Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  Isabella sighed. “He’d never see it. All he wants to do is try to fix things.”

  “Then answer the door just wearing that.”

  “And then what?” Isabella said.

  “Let the panty melting begin. Talk later.”

  Her friend drew in a sharp breath that held no humor. “He’d never forgive me.”

  “Maybe or maybe not. Maybe the person having a hard time forgiving is you.”

  “Jose didn’t do anything for me to forgive.”

  “I don’t mean forgive him. I mean forgive yourself. You were seventeen, scared. It’s time to let it go.”

  * * *

  “So she died from a fall?” Juan asked Mark.

  “Yeah.” While waiting at the airport Mark remembered the call from Stone.

  “That’s odd,” Connor said. “Death by fall is a murder of opportunity.”

  “I know,” Mark said. “It feels off. But no matter what, there’s still the matter of the kidnapping.”

  They stood at Gate C23 waiting for the flight from Florida to arrive. They called the airlines and confirmed Gary Coleman had boarded. Since he’d gone through security check, chances were he wasn’t armed. At least they hoped not.

  “Why does this case feel different?” Connor asked.

  “It’s a kid,” Juan answered.

  “The Kemp case was a kid,” Connor said. “This feels like more.”

  Mark didn’t answer. He knew why it was more for him.

  “Maybe because we found her,” Juan said. “We had fun dragging that lake and then we found her and felt almost guilty for having fun.”

  Neither Mark nor Connor added anything. But Juan had a point.

  Mark’s phone rang. He looked at the screen. The frown stirred all the way from his gut to his lips. Judith Holt’s number flashed across his screen. What the hell did she want? He hit decline.

  “Girlfriend?” Connor asked.

  “No,” Mark snapped then saw a mother and two kids waiting to board the plane Coleman was supposed to arrive on. “Let’s not take this guy here.”

  Juan nodded. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  Within a few minutes, the passengers started unloading. The three of them separated so as not to call attention to themselves. The rate of departing passengers slowed down to a crawl.

  Had the airlines gotten it wrong? Had Coleman not boarded the plane?

  Just then a big redheaded man walked out with his carry-on luggage. He looked unhappy. Considering he’d come from his parents’ funeral, it was understandable. Unfortunately, it wasn’t going to get any better.

  Mark followed about eight feet behind Coleman. Both Connor and Juan moved to the other side of the walkway. Dogging the man’s steps, Mark remembered Coleman’s kids. Now, those kids would grow up without a dad.

  When Coleman went into the elevator, Mark got on with him. Connor and Juan followed.

  When the doors closed, Mark gave Juan and Connor the nod. He turned to face the murder suspect. “Mr. Coleman?”

  The man appeared shocked. “Do I know you?”

  Mark braced himself as he opened his coat to show his badge. “Detective Mark Sutton. I’m with the Anniston PD.”

  The man’s shoulders tightened and Mark swore it was going to end ugly. “You might take on one or even two of us, but not three. Why don’t you come down to the precinct with us willingly?”

  The man closed his eyes, opened them, then raked a hand over his face. “What the fuck took you so long?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Annie pulled up to the white, one-story brick house in a nice neighborhood. She was twenty minutes late.

  All the houses had acre lots. She wondered if the house had belonged to Mark’s parents. Or maybe detectives made more than teachers.

  Mark had called her about an hour ago to apologize for not calling, and added he’d been tied up with a case. She assured him it was okay. She planned on telling him later about Sam Reed’s visit in person.

  She searched for an address on the mailbox but didn’t see one. Her GPS said she’d arrived. But how many times had her GPS lied to her? And not just the car’s GPS, but the one guiding her life.

  For one second, she worried that was what this relationship was—a bad turn.

  Nudging her doubt aside, she snagged her phone and dialed his number.

  “You lost?” he answered.

  “Depends. Is your house a white brick one-story?” The curtain in the window pulled back.

  “Come in.” A smile rode his words.

  The door opened as she moved toward the porch.

  She’d no sooner crossed the threshold when he took her bag and then her. The kiss wasn’t let’s-go-to-bed as much as I-missed-you. Even with her doubts, she knew how he felt.

  When the kiss ended, he smiled. “You. This. Is the best part of my day.”

  “Really?”

  He ran a finger over her lips. “So you didn’t miss me?”

  “I did.” She heard a big dog barking. “I’m guessing that’s Bacon.”

  “Yup, I put him out until you’re ready to meet him.”

  The barking increased in tempo and volume. “Is he friendly?”

  “Too much. Unfortunately, he has one bad habit. I’ve tried to break him of it, but nothing worked.”

  “What bad habit?” she asked, a little leery.

  “He’s a crotch smeller. Until he gets into your business, he won’t be happy.”

  Laughter bubbled out of her. “I thought you were going to tell me he was a humper. I can handle my crotch being sniffed more than I can my leg being screwed.”

  His laugh came out as free as hers. “This…this is why I like you.” He pulled her against him. “I needed this.” His tone told her he wasn’t exaggerating.

  “Bad day?” She saw a touch of frustration in his eyes.

  “Not anymore.”

  “What happened?” She ran her palms up his torso, stopping to press them on his warm and wide chest.

  “We solved a case but—”

  “The Talbot case?” The visual of Brittany twirling in her tutu filled her mind.

  “Yeah.” The tenor in his voice deepened.

  “How can that make for a bad day? I’d think you’d want—”

  “I do. It’s just…it’s a mixed bag of ugly.” He paused. “The guy we arrested, he didn’t mean to kill her. He admitted to kidnapping her. But he just…wanted to make someone listen to him. He hadn’t intended to hurt her. He took her to a construction site and she fell. It was an accident.”

  “Was it her father?” She noted his surprise at her question. “I followed the case in the news.”

  “No, but…the father’s going to blame himself. And the mom is going to learn she was betrayed by two people she loves. A bunch of bad mistakes that ended in a kid’s death. Like I said, a bag of ugly.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  His dog continued barking. “Don’t be.” His shoulders tightened as if he wished he hadn’t spoken his mind. “It’s my job.”

  Her gut said it was more than a job. She recalled Fred saying cops had baggage.

  “You ready to meet Bacon?” Mark asked.

  “Yeah. Not sure my crotch is, though.”

  He laughed, chasing away the sad shadows that had played in his expression. He brushed his lips against hers. Soft and sweet, and loaded with anticipation. Pulling away, he opened the back door.

  A big yellow Lab barreled through the door. Mark tried to catch it, but the canine was faster. “I swear he won’t hurt you,” Mark called out. “Bacon, sit!”

  Bacon didn’t sit.

  He bounced toward her, and his big black nose went right to her crotch.

  Mark repeated, “Bacon, sit!”

  The dog obeyed, gazing up at her with a look of approval while his tail swish-swished across the hardwood floors in happy mode.

  Mark chuckled. “You aced the sniff test.”

  “Good to know.” She petted the
dog as his whole body wagged.

  Mark picked up her bag. “I’ll put this in the bedroom.”

  She followed Mark, and Bacon followed her down the all-white hall, which had no wall art. They passed four other doors, two on each side, until they reached the door at the end.

  “This is big,” she said.

  “It’s just twenty-nine hundred square feet, but it’s well laid out. It’s a four-bedroom, but I use one as a weight room and one as a computer room.”

  She walked into his bedroom, also with white, unadorned walls. Up against the back wall was a king-sized bed. A black bedspread covered the mattress. Lining the opposite wall was a dresser with a fifty-two-inch TV sitting on top. A chest of drawers was stationed on the wall with the door to the bathroom. Like the other rooms, it was neat, but somehow sterile, stark, like an apartment before someone moved in and made it their own. Had Mark just moved here?

  It hit her again, how little she knew about Mark. She made it her mission to remedy that.

  “All the bedrooms besides the master are small.” He set her bag on his bed.

  “Compared to my apartment, it’s huge.”

  “Yeah, but you’re so small. It fits you.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “I like your size.”

  While she glanced around searching for clues and hints of the big man living here, he came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her, and kissed her neck. She tilted her head to the side and savored the moist feel of his lips sliding across sensitive skin.

  Yup, melting into my panties.

  She turned on tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. The kiss went hot really fast.

  He pulled away. “We should leave the room before I throw you on the bed.”

  The sweet tingle whispering up and down her spine had her wanting just that. Sobering her was the realization she had no willpower when it came to him. What was wrong with her?

  Or maybe it wasn’t what was wrong with her, but with her past lovers.

  He took her hand. “Come on. I’ll show you the rest of the house.”

  He opened doors as they walked down the hall. Each room was void of personality. Was it a man thing? She visualized her ex-fiancé Ted’s apartment, and remembered the personal items there. Family pictures. His degree hanging on the wall. A few old trophies, football paraphernalia. It wasn’t just a Mars-Venus issue.

  “Wine?” he offered, as they stopped at the kitchen.

  “Sure.” While he uncorked the wine, she looked around at the granite countertops and an island. “Do you cook?”

  “I’m better on the grill or a smoker.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” It was one of the few things she knew about him. She noted again the bare walls. “How long have you lived here?”

  “Six years.” He handed her a glass of red wine.

  “Oh,” she said, not meaning to say it aloud.

  “‘Oh,’ what?”

  “Nothing, I just…You don’t have personal stuff around.”

  “Personal stuff?”

  “Photos or keepsakes like old trophies or shot glasses you got from vacation.” Worried it sounded like an insult, she focused on the wine. “This is good.”

  “Yeah.” He looked around. “I have some photos.” He walked into the living room, grabbed a stack of coasters off the coffee table, and handed them to her.

  She looked at the images behind the glass on the coasters, four different shots of Bacon. “Okay, it’s something.” Smiling, she set them back on the coffee table.

  “And there’s more.” He slid his arm behind her, curled his hand around the curve of her waist, and led her into a game room at the back of the house.

  The huge room had more personality. On the back wall was a large picture of dogs playing poker. On one side of the room was a pool table, on the other was a Ping-Pong table.

  “My knickknacks.” He motioned to the two tables.

  She grinned, her eyes going back to the picture. “You play poker?”

  “Me and some guys play twice a month. Tomorrow afternoon. But not until four, so you don’t have to rush off tomorrow.”

  She spotted something in the corner of the room. A saxophone on a stand. She recalled him saying he liked jazz. “You play?”

  “Used to.” His light tone changed somehow and made her even more curious.

  “Play me something.”

  “No. I can’t.”

  “Just something short.”

  Emotion flashed in his eyes. “I’ll play you a game of pool.” He grabbed two cue sticks off the wooden rack on the wall. “You know how to play?”

  “I played before, but it’s been years. I’m sure I suck at it.”

  “I don’t see you sucking at anything.” He chalked the cues.

  She remembered. “Oh, I…meant to tell you that my uncle, Sam Reed, stopped by today.”

  “What?” He set the cues on the table. “When?”

  “After you left the coffee shop.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He wanted me to go with him somewhere else to talk. I wouldn’t. He got upset and tried to grab my arm. Fred and the others in the shop saw it and told him to leave.”

  The wrinkle between Mark’s brows appeared. “Why didn’t you call me?”

  “I texted you.”

  “Sorry. Next time let me know it’s important. Tell me everything he said.”

  She did, and added, “I got proof. I took a picture of his car driving off.” She pulled her phone out.

  He stared at the picture, then lifted his gaze. “Your mom knows you hang out at the coffee shop, right?”

  “Yeah.” Annie knew what he was insinuating. It hurt. “She’s trying to stop me from talking, but she wouldn’t send someone to hurt me.”

  His blue eyes met hers. “I’m sorry.”

  Was he sorry because he thought Annie was wrong, or sorry because of her situation?

  “Give me just a minute, I want to call someone about this.”

  He grabbed his phone and dialed.

  While he talked, Annie went back to worrying. About the case. About them. But why? The obvious answer bubbled to the surface. Fred’s advice. Was she giving the sweet ol’ man’s advice too much merit?

  * * *

  Adam Harper leaned back in his office chair and cupped his hands behind his head. It was Friday evening. He should be out having fun, drinking beer with the guys. Maybe taking some sweet woman to dinner. His mind immediately conjured up an image of JoAnne Lakes.

  Pushing that thought away, he straightened and went back to going through another box of moldy files he’d had Rusty get out of the basement of the courthouse.

  Something JT recalled last night had Adam going on a fishing expedition. If I remember correctly, Sheriff Carter said that this wasn’t the first time the Reed name had come up in an investigation. That’s why he even agreed to look into the Jenny Reed case for the Anniston PD.

  JT didn’t recall what kind of an investigation it’d been. Probably didn’t have anything to do with the Jenny Reed case, but Adam’s mind kept wanting to play connect the dots. Instinct maybe, or perhaps just boredom. He’d needed something to fill his empty life. The Reed case fit the bill.

  Not that he wasn’t frustrated. He’d been out to talk to George Reed three times. George still was either out of town or avoiding him.

  Adam had called the man’s cell, and he had yet to get him. He’d dropped by and spoken with Sam Reed, but the man offered nothing new. Except Adam picked up on the man’s rage, which he kept hidden right under his skin.

  This whole thing smelled fishy. Hence, his fishing expedition.

  Adam’s cell phone rang. Seeing it was Detective Sutton, he took the call. “I was thinking about calling you.”

  “You got something?”

  “Just a shitload more of questions. And a missing George Reed. He won’t even take my calls.”

  “You think he’s just avoiding you?”

  “Hell, yeah
. But I don’t have enough reason to go drag his ass back.”

  “Yeah. Look, the other uncle, Sam Reed, paid Annie a visit. He tried to get her to go with him, grabbed her to get her to leave with him. I’m thinking it’s time I come down and we interview everyone separately. Don’t give them warning. Let’s just show up at the doors.”

  “Good idea.” Adam leaned back in his chair. “What about Tuesday?”

  “Perfect.”

  “You got anything on the missing cousin?” Adam asked.

  “No.” Sutton’s voice tightened. “Frustrating as hell.”

  “Tell me about it.” Adam leaned forward. “I might just pay a Friday night call to Doris Roberts again. See if she’s heard from her daughter yet.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An hour later, Annie pushed her plate back. “That was good.”

  Mark had suggested ordering in instead of going out.

  After helping put the leftovers in the fridge, he pulled her back in the game room to finish their game of pool—which she sucked at!

  Standing on the other side of the table, she watched him. “Why did you become a cop?”

  “Just seemed to fit.” He never looked up. “Right corner,” he said, as if the ball knew to obey. One tap and it dropped in with a clunk.

  With that game done, he tried to give her a few lessons. Standing behind her, his pelvis against her backside, he helped her guide a ball into a hole. He didn’t pull away right away, but kissed her neck.

  “Now you do it.” He set the ball out.

  Feeling tingly from his closeness, she chalked her cue, took a deep breath, then leaned over and tapped the ball. It darted across the table, bouncing here, bouncing there, but never fell in a hole. “See,” she told him. “I suck.”

  He laughed. “You’re hitting it too hard.”

  “How about let’s move to Ping-Pong?” she said.

  “You play that?”

  “A little,” she lied. As a teen, she’d worked at a camp for kids. They’d had a game room, and she’d found out she had a knack for Ping-Pong.

  He kissed her. “I have to warn you, I’m good at that, too.”

  “Don’t brag,” she said.

  “You know what else I’m good at?” The heat in his eyes answered his question. A flashback of just how good he was at it played in her mind.