Thank goodness it was apparently rare. She just hoped it didn’t become permanent.
“Yes, she is,” he answered. “But you were the one I noticed.”
Her jaw dropped a little and she felt an astonishing kernel of warmth blossom inside her, driving back the cold that had been consuming her for weeks now. Just a little lifting of the curtain that reminded her she could have normal feelings.
Then he said something more. “You look exhausted. If you don’t want to go up to your room and be alone, how about you stretch out on the couch here and I can keep watch over you. If you won’t feel awkward. Or...you can put your head in my lap for a pillow. I’d kinda like that.”
“But how would you sleep?”
“Lady, I can sleep standing up or hanging off a cliff. No worries.”
It proved to be an offer she couldn’t refuse. Not to be alone. Even after Glenda had come to her apartment they’d slept in separate rooms, leaving her to face the nightmare alone each time she woke.
It would be miraculous not to be alone when she woke in terror. The invitation was irresistible.
Five minutes later, she had a blanket and took the offer of his lap. His thigh was warm and powerful under her head, and his hand reassuring on her shoulder.
Until now, she had believed she would never want to be touched again. Instead, with Coop at least, it felt like the most wonderful thing in the world.
Her heart didn’t slam into high gear; her mind didn’t start racing trying to recover the forgotten nightmare. She focused instead on his warmth, his strength, his caring.
And sleep found her gently for the first time since her coma.
* * *
The killer was growing increasingly agitated. Why couldn’t Kylie have remained in Denver? Getting to her there would have been so much easier. Instead she was living in a town with few secrets where everyone knew her, and that Coop guy was an added wrinkle.
He told himself over and over that he’d gotten even, that he didn’t need to finish her. But there was a part of him that needed that resolution, knowing that his victim was gone for good, and that he’d made sure of it.
How had he screwed this up, anyway? That bugged him as much as knowing his victim was still alive, however damaged. He’d failed.
He hated to fail. He was a winner by nature; he expected everything to work out the way he wanted, including this.
But he’d messed up, and he was pretty disgusted with himself. Utterly disgusted. A great big failure.
Maybe he’d settled the score, but he hadn’t settled himself. He’d gotten an F on the ultimate test and it chafed him constantly.
He had to find a way to remedy this. Even if she never remembered him, he still needed to finish it. And the longer he waited, the more likely it was that she’d remember something.
He didn’t know what upset him more sometimes, failing to kill her or fear that she might remember him.
But there was one way to settle it all. He just needed to figure out how.
Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to savor the minutes when he’d tried to take her life, running them like a movie through his head. It felt like a power surge, unequaled by anything in his life. He could do it. He could do anything when he put his mind to it, and killing the woman whose rejection haunted him, and whose memory might snare him, seemed like something he needed to put his mind to.
Kylie might be a slipup, but that was temporary. He could do it.
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