Mitch’s arms gave me a squeeze and when I rolled my eyes back to him I saw he wasn’t grinning anymore.

“Best thing that ever happened to me, that shredded washer,” he whispered.

“Too bad I didn’t know what a washer was or I would have shredded it myself,” I whispered back and he burst out laughing.

Then he rolled, shifted, moved and we were both on our feet with Mitch yanking down my skirt.

“Clean up, honey,” he muttered. “And I’ll take you to your girls.” He dipped his head and touched my lips with his before he turned and walked out of the room.

I nabbed my panties and walked into the bathroom to clean up and, while there, I ascertained I did, in fact, have sex hair. I left it like it was. So Roberta, LaTanya and Elvira cottoned on and gave me stick.

Whatever.

I had a hot guy, police detective who couldn’t keep his hands off me. I could go to drinks with the girls with sex hair. I could go anywhere with sex hair. I should be shouting it from the rooftops, Look at me! I have sex hair given to me by Detective Mitch Lawson!

I grinned to myself as I did my business, retraced my steps, grabbed my forgotten bag and walked to Mitch who was back at his file at the bar. I made it to him, my eyes going down to the file and my eyebrows snapping together at what I saw right before his arm slid along my waist and he shut the folder.

“Right,” he muttered, his arm tensing to move us, “let’s hit the road.”

My body locked and I looked up at him.

“Why do you have a sketch of Otis?”

His head tilted slightly to the side and he asked, “What?”

“In that folder,” I tipped my head to the folder. “Why do you have a sketch of Mr. Pierson’s cousin Otis?”

It was then Mitch’s brows knitted and he studied me closely. He looked down the folder, flipped it open and flipped through papers until he reached the sketch of Otis.

“Are you talking about that?” he asked, tapping the sketch with his finger but his words were strange, cautious.

“Yeah,” I answered, looking at the sketch then I looked at Mitch. “That’s Otis Pierson. Mr. Pierson’s cousin. He works at the store.”

Mitch stared at me, his arm suddenly very tight but he didn’t say a word.

Crap!

I knew what that meant seeing as he was a police detective that was a folder probably from work and in it was a sketch of Otis.

It was me who was talking cautiously when I asked, “Is Otis in trouble?”

“Mara –” Mitch started but I kept talking.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised. Otis is kind of like Mr. Pierson’s Bill except, I thought, without the felonious aspects.”

“Mara –” Mitch began again but I kept right on talking.

“Still, that would stink, you investigating a member of Mr. Pierson’s family.”

“Mara, baby,” his arm gave me a squeeze, his voice coming at me carefully, gently, “that sketch is the sketch the artist drew from the description Bud gave him of the man that came to their house.”

My body locked.

Then I whispered, “What?”

“Fuck,” Mitch whispered back and his eyes drifted over my head.

“Mitch,” I called, putting my hand on his chest and pushing in lightly. “Are you serious? That’s the bad man Billie was talking about?”

“Fuck, f**k, f**k!” Mitch clipped then lifted a hand, tore his fingers through his hair and looked down at the sketch.

“Mitch!” I cried, beginning to get freaked. “Talk to me!”

He looked at me and declared strangely, “The mattresses.”

I shook my head. “Honey, you aren’t making sense.”

His head dipped closer to mine and his other arm curled around me. “You say that man works for Bob Pierson?”

I nodded my head. “Yes. In the warehouse. He does a lot of the ordering, or he did until he kept messing it up.”

“Jesus, shit,” Mitch muttered, looking over my head again.

“Mitch!” I exclaimed, pressing into his chest again and his eyes came back to me.

“Sweetheart, when your place was tossed, it was tossed. But there was special attention paid to the mattresses. They were decimated, all the beds were.”

Oh God.

He was right. They were.

“Has this Otis guy been in your space at work? Giving you extra attention? Giving you any attention at all?” Mitch asked and I shook my head.

“No,” I added my negative answer verbally. “He doesn’t come to the showroom. Mr. Pierson doesn’t let him. He turns off the customers because he’s creepy.”

And he was.

Totally creepy.

Probably even creepier to two little kids.

God, how was this happening?

Mitch told me.

“He’s into something. He hid something in the mattresses. Made a mistake, lost it, whatever it was. Yours got delivered, he thought it was in them and he came looking for it. It either was or it wasn’t. My guess is it wasn’t seeing as he started with the mattresses, thought you found it and moved through the house to try to find where you hid it. If he hasn’t been in your space, he’s probably since found it. Would he have access to your home address either in employee databases or deliver records?”

“Yes,” I answered. “Not employee databases but he’s responsible for getting the product onto the trucks for delivery. He has access to all information pertaining to deliveries.”

“Shit, Jesus, f**k, I shoulda showed you that sketch,” Mitch muttered, looking back at the sketch.

I pressed my hand into his chest again and got his eyes back. “You couldn’t know. I didn’t know anything that was going down with Bill. How could you know this had any connection with where I worked? That’s crazy.”

“I should have shown it to you,” he kind of repeated.

“Mitch, I told you I didn’t know anything about Bill and his life but even if I didn’t tell you, you knew when you walked in his house with Bud, Billie and me. I was freaked and you notice everything. You couldn’t know I’d know who was visiting. It’s a one in a million connection.”

“Mara, honey, you dot all the i’s, you cross all the t’s. It’s basic police work. I should…have… shown you.”