Past Will Haunt (17 page)

Yes, he was hung over.

The pounding in his head wasn’t fun, but the rest had been.

As he rolled over, before even noticing he wasn’t in his own bed, he stared down his body. What he saw…it kick started the freak out. He was naked except for his boxers.

Oh shit!

At some point, he’d done something stupid.

This was exactly what his mother warned him about. When you drank, you blacked out and had sex with a stranger. Now he had to pray he didn't pick up some communicable disease from his one night of letting loose.

Sitting there, his heart began pounding in his chest as fear had him by the balls. Oh, he was screwed.

As he looked around, he wasn’t quite sure what to think. The last thing he recalled was beer, Elizabeth calling him her boyfriend, and then her kicking some man’s ass to protect him.

Oh boy.

What did he do after that?

Chris looked around, trying to find his clothes. They were nowhere to be found, he was in his boxers, in a strange house, and he couldn’t escape.

Crap!

When he heard noise downstairs, he swallowed. This was exactly why he didn't drink.

This was his fear.

Chris didn't want to blackout and end up dead in a ditch—that’s what his mother told him would happen, and he was terrified. He looked around for his badge, but that was gone too. All he could hope was the woman he slept with wasn’t some serial killer collecting men for her collection of bodies.

He couldn’t help but go there. When you worked for the FBI, it tended to be worst case scenario.

Yep.

Commence freak-out.

Well, Chris knew he only had one choice. It was time to face the music. Besides hoping the woman wasn’t a serial killer, he prayed he wasn’t wearing beer goggles last night. Maybe he’d get lucky.

Maybe he wound up with a sexy woman.

That made him laugh.

Yeah, that was a pipe dream.

Heading out of the room, he took in the décor. It was warm, full of colors, and the walls were tastefully decorated with pictures of black and white scenes. Whoever lived there had some decent taste in art.

It was calming.

Despite his growing fear, he didn't think that the owner of this house would hurt him. Who had pictures of nature and killed people for shits and giggles?

He had hope.

Heading down the stairs, he crept toward the sound of plates and pans. Was his mystery hookup cooking breakfast?

If she was, he’d marry her.

He was a sucker for a woman who could cook. In the living room, he didn't miss that it looked homey. It was warm, calming, and lived in. He couldn’t help but wonder if they’d had sex on that big comfy couch.

The other thing that hit him was that his personal space was nothing like that.

His area was sterile—just like his work environment. His living space said a lot about him.

Moving toward the kitchen, he could smell bacon. His stomach growled. He shouldn’t have skipped dinner last night to fill it with beer.

That had been a really bad idea.

As he scanned the room, his heart flipped when he saw his mystery woman.

Elizabeth was there in a tiny pair of shorts, some FBI tank top, and with all that hair pulled up on top of her head.

His heart began thumping.

“I figured you’d be hungry,” she stated, without even turning around.

Chris had to wonder if she had eyes in the back of her head. Then again, she investigated killers. That had to have heightened her senses, even if she was only an agent a couple years.

“Elizabeth, I’m a little freaked out.”

“Have a seat, Christopher.”

“Um, my clothes are missing, and this is awkward.”

Oh, she was well aware. That was the point. Honestly, she felt responsible for his drunken state. That’s why she’d brought him back to her place, got him undressed, and into bed. She took a newbie to a bar, let him flirt, and nearly got his ass kicked.

When she turned, he gasped. “Oh my God! Your lip!”

“Yeah, the brute got a shot in. He only grazed me, so it’s all good. I’ll live. I’ll tell everyone you’re a biter.”

He stared in horror.

That made her laugh.

“Elizabeth!”

“I’m good, Chris. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just a split lip.”

He felt horrible. Moving toward her, he tentatively reached for her face. When he ran his finger over the cut, she didn't push him away.

Chris was so screwed up over all of this. He didn't know what the hell to think.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t…I feel…”

“Sit, Christopher. We’re going to have a talk,” she stated, placing a plate on the roomy island.

“Okay,” he said, moving away from her. Being that close to her, while in only his boxers, was probably a very bad idea.

“We can start with why you’re practically naked in my home.”

“Yeah, that might be a good idea.

“Well, your clothes are in the dryer. They smelled like beer, and I couldn’t let you go to work that way. For future reference, always have a spare bag packed and in your trunk. You’re in the FBI. It’s like being a Boy Scout. You always have to be prepared.”

He stared at her.

Who was this woman?

Was she alluding that there would be another sleepover in his future? His body responded and he knew he needed to take control of this conversation before he did something stupid.

“Uh, how exactly did I get out of them? That part is a little fuzzy.”

“We had really raunchy sex on the floor, and I stole them when you passed out. You rocked my world, Doctor.”

His mouth dropped open.

Her melodious laughter filled the kitchen as his face said it all. Christopher Leonard was desperately trying to recall the sex. She could see it in his expression.

“Darlin’, I’m kidding. I undressed you after I lugged your body upstairs.  I left you in your Isaac Newton boxers because…well, that’s funny as hell. When I’m peeping at penises, I like the guy to recall it. If not, that’s just creepy.”

He looked down at the words crisscrossing his boxers.

“What goes up must come down, Christopher? Really? That’s a bad thing to have written on your britches. You have a lot to learn. What if I’d been a woman you were sleeping with? First impressions are lasting ones.”

He closed his eyes. “I’ve really screwed this up on so many levels.”

Elizabeth’s smile told the tale. She found him sweet or she would have really busted his ass. “Actually, you haven’t. That was the best night out I’ve had in a long time. So thank you for that. I was able to play darts, work on finding a killer, and get into a fist fight. Good times, my friend. Good times.”

He glanced at her across the counter. She was making a second plate of food, and his hopes soared. She was going to join him.

“Well, that being said, we now have to have a talk.”

And his hopes died in a big ball of flames.

“You’re going to tell me that I’m never allowed out with you again, aren’t you? You’re going to tell me I screwed up and embarrassed you. Hell! I got you punched in the face. That’s not something women like. I’m pretty sure about that.”

Elizabeth noticed that he stared down at his food like he was being scolded. Yeah, someone had kicked his heart around. She could clearly see it. Since she was pretty sure it wasn’t a girlfriend, that left only one other option.

His mother.

Oh boy. What the hell had she gotten herself into?

“Actually, that’s where you’re very wrong. We’re going out again, and soon. You’re a lot of fun, and anyone who tells you otherwise is a dumbass. I like being around you. I had a damn good time.”

He looked up.

“But…”

He looked down.

She knew this was bad. Normally, she wouldn’t worry about what people thought. She rolled in, did her thing, and rolled out again. With this man, she felt the need to protect him.

Her gut told her to have his back, and she was a big proponent to listening to her instinct. It’s what saved agents’ lives.

“What we really have to discuss is the party part of our evening.”

He didn't say a word.

“What happens at happy hour, Christopher, stays at happy hour. If you tell anyone I kicked the shit out of some goon, I’ll kick your ass. Are we clear?”

He immediately relaxed. She wasn’t asking him to pretend it never happened. Instead, she wanted the fight to remain a secret. Well, that he could do.

“When you have friends, there are rules that go along with it. I don’t have a list, since I don’t have many male friends other than Gabe, but with Livy, we have the girlfriend code. We abide by it. You can’t go spreading the dirt around.”

“So, you don’t want me to tell anyone we went out?”

“Hell no! I don’t want them to know I got into a barroom brawl. You can tell them we went out, you slept over, or whatever. It’s none of their business. The fight—that makes Gabe question my sanity, and unlike you, I’m not rich. I have to work to pay for Castle LaRue.”

He understood. “So, we’re still friends?”

Elizabeth sat beside him with her breakfast. “You’re a great guy, Christopher. I’m glad I’ve met you, and I have a feeling that we’re going to be really great friends, if you don’t get us killed by some big bodybuilder.”

He ate some bacon and smiled the entire time. “Ditto, Lyzee.”

They ate in silence.

“You realize I totally remember you calling me your boyfriend. I’m so going to remind you of that for the rest of your life. Fifty years from now, I’m bringing it up.”

She snorted. “Then you have a problem.”

He glanced over.

“What?”

“I will kill you, Christopher. You may be taller, but think back to what I did to that asshole. You won’t be nearly as difficult.”

He snorted. “Will you kiss the boo-boos after you inflict the pain?”

She laughed. “Yeah, likely. I’m crazy like that.”

Chris Leonard was really glad. Despite his throbbing headache, it was still a good night.

“One other thing we need to discuss. Jackwagon, Chris? Seriously? You called that goon a jackwagon. What the heck? When you get into a serious bar fight, you can drop profanity. It’s expected.”

“I couldn’t think. I was drunk, and I think I still am.”

She laughed. “Well, I’m going to add that word to my collection. Every time you hear it, a newbie will be getting his wings.”

He laughed at that.

“Shit! My head is killing me.”

She hopped down out of her chair and dug up some aspirin from her kitchen cabinet. The entire time she had her back to him, she knew he was checking out her ass.

“Chris, I’ll kill you and hide the body. Do you really want to be found in those boxers?”

He snorted.

“Hell no, Lyzee, but I’m a guy, and it’s genetic.”

She gave him a fist bump, handed him the aspirin, and then took her seat. As she went back to her eggs, he glanced over. “I can hear the wheels turning, Christopher. Just ask.”

“Are you being nice to me because you feel sorry for me?” he asked.

She paused.

“Well?”

“Yes and no.”

He didn't say anything at first. “Why didn't you just lie? How come I found the only honest woman in the whole damn city?”

She patted him on the cheek. “There’s something you should know about me, Christopher. I don’t lie to my friends. It’s in the rulebook. If you and I are going to hang, you have to always be honest with me. I respect that more than anything. Well, that and a man who wears a dead scientist on his britches. You gotta have big balls for that.”

He wanted to laugh, but he was confused. “Then why the yes and no?”

“I feel bad because you remind me of me when I first started with the FBI. I didn't make friends at all. I couldn’t make those lasting connections, and I wish I did. I’m not easy to like. We southern girls are opinionated, and not everyone likes to hear it straight. I don’t screw around. If I’m thinking it, then you’re hearing it.”

“Well, I like you, and your honesty is refreshing.”

“Yeah, well, you’re crazy. Look at your choice in clothes and jobs.”

He grinned. “Go on.”

“Anyway, I see me in you. I don’t want you to make the same mistakes as I did. I’m not that far ahead of you in newbie-dom.”

“So, you do feel sorry for me.”

“No, I genuinely like you too. You make me laugh, you’re not afraid to be you, and you’re sweet.”

“You called me your boyfriend.”

She punched him.

He gasped.

“I warned you. Next time, I’m aiming for Newton’s face.”

They both looked down to where that was on his boxers and Chris gulped. “I get it.”