sighed, sagging with relief. “Thank you. That was loud enough to make a statue cringe.”
Maybe not flighty but quirky. He moved back a step, giving her space. “You’re Erica Stevens, correct?”
“That’s me,” she said, brushing her hair out of her face. Up close, she looked younger than he’d first thought, with hazel eyes that seemed too bright for the smoky room.
“Lieutenant Cooper, Texas Rangers.” He flashed his badge. “I have a few questions about your neighbors.”
Her brows lifted. “I’ve only lived here a few months. I’m embarrassed to say I barely know my neighbors.”
“This is about the Wilsons across the street. I’m sorry to tell you, there has been a tragedy.”
Her breath faltered, and she swayed, one hand clutching her stomach as if she were about to be sick. He’d interviewed dozens of witnesses, close relatives, and strangers. Her reaction was raw in a way that didn’t matchbarely knew them.
“Ms. Stevens?” Coop moved forward, ready to catch her.
She shook her head. “I need air.” Then she bolted through the house.
Coop followed, not sure whether she was about to faint, throw up, or both.
On the front porch, she gripped the rail and bent forward, breathing in deep, shaky gulps. He stayed close without touching, near enough to catch her if needed.
“Are you all right? You went pale fast.”
“It was—the, um—the smell.”
Her voice faltered. Could’ve been nausea; could’ve been scrambling for an excuse.
“It hit me wrong,” she said between deep breaths. “I’ll be fine in a minute.”
Maybe. But Coop had seen plenty of people react to bad news. This wasn’t shock. It was something else. Something she didn’t want him to see.
With her breathing more controlled, she stood and leaned against the rail. But her gaze drifted past him, turning vague. She said, without inflection, “She’s dead.”
His spine went rigid. How did she know? He hadn’t said anything yet.
He turned as the coroner’s van pulled in across the street. That explained something, at least.
“How well did you know Mrs. Wilson?” he asked, tone even and gentler.
“Only enough to smile and wave when we passed.”
He reached into his pocket for the family’s photos. “Mind if I show you a few pictures?” Without waiting for an answer, he handed her the first: forty-three-year-old Debra in a navy business suit, smiling at the camera.
“That’s Mrs. Wilson,” she whispered.
He flipped to the next one. Debra with her husband. “Ever seen him?”
“Mr. Wilson,” she supplied. “I didn’t see him as much. He seemed to keep odd hours.”
