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LEE WOKE TO FIND HIMSELF in a strange bed in a darkened room. He vaguely remembered he’d been in a diner but then, nothing. He rolled over and peered at the alarm clock on the nightstand next to his head before he sat up in bed. Two-thirty in the morning! He’d been asleep for at least fourteen hours!
He groped for a bedside light, found a lamp, and switched it on. He’d somehow gone to bed without getting undressed and the faint whiff of his own body odor told him he desperately needed a shower. In the illumination of the faint bulb, Lee saw his duffel bag sitting on a chair. He got out of bed and explored the room. There was a very feminine bathroom with various cosmetics, brushes, and stuff scattered all over the sink. Lee realized he was not in a hotel but someone’s home. How the heck did he wind up there?
Peeking out the bedroom door, Lee could see a dark hallway and a faint glow coming from a room which he assumed was the living room. As much as he wanted to go see who might be in there, his courage failed him. He was in a strange house and really had no reason to be prowling about at two o’clock in the morning. Lee quietly closed the door and went back into the bedroom. He laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling before he fell asleep again despite all the unanswered questions that swirled about in his head.
He opened his eyes again to find faint sunlight filtering through the blinds pulled down over the windows. The clock this time read 6:13 a.m. and, with the courage born of a new day, Lee set his mind to get answers...after a shower.
A handwritten note rested on top of a towel, wash rag, and a new bar of soap in the bathroom. It hadn’t been there last night. Lee picked up the paper and read:
Sorry about last night. Will explain later. Please make yourself at home - Claire.
Lee felt his pulse race. He tried to temper his excitement as he remembered Sami’s words at the diner that there was more than one Claire in Mercy Ridge. Still, it could be one heck of a coincidence. The most important thing now was to make sure he didn’t smell like an unwashed bum. Lee showered, shaved and made himself presentable with the fresh clothes and razor in his bag. If he’d expected his mystery Claire to be waiting for him with a coy smile at the breakfast table, he’d be disappointed. The house echoed with his footsteps. He was alone.
Claire left a clean mug and half a pot of fresh coffee in the kitchen. The last few bagels in a bag on the top of the refrigerator and some cream cheese made up his breakfast. Lee felt guilty about eating someone else’s food, but he was hungry.
Some old mail and a newspaper were strewn across the table where Claire must have thrown them. The few envelopes not addressed to “current resident” bore the name “Claire Wilson.” Having nothing else to do, he took his time over breakfast, reading the Mercy Ridge Crier. It wasn’t until he was on the fifth page of the meager newspaper before he caught the byline attributed to Claire Wilson. So his mysterious Claire was a reporter.
Lee suffered a brief flash of annoyance at discovering her deception. Oh, you’re one to talk, Agent Collins. Itʼs hard to hold someone accountable for a lie when you’re as big a liar as they are. Plus, let’s face it, Lee, you’d probably not have even paid any attention to her if she’d come out and said she was a reporter for a small hick town newspaper.
All of this brought into question other things about Claire. Was the photo on the website even what she looked like? Lee remembered it vividly: a brunette with a sheepish expression as though she’d been embarrassed at resorting to Internet dating. He could empathize. She’d stood out among all the other posed glamour shots among the “recommended to you” list. No. The photo had been her. He’d put money on it. He remembered the awkward first messages that’d become more frequent and less formal. Lee felt sure they’d both been building up to something deeper until his exile into anything not Twilight Ruins.
A fresh pang of guilt hit him, which was ridiculous. He’d never met or spoken to the woman whose sole existence to him was through website messages. Still, the plaintive cry of her last simple message seared into his mind. Lee truly cared for her, but he wasn’t sure if anything deeper than friendship existed. Neither of them had been forthcoming with feelings, though they’d talked of everything else. Claire was easy to talk to, compassionate without being overly so, and smart in her own way. Lee hoped this wouldn’t be added to the monumental pile of screw-ups in his life. All he could do was wait, and he hated waiting.
*****
“YOU DID what?” Marcie yelled.
“I know! I know!” Claire said, her head sinking into her hands. “Is kidnapping a federal agent a crime?”
Claire could hear the consoling tone creep into Marcie’s voice.
“I’d hardly consider what you did kidnapping—incredibly stupid, mind you, but not criminal. Instead, you’ve got a man you don’t even know holed up in your house and now you’re too chicken to deal with it.”
“Gee thanks, Marcie, that makes me feel so much better.”
“Hey, girl, I call ‘em like I see ‘em. You know I’ve got your back. You want me to come with when you go home? We could get Dolan or one of the other officers if you’d feel better with police backup.”
“Very funny. I’d prefer my mistakes remain out of the public record.”
“Well, you’re going to have to do something. You can’t just stay out of your own house and hope he goes away.”
I said I know. I’ll think up something before I go home.”
––––––––
“HOWDY, LADIES. I DON’T see you in here too often.” Sheri, the bartender at The Mercy Ridge Tavern smiled at them. “What’ll it be?”
“Beer for me,” Marcie said. “Claire, here, gets a Tom Collins. Make sure she doesn’t go empty.”
Sheri took a tankard and a glass from under the bar. “Trouble?” she asked, staring at Claire. “You look like life’s been tough.”
Claire hadn’t any doubt about the hangdog expression on her face, but she still didn’t appreciate it being pointed out. “I just need a drink, okay?” she said, trying not to snap.
“Okay. Easy, honey. It’s coming up.”
Sheri just wanted to talk. She might have even been another shoulder to cry on. Now Claire had two things to be sorry for. Claire needed the drink to steady her nerves and then they could move on. She’d apologize to Sheri later.
One drink turned into two and two into three, before Marcie cut her off. The world swam as Claire stood up before Marcie steadied her.
“I’m driving,” Marcie called out to Sheri as Claire found herself steered to the door.
“You...you got me...drink,” Claire said with a slur as Marcie opened the passenger’s side door of her car.
“Nope. You did. I just didn’t stop you.”
*****
LEE STARTED AT THE knock on the front door. He’d been mindlessly watching something on TV. His nerves were on edge. Surely Claire should have been home by now, even if she worked a regular nine to five job.
There were two women at the door. The older blonde with the pixie cut held the other up around the waist. The cascading brown hair gave her away. It was Claire. The glasses, crooked on her face, were new. She looked as though she was staring through him and then she slumped.
Lee leapt forward and helped Pixie-Cut steady Claire.
“You Lee?” Pixie-Cut asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. Take her. She’s heavier than she looks.”
She wasn’t, but the faint whiff of alcohol around her was unmistakable. Claire’s limp body molded to him as he pulled her against him to keep her from falling to the floor. Even as concern for her rose, Lee found he enjoyed the contact. Her hair smelled like lavender and he could detect the trace of some sort of perfume against the acrid smell of booze.
Pixie-Cut watched him and Lee felt guilty about even mentally taking advantage of Claire’s state.
“You can put her on the couch. She’s not going anywhere. Come on into the kitchen while I make some coffee. She’s going to need it when she comes to.”
“Any particular reason why she’s drunk?” Lee asked as he followed her into the tidy, yet small kitchen area of Claire’s home.
Marcie grunted. “That’s kind of my fault. After Claire realized she put a man she didn’t really know in her own bed, she’s been scared to come home and find out if you’re as wonderful as she thinks you are. She figured some liquid courage would help and, well, I didn’t stop her from drinking too much.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’d give us time to talk.”
Lee frowned. “Am I about to get the concerned friend talk? The one about how I’d better not hurt her or you’ll kill me?” Lee asked.
“Okay. She wasn’t kidding. You are good,” Pixie-Cut said.
“I’ve had plenty of experience. Before we get started with the grilling, do you mind telling me your name?”
“Marcie. Marcie Probst, Reporter, Mercy Ridge Crier.”
“This is off the record?”
“Sure.”
“Okay, Marcie. Shoot.”
“You’re not really an FBI agent are you?”
Lee sighed and closed his eyes. There really wasn’t any reason to keep up the lie. It was time to lay his cards on the table and see where he stood.
“Wow. Okay. Right for the throat first thing, huh? No. I’m not. I own a company. We make video games. Have you ever heard of Gutspiller or Champagne Nights?”
Marcie blinked. “All right. I wasn’t expecting that. I know games are big with the kids, but I’m old. I’ll stick with my mystery novels, thanks.
She paused and looked thoughtful.
“You must have a lot of money.”
“Enough,” Lee said, warily.
Marcie smiled briefly. “You’re not a bragger. That’s good.”
Lee shrugged. “I’ve never let how much or how little I had define me.”
“But you obviously weren’t above lying about who you were,” Marcie said.
Lee sighed. “I wanted to be interesting... and—”
“Not attract someone who is after nothing but your cash?” Marcie asked.
“Cripes, woman, are you psychic?”
“I haven’t been burned at the stake yet.” She grinned. “Is Lee even your real name?”
“Yes...and no. My real name is Leighton. My friends call me Lee, but my last name isn’t Collins, it’s Craig.”
Marcie rolled her eyes heavenward. “Geez, your only crime is the same as hers. Here I was thinking you’re some kind of creepy stalker and you’re perfectly normal.”
“Uh, thanks?”
“It’s a compliment, trust me. Okay, Lee, we’re almost done here and you’re pulling through with flying colors so far. What did Claire tell you about herself?”
“That she worked as a bank executive, that her name was Claire Violet, but I already found the truth from the mail and the newspaper here in her kitchen.”
“You’re not mad?”
“I’d be a hypocrite if I was.”
“And that’s another checkmark in your favor.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Last thing...What made you show up here out of the blue?”
Lee told her about his negligence, the need to apologize, the last-minute plane ticket, long car ride and waking up in Claire’s home.
Marcie stared at him for a minute before she spoke again. “So, you jumped a plane and drove over two hours when you hadn’t slept in over forty-eight hours, because of one message?”
“I grabbed a nap on the plane so—”
Marcie wasn’t having any of it.
“No. No sir, you did all of that because you thought she would be worried? Normal people would have called.”
“Marcie, an apology over the phone wouldn’t make up for how bad I screwed up.”
She threw up her hands in mock surrender. “We’re done here. If I wasn’t sitting across from you listening to this, I’d swear you were too good to be true and my BS meter hasn’t gone off even once.” She stood up. “I’m going to be getting along now.”
“Wait a minute. What am I supposed to do?” Lee asked.
“Get some coffee in her, talk to her, make her feel special, kiss her. Don’t look at me. That’s your job.”
Lee walked her to the front door. Claire remained unmoving on the couch except for a loud snore.
“Good luck,” Marcie said with a laugh and pulled the front door closed behind her.
*****
CLAIRE WOKE UP WITH a pain behind her eyes that felt like her brain had a hammer and was trying to escape her skull. Drinking, yet another bad decision among many. She cracked her eyes open and everything was blurry. Claire closed her eyes again with a sigh and a moan.
“I took your glasses off.”
The deep dulcet tones of the voice cut through the throbbing in her head and sent a small shiver down her spine. It must be Lee. She’d never heard him talk before and its effect was all she’d imagined it would be, like an electric charge straight to the pleasure centers of her brain that made her body tingle in ways she’d never experienced before.
He’d touched her. Claire’s mind imagined his fingers lightly brushing her cheeks, softly brushing back her hair away from her ears, and slipping her glasses off. She tamped down the wild fancies rushing through her mind.
“Where am I?” She groaned.
“On your couch. Marcie brought you home.”
Tears sprang unbidden to Claire’s eyes. She’d lied and now she made herself look like a drunken fool in front of him. She twisted her head and tried to hide in the cushions.
Strong arms slid underneath her knees and back and lifted her off the couch. She instinctively rolled against him and, God help her, it felt so right even if she was completely unworthy of it.
“What are you doing?” She gasped.
“I’m taking you to bed.”
Claire felt her toes curl.
“You’re not sleeping on the couch in your own home.”
Oh. A girl could dream couldn’t she?
“Lee, I—”
“Hush,” Lee said. “Later. There’ll be plenty of time later.”