But now that he knew that she felt the same way—or at least that she felt some fraction of what he did—he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t let himself start something with her when there was no way that it would end well.
He could break his heart, but he couldn’t break hers.
If he ran, if he decided to risk that, then they couldn’t be together. He couldn’t ask her to give up her life, to give up the job that meant so much to her.
If he didn’t run, if he went to Bergen and trusted in the system that had already let him down... then he would probably die with another shiv between his ribs. Even if he lived, the odds were good that he’d never be a free man again, no matter how hard he and Gretchen tried to find the truth.
Did he really want to ask Gretchen to care about him, to tie her life to him, when he was going to be hundreds of miles away, hopeless, and trapped? How good could that possibly be for her?
And even if, through some slow and grinding process, she helped him get acquitted, even if his appeal worked out perfectly—
She would still be a US Marshal, the one who was supposed to step into Martin Powell’s shoes when he retired. But Martin couldn’t appoint her himself; all he could do was recommend her. She would need the approval of someone higher up the food chain... and there was no way she would ever, ever get it if she got involved with him. Even if his conviction was overturned, there would still be plenty of people who remembered him just as a criminal. There would always be the shadow of a doubt. And as Chief, Gretchen would have to be above suspicion.
Cooper felt his way along that painful thought even as he was feeling his way around the car. He couldn’t see it—he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face—so he had to keep touching it. If he let go, he’d end up wandering off into the blizzard, no matter how good his usual sense of direction was.
Maybe she didn’t want anything long-term. Maybe she was just cold, scared, and tense, and the chemistry between them was just too tempting to ignore. Maybe all she wanted was a spot of warmth and togetherness while the storm was still veiling them from the rest of the world.
But he didn’t think so. Nothing about the way she looked at him was casual. Nothing about what was between them felt casual.
One of them had to say no. And she had more to lose than he did—so much more. So if she wouldn’t say no, he had to say it: he had to look out for her when her own bravery would have her rush in without counting the cost.
He found the trunk and then had to grope along it to find the lock. His bare hands had stung at first in the cold, like they were being pricked all over with needles, and now they were starting to go numb. It took him three tries to feel out where the lock was and then three more tries to actually get the key into it, he was shaking so badly.
And once he got the trunk open, he had trouble making out what was inside it. The snow was still blowing into his face, making his eyes water, and leaning in too far made it feel like the stab wounds had turned into red-hot irons. He couldn’t be sure what he was looking at, but he could at least see shapes, so he grabbed all of them that he could carry and then slammed the trunk closed.
He made his way back to the passenger side door leaning against the car and sliding along it at an angle, the better to make sure his hands stayed full and he didn’t drop anything. He felt something sliding between his fingers when he had to struggle with the door, but then it was creaking open against him, and he realized Gretchen had leaned over and opened it from her side.
Getting back into the warmth—getting back to her—felt like heaven.
Which was exactly why he had to be careful. He would make a mistake here, a mistake they both wanted him to make, if he let himself slip for even a second.
“Brr,” he said, letting out an awkward laugh. “I don’t know if you know this, but it’s a little nippy out there.”
“It looks brisk,” Gretchen said. She started the ignition again, sending a very welcome blast of fresh heat across him.
“Kind of chilly.” He rubbed his hands together to try to warm them up, and when he got a little bit of feeling back in his fingers, he started actually examining his haul.
It wasn’t exactly a complete survivalist’s kit, but it was close.
Gretchen slid over closer to him, a wide smile finally chasing some of the lingering shadows out of her face. She was putting aside his little disappearing act, then. At least for now.
“God, I love you, Martin,” she said.
Cooper fought off a completely ridiculous surge of jealousy. Firstly because it was absurd and secondly because, hell, right now he loved Martin too.
One fluffy flannel blanket. Two bottles of water. A first aid kit. Chemical hand-warmers. Granola bars, loaded with peanuts for protein and chocolate chips for extra glucose. A spare cellphone charger. A heavy-duty flashlight with extra batteries. And a jug of—
“Is that cat litter?” Cooper said, baffled. “Does he have a cat?”
She shook her head. “You pour it out on the road, on an icy patch that you can’t get around. It gives you better traction.”
“I would never have thought of that.”
“I’m pretty sure he picked it up from Colby—Colby Acton, he’s another Marshal on our team. He grew up in California, and I don’t think he’s ever gotten over being mortally offended at snow. He knows all the tips for driving on ice.”
“I know you turn into the skid,” Cooper offered.
“And?”