Free True Vision by Joyce Lamb Page B

angle of Charlie’s bruised and swollen face. Who did this to her? I’ll tear the fucker apart.
    “Charlie? You okay?”
    She blinked back into her own kitchen to find Noah watching her with concern in his eyes. She pulled her hand away from his, the wine souring in her stomach. “You were snooping?”
    His brows arched sharply. “What?”
    “While I was sleeping, you snooped. You had no right to do that.”
    He shook his head, clearly baffled. “How—”
    She backed away from him, shame and embarrassment dogging the heels of anger. “You need to go.”
    “Charlie—”
    “I want you to go!”
    He raised his hands, placating. “Just calm down. Let’s talk about this.”
    Oh, God, tears were welling. She was such a wuss. But it was anger, she thought. She cried when she was pissed. “There’s nothing to talk about. Now, please , get the hell out.”
    She pivoted and walked out of the kitchen into the backyard, not knowing where she was going. Just away. From him. From everything. From her screwed-up life.
    Noah didn’t follow her outside, and she stood on the cement slab patio and rubbed her arms against the cool night air. Jesus, how did he find those damn pictures? She hadn’t even known Nana still had them. But, of course, it made sense. Nana was all about insurance. Protecting those she loved.
    She heard the door open behind her and tensed, swiping at her eyes before the tears could spill. Get a grip already.
    “I put the lasagna in. It’ll be ready in about forty-five minutes.”
    She closed her eyes, swallowed. “I asked you to go.”
    “I heard you.”
    And yet he didn’t move. He’d brought her home when she’d been sick and put her to bed, then stuck around and cooked for her while she’d slept.
    Don’t forget the snooping. A cop doing cop things. Without his shirt.
    She shook her head and wondered what else he’d found. Maybe stuff she didn’t even know about. She really should have cleaned out Nana’s room by now, but she hadn’t had the strength. It still smelled like her in there. Like lilacs.
    She angrily knocked away a tear that fought free of her lashes and spilled down her cheek. Cut it out. Don’t be so f-ing weak.
    Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned her head to see Noah’s hand outstretched, her glass of wine dangling from his fingers. She debated ignoring him until he went away. She didn’t need this on top of everything else. But then he gently tapped the side of her arm with the glass, and she caved, knowing as she did so that she’d given in too easily.
    While the wrought-iron deck chair behind her creaked with Noah’s weight, she drank down a healthy swallow of wine. Self-medication had its merits, and she anticipated the moment when warmth would suffuse her limbs. Should be any minute.
    Noah said nothing, and that disconcerted her. He was a cop. Shouldn’t he be asking cop questions?
    Would your mother kill to protect her secret?
    Well, she thought, draining the last of her wine, maybe.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
    N oah sat quietly, watching Charlie’s back and listening to the whir of Florida bugs and distant chirps of birds. It took several minutes before her rigid shoulders began to relax incrementally. Probably the wine. And silence. Other than the nighttime activity of bugs and birds, the night was still. So different from Chicago, where sirens and honking horns and the shouts of angry, often-drunken strangers never stopped. Except when it snowed, but that was probably because of the sound-deadening effects of snow rather than any kind of peace. Not like here. He’d never known such peace. Such stillness.
    He leaned his head back, took in the brilliance of the stars. It struck him just like before. Total, mind-blowing awe. He thought about Laurette, smiled sadly. Check it out, sweetie. I’m taking it all in, just like you wanted.
    “It’s not what you think.”
    He raised his head to see that Charlie still faced the yard. The moonlight