Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  She heard the bathroom door open.

  “Go away,” she muttered.

  She heard running water. The stall door swung open. Still clutching her middle, she straightened. Mark, looking through dark sunglasses, held out some wet paper towels. “Here.”

  She took his offering. “Go, please.” She wiped her mouth. Feeling zapped of energy, she leaned against the stall wall and closed her eyes. A small shuffling sound brought her eyes open. Mark had moved into the stall. He pulled her against him.

  She needed to push him away—stay angry, not hurt—but she needed someone to hold her. She leaned her forehead onto his shoulder and cried. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

  “You don’t have to.” His strong arms drew her closer. Her cheek rested against his warm chest. His heartbeat sounded in her ear. Her own heart slowed to follow his. His soft breath brushed her temple.

  Safe. He made her feel safe.

  Annie stayed there for several seconds, would’ve stayed longer if her phone hadn’t rung. If the voice in her head hadn’t reminded her that he’d told her it was over. That he’d all but said they were a mistake. The voice that said he was here because he was a cop.

  She pulled away, dug into her purse for her phone and into her soul for enough strength not to cling to a guy who didn’t want her in his life.

  She found her phone and prayed it was her aunt. Then prayed it wasn’t. Isabella’s name flashed on the screen. She walked out of the stall. Mark followed and stood in the middle of the women’s bathroom as if he belonged, as if helping her had been a natural instinct. Why was he putting out mixed messages?

  She took Isabella’s call. “Hey.”

  “Are you home?” Isabella’s tone spoke of smiles and happiness.

  “No. Can I call you later?”

  “Is something wrong?” Isabella asked.

  “I’m at the…morgue.” Her voice shook.

  “The morgue?” Concern spilled into Isabella’s voice.

  It had Annie’s chest tightening again. “They think it’s Fran.”

  “What morgue?”

  “County Morgue. But you don’t—”

  “I’m on my way.” The line went silent.

  Tears filled Annie’s eyes. She started to put her phone away when it rang again. One glimpse at the screen and her heart did a somersault.

  “What’s happening?” her mom asked. “Why would you need—”

  “Give me the fucking phone,” Annie heard a voice in the background say.

  “Why do you need to know if Fran has tattoos?” Doris Roberts yelled. “Don’t you dare tell me they think she’s dead.”

  Annie swallowed her own pain. “They aren’t certain. But they found someone who matches her description.”

  “No! She’s just off somewhere drunk.”

  Annie breathed. “Does she have a tattoo or a birthmark?”

  The cries on the other end of the line told Annie that Doris loved Fran. Her aunt might be a drunk, even a lousy mother, but she loved her daughter. And bam, Annie wished her mom was here for her now.

  “Annie?” Her mom’s voice came back on the line. “Fran has a birthmark on her right shoulder, toward the front. Looks like a heart.”

  And just like that she saw Fran in a pink polka-dotted bathing suit. I’m special, see. I have a heart birthmark. Mama says it makes me special.

  She recalled Doris telling her that she and Fran had been best friends. Annie had not only lost her cousin but a friend whose memories lived deep inside her. Had Annie ever told Fran thank you for coming back for her that night? Would Annie have ended up in a shallow grave had Fran not come back?

  “Call us as soon as you know.” Her mom’s voice brought Annie to the present and with it came guilt. Had Annie’s investigation led to Fran’s death?

  “I love you, Mom.” Annie hung up afraid her mom wouldn’t say it back.

  Mark stepped closer. “I’ll explain that you can’t do this.”

  “No. I will.”

  “You don’t—”

  “I do.” Her lips trembled again. “We’d just seen our cousin dead and being buried, but she came back for me that night. I can go in there for her.”

  She bolted out the bathroom door. In the hall, she looked at the man wearing dull blue scrubs. “I’m ready.”

  He led. She followed. The white, stainless-steel room felt sterile, no color, no emotion. Yet she carried enough of both in her chest to fill the space. A storm of colors called pain, regret, fear, and grief.

  On a stainless-steel table, a body lay covered with a white sheet. The oxygen filling her lungs felt thick. Black fireworks popped off in her vision. Annie hugged herself.

  “Breathe,” said a deep, soothing voice. Mark’s voice. Breathing took energy she didn’t have, her knees weakened. Then Mark’s warmth came against her.

  The doctor walked over to the table. Annie’s lungs refused the next gulp of air. Mark’s hand tightened on her shoulder.

  “I’m here,” he whispered.

  But he wasn’t, her mind said. Not really. He thought she was crazy.

  “I’ll keep her face covered due to her injuries.” Dr. Stone’s words came with empathy.

  She felt herself trembling. The kind of trembling that came from your core, the kind you couldn’t stop.

  Mark drew closer, and she let some of her weight go there.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered again.

  The doctor moved around the table and pulled the sheet down to the body’s shoulders. Another small cloth covered the face. Blond hair a shade darker than Annie’s fanned out around the woman’s head. Dark purple and blue stains circled the woman’s neck.

  Someone had choked her? Someone had put their hands around her neck and squeezed the life out of her?

  Annie’s own throat suddenly felt constricted.

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.

  She gulped air and forced herself to look. The woman’s skin was grayish blue and looked almost plastic. Annie’s gaze shifted to the right shoulder. The smell suddenly crawled up her nose.

  Bile rose up her throat so fast, all she could do was bend at the waist and lose the rest of her breakup ice cream all over the shoes of the guy who’d broken her heart.

  “Here.” More wet paper towels were pushed in her hand. Mark wrapped an arm around her waist and led her out of the room and into the waiting room.

  She collapsed in a chair, unable to stop shaking. Mark sat down. She wanted to lean against him. To feel safe. But it wasn’t safe. He didn’t believe her. He’d said it was over. She found her voice and pushed out the information he needed. “It’s not her. It’s not Fran.”

  He looked surprised. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. “Fran has a birthmark on her”—she reached up—“her right shoulder.”

  Mark took her hand and squeezed. “You did good. Let me tell them and I’ll be right back.”

  Closing her eyes, she tried to chase away the ball of panic bouncing around her empty stomach. Then she remembered she needed to call her mom. That ball wasn’t going away.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Are you sure?” Connor asked. “She seemed really upset.”

  “She’s sure. Fran Roberts has a birthmark on her right shoulder.” He glanced down at the body now covered.

  Stone picked up the sheet. “Not her.”

  Connor stepped closer. “Why did she lose it when she saw the body?”

  “Seriously?” Stone asked. “You puked the first time.”

  Mark walked out.

  Annie was on the phone. He inched closer to listen.

  “I’m sorry I scared you,” Annie said. “I needed—” She bit down on her lip. “I can’t do that.” Pause. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone.” Her voice trembled as she white-knuckled her phone. “I’m hanging up now.”

  The raw pain he heard in her voice made Mark want to hurt the person on the other line. And yet, he’d hurt Annie.

  He sat down. “Your
mom?”

  “Fran’s mom.” She took in a deep breath. “Can I go?”

  She didn’t need to be alone. He wanted to be the one to hold her, help her. To feel her soft weight against him. What he wouldn’t give to be her hero.

  “I’ll take you.”

  “I can drive.” Hurt leaked out with those words and her pain shot right to his gut.

  “You’re shaking. You shouldn’t drive. In fact, if you want to come to my place, I—”

  “No.”

  “Just until—”

  “I don’t need to be around anyone who thinks I’m crazy.” Pain and anger laced her words.

  He deserved it, but…“I never said you were crazy.”

  The front door opened. Isabella rushed in.

  Annie ran into her friend’s open arms. The embrace spoke of friendship and trust. Everything Mark wanted and had a few days ago, but had lost.

  * * *

  Monday morning, low on sleep, high on frustration, Mark went to the coffee shop. Annie hadn’t been here—or so said James, the guy working the counter. While waiting for his coffee, he saw Fred lower his newspaper and frown. The look he shot Mark came with accusations. He’d warned Mark not to hurt Annie, and Mark had done it anyway. Regret and guilt swelled up in his gut. He left without his coffee.

  He drove by the college, looking for her car. He found it. Since she was working, she must be okay. The fact that he was miserable was unimportant.

  Arriving at work, he’d pushed away his Annie frustration and focused on his job. A job that involved solving the Reed case.

  As he approached the door, he heard their voices. When he walked into the room, it went completely silent.

  He read their expressions. “We are not dropping the case.”

  Connor spoke up. “There’s no body, no weapon, and our only witness is someone a DA won’t trust. And the sergeant wants you off the case.”

  Mark’s empty gut churned up acid. “We have a missing kid. A missing witness. And a lying family. And someone spray-painted Annie Lakes’s car, broke her apartment window, and has made threatening phone calls.” He hesitated. “I’ll deal with Brown. We’re solving this case.”

  Doubt still played on their faces. “She’s not making this up,” Mark said. He turned to face Connor. “You saw her at the morgue. Did she look crazy?”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. Or what you believe,” Connor answered. “It’s what a DA will believe.”

  “I’ll make them believe it.”

  “How?” Juan asked.

  “I don’t know, but I will.”

  They nodded. Connor agreed to go to the park and see if they had files about the kid’s disappearance. Juan was doing background checks on all the Reeds. If someone had sneezed wrong, they would find out.

  Mark’s to-do list included finding Officer Ruffin and dealing with Brown. And finding a way to make Annie’s past inconsequential.

  Before he’d thought finding a second witness would be enough; now he wasn’t sure. But by God, he wasn’t giving up.

  Fifteen minutes later, he discovered Ruffin wasn’t at home.

  Back in his car, sweating and frustrated, he contemplated how to make Annie’s story more believable. He was coming up with nothing, when an idea hit. It was a long shot, but he’d take it. He pointed his car toward Houston.

  * * *

  Mark knocked on the door. Officer Banks, the man who’d arrested Annie for breaking the restraining order, answered. Mark had sweet-talked the man’s sergeant into calling Banks to see if he’d speak with Mark on his day off.

  “Detective Sutton, I’m guessing?” Banks asked.

  “That’s me,” Mark answered. “I appreciate you giving me a few minutes.”

  He nodded as he let Mark inside his small home in a well-kept older neighborhood.

  “I’m here about the arrest—”

  “Sergeant told me,” Banks said.

  “You remember the case?”

  “Hard not to since you’re the second person this month who’s called me about it.”

  His words ran around Mark’s head. “Someone else is looking into this?”

  “Yeah. CPS. Children’s Protective Services.”

  “Why?”

  “CPS learned of the restraining order and wanted the facts.”

  “Wait? Why is CPS looking into it?”

  “Recently someone else reported abuse. Sounds like they’re removing the kid from the parents.”

  Annie had been right. Mark had come here hoping to find a crumble of hope and instead found the whole damn pie. “Can you give me the name of the person who spoke with you?”

  “I can do better. I still have her number.”

  * * *

  It was close to five when Mark got back to Anniston. Still reveling in what he’d gotten, he parked at the precinct. His phone dinged with a text. He hoped it was Annie. He’d texted her earlier, but she hadn’t answered.

  He stared at the screen. Not Annie. Mildred.

  Where are you. Sergeant’s having a cow. Needs to see you immediately.

  Mark walked in.

  Mildred frowned when she saw him.

  “I’m going there now.”

  Stepping off the elevator, he headed straight into Brown’s office.

  “Where the hell have you been?” Brown’s chair squeaked. “If you’re drunk—”

  “I’m not. I was following a lead.”

  “You left hours ago. Why didn’t you report in?”

  “It slipped my mind.” Mark dropped into a chair. “What’s up?”

  “You’re off the Reed case.”

  Mark sat back so fast his chair creaked. “No.”

  Brown’s chubby cheeks reddened. “George Reed’s lawyer called to tell me one of my officers is screwing the witness on his case.”

  Mark’s neck muscles locked. So Annie’s mom had spilled the beans. “George is a suspect in the case. You can’t listen to him.”

  “We shouldn’t even be looking at it.”

  Mark’s shoulder muscles cranked up his spine. His posture now was as tense as a plastic soldier. “Since when have murdered-kid cases become insignificant?”

  “Did you know Annie Lakes was fired from her job as an elementary school teacher for making false accusations? One parent had to get a restraining order against her!”

  “I know.” Mark pulled the folded paper from his front pocket and slapped it on Brown’s desk.

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s the names of those four kids. And three CPS case numbers of when they eventually had to remove three of them from their homes. Annie Lakes isn’t crazy. She’s these kids’ hero.”

  Brown glanced down at the paper. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Yes. That’s where I was. At Houston’s CPS office. Before we use it, we’ll have to get a subpoena, because this was given to me off the record.”

  Brown leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. “Fine. Let’s move with the case, but you’re not working it anymore.”

  “I am.”

  He banged his desk. “No!”

  “I’m this close to finding the truth!”

  Brown’s frown, creasing his fat cheeks, didn’t waver. “Let Juan and Connor wrap it up. I got another case I want you to work.”

  “After I finish this one.”

  “No!” Brown’s ears turned red. “It’s an active case. The body of a nine-year-old girl, Candace Kelly, was found over the weekend. Homicide is asking for your help.”

  Mark’s stomach responded by sending acid up his throat. He couldn’t do it. “I don’t work homicide.”

  “I know it’s hard because…” Brown was the only one who knew. “But you’re good at these cases.”

  “No.” Mark white-knuckled the arms of the chair. His soul couldn’t take it.

  “So you’re willing to let a murderer go free?” Brown’s frustration appeared to soften. “Just look at it. Sergeant Edmond brought this by.
They’re stumped. Give them some advice.” He pushed the file to Mark. “Do it for the kid.”

  Get justice for another kid, because he failed his own sister. Wasn’t that why he’d become a cop? “When do they need it?”

  “ASAP.”

  Mark snatched the file, his soul already flinching. He stood.

  Brown leaned in. “Connor’s going to Pearlsville to help with the interviews, not you.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue,” Brown said. “Officially, you’re off the case.” His grimace softened. “If you work it behind the scenes, don’t let me find out.”

  * * *

  At ten o’clock Annie stared at a frozen meal. She’d barely eaten since yesterday’s morgue visit. Three bites in, she pushed it away, and stared at her phone. She hadn’t texted Mark back. It was best. Being angry stopped it from hurting so much. And she had a right to be angry. So why did she keep worrying about how much it must have hurt to have lost his sister? About how working cases with murdered kids must bring it all back?

  No matter how tempted, she shouldn’t text or call him. When Sergeant Brown called yesterday, he’d told her she was only to contact Detective Pierce now.

  Obviously, Brown hadn’t informed Mark.

  Why did her heart feel like a pit bull’s chew toy? It might not be love. But maybe it was the beginning. Or just old wounds being opened up. But if this was only about the past, why did her pain take her straight to Mark, not Ted?

  Lying back on her sofa, her dad’s baseball bat on the coffee table, she closed her eyes. Would she sleep tonight? How many times would the same nightmare put terror in her heart and wake her up?

  Sometime later sleep claimed her. Then the dream claimed her. She felt herself running. Felt herself falling. Her heart pounded.

  A noise jarred her awake, and she jackknifed up to a sitting position. It took her several breaths to realize the pounding she heard wasn’t her heart. Wasn’t her dream.

  Fresh fear took another lap around her chest. She looked at the door. The knock hit again. It was midnight. Who’d be here now? She dialed 911 but didn’t hit call. With her phone in one hand and the bat in the other, she inched to the door.

  Her heart banged on her ribs as she pressed her eye to the peephole.