Chapter 8
The rain had slowed to a drizzle.
Anna burst out the back door. "Fran! I saw Lance running like a-"
She stopped, seeing the tall, dark stranger standing over Francesca.
"Who's this?" Anna asked, stepping in front of Francesca protectively.
"This is Cooper," Francesca said. She pulled the leather jacket tighter. "My... driver."
Anna looked Cooper up and down. She saw the cheap clothes, the scuffed boots. But she also saw the way he was shielding Francesca from the wind.
"Driver, huh?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Well, Driver, thanks for handling the trash."
"All in a day's work," Cooper said.
"I need to go," Francesca said. Her stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.
Cooper smirked. "Hungry?"
"Starving," she admitted.
"I know a place," Cooper said. "Cheap. Greasy."
"I'm coming with you," Anna said.
"No," Francesca shook her head. "Go back inside. Make sure Dollie doesn't spin this story. Please, Anna."
Anna hesitated, then nodded. "Call me. Tomorrow. Or I'm calling the cops."
She went back inside.
Cooper led Francesca to the Ford.
They drove in silence to a 24-hour diner on the edge of town. The fluorescent lights were buzzing. The vinyl seats were cracked.
Cooper ordered two cheeseburgers and a basket of fries.
Francesca ate like she hadn't seen food in weeks. Grease coated her fingers.
Cooper watched her, sipping a black coffee. He didn't eat.
"Why are you helping me?" Francesca asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin. "Really?"
Cooper leaned back. "I told you. The debt."
"It's more than that," she said. Her eyes were glassy. The whiskey was catching up with her. "You look at me like... like you know me."
"I know trouble when I see it," Cooper said.
"My son is alive," she blurted out.
Cooper froze. "What?"
"My baby. From five years ago. They told me he died. But he didn't. They stole him." Tears welled up in her eyes again. "I have to find him, Cooper. I have to."
Cooper felt a cold knot in his stomach. Stolen children. This was darker than he thought.
"We'll find him," Cooper said. The 'we' slipped out before he could stop it.
Francesca reached across the table and took his hand. Her skin was hot.
"You're a good man, Cooper," she slurred slightly. "Not like him. Not like Ortega."
Cooper flinched. "Ortega?"
"The monster," she whispered, leaning in. "He burns people. Did you know that? He wears a mask because he has no face."
Cooper forced his face to remain neutral, though his jaw tightened. "Is that so?"
"Yeah. I'm glad I didn't marry him. I'd rather be with a driver than a monster."
She blinked slowly, her head swaying.
"I think I'm going to pass out," she announced.
And she did. Her head hit the table with a soft thud.
Cooper sighed. He signaled the waitress for the check.
He paid with cash.
He picked Francesca up. She was limp in his arms.
"Where to?" he asked her sleeping form.
"Home," she mumbled into his chest.
She had no home.
"My place it is," Cooper said.
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