When he’d spoken to Annie this afternoon, he’d told her he’d be here between seven and seven fifteen. Which meant arriving right at seven made him look eager.
But he was eager. And leery.
The Talbot case was gnawing at his sanity. And in spite of the fact that Annie’s case would carry the same bite, and that now wasn’t the time to jump into a relationship, Annie Lakes had turned into a welcome distraction.
Instead of wanting a shot of Jack Daniels, he wanted a shot with Annie.
He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the slinky pair of black panties. After the expression on Annie’s face when she’d seen the underwear, he knew the panties hadn’t been left on purpose.
Still, he kept the slip of silk in his pocket all afternoon. A dangling carrot. Only he wanted Annie in them. Then, he wanted Annie out of them. He ran his thumb over the silk, letting his mind go there.
Anticipation made his blood rush, and an extra supply pumped straight to his groin. Seriously, how long had it been since he’d wanted anything or anyone with this vigor? A long time.
And for a good reason, his conscience stabbed back. Between work and fighting his demons, a real relationship took energy he wasn’t sure he had. But today, standing that close to her, he felt energetic enough to take the risk.
This afternoon, while Mildred searched for the missing file about Jenny Reed, unsuccessfully as of five o’clock, he’d chased Johnny Cash leads—leads that led him nowhere. Normally, he’d have been frustrated to the hilt, but instead he channeled that energy. He even indulged in a few Annie fantasies, her standing before him minus some clothes and with a smile. Oh, Mark was no fool. He knew first dates didn’t usually end the way he’d like them to.
Not that the idea of just spending some time with her was a bad thing. Annie Lakes intrigued him. She had spunk and smarts. She came across as someone who could actually have a conversation about something other than herself. Unlike Judith Holt.
One deep breath later, he went to stick her panties back in his pocket, intending to return them. Suddenly, the idea of parting with his new touchstone didn’t sit well. Leaning over, he tucked the underwear under a map in the glove compartment. If she asked for them, he’d hand them over, if she didn’t…maybe just keeping them would give him patience until he got Annie to a place their clothes could come off.
He got out of his car. It took a second to find the number on the apartment buildings and then, with an anticipation he hadn’t felt in too damn long, he headed that way.
Before he got out of the parking lot, his phone rang. He considered not answering, but he didn’t want a missed call messing with his head tonight.
“Sutton,” he said, none too friendly when he realized he hadn’t checked the number.
“Detective Sutton?” a male voice asked.
“Yeah?”
“This is Don Blount. You left a message and asked me to call.”
Blount? It took a second to connect the dots. Blount, Annie’s missing cousin’s ex. Mark stopped. “Yes. I’m…uh, trying to reach Fran Roberts, your ex-wife, and thought you might be able to tell me how I could find her.”
“Is she in some kind of trouble?” the man asked.
“I just have a few questions.”
The man paused. “I don’t know where she is.”
Mark tried to read the man’s tone, not sure what emotion hinged on his words.
A sigh echoed across the line. “Fran isn’t what you’d call dependable, but…”
“But what?” Mark looked around to find the stairs leading to the second floor, to Annie’s apartment.
“The last time she called was Sunday. Kept saying something about someone wanting to shut her up. She sounded drunk. I was in a bad mood and yelled at her about what kind of mother she was. When she didn’t call the next day, I thought…she was mad. I called her back but she wouldn’t pick up. I started getting calls from everyone looking for her. And now you…the police.”
Mark absorbed what the man said and got his questions lined up. “Does she call often?”
“Every day to talk to our daughter.” Concern deepened his voice. “She’s not really a terrible mother.”
“Who’s been calling for her?”
“Her mom, her aunt Karen, then another aunt, and some cousin I’ve never heard about. And let me tell you, look up dysfunctional family and you’ll see Fran’s family portrait there. Oh, and then some man who didn’t leave his name. I even went to see the guy she’s living with. He said he hasn’t seen her in a week since she went to her uncle’s funeral.” Blount paused and so did Mark.
Standing at the bottom of the staircase, he got an itchy feeling he always got when a case went bad. “Can you text me those telephone numbers?”
“Yeah. What’s really going on, Mr. Sutton?” The concern in his voice rose a notch. The man’s question pulled at Mark’s gut. “Has something happened to my ex-wife?”
Chapter Nine
I don’t know,” Mark said. “But don’t think the worst until we know something.” Thinking the worst was his job. Had something happened to Fran Roberts because she knew too much about their missing cousin? And if so, did that mean Annie could be next? “Has anyone made a Missing Persons report?”
“Not that I know of. Should I?”
“Yeah.” He looked up and saw the door to Annie’s apartment. “Do it ASAP. I’ll call Austin PD tomorrow and back it up with my concerns. Look, I have other questions, but I’m in the middle of something.”
“Sure. But if you find out anything…” His voice cracked. “I still love her. I shouldn’t, but I do.”
“I understand.” His line beeped with another incoming call. Damn, he hadn’t gotten a call all day. “Tomorrow, then.” He clicked over to the other call. “Sutton.”
“Bad time?” someone asked. A male someone.
It took a second to recognize Sheriff Harper’s voice.
“I got a minute. But just one. What’s up?”
“You’re not going to like this,” the sheriff said.
* * *
Annie dropped down on the sofa. Pirate jumped up in her lap. She gave him two good scrubs under his chin then popped up. Antsy. Nervous. Certain this was a bad idea.
“Sorry,” she said to her cat, who meowed as if rejected.
Annie did two laps around her living room then looked at the clock. Seven fifteen. Maybe he wasn’t going to show? That’d work.
Then again, she wanted him to come so she could tell him about the call. Shut up bitch! Keep your mouth shut! The words echoed in her head and settled in the pit of her stomach.
She’d checked the number. Didn’t recognize it, but the prefix numbers were from Pearlsville.
A knock sounded at her door. She inhaled, stiffened her shoulders, and went to answer it.
For good measure, she pressed her eye against the peephole. All she really saw was a chest and a pair of arms. Wide chest. Strong arms that could hold her. She could use a holding right now. It was the detective for sure.
She opened the door. Keep it casual.
His expression went from his normal slightly tense look to something else. Something softer, sweeter, sexy. The pin-striped shirt fit him to a tee, ditto on the jeans. She’d never seen him in jeans. He always wore dress pants. He did jeans justice.
“You wore pink for me.” His voice held husky, sensual tones that sounded like bedroom talk.
Her gaze shot down to her pink blouse. Crap. She’d forgotten he told her he liked pink.
When she glanced up, he laughed. It was deep and refreshing like a soft rain on a hot day. The kind of rain kids liked to dance in. The kind she’d like to dance in. But there was something about the sound…it came out rusty, as if he hadn’t laughed in a long time.
“I can tell by your expression you didn’t wear it for me.”
“No, I…just…” She stopped.
“Don’t worry. I know I’m an acquired taste. I’ll win you over.”
<
br /> Almost drunk on his woodsy, clean scent, she smiled and a feeling, a good feeling of anticipation, curled up inside her.
“And how do you plan on doing that?” No sooner than the almost-suggestive words slipped off her lips did she wish she could suck them back in. This was not keeping it casual.
“I’m still working on my plan,” he said.
He looked at her as if she was a small, delectable appetizer he didn’t want to share.
It had been a long time since she’d cared if a man noticed her. A long time since she’d noticed how a man smelled, and forever since a man’s laugh had turned her insides to the consistency of grits. Warm, buttered grits.
“You ready?” His question had her realizing she was staring.
“I just need to…to grab my purse.”
* * *
Mark’s gaze had followed her down the hall. She looked good in that khaki skirt and sleeveless pink blouse. Not too dressed up. Not too dressed down. With a lot of smooth skin showing. He liked skin.
Slipping his hand into his pocket, he missed his silky touchstone. With thoughts of silk, his mind went to her hair that appeared soft, wispy, and touchable. Every inch of her looked touchable. He allowed himself the fantasy of following her into her bedroom. Taking off that pink blouse and khaki skirt and whatever pair of silky underwear she wore. Envisioned laying her back on her bed and tasting every soft inch of her.
He ran a hand over his face. “Slow down.”
He gazed around the room, doing a rundown on Annie’s place. Homey, comfortable, feminine but not the froufrou design that made a man feel out of place. Warm, womanly scents filled the air, a candle or flowers. Inhaling, he caught traces of freshly showered woman.
The living room was neat, not perfect. A couple magazines and some junk mail lay tossed on the chest-like coffee table. A pair of tennis shoes and socks sat beside the gold sofa. Two colorful throw pillows rested against the back of the sofa, but they weren’t the frilly kind that made a man think he couldn’t sit down for fear of messing them up. Things matched, but the decor didn’t appear stark, stiff, too perfect to use, like Judith Holt’s condo. This place looked as if a real person lived here.
Spotting the bookshelves lining one wall, he moved in to check out her reading material. Being a college English teacher, he figured her to be a classics reader. Romeo and Juliet. His gaze scanned the titles. There were classics, but not the ones he expected. Charlotte’s Web, The Secret Garden, A Wrinkle in Time, and Dr. Seuss books.
He ran his fingers across the book spines. He loved to read, but he didn’t get a lot of time to do it. Or maybe his mind was just too wound up on murder to enjoy it anymore.
On the second shelf, he found some contemporary material: a few romance novels, mysteries, and some self-help books. He read the title of one. How to Leave the Past in the Past. He recalled the haunted look he sometimes spotted in her eyes. So he’d been right. Like him, she was running from something.
There was also a framed photograph. A young Annie, nine or ten, with her parents.
Picking up the image, he studied it. The threesome sat on a park bench, with Annie between her two parents. She had her head resting on her father’s arm. If proximity said anything, she was closer to her dad than her mom.
He remembered Annie telling him that her father had recently died. Had Annie suffered from the loss? Not that Mark would understand the relationship between a father and a child.
He didn’t remember his dad. Even his relationship with his mom hadn’t been flawless. When he was young, she worked too hard, too many hours, her free time divided between him and whatever man she had attached to her hip.
When she married his stepdad, things looked up. She became more of a mom. But then the bastard took it all away.
Pushing the past away, he studied Annie’s mother in the picture. Had Annie spoken to her about what she remembered yet? How bad was Annie’s relationship with the woman? The sheriff said the family came off odd, dysfunctional. He recalled Annie telling him his father had refused to let her have anything to do with the Reeds. Looked as if her father was a smart man.
As he replaced the image back on the shelf, his mind flipped to the phone call from Mr. Blount.
He needed to talk to Annie about the call, but selfishly, he didn’t want this date to be all about the case. Probably best to get it out of the way. Maybe before they left, too.
He turned around and his gaze was drawn to the bar separating the living room and the kitchen. A wine rack held six bottles of wine. All reds. Good taste.
Opposite the kitchen was a breakfast area with a small round table, and centering that table was a vase of flowers. Not just flowers.
Roses. Red.
The kind a man sent a woman when he sought forgiveness, or attempted to make a statement about his feelings.
Damn. Even as a kid, Mark had never liked playing with some other guy’s toys.
“You ready?”
Mark turned around. Annie stood by the sofa. Nope, he wasn’t the sharing kind.
“Yeah.” He moved closer itching to ask about the flowers, but a bigger itch was his desire to touch her. “Did I tell you how nice you look?”
She toyed with her purse strap. He remembered her doing that the first day. “Thank you.”
Right then he saw an orange flash leap up on the arm of the sofa. A cat. The feline dipped its head and stretched toward him as if wanting Mark’s attention. He didn’t adore cats or hate them. He reached to give the cat what it wanted, but then he got a good look at the animal.
“Jeezus. What happened to him?” He took a step back.
Annie dropped her purse on the sofa and scooped the cat in her arms. “Sorry,” she said and he thought she was talking to him, but no, she pulled the one-eyed, three-legged, scarred animal up to her breasts. “He didn’t mean to react that way, Pirate,” she cooed.
“I didn’t. But it’s just…Seriously, what happened to him?”
“He got into a tussle with a Bronco.” She rubbed her fingers under the cat’s face and cooed at her pet. “And you won, didn’t you, Sweetie?”
“I’d hate to see the horse,” Mark said.
Annie gazed up. “The four-wheeled kind. The lady at the shelter actually saw it happen.”
“Why didn’t she just have him put down?”
Annie pursed her lips. “Would you want to be put down just because you lost an eye and a foot?”
He ducked his head to one side and gave Pirate a quick glance below. “I would if on top of all that, you neutered me.”
Annie laughed. The soft, bell-like sound filling his ears and chest should be heard in Disney movies. Sweet, pure. Yet alluring as hell. Damn if that wasn’t better than any whiskey he’d ever had.
“I didn’t have it done, they did,” she said.
“How did you end up with him?”
“I volunteered at the vet sometimes. When they had a really sick animal, I’d come in on Sundays and give them some attention. Pirate took to me. And I to him.”
So she was either a sucker or a lover of the underdog. And she volunteered to take care of sick animals. Her halo was showing. She might just be too good for him.
The cat stretched out his paw to Mark. He touched the cat’s good side of his face.
“See, he likes you,” she said.
“He just doesn’t know me.”
“And what are your deep, dark secrets?” Her tone held tease, but her expression seemed serious.
“That’s not first-date material.” He offered up a smile.
She set the cat down. “Should we go?”
He started to say yes, but his gaze moved to her mouth. If she had lipstick on, it was a natural color. “Uh, there are a couple of things I’d like to get out of the way.”
“What?”
“One, I got some phone calls today.”
“Me too,” she said as if she’d just remembered. Fear flashed across her face and somehow landed in his gut.
>
“Who?”
“I don’t know, but it had the prefix numbers from Pearlsville.”
“What did they say?”
Her shoulders tightened. “‘Shut up, bitch.’”
Shit. “Male? Female?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It was muffled, as if someone had their hand over the phone.”
He frowned. “Do you have the number?”
“It’s in my phone. And I wrote it down.” She moved past him into the kitchen, grabbed a Post-it note, and handed it to him.
“Give me one minute.” He called David, a detective who worked the night shift and was good at running things down. He gave him the numbers that Annie and Donald Blount had texted him, and requested David look into it. “Oh, and put a trace on this cell phone,” he added, giving him Fran’s number. He felt Annie watching him and listening. When he hung up, he looked at her. “Done.”
She nodded.
He hesitated, but needed to ask. “Have you spoken with your mom yet?”
She shook her head as if saying it aloud would somehow hurt. “I’m going to call her,” she offered.
“Why do you think she hasn’t called you?”
“I don’t know.” He saw it then. She wasn’t just frightened of her mom. She felt abandoned. Damn if Mark hadn’t faced that demon himself.
Not good with words, he stood there hoping when this was done, her mom wasn’t somehow responsible for the murder.
He recalled the awkward hug he’d given Bethany Talbot. The temptation to reach for Annie was strong. He didn’t even think it’d be awkward.
She tilted her chin up as if trying to hide the vulnerability he saw in her eyes. “How would they know I’m talking?”
“The sheriff, Adam Harper, has gone out to ask a few questions,” he said. “And…your cousin works at the police station.”
“So everything I told you they know.”
“No, just that an Anniston detective is looking into the case.”
She closed her eyes a minute. “What were your calls about?”
“One from Sheriff Harper and one from Donald Blount.”
“Fran’s ex?” she asked.
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