a case for me.
“It’s okay,” Cooper says with a shrug. “My client’s husband is occupied for the moment.” I don’t even bother asking what he means, since I know he won’t tell me. “I was going for lunch, anyway, and I figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says.
My stomach rumbles hungrily at the wordlunch . “I’m famished,” I confess. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“So.” Cooper leads me to an empty set of orange plastic seats in the waiting room. “What’s the kid in Page 29
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for?”
I glance at the emergency room doors. “Who, Gavin? Chronic stupidity.”
“Gavin again, huh?” Cooper produces two Yoo-Hoos from his parka pockets and hands me one. My heart lurches. YOO-HOOS! God, I love this man. Who wouldn’t? “If that kid lives to graduation, I’ll be surprised. So. How you hanging in there? I mean, with the dead girl.”
I’ve sunk my teeth into the crunchy baguette—filled with freshly made smoked mozzarella, garlicky roasted peppers, and sun-dried tomatoes. It is impossible to speak after that, of course, because the inside of my mouth is having an orgasm.
“I actually put in a call,” Cooper goes on, seeing that my mouth is full (though ignorant, hopefully, of all the fireworks going on inside of it), “to a friend at the coroner’s office. They got over there pretty quickly, you know, on account of business being slow, thanks to this storm we’re supposed to get. Anyway, they’re pretty sure she was dead well before she was…well, you know.”
Decapitated. I nod, still chewing.
“I just thought you’d want to know,” Cooper goes on. He’s unwrapping a sandwich of his own.
Prosciutto, I think. “I mean, that she didn’t…suffer. They’re pretty sure she was strangled.”
I swallow. “How can they tell?” I ask. “Considering…well, there’s no neck?”
Cooper has just taken a bite of his own sandwich as I ask this. He chokes a little, but manages to get it down.
“Discoloration,” he says, between coughs. “Around the eyes. It means she quit breathing before death occurred, due to strangulation. They call it vagal inhibition.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.” I mean about making him choke.
He swills some Yoo-Hoo. As he does, I have a chance to observe him without his noticing. He hasn’t shaved this morning…not that it matters. He’s still one of the hottest-looking guys I’ve ever seen. His five o’clock—more like noon—shadow just makes the angular planes of his face more defined, bringing into even more definition his lean jaw and high cheekbones. Some people—like his father, Grant Cartwright—might think Cooper needs a haircut.
But I like a guy with hair you can run your fingers through.
You know, if he’d let you.
Still, though to me that slightly overlong dark hair gives him the appearance of a friendly sheepdog, Cooper must strike an imposing figure to others. This becomes obvious when a homeless guy carrying a bottle in a paper bag, coming into the hospital to get out of the cold for a little while, spies an empty chair next to me and wanders toward it…
…only to change his mind when he gets a look at Cooper’s wide shoulders—made even more intimidating-looking by the puffiness of his anorak—and massive Timberlands.
Cooper doesn’t even notice.
Page 30
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“They think she’d been there awhile,” he says, having successfully forced down whatever it was he’d been choking on. “On the, er, stove. Since before dawn, at least.”
“God,” I say.
But though back in the dorm—I mean, residence hall—I couldn’t think about what had happened to Lindsay without feeling a wave of nausea, I have no trouble finishing my sandwich. Maybe it’s because I reallywas starving.
Or maybe it’s because of Cooper’s soothing presence. Love does funny things to you, I
“It’s okay,” Cooper says with a shrug. “My client’s husband is occupied for the moment.” I don’t even bother asking what he means, since I know he won’t tell me. “I was going for lunch, anyway, and I figured you hadn’t eaten,” he says.
My stomach rumbles hungrily at the wordlunch . “I’m famished,” I confess. “You’re a lifesaver.”
“So.” Cooper leads me to an empty set of orange plastic seats in the waiting room. “What’s the kid in Page 29
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
for?”
I glance at the emergency room doors. “Who, Gavin? Chronic stupidity.”
“Gavin again, huh?” Cooper produces two Yoo-Hoos from his parka pockets and hands me one. My heart lurches. YOO-HOOS! God, I love this man. Who wouldn’t? “If that kid lives to graduation, I’ll be surprised. So. How you hanging in there? I mean, with the dead girl.”
I’ve sunk my teeth into the crunchy baguette—filled with freshly made smoked mozzarella, garlicky roasted peppers, and sun-dried tomatoes. It is impossible to speak after that, of course, because the inside of my mouth is having an orgasm.
“I actually put in a call,” Cooper goes on, seeing that my mouth is full (though ignorant, hopefully, of all the fireworks going on inside of it), “to a friend at the coroner’s office. They got over there pretty quickly, you know, on account of business being slow, thanks to this storm we’re supposed to get. Anyway, they’re pretty sure she was dead well before she was…well, you know.”
Decapitated. I nod, still chewing.
“I just thought you’d want to know,” Cooper goes on. He’s unwrapping a sandwich of his own.
Prosciutto, I think. “I mean, that she didn’t…suffer. They’re pretty sure she was strangled.”
I swallow. “How can they tell?” I ask. “Considering…well, there’s no neck?”
Cooper has just taken a bite of his own sandwich as I ask this. He chokes a little, but manages to get it down.
“Discoloration,” he says, between coughs. “Around the eyes. It means she quit breathing before death occurred, due to strangulation. They call it vagal inhibition.”
“Oh,” I say. “Sorry.” I mean about making him choke.
He swills some Yoo-Hoo. As he does, I have a chance to observe him without his noticing. He hasn’t shaved this morning…not that it matters. He’s still one of the hottest-looking guys I’ve ever seen. His five o’clock—more like noon—shadow just makes the angular planes of his face more defined, bringing into even more definition his lean jaw and high cheekbones. Some people—like his father, Grant Cartwright—might think Cooper needs a haircut.
But I like a guy with hair you can run your fingers through.
You know, if he’d let you.
Still, though to me that slightly overlong dark hair gives him the appearance of a friendly sheepdog, Cooper must strike an imposing figure to others. This becomes obvious when a homeless guy carrying a bottle in a paper bag, coming into the hospital to get out of the cold for a little while, spies an empty chair next to me and wanders toward it…
…only to change his mind when he gets a look at Cooper’s wide shoulders—made even more intimidating-looking by the puffiness of his anorak—and massive Timberlands.
Cooper doesn’t even notice.
Page 30
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
“They think she’d been there awhile,” he says, having successfully forced down whatever it was he’d been choking on. “On the, er, stove. Since before dawn, at least.”
“God,” I say.
But though back in the dorm—I mean, residence hall—I couldn’t think about what had happened to Lindsay without feeling a wave of nausea, I have no trouble finishing my sandwich. Maybe it’s because I reallywas starving.
Or maybe it’s because of Cooper’s soothing presence. Love does funny things to you, I
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