Gotcha! (17 page)

Agent James stepped outside the room, but Jake heard him and he figured so could Macy. “Moore’s on Baldwin’s line. Get a location, now!”

Jake’s line crackled, and he watched Macy sit up.

“You
know
what I mean, damn it!” Billy said. Static buzzed, then: “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Jake said.

Macy grabbed his arm. He saw the questions in her eyes as his own questions bounced around his head. How did Billy know about Macy? There hadn’t been time to get it on the news. Had Billy been at the scene of the accident?

When Billy didn’t speak, Jake asked, “Do you want to talk to her?”

“I told you to watch her.”

“I’m trying. Billy, if you turn yourself in, it would—”

“I want to talk to him!” Tears welled up in Macy’s eyes.

Billy continued, “Well, you’re doing a piss-poor job. He”—the phone crackled again—“didn’t he?”

“I’m losing you, Billy.” Jake looked at Macy, but focused on the conversation. “Where are you?” The line went dead. Jake lowered the phone.

“Where is he?” Macy asked.

“Was that who I think it was?” the captain asked.

Jake hit the redial button to display the number. Agent James stormed back, his phone still attached to his ear. He grabbed Jake’s wrist to see the small screen on Jake’s phone.

“Damn it!” James snapped. “He’s at the grandmother’s place.”

“He’s at Nan’s?” Macy kicked off the sheet draped over her.

Agent James punched in more numbers on his phone and pressed it to his ear. “Billy Moore is there.” James’s scowl deepened. “In the house. Get him. Now!”

“Lie back down.” Jake jerked the sheet over Macy.

She swung her legs over the bed and got up. “No. I’m going with you.”

“The hell you are coming with me.” Jake put a hand on Macy’s shoulder and watched as blood trickled down her forehead. “You’re bleeding again.”

“He’s my brother. Where are my clothes?” She looked around the small room.

“You need stitches. They’ve got to do some X-rays. Lie back down,” Jake seethed.

A voice came from the hall. “Where’s my daughter?” A sniffling sound followed. “I want to see her!”

Jake glanced at the door just as Faye Moore walked in. Her eyes were wet. Mascara smeared her face, and her hair…Oh, damn! Her hair was an odd shade of purple.

“Get me my clothes, Mom,” Macy snapped.

Macy’s grandma bounded into room. “Thank God you’re okay,” she said.

Macy, focused on the FBI agent, pushed off the bed. “I’m going.”

Jake’s gaze, along with the gazes of the two other men in the room, shot down to Macy’s beautiful and exposed backside. He snatched up the thin blanket and wrapped it around her. “Get back in bed.”

“I’m going!” Macy shrieked. “He’ll listen to me.”

“Going where?” her mom asked.

Agent James spoke into his cell. “Because we traced him on their home phone.” Pause. “Damn! But he has to be close. Find him!” The Fed snapped his phone closed. Everyone looked at him. “He’s not there. The phone is missing. He must have taken it.”

“What’s going on?” Nan asked.

A drop of blood fell from Macy’s forehead and landed on Jake’s shoe. Losing it, he scooped her up in his arms and set her on the bed.

Billy tossed his grandmother’s phone onto the floor of the van. Macy was okay. For some crazy reason, he’d believed Jake Baldwin when he said that. But for how long would she be okay? Tanks wouldn’t give up. He’d try again. And the next time, he might succeed.

Taking a curve at a fairly moderate speed, Billy slapped his pocket to make sure he’d left with the fake ID. The feel of the rectangular piece of plastic did very little to calm his racing heart. He drove out of the neighborhood. In the distance, he could hear sirens. The temptation to punch the gas pedal dug deep into his gut. He fought it. He couldn’t lose control now.

With his eyes on the road, he drove and ticked off his to-do list. Go to Girls Galore. Talk to Jamie Clay. Find Tanks. Kill him.

Macy opened her eyes to find Jake standing over her, brushing her hair from her forehead. He leaned down. She thought he intended to kiss her, and vaguely she recalled those few seconds after the accident, thinking how dying would have meant regretting things.

He leaned closer and studied her stitches. “You might have a small scar, but—”

“Damn. There goes my modeling career,” she groused. Fabric slipped off her shoulder, and she pulled it back up, aware she had nothing on but a backless hospital gown.

A smile pulled at his lips. “I was saying, it’s at your hairline and shouldn’t show.”

Macy shifted. “Any news of my brother?”

“No.” His gaze moved to her shoulder and, with a soft touch, he pushed up her gown. It had fallen again.

She sighed and yanked her thin blanket up to her chin. Why had Billy been at Nan’s? Why was Jake hovering over her as if he really cared? Why was it that every time she dyed someone’s hair, it turned purple? The questions bouncing around her head made her dizzy. Or was that the concussion?

“Have the X-rays come back yet?” she asked, wanting to leave and feel less naked. Less vulnerable. Good God, someone had tried to shoot her today. She looked around for her clothes. “Has someone stolen my underwear?”

“I think the doctor is looking at them now.”

Her gaze shot back to Baldwin. “My underwear?”

He laughed. “Your X-rays.” He pulled a chair closer and settled in beside her. Seriousness chased the humor from his eyes. “You didn’t run that red light. You weren’t moving when I rear-ended you.”

“If I wasn’t moving, I was about to.” She glanced away. It hadn’t been a total lie. She had thought about running the red light; she just hadn’t got around to doing it.

The silence was too big for the closet-sized hospital room, and her chest too small for the emotions crowding inside her. She was beginning to like Baldwin way too much.

He let out a breathy sigh. “I saw the gun and it seemed like the only option.”

She squeezed her eyes shut, reliving the moment she saw the gun, feeling her car careening forward, hearing the loud pop. Seeing the coffin slam into the fender. She’d run over a dead guy. Sucky.

“Can we not talk about that?”

“Yeah, I just…I didn’t mean to get you hurt.” He touched her hand.

“You’re sorry for trying to save my life?”

“No, I’m sorry you got hurt in my poorly executed attempt to save your life. I could have gotten you killed myself.”

His cell phone rang, and he dug it out of his pocket. “Yeah?” He looked at her. “Hey…Mark.” He said his partner’s name as if purposely letting her know who it was.

Thoughtful, courteous, good-looking, a sense of humor…

“You did?” He cut his eyes away. “I appreciate it.”

“What?” she asked when he ended the call.

His dark blue eyes met hers as he tucked his phone back in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”

“Don’t ‘nothing’ me. What is it?” She sat up, and her gown fell to show some cleavage. One of his brows arched and he hesitated.

“The wrecker driver said he thought your car would be ruled as totaled.”

She studied his nonchalant expression. Nonchalant didn’t work on him. “What else?”

“They recovered the bullet fired at you. It was in your headrest. It’s the same caliber as the gun used to shoot the prison guard.”

“Headrest?” The word was squeaked out. The bullet had come within inches of splattering her brains. “You really saved my life.”

He grinned a bad-boy smile, and bad boy definitely worked on him. Winking, he pulled her gown up to cover her chest. “So, what does it get me?”

She dropped back in bed, exhausted. “How about the next time you tick me off, I refrain from hitting you in the balls?”

His chuckle filled the room, far too intimate for Macy’s comfort. “That would be nice, but I was hoping for more.” His voice dropped. “Maybe another peek at the back of that gown?”

She tucked her blanket around her. “In your dreams.”

“In my dreams you’re not even wearing a hospital gown. I like that blue bra better.”

She tried to think of a comeback, but her wit must have been affected by the bump on her head. Instead, she folded and unfolded her legs—and missed the presence of her underwear.

“Did Nan and my mom leave?” she asked.

“No, they’re waiting until you’re released. I think your mom is busy planning her revenge against me.”

“She can’t blame you for this!”

Jake shook his head, rueful. “Not for this. She blames me for her hair.”

“Oh.” Macy sank back on her pillow. “Well, she did warn you about that.”

Billy sat at a table in Girls Galore staring through the semidarkness, looking for Tanks and waiting to see if Jamie Clay would come over. He’d asked for her. So far, no one had been able to point her out, but they all said she was here.

His gaze shifted. He noticed the near-naked bodies of the girls, but mostly he noticed their for-profit smiles. Tight. Forced. None of them looked genuine. Sort of how everyone looked in prison. Was that what this was for these women? A prison?

A red-haired waitress, her black skirt cut up to her ass and her blouse cut down to her nipples, set a drink on his table. “You ordered a Coke?” Her smile appeared even more forced than the others’.

“Yeah.” Billy tossed down a five. “Keep the change.”

“I hear you’re looking for Jamie.” She studied him.

“You Jamie?”

“It depends.” She hugged the tray. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” Billy noticed she had bruises up and down one arm. Had Tanks done that?

“You a cop?” she asked.

No, I’m an escaped convict.
“Not hardly.”

She must not have believed him. “I told you guys everything I know.” Her green eyes filled with tears, which unlike her smile appeared real. She blinked, and he saw another emotion. Fear. “I don’t know who killed Mike. I told you guys last night.”

Who was Mike? Was his death connected? Billy decided to go for broke. “I’m not a cop. I’m looking for David Tanks.”

Her pupils widened. “Who are you?”

“Have you seen him?” Billy countered.

“I haven’t seen shit!”

She turned to leave, and he caught her wrist, though not too hard. Billy didn’t believe in hurting women. He’d never be like his ol’ man.

“Jamie, please. I…” Suddenly something clicked. “Tanks slit Mike’s throat, didn’t he?”

She tried to pull away. “Let go or I’ll scream.”

“Tanks is threatening to hurt someone I love, too.”

The waitress squared her shoulders. “That’s not my problem.”

“You saw what he did to Mike. You want him to do that to someone else? Just tell me where he’s at.”

“And then he comes after me,” she said. “Do I look crazy?”

“No. You look afraid. And we both know what he’s capable of. Tell me, and I’ll make sure he never hurts anyone again.”

“I’m taking you to my place,” Jake told Macy as he gathered her things.

“No,” Agent James, the commander of the Gulf Coast Task Force, and Macy all said together.

Jake shot a look over his shoulder at the two men who’d just walked into the room. “Tanks knows where she lives.”

“I’m not letting him chase me out of my own house,” Macy growled.

“Men will be watching,” James stated. “It’s safe.”

Fury cut a course to Jake’s gut. “You’re using her as bait,” he accused. His gaze swung back to Macy. “They’re using you.”

Agent James spoke up. “You’re going to be there. My men will be there. If Tanks gets anywhere near Ms. Tucker, we’ll get him. No one will get hurt, and we’ll have this case solved.”

“I want him caught,” Macy said. “If I leave, he’s won.”

Jake let out a deep gulp of air. “If you stay—”

“They’ll catch him,” Macy interrupted.

Jake turned to Agent James. “I don’t—”

“Stop!” Agent James’s eyes narrowed on Jake. “She wants to stay, Baldwin. Let it go.” Both he and the other man stormed off.

Jake stared at Macy. “I don’t like it.”

“Welcome to my world,” Macy said. She dropped back onto her hospital bed.

Hal lay in the dark, staring at the hospital ceiling and thinking about Faye Moore. The nurse had given him something to help him sleep. The medication gave him a buzz, but sleep evaded him. Disappointment bounced around his chest and reminded him he’d been shot.

Faye.
That’s all her name tag had read. She hadn’t told him her last name, and now he knew why. Knowing she had some ulterior motive for visiting made everything feel different, somehow tainted. Something about her, about meeting her and having the dream, had made it all feel special, but now…

“You still awake?” A male voice came from the doorway.

“Depends. If you want blood, piss, or for me to breathe in that damn contraption again, I’m not.”

“I see you’re feeling good enough to complain.”

Hal hit the light button and stared at the FBI agent—Agent James, if he recalled correctly. “Yeah.” The electric motor hummed as he pushed a button to lift the head of his bed. “What can I do for you?”

“Just checking to see if you remembered anything else.”

“You must be desperate if you’re coming back to see me.”

“Not desperate. I was here at the hospital anyway. Just thought I’d pop in.”

“Good, because I’m sure I told you everything.” Hal glanced at the silent TV. “You talk to Billy Moore’s family?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“The kid saved my life.” The silence grew thick. Then: “Does he have a big family?”

The Fed stepped closer. “A mother, grandmother, and a sister.”

Shifting in bed, Hal felt his chest muscles pull and he remembered the older woman on the news. “They decent folks?”

“A little strange,” the agent remarked. “But I’d say they’re decent. Why?”

“Strange like how?” Hal’s mouth tasted like cotton, and he reached for his water jug and shook the empty plastic jug “You’d think at five Benjamins a day to stay here, they could at least refill your water.”

The agent laughed. “I’ll get it.”

Hal’s earlier drug-induced buzz grew. He closed his eyes and wondered how Faye Moore was strange. The door squeaked again and he heard footsteps, but he didn’t open his eyes. “I appreciate it,” he said. His tongue nearly stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“Appreciate what?” a soft voice asked.

Hal’s eyes snapped open. Okay, the buzz had really gotten him now. Agent James was gone. Faye Moore stood beside his bed, smelling like powder, and she still had…purple hair? He rubbed a hand over his face and looked again. Still there. Still baby fresh. Still purple.

“Were you asleep?” she asked.

“I think I’m dreaming.”

The door swung open again behind her. “They said they’ll bring…” Agent James reentered, his black dress shoes squeaking to a stop. His gaze darted to Faye, then back to Hal. Suspicion entered his expression. “You two know each other?”

“I…” Faye focused on Hal, and tears filled her blue eyes. “I’m sorry. I was going to tell you.” And with a streak of purple, leaving a residual baby-fresh scent, she took off.

“Faye?” Hal tried to sit up, but he didn’t have the strength to give chase.

Agent James looked torn between going after her or interrogating him.

“Shit,” Hal bellowed. “Can you get her for me?”

“You’d better have a good explanation,” Agent James said.

“Well…I don’t!” Hal raked a hand over his eyes. “Was her hair really purple?”

The man fixed his brown eyes on Hal. “Are you involved in this? What’s your relationship with Billy Moore and his family?”

When Hal didn’t answer, James grabbed up a cell phone. “Mrs. Moore is leaving the hospital. Stop her. Yes, she’s the younger one. Dammit! She’s the one with purple hair.”

“Hey, Pizza Girl…”

Macy stirred at the sound of Jake’s voice.
Jake?
Not Baldwin. When had she gone over completely to a first-name basis? Oh yeah, right about the time she’d decided if she died she’d regret not…Not doing what? Images flashed in her head, images of her and a certain cop kissing her until clothes started falling off. Images of having someone to lean on, to…

She opened her eyes and became completely clear about one thing: a person should never trust their instincts when facing death. Nope, instincts one should trust were based on life lessons. She’d had enough of those to know that losing clothes and leaning on someone ended badly.

Jake stood outside the open passenger door, leaning in. His dark blue eyes and sexy smile sucked her in like a new, high-powered Hoover. “Are you going to sleep in my car all night or come inside?”

“I’m going to sleep in your car.” She let her eyes drift back shut to avoid temptation. Maybe she should have accepted Nan’s invitation to stay at her house. Maybe she should’ve accepted her mom’s offer for company. Because right now, the idea of being alone with Jake…

One strong arm slipped under her legs and another eased between her back and the seat. “Whoa!” She pressed a hand against Jake’s chest—his warm, wide chest—and winced from the soreness in her shoulders. “Down, caveman.”

Did he listen? No.

He whisked her out of his car and cuddled her up against his solid, perfect-fit chest.

“Okay, you’ve proven you can pick me up…again.” She vaguely remembered him doing this after the accident. “Put me down.” She glanced at his face and his smile. And she felt herself being lulled back to quietude again.

“You sure?” His question was a husky teasing. “I kind of like holding you.”

She pointed. “Down.”

He lowered her feet to the ground. His hands circled her waist as if to steady her. “The doctor said you might get dizzy.”

“What do they know?” She reached back into the car to grab her purse, lost her balance, and swayed.

“Apparently a lot.” He pulled her against him. “Don’t be stubborn.”

Her cheek landed against the soft spot on his chest just below his shoulder. Inhaling, she breathed in the lightest traces of soap and perhaps a touch of spice-scented deodorant. He smelled good. He felt good. Someone must have brought him a clean shirt, because the one she’d bled over was gone, and in its place was a pressed, button-down, baby blue oxford that made his eyes look bluer than she’d ever seen them.

“I’m not stubborn.” How long she could stay like this without giving herself away—without him knowing how much she liked being here. And it wasn’t just the hormone kind of good. It was a
safe
good. Which meant this wasn’t at all safe. “I’m a very reasonable person.”

“Could have fooled me.” His whisper stirred her hair. “Let me pick you up.” His hands gliding down her back sent chills slow-dancing up her spine. Now,
that
was hormone good. It was the man/woman kind of good that led her back to the losing-clothes image.

She pulled away. “I can make it. Really.”
Clothes intact.

His dark blue eyes met her gaze and he pushed a flyaway curl from her cheek. “It’s a good thing that you’re as beautiful as you are stubborn.”

“Beautiful? You into bloody clothes and stitches?”

“I think I’m just into you, Pizza Girl.” His mouth brushed against her forehead. “Let’s get you inside and settled on the sofa, and I’ll help you get cleaned up. I’ll bet you’re starved, too.”

He put his arm around her waist, firmly, as if he fully intended to catch her if she fell. And even though she’d sworn to never again count on a man being there, she found herself leaning against him as they moved forward. Tomorrow she’d be stronger, she promised herself.

A few minutes later, Macy had a hunch that tomorrow might be too late. Jake had placed her on the sofa, gotten her a blanket, and collected her pink cotton pajamas. “Sit up and I’ll help pull your T-shirt off.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that how you seduce all your women?”

He grinned, sat down beside her, cupped her chin in his palm, and made her look at him. “I’m not going to lie. I fully intend to get you naked. To get naked with you. But you’re safe tonight. Now, can I help you get undressed? I promise not to enjoy it…much.”

She didn’t have a comeback. Nothing except “I gotta go to the bathroom.”

He stood and offered her hand. She got up on her own.

“Stubborn,” he muttered.

“Am not,” she muttered back and stubbornly made it to the bathroom alone. She slipped out of her bloodstained clothes there and took care of her feminine needs. The movements made her head throb. Surrounded with soft cotton, and only a bit dizzy, she opened the door. He was standing there waiting. His arm slipped around her waist and he walked with her.

“You rest. I’m going to fix us something to eat,” he suggested.

Too tired to argue, she lay back on her sofa and closed her eyes, and tried to think about what she could do to help bring this nightmare to an end. Billy was still out there, and she hadn’t done one useful thing about it. She remembered the paper in her shorts pocket where she’d written down all the information from Jake’s files. Tomorrow she’d pull herself together. Tomorrow…

Something warm and wet brushed across her brow, and she jerked her eyes open. Jake knelt beside her, smoothing a washcloth across her forehead. “You’ve still got blood in your hair.”

She pushed herself up, and Elvis, who’d settled at the foot of the sofa, jumped off.

Jake sat down beside her. “Dinner is almost ready.”

He leaned in. She thought it was to give her brow another swipe, but instead his mouth melted against hers. It wasn’t a heat-and-sex kind of kiss, but a sweet kind. And for some reason, that was even more disturbing.

“Tomorrow I’m going to stop you from you doing that.” She frowned when she realized she’d spoken aloud.

A mischievous grin tilted his lips. “But not tonight?”

“I’m weak right now.”

“I think it’s because you like it,” he accused.

After tucking a lock of hair behind her ear, he pressed the warm washcloth gently to her temple. “I found some tomato soup in your cabinet. I’m heating it now. I made us grilled cheese sandwiches, but we’re desperately low on groceries. I’ll stop tomorrow and grab us some things. Maybe some steaks. I can grill a mean fillet.”

She hadn’t gotten over the
we
part of his speech or the
meat
part, which she didn’t eat, when he pressed his hand to her brow. “No fever. Good. The paper said you might get a little temperature.”

“What are you? A doctor who plays cop? Or a cop who plays doctor?” She leaned back against the sofa.

“I like playing doctor.” His kiss might have lacked sizzle, but not his tone.

“Seriously?” she asked.

“I am serious. And I’m good at it, too.” He winked.

She shook her head. “I bet. You do this too well.”

“What? Kiss?” He leaned in again.

She pressed a hand to his mouth. “Take care of people.”

“Oh. Unfortunately, I had plenty of practice.” The moment the words left his mouth, the teasing twinkle left his expression.

Macy found herself intrigued. “With who?”

He stood without answering. “I’ll bet the soup’s hot.”

And she’d bet Jake Baldwin had secrets. “Jake?”

He stopped halfway across the living room and turned. She wasn’t an expert on reading emotions, but she knew grief when she saw it. It was there in his eyes.

“You need an aspirin?” he asked.

“Who was it that you took care of?”

“You want milk to drink with your dinner?”

“You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “Some things don’t warrant discussing. Try another subject.”

It hit her then. The man had met her ex-husband, her mom, and Nan. He’d seen her underwear, seen her naked butt in a hospital gown, had done repairs on her house, slept on her sofa, gone with her to buy tampons, had a key to her house on his key ring, had sworn to protect her, saved her life, was now taking care of her like a mama bear, and yet she knew nothing about him. Zilch.

Try another subject.
“You ever been married?”

“No.” He walked into the kitchen, out of her view. The clink of silverware and the clatter of dishes filled the silence.

So it wasn’t a wife he’d taken care of.

“Ever been in love?” She spoke just loud enough for him to hear.

The dish rattling stopped. His head popped out, then vanished again. “Once.”

“What was she like?” Macy stared and waited. And waited.

“Beautiful,” he finally answered.

“Blonde and bouncy?” she asked, frowning.

“Blonde, no. Bouncy, yes.”

“And?” Macy asked.

“And what?” His head popped out again.

“What was she
like
?” She watched him disappear back into the kitchen.

“She had big brown eyes. Very loyal.” More dish rattling. “And she loved to cuddle.”

Macy would just bet she did. “She sounds nice. What happened?”

“Heartworm. She had floppy ears,” he continued. “Part Lab.”

Macy grinned, even though she knew he was avoiding her true question. “Seriously,” she complained.

“I am. She thought I walked on water.” He stepped back into the living room with two sets of plates and cups in his hands and a devilish smile on his face. “She’d bounce into bed with me at the least invitation. Men like that.” He waggled his eyebrows. “She never complained when I left the toilet seat up. Oh, she even loved it when I left my dirty socks around!” He handed her a plate. “Do you know you have zero protein sources in this house?”

The smell of basil-tomato soup filled her nose and Macy’s stomach grumbled. Her mouth watered at the sight of the toasted sandwich and the cup with swirling steam. She picked up the grilled cheese centered with gooey cheddar. “Cheese is protein.”

“I mean real protein.” He set his plate on the coffee table and walked back into the kitchen. “I poured us some milk.”

Her stomach begged for her to start eating; her manners dictated she wait. She licked her lips, waited, and looked up to see him coming toward her. “Cheese
is
real protein. And milk.”

The sofa sank as he settled beside her and placed glasses on the coffee table. “I mean meat.” He scooted hip close. Balancing his plate on his lap, he picked up his sandwich. “Eat.”