Don't Close Your Eyes

by Christie Craig

  “Isn’t it possible the stress of attending a funeral made you edgy, and the memory of the dream played tricks on your mind?”

  She wadded the napkin up like emotions wadded in her stomach. Anger that he didn’t believe her. Gratitude that he’d given her this much of his time. And the slightest bit of doubt that maybe he was right. Maybe she was crazy. Hadn’t doubt driven her to a therapist years ago?

  “I wasn’t stressed about the funeral. It was uncomfortable, but it wasn’t the funeral that made me remember.”

  “What was it?”

  “My cousin, Fran. She asked me if I ever thought about Jenny.”

  “So Fran remembers you two seeing Jenny being buried?” His shoulders squared a bit.

  “She didn’t say that.” It would have been so much easier to lie, but Annie had never been one to take the easy route. She sat straighter. “It was when Fran asked if I ever thought about Jenny that the pieces started coming together in my head, and I…”

  “You what?”

  “I felt like a kid again. I wanted out of there.” A loud pause hung in the coffee-scented air. “Yesterday I called Fran’s mother and got her phone number.”

  “Did you ask Fran’s mother about Jenny?”

  She shook her head. “I was…”

  “…scared?” he asked.

  She didn’t deny it.

  “You think one of them killed Jenny?”

  “Yes.”

  He paused. “What did Fran say when you called her?”

  “I never spoke to her. A recording said the line had been cut off. I called my aunt back, she said that Fran has a bad habit of disappearing.”

  “Are you saying something happened to Fran?”

  His question startled her. “I never thought that. Rumor is she has a drinking problem.”

  He brushed the side of his hand over his chin. The raspy, soft sound seemed too intimate. As if she was too close. She shifted back, claimed a few inches.

  “You don’t remember anything about Jenny being missing? An investigation? Talking to the police?”

  “No. It’s as if my life didn’t exist until I lived in Houston. My…” She almost told him that her therapist had concerns about her sketchy childhood memories, but decided to keep that to herself.

  He drummed his index finger on the table. Tap tap tap. “Have you asked your mom about this since you got back? Found out if your cousin really existed?”

  “I need to talk to her. I will, but I’m waiting until she gets back into town. Her brother just died.”

  Leaning closer, he ran a finger between his lip and chin as if assessing, drawing conclusions. “You’re scared of your mom, aren’t you?”

  “No.” The answer left a bitter flavor like a lie. But it wasn’t. “I’m not. I’m afraid of upsetting her. She’s fragile. But I’ll talk to her.”

  He sipped his coffee. “How long is she staying there?”

  “I don’t know.” Her mom’s gold Toyota Avalon was still parked at Annie’s apartment.

  With a pinched brow, he looked at his phone. The little action sent Annie flashing back to her therapist’s office. She’d had her time and was being dismissed.

  “I’m sure you need to get back to work.” She made it easy for him. Why not? Unlike the therapist, she wasn’t paying him.

  He ordered a coffee to go, then they drove back to the precinct. Again, she was aware of his scent and how it occupied his car. The silence following them was almost deafening.

  After parking, he looked at her. “I’ll make some calls and see if there’s a missing Jenny Reed. I don’t know if I’ll get anything, but—”

  “Thank you.” His offer wasn’t much, but it was all she had.

  “Don’t thank me yet. I can’t promise anything. With it being that old of a case the chances are slim.” He reached inside the console and passed her a pen and tablet. “Write down your phone number. If I find anything, I’ll call you. And write down all of Fran’s info you have.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “To have another witness.”

  Because I’m not believable. She scribbled the information. When she passed him the pad, their hands brushed. Skin to skin. So innocent. So seductive.

  The tingle happened again. Her throat tightened, holding in air that seemed to belong to him. Her gaze went to his mouth. She ached to feel her heart race with something besides fear.

  He kept his thumb on her wrist. His right eyebrow lifted; she heard him inhale. He’d felt it, too.

  Isabella had been right about them needing some male company. But why now? Why him?

  “I should go.” He pulled back.

  They got out of the car and faced each other through protective, shaded lenses. Annie couldn’t help wondering if Detective Sutton had as much to hide as she did.

  “Do you still think I’m crazy?” She figured he’d lie for politeness’s sake. But she needed to hear that someone believed her, even if it was a lie.

  His chest expelled a gulp of air. “I wouldn’t bet on you in a horse race.”

  His answer hit, hard, and hurt.

  Before she thought, she spoke. “A lie would’ve made me feel better.”

  His jaw tightened. “My job isn’t to make you feel better. Never was much at sugarcoating things.” He turned to leave, then swung around. “I’ll call if I find something.”

  “And if you don’t find anything?” The question tumbled out. She blushed, realizing how that could be interpreted. Hell, maybe she’d even meant it that way. She wasn’t sure. Then her gaze went to his mouth. Anticipation made her next breath sweeter. Yup, that was how she meant it.

  He shrugged. “Then it was nice to have met you.”

  Embarrassed for being so brazen, she hotfooted it to her car.

  When she pulled out, she saw him in her rearview mirror, watching.

  Probably relieved to see her go. Why did that hurt a little too much? Because like it or not, she’d had a thing for the big, tough cop for a while. Because being lonely sucked.

  * * *

  Mark delivered Mildred her coffee and made his way to his office, rubbing his temple. His mind said Annie Lakes, with talk of dreams and funerals and a missing cousin, was loonier than a Saturday morning cartoon. His gut said she wasn’t lying. His libido said it didn’t matter. She was hot, and considering his reaction, he was done being celibate.

  He entered the unit’s file-room office. Juan and Connor sat at their desks.

  “Who was the babe in pink?” Connor grinned. “I thought you weren’t seeing anyone.”

  “I’m not. She was a concerned citizen.” Mark dropped in his chair, not ready to talk about this until his gut, mind, and libido came to a consensus.

  “Concerned about what?” Juan asked.

  “It’s not about any of our cases. Not even in our jurisdiction. I don’t know what she thought I could do.”

  “Give me her number and I’ll take care of her,” Connor said with tease.

  “How do you know I got her number?” Mark shot back.

  Connor chuckled. “I’m taking your man card away if you didn’t.”

  Mark picked up his pen and started clicking it.

  Mildred walked in and set a glass of water and a bottle of Advil on his desk. How could she read him like that?

  “Brian Talbot’s here,” she said. "Sergeant Brown said he and you were doing the interview.”

  “What?” Connor snapped. “This is our case, not his.”

  “He expected someone to say that. Told me to tell you because he worked the case before, he knows Talbot.”

  “Fuck that,” Connor said.

  “Language,” Mildred scolded and left.

  Mark downed the painkillers and stood up. “Maybe he has something to offer. It’s one interview. Let’s see what he can pull out of his hat.”

  “What he’s pulling is coming out of his ass,” Juan said. “And it stinks. He knows if we solve this case, it’ll make him look bad.”


  “I think this might be more about our perp being the mayor’s cousin. Let him do it? If things go bad, the mayor will come down on his ass and not ours.”

  Their silence meant they’d reached a consensus. They all stood.

  “Here.” Connor handed him the manila envelope. “Stone dropped them by.”

  “Pictures?” Mark asked, his gut tightening.

  Connor’s expression hardened. “Kid’s mostly covered in concrete, all you can see are parts of her face. They’re ugly.”

  They always were.

  Brown waited outside the interview room. Connor and Juan ignored him and went to the connecting observation room.

  Nodding, Mark started for the door.

  Brown stepped in front of him. “We do this right.”

  Mark grimaced. “I send one suspect to the hospital, and people never forget.”

  Brown’s brows pinched. “I’m dead serious.”

  Hell, maybe Mark had been wrong about Brown being here. Mark didn’t like Talbot for this, but he planned on finding out, and he wasn’t going in soft. “No, it’s the kid who’s dead. I’m not tiptoeing around this guy.”

  “I’m not asking you to tiptoe. I want this guy more than you do. I just know how you get when…when a kid’s involved. If we go at this wrong, the mayor will shut us down.”

  Mark walked inside the room. Brown’s steps clipped on his heels.

  Mark kept a tight grasp on the envelope, unsure if he’d use the photos. Sometimes the shock of seeing pictures offered a peek into the suspect’s mind. Sometimes, it shut them down. Later, if Mark realized he’d put an innocent person through hell, he felt like shit. But catching a killer trumped worrying about someone’s feelings.

  “Mr. Talbot.” Brown took the lead. “Thanks for coming.”

  Talbot’s expression told Mark there was no love lost between these two. Obviously, Brown had only recently learned the fine art of tiptoeing.

  “You got information on my daughter’s killer?” Talbot asked.

  “We were hoping you had some.” Mark set the envelope on the table and pulled a chair across from Talbot, purposely letting the chair’s legs screech across the floor. Nervous suspects had a tendency to let go of the truth, or at least it gave Mark a glimpse of the monster inside them.

  Mark had danced with enough monsters to recognize them.

  “I’ve told you what I know.” Talbot palmed his hand over the edge of the table.

  Mark studied the jittery moves. Watching. Waiting. Wanting his gut to tell him yea or nay.

  “Yeah,” Mark continued. “But we have a problem. You say you were driving around town at the time of your daughter’s kidnapping, but—”

  “It’s a lie,” Brown snapped. “We checked the cameras along the route you said you drove. Came up with zilch.”

  Talbot’s jaw clenched. “You still suspect me? Haven’t you ruined my life enough? Bethany left me. My family thinks I killed my own kid!”

  Mark broke in. “All we’re saying is we need—”

  “Fuck you!” Talbot gripped the edge of the table.

  Mark leaned closer. “Tell me exactly where you were that day.”

  “I’m not telling you shit!” Talbot’s fist came down on the table. “I loved my daughter.”

  “Then why did you do this?” Brown snatched the envelope and slung the gruesome photos onto the table.

  Talbot’s attention shot to the pictures. His gaze locked. Raw emotion filled the man’s eyes. Swinging around in his chair, he puked on the floor.

  Silence filled the room while Talbot wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  Mark studied the man and then slid the images back to his side of the table. He purposely didn’t look at them. He had enough of them in his head.

  “Take a polygraph test,” Mark stated.

  His sergeant made a gulping sound. Mark looked at him. His gaze was fixed on the photos. And he appeared to be a second away from puking himself.

  Talbot glared at Brown. “Why would I have to take a test? I didn’t do this.”

  Mark flattened his hand on the table. “That’s why you take the test. We clear you, then we can look for the guilty party.”

  “You’re wasting your time.” Talbot’s voice sharpened.

  “No, you’re wasting our time.” Brown’s tone took a deeper pitch. He shoved the photos back in front of Talbot again. “Look what you did to your little girl.”

  Talbot turned away. “I wouldn’t hurt her. Ever!”

  “Prove it by taking the polygraph,” Mark said.

  “No.” The word slid through his teeth.

  Before Mark could react, Brown had a fistful of Talbot’s shirt and had yanked the man across the table.

  Chapter Five

  You son of a bitch,” Brown snapped.

  Mark caught the sergeant’s arm. Brown released the suspect and Mark realized he was playing good cop. Not his normal role.

  An angered Talbot shot up from his chair. “Can I go now?”

  “Yes.” Mark eyed his sergeant as Talbot stormed out.

  By the time Mark turned around, Brown was facing the wall. Silence filtered through the room as Mark collected the photos. Still not looking at them, he nudged them into the envelope.

  “Thank you.” Brown turned around. “I wanted to beat the shit out of him.”

  “Coming from someone who’s done it once, I can tell you, it feels pretty good,” Mark said. “But then your sergeant, or in your case your captain, might jump your ass.”

  “The thought of what he did…” Brown passed a hand over his face.

  “The guy I hit had raped and beaten a sixteen-year-old girl. He told me he’d enjoyed it. It was worth going to prison for.”

  Brown exhaled. “I thought you’d lose it. You impressed me.”

  “And you impressed me by losing it. Funny how we measure people differently.”

  Brown motioned to the envelope. “How could he do that?”

  “I don’t think he did.”

  “What? He refuses to take the polygraph. Why—”

  “He’s hiding something. But I don’t think it’s murder. Who else did you look at for this?”

  Brown shoved a chair under the table. “Just him. You basing this on gut instinct?”

  “That and personal experience.”

  Brown was one of the few here who knew Mark’s past.

  “And your gut’s never wrong?” Brown asked.

  “I’d bet on it in a horse race.” Mark’s mind shot to Annie Lakes. His gut told him to believe her, even when her story sounded far-fetched enough to be a fucking movie of the week.

  They walked out. Connor and Juan had left. As Mark and Brown walked down the hall, something about his sergeant tugged at Mark’s memory. “Didn’t you grow up south of here?”

  “In Wilma. Why?”

  “Isn’t Pearlsville around there?”

  “A rock’s throw from Wilma. It’s even smaller though. I’m surprised you’ve heard of it. Why?”

  “I had someone come in today with a wild story about a cousin who may be missing. I told her I’d look into it.”

  “The woman in pink I saw walk into your office?” Brown asked.

  “You spying on me?”

  “Not you. Her.” Brown grinned.

  The sergeant stopped at Mildred’s desk. “Get janitorial to clean interview room three.”

  “Got it,” Mildred said.

  Brown faced Mark. “A friend of mine is sheriff in Pearlsville. Adam Harper. Call him. Tell him it’s to help someone who looks good in a skirt. He’ll talk to you.”

  “Thanks.” Mark started off.

  “Sutton,” Brown called.

  Mark turned. “Yeah?”

  “Watch your step with the press. I really don’t want to fire your ass.”

  * * *

  Juan and Connor were waiting when Mark walked into the office.

  “You should have let Brown plow into him,” Connor said.

 
Mark shrugged and grinned. “If they demoted him, he might end up in here with us.”

  They laughed. But not for long. Obviously, like him, their minds were on the case.

  “What’s your verdict?” Juan asked.

  Mark sat on the edge of his desk. “What do y’all think?”

  “I say guilty. Why else would he refuse to take a polygraph?” Connor leaned back.

  “I disagree,” Juan added. “The look on his face when he saw those pictures. It wasn’t fake.” A beat of silence lingered. “And your verdict?”

  Mark squeezed his neck. “I think he’s hiding something, but he didn’t do this.”

  “So we have nothing,” Connor seethed.

  “No, we’ve got the body,” Mark said. “And Cash, if we can find him.” He released a breath of frustration. It didn’t feel like enough. But it never did.

  “Okay, let’s say he’s innocent.” Connor stood. “What’s he hiding? The logical thing would be an affair, but he and his wife are divorced. So what is it?”

  “Good question,” Mark said.

  And this was why they were good at solving cases. They respected each other’s opinions. Each of them came at a case from a different perspective, and together they found leads.

  Connor sat back down. “What could he be hiding that’s so bad he’d rather be accused of killing his daughter?”

  “Don’t know.” Mark rubbed his shoulder. “But my gut says if Talbot knew who hurt his kid, he’d have taken care of them.” When one was that hurt, they wanted to do it themselves. Mark knew.

  “Perhaps that’s why he won’t take it. Maybe he killed the bastard,” Connor offered.

  “That’s a theory,” Mark said.

  “Let me dig into the old files,” Juan said. “Maybe Brown and Gomez missed something.”

  Connor stood again, pulled his Glock from his gun drawer, and slipped it into his shoulder holster. “I’ll hit more shelters asking about Johnny Cash.”

  “I need to make a few calls.” Mark’s mind went to the sheriff in Pearlsville. “Then I’m going to hang out under a few bridges and ask about Johnny.”

  “What if we can’t close this one?” Connor said.

  “We will.” Mark dared either one of them to argue. No way in hell could he walk away from a kid case.

  * * *