Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  “No,” he snapped. “She wants a lead on the story I’m working on.”

  It wasn’t a lie. They weren’t anything. Not anymore. But it wasn’t exactly the truth. And the almost lie hung between them.

  He stopped at a red light. “We used to date. Not anymore.”

  “And she doesn’t want it to be over?” she asked cautiously.

  “That’s not it. She really just wants a lead. We haven’t gone out in over five months.” Their gazes met. Hers suspicious, his pleading. “All she wants is a lead.”

  “Okay.”

  But it wasn’t okay. The feel-good mood they’d found seemed lost. Fuck Judith Holt! She’d done exactly what she’d threatened to do. Ruin his date.

  He pulled up in Annie’s parking lot and turned off the engine. The western sky still held a hint of color, the street lights buzzed overhead spitting out wattage.

  She faced him. “It was a nice evening.”

  He exhaled. “It was until a few minutes ago. I don’t want…” His gaze lifted past her out the window and he saw…“Shit!”

  “Don’t want what?” she asked.

  “Isn’t that your car?”

  Chapter Eleven

  Oh, God,” Annie said when she saw Shut up, bitch spray-painted in bright red across her driver’s door. Chills ran like tiny spiders down her spine.

  She grabbed for the door handle, he grabbed her arm. “Stay here.” He reached into his shirt and pulled out a gun.

  Her breath caught. He’d had a gun on him the whole time.

  “It’s going to be alright,” he said.

  No, it wasn’t! He had a gun. And someone had…

  Pressing a hand above her left breast where her heart thudded against her chest bone, she watched Mark exit the car. He held the gun out, looking left then right. Looking like a cop ready to shoot someone. Someone who was part of her mother’s family. Someone her mom loved.

  Oh, God, don’t shoot anyone!

  He eased up to the car. She bolted out.

  Swinging around, he frowned. “I said—”

  “Don’t shoot anyone.”

  “Get back in the car while I check out your apartment?”

  Panic shot through her. “Pirate!” She took off running, her purse hanging off her shoulder bounced against her side.

  “Annie, stop!” The thumping of his feet against the pavement sounded beside her.

  She only ran faster. He shot forward and took the lead.

  She took the steps up to her apartment two at a time. He was already at her door.

  He caught her by the arm and pressed her against the wall. He leaned in, his cheek against hers. His breath, coming a little fast, feathered against her ear. “Your window is broken,” he whispered. “Someone could still be in there. Give me your keys.”

  She gasped for air.

  “Breathe,” he said doing the same himself.

  While she tried to feed her lungs oxygen, he slipped her purse off her shoulder, fumbling inside until he found her keys. “Now, go to the last door. There.” He pointed down the balcony. “The last one. I’ll tell you when it’s safe.”

  “Pirate,” she managed one word.

  “I’ll find him. Go stand where I told you. Understand?” His expression was firm, his words almost gentle, as if he knew she needed gentle. Her heart rocked against her rib cage. What would she have done had he not been here?

  She nodded.

  “Say it. Tell me you understand, Annie. I can’t have you running inside the apartment.”

  “I understand.”

  “Go.” He swiped his fingertips across her cheek, the touch soft and comforting, so opposite of the emotional storm happening inside her.

  On weak knees, she moved down the landing to the last door.

  “Police!” she heard him say and he disappeared inside her apartment.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later Annie sat on her sofa holding a nervous Pirate, watching Mark walk in from checking her car with two uniformed officers. In his hand, he had the carryout containers from the restaurant.

  The police arrived minutes after he’d gone into the apartment. Her next-door neighbor had spotted the broken glass and called the police.

  Mark glanced at her and offered a reassuring smile. It didn’t work.

  Strangers buzzed around her apartment making her dizzy. Mark had either been on the phone or dealing with the police. A rock the size of a golf ball sat in the middle of her living room. According to Mark’s assessment, it didn’t appear as if anyone had come inside.

  To his credit, nothing looked out of place, but it felt as if everything had been contaminated. Even if they hadn’t come inside, they’d been here. They knew where she lived.

  She thought of Fran missing, and the possibility that the person who’d thrown the rock was the same person responsible for Fran’s disappearance. The same person who killed Jenny. Her stomach churned.

  How did anyone even know where Annie lived?

  An ugly answer surfaced. Her mom.

  “No.” The word slipped off her lips, and guilt for even considering it curled up in her chest. She recalled seeing the nasty words spray-painted on her car and realized what she hadn’t seen. Her mom’s car. Had her mom…?

  She set Pirate on the sofa and moved outside to confirm.

  Gripping the banister of the second-story landing, she stared out at the parking lot. The lights positioned on high poles offered her just enough clarity to see what wasn’t there.

  Her mom’s Toyota Avalon was gone. Her mom had been here. Her mom’s car had been parked next to Annie’s. Had her mom not seen Annie’s car? Why hadn’t she called Annie?

  What did this mean? Nothing, she told herself. Her mom wouldn’t do this. And she wouldn’t let anyone do it. But Annie would’ve never thought her mom would have lied all these years, either. That she’d let someone get away with murdering a child.

  “You okay?” Mark’s voice echoed behind her. His hand came to rest on her shoulder.

  “Yeah.” The lie slipped off her lips.

  His touch hurt. Suspecting her mom hurt. Fran missing hurt.

  She had to tell him. “My mom’s car is gone.”

  Even though she’d expected it, the flash of suspicion on his face hurt. “Do you think—”

  “She wouldn’t have done this.” And she believed it even more now.

  “Did she call you?”

  “No.”

  “Does anyone besides your mom know where you live?”

  The question ran over her nerves before it hit against her heart. “She wouldn’t do this.”

  He ran a hand over his face. “I’m not saying she did. I’m just trying to figure this out.” He exhaled and shook his head. “It’s apparent that her family is involved. And your mom appears to be on their side. I have to look at this from all angles.”

  Annie couldn’t deny anything he said. She stood there, the night air too hot. “Mom probably mentioned where I lived. When I was at the funeral I learned that…she talked to them about me.”

  “Talked about you how? What do you mean?”

  She almost told him, about her loss of jobs, about the students she’d been certain had been abused. Told him about seeing a shrink, about the restraining order.

  But he didn’t trust easily. And if he knew this…She needed him to believe in her. Besides, her past didn’t have anything to do with Jenny’s case.

  “About me losing a job. I’m sure she told them I moved to Anniston.”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “I love her, Mark. She’s my mom.”

  He glanced down. “You realize you’re going to have to talk to her eventually, and I’m going to have to speak with her, too.”

  “But you’ll be nice.”

  He frowned. “Nice doesn’t come easy for me.” His arm slipped around her as if to soften the blow of his words.

  Only it didn’t work. And she only thought her life was a mess before. “Did the p
olice get anything?”

  “No. And your apartment’s security cameras aren’t working.”

  “So we’ve got nothing,” she said, her throat tight.

  “Pretty much.”

  Annie closed her eyes as fear and despair took up residence in her chest. Mark pulled her a little closer and she let him.

  * * *

  “No,” Annie said an hour later. “I’m fine.” She continued to scratch Pirate under his chin. She just wished Isabella was here and she could go crash on her sofa.

  She stared at the broken window. She’d swept up the glass. Mark had helped. Leaning on him out on the balcony had helped her even more. That made her feel slightly disloyal to her mom.

  Pirate pawed at her to keep rubbing him. The Anniston police had gone, and her feline was calmer and demanding his nightly affection.

  Mark dropped beside her on the sofa. “I don’t mean…I’m talking about me sleeping on the sofa.”

  “I know, but I don’t think it’s necessary.” Pirate reached his paw out and touched Mark’s arm. Mark gave the cat a quick rub behind his ear. Pirate purred then ran off.

  It was almost eleven on a weeknight. It felt as if everyone had gone to bed. It felt as if she should be in bed. Not that she’d sleep. Not a wink after what happened.

  “Your place isn’t secure,” he said. “Let me stay. Just tonight until your window is replaced.”

  “But—”

  “I don’t want to scare you, but you’re an eyewitness to a possible murder.”

  She caught the possible part. He still didn’t believe her. But he was here. Helping. Holding. And investigating. That had to be enough. Didn’t it?

  He continued, “Your cousin, also a witness, is missing. Someone was here to do God only knows what.”

  He wasn’t helping her sleeping issue. And with those facts, she couldn’t see how he could still doubt her. “I’ll be fine. Isn’t it unlikely that this person would come back?”

  A loud crash brought a yelp out of her, and she grabbed Mark’s arm. When she looked down she saw Pirate had pushed a glass off the kitchen table. Great. More glass to sweep up.

  She released her grip. Mark met her gaze dead-on. “You’re not fine. Let me stay. A practically platonic sleep-on-the-sofa night. Practically because I’ll demand a good night kiss.” His smile came slow and sexy.

  Knowing how afraid she was, and trying not to think about how good his kisses were, she patted the sofa. “It is comfortable.”

  “I know. I checked before I offered.” He grinned.

  “What about your dog?”

  “I have a doggy door. I fed him before I came here.”

  “I’ll get you some blankets and pillows.”

  “And I’ll get out the cheesecake.” He stood up. “You gotta try it.”

  * * *

  When she brought in the bedding, two plates of cheesecake and two glasses of milk adorned the coffee table, and Mark was sweeping up the glass. “Do you dust and vacuum, too?” she asked.

  Armed with an easy smile, he answered, “Nah. I mowed yards for years and had to learn to wield a broom to sweep off driveways. I’ve never learned the fine art of vacuuming or dusting.”

  She dropped the bedding in a chair and the lawn mowing info away in her mental what-I-know-about-him file, because she got the feeling the little slips of his past were probably all she’d get.

  She grabbed the dustpan and held it for him as he swept up the glass. She emptied the dustpan into the trash, then they both sat on the sofa.

  He held a plate and fork to her. “I’m waiting to see your face when you try this.”

  “And if I don’t like it?”

  His brows tightened. “Then we’ll have to end the relationship,” he said. “I can’t date anyone with poor taste.”

  She laughed. “Then let’s see if I can get out of that good night kiss.”

  Forking a small bite, she closed her lips around the utensil. Flavors exploded on her tongue. Salted caramel, pecan, a hint of coffee, and smooth sweetness of cheesecake danced in her mouth. “Damn, I’m gonna have to kiss you.”

  Laughing, he took his fork and cut off a bite from her plate. She pulled the plate back. “I think you’ve got your own.”

  He pointed his fork at her. “Fine…but noted. The girl doesn’t share.”

  “It’s the only-child syndrome, and only when something is really good.” She cut off another bite.

  He picked up his plate. “I get it. I don’t like to share, either. Actually, I split one piece. There’s another slice in your fridge.”

  “So we’re eating yours, huh?”

  He laughed. He ate another bite of cheesecake, studying her as if he had something to say.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Back to the not-sharing thing. The red roses…?” He motioned toward the breakfast table. “Are you involved with someone?”

  “No. My friend was, and…she was going to toss them, but brought them to me instead.”

  “Good to know,” he said.

  Since he’d asked a question, she decided it was fair he give her one. “Other than the Judith Holt thing, should I watch out for other disgruntled exes?” Then she tossed in a second question: “Have you been married?”

  “No and no. You?”

  She sliced another bite of cheesecake. “No. Came close. You?”

  “Close.”

  She didn’t ask him what happened, because she wasn’t willing to reveal the answer about herself. It would expose her whole considered-crazy past. Because that was why Ted dumped her. How had he put it? You need to get things straight in your head before you and I take the next step.

  She slid another bite into her mouth. Salted caramel dripped from the spoon, and she savored the taste and pushed away all thoughts of Ted. “This is better than sex.”

  He cut his eyes at her. “Then you haven’t been having sex with the right person.”

  Okay, she really should learn to keep her mouth shut. He dished his last bite into his mouth.

  Heavy footsteps sounded outside her door. She looked that way, and saw he did the same. But the steps kept going. Accepting his offer to stay felt right.

  She put the fork down and pushed it toward him. “Now I’ll share. I can’t eat another bite.”

  “But the bite I want is right…here.” He leaned forward, pressed his lips to the side of her mouth and kissed and licked the obvious caramel away.

  His warm, now-sweet lips shifted ever so slightly and met hers. She closed her eyes and let it happen. His taste complemented the cheesecake.

  She inched closer, wanting more. He obliged. The kiss deepened. Their tongues danced. His hand came around her neck, positioning her head so the kiss went even deeper.

  She lost the ability to think and savored the happy place where her whole body tingled and left nerve endings sparking to life and begging for more. She reached up and wrapped her hand around his neck. He caught her and pulled her closer.

  Before she knew it, she sat on his lap, straddling his pelvis. His hands moved over her. Her back, her shoulders, her waist. His thumbs inched up her rib cage and caressed the edges of her breasts. Her nipples tightened, wanting, needing, a more deliberate touch.

  She let out a low moan. He matched it. His hips shifted and she felt a bulge in his jeans. Realizing where this was heading gave her a start.

  He must have felt it because he ended the kiss. His blue eyes, with heat and want, met hers.

  “We should…stop.” He brushed a finger over her lips that felt wet and swollen. “I think we’re coming close to crossing the line of ‘practically platonic.’”

  She breathed in air, seeking logic. “Yeah.” She lifted off his lap. “It’s late.”

  “Yeah.” He tugged on the legs of his jeans as if things had gotten too tight. She fought the desire to glance down to see how tight.

  She stood. “There’s a sheet in there. Do you want me to put it on?”

  “No. I got it.”
He stood. “I didn’t mean for the kiss to…”

  She nodded and started down the hall. One step. Two. She turned around. He stood there watching her. “There’s clean towels hanging up in the bathroom.”

  “Thanks.” He wiped a hand over his face.

  “I’m going to…bed.”

  He nodded.

  She nodded. Damn. Damn. Damn.

  Then without thought, without the least bit of shame, she said, “Would you, by any chance, like to join me?”

  His eyes widened and he started moving toward her. Slow. Steady. “I would but, uh…what about my promise to…”

  “I’ll take the fall for it,” she said breathlessly.

  “No one’s falling.” He smiled and swooped her up.

  There was only one tiny part of her that said this was a mistake, but all her other parts, the ones aching to feel his touch, won over.

  She put her hands around his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. He carried her to the bedroom.

  He lowered her onto the bed and settled in beside her. His mouth found hers again, then devoured her lips, then trailed kisses down her neck. Licking, kissing, nipping.

  His hand shifted under her pink blouse. He cupped her breasts, his thumbs found her tight nipples. She moaned.

  His palm smoothed its way down her rib cage, past her waist to the hem of her skirt. With confidence, he slipped his hand up between her thighs. The sweet ache had her holding her breath, and damp heat pooled inches from his touch.

  His mouth came back to hers. But the kiss ended too quickly. He stood up, slowly unbuttoned his shirt, and let it slip off his shoulders. She saw the gun holster.

  “Do you always carry a gun?”

  “Not now.” He removed the holster and gun and sat it on her nightstand, then pulled his white T-shirt over his head. Muscles rippled as his arms went up.

  Her breath caught at the need to touch the sculpted muscles, bare chest, and warm skin. He had a dusting of dark hair covering his chest and a thin line of hair trailed down from his navel into his jeans.

  He dropped down beside her, then kissed the edge of her lips.

  Kissed as if he had all night. She let her hands move over his bare back, savoring the smooth skin. His hand eased over her breast—bringing her nipple taut again. Somehow, without her even realizing it, he had her shirt unbuttoned.