Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  When that kiss ended, she put a hand on his chest. “Come on, I’m going to teach you how to play Ping-Pong.”

  “Ah, earlier you said you played a little. Now you’re going to teach me. How about we make it interesting?”

  “Interesting?”

  “Every game you lose, you lose a piece of clothing.”

  She laughed. “Strip Ping-Pong.”

  “Hey, if you are as good as you say, you’ll keep the shirt on your back. And get to see me take mine off.”

  She grinned. “Get ready to get naked.”

  He brought the wine and glasses in. As they started playing, she realized he was better than she thought. It wouldn’t hurt to have a slight advantage. She purposely lost the first set and took off her shirt, playfully and slow.

  His eyes widened when he saw the bra, the new one she’d bought, of black and pink lace.

  “Nice,” he said.

  He started to walk over and she held up her hand. “No. Let’s play.”

  He chuckled. “But I’m warning you, either way you’re losing those clothes.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “A promise.” His smile was so sexy, she nearly missed his serve ball.

  Nearly. He didn’t even win a point.

  He lost his shirt. And made a show of taking it off, like she did. “You know what I think?” he asked, picking up the paddle. “I think you purposely lost the first game knowing I’d be distracted.”

  “Please. Do I look sneaky like that?”

  “Hell, yes. Standing there in your sexy lacy bra. You’re evil.”

  She served.

  He lost his shoes.

  “You out-and-out lied to me. Were you a champion Ping-Pong player?”

  He lost his socks.

  Bacon collected them and Mark, barefoot and shirtless, chased him down to collect them.

  He lost his pants.

  “Don’t you worry about hurting my ego?” he asked as he unzipped.

  “No. Your ego’s so big I think it can take a few hits.”

  He lost his underwear.

  She laughed so hard when he dropped his boxers.

  “Are you happy? I’m naked.”

  Yup, she was. And he was extraordinary.

  Grinning so hard her jaw hurt, she said, “Really happy.” And she was. How long had it been since she’d felt like this? As crazy as her life was, he made her happy.

  Then the six feet plus of naked man came sauntering toward her. She couldn’t stop laughing. With slow hands, he took her clothes off. And they made each other exceptionally happy.

  * * *

  Adam pulled into the dirt driveway. There were four cars parked out front. Getting out, he hitched up his pants and headed to the porch. The light was on, but it wasn’t bright. When he was almost at the door, he heard yelling. As a sheriff, he’d visited dysfunction at its best, and this one wasn’t disappointing.

  He paused.

  The front door swung open and a woman ran out and right into his arms.

  He caught her. A soft, sweet smell rose from her hair. She lifted her face. But before he even focused on her he knew who it was, JoAnne Lakes.

  “Sorry.” She went to pull back, then didn’t. Not for that extra few seconds. Her soft breasts came against his chest. How long had it been since he’d held a woman?

  “Sorry.” Her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She pulled away.

  He nodded and gave himself a mental kick in the pants for enjoying it so much. “It’s okay.”

  “Do you have news on Fran?”

  Her question came out full of honesty and concern, and again, his gut said this woman wasn’t behind everything. The fact she couldn’t answer anything about the missing Jenny Reed with the same honesty confused the hell out of him, though.

  “No, nothing on Fran. Her mother hasn’t heard from her?”

  “No.”

  He nodded. “Is George Reed here?”

  Her eyes tightened and went to the door. “Now isn’t a good time. He’s been drinking. Could you come back tomorrow?”

  Adam noted the absence of alcohol on her breath. He considered doing as she asked, but he had a job to do. “I need to speak with him.”

  “But tomorrow—”

  “He’s been avoiding me for days.”

  She remained silent.

  “Maybe you could clear it up for me and tell me the truth.”

  “I have,” she said with confidence. “We don’t know where Fran is.”

  “I believe you when you tell me that. It’s Jenny I’m talking about.”

  He heard her inhale. “We…we’ve told you.”

  He stared into her still-damp eyes. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too damn pretty to lie?”

  She took another gulp of air and he mentally gave himself another foot in his ass. He shouldn’t go soft with her. “Do you know what this is doing to your daughter? Doesn’t she deserve for you to be on her side of this?”

  She looked slapped. “You don’t…It’s not—”

  The front door swung open again. “JoAnne,” a deep voice called. “Get in here. Fuck it!”

  Fuck it, was right. Adam believed the woman was about to spill the truth. He glanced away from her to Sam Reed’s cold, bloodshot eyes. “That’s no way to talk to a lady.”

  Sam glared at him and then at his sister. JoAnne offered him a brief look of thanks then, like a whipped puppy, hurried back inside.

  “What do you need?” The man’s whiskey-laced breath crossed over into Adam’s personal space.

  “To see George.”

  “He isn’t here.”

  “Your sister said otherwise.”

  The man’s scowl deepened. “Why can’t you leave us alone? We stay away from people, why can’t everyone stay away from us?”

  “I’m told you paid Annie Lakes a visit.”

  “She’s family. I went to see her. Is that against the law?”

  “I wouldn’t plan another visit.”

  “You talk tough.” Sam swayed on his feet.

  “I’m tougher than I sound. Get George out here.” Adam stood to his full height.

  “God damn it! I’m here.” George Reed stepped onto the porch. “Since when do people not respect a grieving family?”

  “Since your niece is missing. And you were the last person to see her.”

  “My sister told you I took her home. What’s the big deal?” Spittle sprayed out of the man’s mouth as he spoke.

  “She only told me that after I spotted her daughter’s car in her garage. Why would she lie?”

  “She was probably drunk. Reed women can’t handle their drink.”

  Neither can the men. “And what home did you take her to?”

  “To her boyfriend’s place in Austin.”

  “Her boyfriend says she never returned.”

  “Well, the boyfriend’s lying. I watched her sashay her drunk ass up to the trailer.” George collapsed against the door. “I don’t get why you guys are getting all wrapped up in what my niece Annie told you. You haven’t checked on her, have you?” He whistled and twirled a finger beside his temple.

  * * *

  Mark could feel the light tickle of Annie’s hair fanned across his chest. He glanced down at her, sleeping, looking so…peaceful, so innocent. A little of that feeling leaked into him.

  He picked up a strand of hair. It glided across his fingers.

  A slice of heaven. The old man’s warning about not hurting her echoed. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause her pain. This wasn’t pain. This was good. Good for him. Good for her. That sad look he’d initially spotted in her eyes, the one he recognized from his own reflection, had lessened since they’d been seeing each other. They laughed. Had fun.

  But for how long? The question tightened the muscles in his neck. Was he capable of having a long-term relationship? The longest he’d had was eight months almost two years ago with Shane, a nurse. He hadn’t been the one to walk, but she blam
ed him. He’d been working the Evans case, the second dead-kid case he’d worked. A ten-year-old boy gone forever. It hadn’t been the kid’s father, but his uncle.

  The case had brought it all back. The rage, the guilt, the pain. Unlike what the old man at the coffee shop had said, he’d never taken it out on Shane. Not physically. Yeah, he’d snapped at her a few times when she tried to figure him out, tried to fix him.

  You do that when you’re dying inside.

  Was that how he and Annie were going to end?

  Damn it. Why was he going there?

  Annie stirred on his chest. Her eyes opened and with lids half masked, she looked at him. “Tell me a secret.”

  Was she even awake? “A secret?”

  “Yeah, something that lets me inside you.”

  He stared at her pleading expression. “What kind of secret?”

  “Something you’ve never told anyone else.”

  For some insane reason, he wanted to give her what she asked for. Perhaps he wanted to prove that this would work. That he could change. He sifted through his life to find a shareable secret. A safe one.

  “My real dad walked out on my mom. I don’t even remember him.”

  She offered him a sleepy frown and a warm hand to his chest. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  “Me too,” he said. She continued to stare at him with those big, sleepy, caring eyes. He wasn’t completely sure she was fully awake.

  “I want you to play the saxophone for me.”

  “Maybe someday,” he said, not sure that day would come. He realized something right then, something he hadn’t completely put together until now. He didn’t play the saxophone because making music made him happy, and he didn’t think he deserved to be happy. Not when he’d left his sister alone and she died because of it.

  But Annie made him happy, too. Did he deserve her?

  Was that why he seemed to sabotage it at times? Her soft weight sank deeper into him. It felt as if the dip in his shoulder was created for her. She fit against him. Fit him. An hour passed. He was still sifting through his emotions when she jerked awake.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah.” Said with zero confidence.

  “A dream?” He ran his hand over her back—to soothe, to comfort.

  “No, I just remembered.”

  “What?”

  “That Fran came back for me. And I’m not doing a thing to help her.”

  He pulled up closer. “We’re looking for her.”

  “But we aren’t finding her.”

  “We’re doing everything we can.”

  “That doesn’t feel like enough.” She sighed. “And the fact that I’m happy and she could be dead, it doesn’t feel right.”

  Her words made a direct hit. He offered her what he could. A piece of wisdom he rejected himself. “Would being miserable help her?”

  “No, but happy feels wrong.”

  He couldn’t argue with that.

  * * *

  Still wearing her tank-top-and-boy-shorts night set, Annie made the coffee while Mark made the eggs and toast. Waking up in his arms had been like a hug to her lonely soul. Yet once awake that hug stopped feeling right. She wasn’t sure if it was just her, or him, too. He seemed…distant.

  She felt out of her element. As if she’d stepped into someone else’s safe life, in the arms of a man she knew so little about, in a bed that felt comfortable but was not her own, in a room void of personality, in a house that felt as if it had no owner.

  This wasn’t the first time she’d slept with him, so why all the insecurities now? Was it being in his place? Was it…

  “Grab some more butter out of the fridge.” He smiled, but even that didn’t appear real.

  She recalled the late-night pillow talk. “Do you have any pictures of your father?”

  He stopped whipping the eggs. “No.”

  “Did your mom ever talk about him?”

  “No.”

  “Have you ever thought about—”

  “No.” He didn’t look at her. “Can we not talk about that?”

  She emotionally flinched. His tone wasn’t angry, just short. “Sorry. I just…I want to get to know you.”

  He continued to look down. “You do know me.”

  “No. I don’t. Not really. Maybe it’s because we slept with each other too soon.”

  He faced her, he looked apologetic. He looked nervous. “It doesn’t feel too soon to me. I like this, Annie. I really like it. I don’t want to try to analyze it anymore.”

  “You’ve tried to analyze it?”

  “I just want to enjoy it. Is that wrong?”

  “I guess not. I just…Everything feels crazy. Jenny, Fran…” Us.

  He moved in and put his hands on her shoulders. His palms were warm. “You’re in the middle of a murder investigation. It is crazy.” When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I’m going to make some more phone calls today about Fran Roberts.”

  She nodded. “I thought you had a poker game.”

  “Not until this afternoon. Juan, Connor, and I are all going into the office to finish up the paperwork on the Talbot case. I figured I can work in a few calls. And I’m going to go see the retired officer who worked the Reed case years ago.”

  “Do you think he’ll remember anything?” She watched him cook the eggs.

  “It’s a long shot, but who knows.” He dished the eggs into a bowl and set them on the table. She heard the toast pop up, put it on a plate, and set it on the table. They sat down across from each other.

  “Did you dream last night?” he asked as she dished some eggs onto her plate.

  “No, not that I remember. You must be good for me.” She put on her best smile and grabbed the butter. His dog, Bacon, curled up at her feet.

  “The APD has a psychiatrist who talks to victims. He could possibly help you…remember things.”

  The eggs she’d just swallowed lodged in her tonsils. She coughed. “I…I tried that. It didn’t work.”

  “Tried what?”

  “Talking to therapists.”

  “When?”

  “Several years ago.” She picked up her coffee, wanting to shield herself from his questions.

  “Oh, I thought it just started bothering you when you went to the funeral.”

  “I’ve had the dreams for a long time.” She chased the eggs around her plate, feeling his gaze on her, feeling his doubt, and feeling her own dishonesty.

  He leaned back in his chair. “Maybe now it’d be different.”

  “Perhaps.” And just like that all the insecurities of having lost her job, her friends, her fiancé, and her life because people thought she was insane swirled inside her. And now here she was, on the outs with her own mom. Her life was a freaking mess.

  What was she doing starting a relationship? She needed to end it.

  “Do you want me to set it up?” he asked.

  Panic clawed at her rib cage. She pushed out words, praying they sounded calm. Sane. “Can I think about it?”

  “Sure.” He studied her.

  Guilt spread through her body like a virus. She’d gone to him with this and then kept secrets. And she’d done it to protect herself from his opinion. Another reason she shouldn’t have let this happen.

  Tell him the truth. Tell him. Tell him. “There was a time when the dreams were bad. I kind of got obsessed about them.”

  “When you were young?”

  “No, not—” The sound of Mark’s front door opening and shutting silenced her.

  Bacon, warming her feet, pounced up and began barking.

  Mark shot up from the table. He barely got two feet before stopping cold.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice rose.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I thought about knocking, then remembered you gave me your key.”

  Annie couldn’t see the woman, but she recognized the six-o’clock-news voice. She set her fork down, unsure of the proper behavior in
this instance.

  “Get out!” Mark growled.

  “Slow down,” Judith Holt said, her voice drawing nearer. The woman moved in where Annie could see her. And she could see Annie.

  Judith offered Annie her camera-ready smile. “Didn’t mean to intrude. If he’d taken my calls, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  Annie sat there, wishing she had on more clothes.

  The woman faced Mark. “I wanted to ask you a few questions about the Talbot case. Word is you’ve solved it. Congratulations. Again.”

  “I said get the fuck out!” Mark’s voice rose.

  Judith looked back at Annie. “He needs to learn a few manners, doesn’t he?” She refocused on Mark. “Come on, give me something.”

  “I swear I’m going to throw you out!”

  “No you won’t. You’re smarter than that. You know how easily I bruise, and it wouldn’t look good on the news. But you know, I was afraid you’d act this way. So now my problem is which story to run.”

  Mark shot to the table and grabbed his phone. Probably to call the police. Never mind that he was one. Judith, completely calm, kept talking.

  “The story about you dating your star witness in a new case.” She motioned to Annie. “Or the one about some pathetic cold-case detective who’s still trying to save his murdered sister all these years later.”

  Annie took in a sharp breath at the coldness of her statement. Was this his baggage? “Stop!” she said, glaring at the woman.

  Mark’s shoulders swelled with anger. “Leave or I’m picking you up and carrying you out.”

  “Which story?” Her tone was set to purposely annoy. Annie shot up, hoping to stop Mark from acting on his promise.

  “You’re psychotic!” Mark seethed then spoke into the phone. “Send a car to my house now!”

  “I’m going.” She turned on her spiked heels and sashayed toward the door. Looking back, she said, “Here’s my key.” She put it on the TV console.

  The door shutting crackled in the tense air.

  Annie put her hand on Mark’s arm. He jerked away.

  “Never mind,” Mark ground out into the phone then threw it at the sofa.

  “Mark?” Annie said.

  He swung around. “What?”