Page 2 of You Can Make Me (Carnival of Mysteries #28)

One

D enny

Four and a half months later…

I juggled the grocery bags in one arm as I punched in the code on the front door of our mountain hideaway.

It was in a secure location, away from prying eyes, and it provided a breathtaking view of the high desert while being shaded by enough trees that it never got unbearably hot.

It was rustic—there were few creature comforts like a dishwasher or laundry on site—but it was safe, and that was the factor that topped my list when I’d found it in a Facebook group for current and former Kern County Sheriffs employees.

Usually that group was only good for birthday wishes, birth announcements, retirement notifications, and celebration of life invitations, but there was a thread for folks seeking and renting vacation homes, which, in Kern County, often amounted to hunting or fishing cabins, with the occasional AirBnB places near wine-tasting spots.

This one was the former, in the Kern River Valley on the river near Lake Isabella.

Madonna blasted from the main room of the house, and I shook my head.

The folks who owned this place had left behind an old stereo and cassettes.

The music choices were from the late ’70s and ’80s, with quite a few I listened to as a kid, but my charge leaned toward the pop divas.

Madonna, Cyndi Lauper, and Tina Turner. I wondered what the attraction was for someone so much younger but hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask him yet.

Being shut down with the nonverbal treatment was more than I could take most days.

“I brought you a sandwich, and I picked up more of that hummus you like from the Greek deli.” Shopping was an event, living this far from a major town, but I didn’t mind it.

I only hated being away for too long. I worried constantly.

I’d worried so much that what was left of my dark hair was now almost completely silver.

Even my scruff when it grew in was nearly white.

I hadn’t slept a full night since we came here either.

Dreams woke me, or the dreams of my charge sent me running from the couch.

My charge.

I didn’t know what else to call him.

“I got you more of those steno notebooks like you asked, too, and a new printer. Let’s hope this one works. I talked to the guy at the AT&T store this time, and he had no fucking clue how to get better internet out here. I’m going to look into a hotspot…”

I trailed off as I stepped through the kitchen door to the great room and found him standing in front of the window wrapped in a blanket, just staring off into space.

“Coop? Are you hungry?”

He didn’t respond.

I walked over to the old stereo and turned the music down a little before I approached him, being sure not to come at his back. He still spooked every time I touched him unless we made eye contact first.

“Cooper?”

He pulled the blanket tighter around himself and turned just enough to look at me out of the corner of his eye, which was nearly covered by his now-longish hair.

“Hey,” I said, softer now, approaching him cautiously with a hopeful smile.

I couldn’t help it. Every time I saw him was a blessing, proof that he was still here.

Part of him, at least. “Are you hungry? I brought you a sandwich from that deli, you seemed to like it last time. Can I get you something to drink?”

He stared back at me for a long moment before he nodded.

I could breathe again. I went back to the kitchen, grabbed the sandwich and a plate, some napkins, and a bottle of the iced tea Cooper liked.

I set them on the table and stepped back to wait for him.

He pulled the blanket tighter with one arm, grabbed his cane, and he hobbled over to the table, sneaking furtive glances under his hair at me.

God, I wished I knew what to do for him.

We sat at the table and Cooper kept his head down as he ate slowly, still struggling at times to chew. The sutures in his mouth and cheeks had long since dissolved, but the tissue was still healing. He’d had to relearn how to chew without biting the inside of his scarred cheek.

“I grabbed the mail while I was in town. You got a letter from your mom, what looks like a check from the network, and something from your insurance company.”

He nodded and took a sip of his tea.

“How is your pain today?”

He shrugged.

He’d opted to stop taking his pain medications two weeks ago, against medical advice. His doctors had said he should stay on them until his next checkup at the end of the month.

“Coop, the doctor said that it’s better not to let the pain get worse?—”

“I don’t want to be fuzzy. I can’t think.”

I exhaled. It would not do for me to lose my temper when Cooper was struggling with everything that had happened to him.

He couldn’t walk without some sort of aid, as his balance was off after the blow to his head.

He had almost daily headaches and couldn’t look at his computer for longer than twenty minutes at a time or he’d struggle with his vision.

He’d been in near constant pain from the number of deep cuts he’d received, which had healed, but the scar tissue was tight and pulled when he moved.

It killed me to see him continuing to struggle so hard after everything he’d been through, but he fought my attempts to get him moving and refused additional medical intervention.

“Maybe if we go back to the doctor sooner?—”

“The doctors can’t do anything for me. They can’t fix me.”

And that was his answer to everything. He couldn’t be fixed .

His brain, his gait, his poor wounded flesh.

His face would never be the same, the face he’d relied on to land him a coveted spot as a television investigative reporter.

He’d made me take all the mirrors out of the place first thing when I’d brought him to this refuge.

I’d done everything he’d asked except leave him.

This was more than he’d talked in a while, so I pushed.

“Maybe they can prescribe something that doesn’t make you foggy. Or maybe they can suggest something over the counter…”

He took a few more bites of his sandwich and then pushed back from the table, his wince making my heart hurt. I hated that he was in constant pain.

Cooper heaved a big sigh, and his hand came up to his ribs.

“Can I at least get you some ibuprofen? I hate to?—”

“You find anything out? About the internet? I get kicked off sites when I’m reading articles, and it won’t hold long enough to download and print them. If I had better internet, maybe I could work…”

I stood from the table and blew out a breath, my eyes burning. “Coop,” I said softly. “Can I at least bring Gene out here? Him and Sam are so worried about you. Maybe they can help?—”

“No.”

He wiped at his mouth, wincing when he touched his left cheek with the napkin.

“I wish I knew what to do for you,” I whispered, more for myself than him to hear. I was fairly tech savvy, but I couldn’t control cell towers or satellite paths, and he had no patience.

Cooper put his hands on the table and leveled a glare at me from under his hair. “What do you know about the carnival?”

My gut churned, tossing around the sandwich I’d eaten in the car until my skin got clammy like I was going to vomit.

“What do you mean? What carnival?”

His nostrils flared. “The carnival where Dee Dee Miller worked. He met…Holland there. He mentioned it when I interviewed him. What else do you know?”

My mouth felt as if it would crack if I tried to speak.

Cooper hadn’t wanted to discuss his assault. He was secretive when he was on the computer and whenever I tried to get him talking, it was mostly one-word answers, and it felt as if things were going downhill. Now this? The carnival?

“That’s…that’s all. Why?”

Cooper shrugged and pushed back from the table. “Thank you for the sandwich.” Most of the time he was still his polite self, at least when it came to caring for him, but try to discuss anything that affected him, he’d snap at me and shut it down.

He pulled his blanket tighter, grabbed for his cane, and pushed himself to standing. He lost color in his face and sweat beaded on his upper lip. He tried to walk past me, and I stepped in his way.

“Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.” Enough was enough. I’d been tiptoeing around him for the three months that we’d been here, and I was desperate. His spirit was fading before my eyes. It broke my heart.

He wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I reached up to touch his left shoulder, one of the only spots I knew didn’t hurt him, and he flinched.

“You’ve done enough. You don’t like it? You can leave, Detective Hamilton.”

Barely ever Dennis. Definitely not Denny, or any of the terms of endearment he’d called me so long ago. Detective Hamilton was a verbal shield he used to keep me out.

“Cooper, for fuck’s sake. I’m not leaving you.”

He turned his head toward me, but he still wouldn’t meet my gaze.

I missed his gaze, even though at one point it had made me jumpy, unsettled.

His gaze had forced me take a deeper look at myself and my core beliefs about my sexuality.

I’d come to crave it. Then, I’d somehow managed to blow it with Cooper Harris…

and four and a half months ago, I witnessed a madman nearly end the life of the only man I’d ever…

I didn’t know how to classify what Cooper was to me now, other than to say he was my life’s work.

My life. Period.

He’d spent five weeks in the hospital and a week in the rehab unit before we came here. He’d made progress physically. Emotionally…

I had no idea how to quantify it.

“Then we have nothing else to talk about.”

The stubborn man moved around me without touching or looking at me, and he made his way to the bedroom of the cabin.