Coop’s own upbringing had been so different. Even as his father had battled his private demons, he’d never shamed Coop for the normal emotions all kids experienced growing up.

“Guys have to cry sometimes, son. It’s good to get it out.”

Piper hadn’t known that kind of emotional acceptance. Pleasing the father she loved meant she could never show weakness, or softness, or vulnerability.

Coop slammed on the brakes so fast he nearly got rear-ended. Of course she was afraid to talk to him. Being forced into a conversation that was guaranteed to be emotional—a conversation where he’d damn well make certain he said what he had to and make her say whatever it was that lay underneath all her bull—wasn’t what she’d been trained for.

The sight of that gun... The sounds of Jada’s sobs... And Pipe, standing there so helplessly, her eyes focused on only him, the message as clear as if she’d spoken it aloud.

Teamwork.

***

The sight of Coop standing by her car yesterday had undone whatever microscopic progress she’d made to move her life forward. Tall and sturdy, those big, capable hands stretched long at his sides, November sunlight striking his cheekbones ... She’d grown dizzy with a longing so painful it had threatened to bring her to her knees.

She was staring blindly out her office window when Jada called. “You’re a detective,” the teenager declared. “Clara and I think you should do something about it.”

“I’m not exactly in a position to solve the problem of child sex trafficking.”

“But you could, like, pretend you were a kid or something on the Internet. And get these guys to maybe meet up with you and arrest them.”

“I’m a detective. I can’t arrest anybody.”

“You could work with the police,” Jada insisted. “And talk to important people about how they can’t arrest these girls as being, like, prostitutes.”

Jada’s passion was admirable, but Piper barely knew how to get through the day, let alone solve a problem of this scope.

When their call ended, Piper buried her face in her hands. Annabelle had offered her a job performing background checks, and Deidre Joss had called to talk to her about doing more work for Joss Investments. Dove Investigations was taking off, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Last night’s visit to Jen’s apartment had been the only bright spot in her week.

“I e-mailed you a YouTube link,” she’d told Chicago’s finest meteorologist. “Use it as you see fit.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.”