Gotcha! (19 page)

The cat meowed. Macy’s eyes opened, but her gaze remained fixed on the ceiling. “Elvis wants his spot back.”

“Come on. Talk to me.”

She cut her eyes toward him and pulled her hand away. “Some subjects don’t warrant talking about.” And just in case he didn’t recognize his own words, she added, “You should understand. You’re the one who prefers to keep your secrets to yourself.”

“What secrets?” he asked.

“I asked you earlier who you’d taken care of, remember? And you said, ‘Some subjects don’t warrant talking about.’ ”

“What does that have to do with us having sex?”

“It doesn’t.”

“Then why bring it up? We were talking about why you won’t have sex with me!”

He confused her. “I’m just saying that, for a guy who doesn’t want to share anything about himself, you sure do expect others to share.” She paused. “And I don’t have to tell you why I won’t have sex with you.”

“So I’m not the only one who’s keeping secrets.” He dropped back on the bed.

Jake couldn’t sleep. First, the damn cat kept hissing at him. Second, he could smell Macy, the citrus of her hair products, the musky scent that was purely her…and every instinct screamed for him to roll over and introduce her to his “best friend.” A few kisses on the sweet curve of her neck—she’d seemed to like that earlier—a hand passed slowly over her breasts to tease her nipples, a knee gently nudged between her soft thighs, and she’d cave. Macy wanted him. He knew and felt it with every surge of his blood—blood that right now was giving him the hard-on of the century.

Just in case she was still awake, he bent his knee to hide the tent pitched in the covers by his arousal. He looked at her. She lay on her back, looking angelic and asleep. Damn, he wanted her. But only a real cad would seduce a woman who had a concussion. He wasn’t a cad. He was the decent, law-abiding son of a Baptist preacher.

But why the hell did she insist on not getting involved?

I’m just saying that, for a guy who doesn’t want to share anything about himself, you sure do expect others to share.
Her words replayed in his head. He vaguely recalled Lisa saying much the same thing. Didn’t women know that men didn’t enjoy spilling their guts?

His watch beeped, announcing it was one a.m. “Hey, Pizza Girl?” He brushed a lock of hair from her cheek.

“No sex,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “I’m going to turn on the lights and check your eyes. Okay?”

“Bad idea.” She pulled the blanket over her head.

He switched on the lamp. Then, tugging the blanket down, he kissed her nose. “Sleepyhead, open your eyes and look at me.”

“I already know what you look like. You took your clothes off in front of me, remember?”

“And what do I look like?” he asked, remembering her appreciation.

“Like a man who won’t talk about himself.”

“So, this sharing thing is why you won’t have sex with me?”

She opened her eyes. He leaned in to check her pupils, and her hand shot up to stop him.

Catching her hand, he frowned. “I’m just checking your eyes.” He gazed deeply into those soft baby blues. Her pupils were the same size. Her lashes were long, her nose adorable. Her lips…“Now I want to kiss you.”

She jerked the blanket back over her face.

“I guess that’s a no, huh?” After setting his watch alarm again, he cut off the light and went back to staring at the ceiling.

Macy shifted beside him. “It was your wife, wasn’t it? Who you took care of?”

“I told you I’d never been married.”

“And men don’t lie?”

“
I
haven’t lied to you.” He looked from the ceiling to her. Why the hell she needed to know about this was beyond him. She
didn’t
need to know. He shouldn’t have to tell her. But…

“My dad.”

“What happened?” she asked.

“Cancer.”

“Did he pull through?”

“No.” Some memories were better left alone.

“I’m sorry.”

She settled back on her pillow. He continued to stare at the ceiling.

“It was two years ago. I’m fine,” he finally said.

She moved an inch nearer, and he wondered if she realized. “Were you close?”

“Yeah. We were different, but we respected each other.”

“How were you different?”

Jake considered his answer. “He was a rule follower. Saw everything in black and white.”

“And you aren’t?” Disbelief rang in her voice. “You’re a cop. I’d say you expect people to follow the rules.”

“Those are laws. That’s different.”

“So what kind of
rules
did he follow?”

“Religious beliefs,” he replied.

“Oh.” Macy’s hand dropped. It brushed his arm. “I’m assuming he wasn’t Catholic?”

Jake heard the hint of humor in her voice, and remembered her whole nun charade. He turned his hand over and wrapped her fingers in his palm. “Baptist. Not a Bible-thumper—he just looked to God to solve everything. Even if it meant taking handouts.”

“And who do you look to?” she asked.

“Myself.”

“So you’re an atheist who doesn’t believe in taking or giving handouts.”

“I’m not against helping people,” he argued. “I just prefer to take care of myself.” Silence filled the room. “And I’m not an atheist. It’s just…My father suffered more than any man should have been allowed. For a while I told myself I didn’t believe in God. Then I realized that you don’t get that angry at someone you don’t believe in. So, yeah, I believe. I just don’t think He’s trying to solve my problems. He sure as hell wasn’t watching out for my ol’ man.”

“I’m sorry,” Macy repeated in a voice that held no judgment. “I can’t imagine losing someone I love to something like that.”

He threaded his fingers through hers. Thoughts of his father whisked through his head. Good thoughts. “He would have liked you.”

“Because I’m going to be a Methodist nun?” she offered.

He chuckled. “He was a do-gooder like you.”

“I’m not a
do-gooder
.” She sounded offended.

“You volunteer at the garden, and didn’t you say you volunteer at shelters?”

“That doesn’t make me a do-gooder! I just like staying busy.”

“Most people take a class or buy a book. They don’t try to find ways to help others.”

“It still doesn’t make me a do-gooder. And I
do
read.”

“So you’re a humble, literate do-gooder.” He chuckled. “But that’s not the only reason my dad would’ve liked you. He had a wicked sense of humor. He loved to tease and be teased.” Something he and his dad had in common, Jake realized. “He was a good man. That last month we talked more than ever. Even when he was hurting like hell, he loved to laugh.”

“Then maybe that last month wasn’t all bad.” She gave his hand a squeeze.

Her words gave Jake pause. For two years he had refused to mentally revisit that time, worked hard not to remember. It never occurred to him until now that by blocking out those memories, he’d neglected to remember the good.

He turned his head and met Macy’s gaze. “What about your dad?”

“He left,” she said matter-of-factly. She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on.

“That must have stung.”

“Please. His leaving was the best birthday present I ever got.”

“He left on your birthday?”
Damn.

“Yeah. But really it—”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve.”

“Shit.” He rested their locked hands on his chest, loving how her skin felt against him.

“He did us a favor by leaving.”

“How’s that?”

“He didn’t want to be there.” From the way she said it, he knew there was more to it. But unlike her, he wouldn’t push. Not that he regretted telling Macy about his dad. But still.

Her hand shifted just a bit south, and his mind carried her touch lower. The blanket started to rise again. He bent his knee to hide it. “You’d better get some sleep.” He let go of her hand, even though letting go was the last thing he wanted.

She rolled over, and he heard her sigh. “I keep thinking about Billy.”

“I know.” He reached over and touched her hair. God, it was soft. “He’s lucky that you care so much.”

Billy stepped onto Andy’s wobbly porch around two a.m. He’d gone back to Girls Galore and driven around for an hour. No Tanks. He’d screwed up, let the bastard get away.

He pushed open the door, and Andy’s dog growled from the back bedroom. Ellie slept on the sofa, perched on her side, her palms together, hands tucked beneath her cheek. The phone conversation he’d overheard was burned into his mind, yet denial begged to be embraced. He studied her. She wore a pink nightshirt with the word
Angel
printed across the front. And damn if she didn’t look like one. Why had she been talking to Tanks?

“You’re here.” Her voice was sleepy but warm.

“We’ve got to talk.”

She sat up. “What happened?”

“You called Tanks.” It came out as an accusation.

Her brow furrowed. “Me?”

“Yeah.” He dropped his gun on the coffee table.

“No. I didn’t call Tanks!”

Doubt. So much doubt. Damn, he wanted to believe her. He wanted to pull off his clothes, pull off hers, and bury himself inside her.

“Where’s your phone?”

She sat up straighter. “In my purse. Why?”

“I’m going to see if you’re lying to me.”

She sat there staring at him. He couldn’t tell from looking at her if she was hurt or angry. Possibly both.

She got up and tossed him her purse from the chair. “Check for yourself.” Anger brightened her eyes. “I’m going to sleep in the bedroom.”

“Andy is in there.” Billy stepped forward, but she stopped him with a look.

“I’ll sleep with the devil before I’ll sleep with a man who doesn’t trust me.” She bolted down the hall.

Three seconds later, Andy walked out, bringing a blanket and his dog. “That wasn’t nice,” he mumbled. He wandered sleepily into the living room, where he plopped down in the recliner and shoved a pillow behind his head. “Ellie’s not the type that would be messing around with another guy,” he added with a yawn.

Billy dug through Ellie’s purse, found her phone, and hit the button to see if she’d made any calls. Not one.

He looked at Andy. “Did she use your phone again?”

The two a.m. alarm came before Jake realized. “I’m turning on the light,” he warned.

“I really don’t like you,” Macy mumbled.

“Yes, you do,” he said. Finding her pupils fine, he cut the light again, reset his watch, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

At the three a.m. alarm: “I’m positive I don’t like you.” Macy covered her eyes with her hand when the light flooded the room.

“You’re a terrible liar,” he said. “You so hot for me, you…” His gaze lowered, and his words tripped over his tongue. The top of her pajama shirt had come undone, exposing her soft breast and the better part of a rose-colored nipple. Swallowing a desire to lower his mouth and taste that sweet treasure, he focused on her face. Leaning in to check her eyes, he tried not to look at the open V of her shirt.

So close to her mouth he could feel her breath, he brushed his lips to hers. He seriously meant it to be just a quick kiss, but she slipped her tongue between his lips and her hand around his neck. Lost in want, he drank the flavor of her mouth. Lost in taste, he slipped his hand inside her flannel shirt and brushed his thumb over her nipple.

She moaned into his mouth and her hips rose up. And just like that, he remembered. He couldn’t do this.

He pulled back, leaving them both short of breath. “Your pupils are fine.” He rolled over.

“You shouldn’t start something you can’t finish,” she growled.

“Do you want me to finish?” he asked, wondering if her okay was enough. He awaited her answer.

“No. But you still shouldn’t have started it.”

He hadn’t started it! Well, not really. She’d been the one to deepen the kiss. But he didn’t say that.

Thirty minutes later, he was still wide awake and fully aroused. He’d just checked his watch. That was how he knew the exact time the spray of bullets came through the window.

Macy heard loud popping sounds and shattering glass. Before she’d awakened enough to realize what they meant, she felt Jake’s hard body on top of her. His oh-so-masculine weight brought a yelp from her throat. The next thing she knew, he had her in a bear hug rolling off the bed and onto the floor. She landed with a thud atop his naked chest, his arms locked around her, something cold and metallic pressed between her shoulder blades.

“Son of a bitch!” He flipped her over. “Are you okay?” Propped up on his elbow, he moved his left hand over her front, touching breasts, ribs, legs. “Macy?”

“Yeah.” Popping sounds? “What was…?”

Her eyes adjusted. The metal object he’d held to her back now waved in his right hand: his gun. Clue number one that the popping noises hadn’t been firecrackers.

Oh, sweet mother of earth.
She tried to sit up.

“Stay down!” He forced her to the carpet and started crawling toward the door.

Her brain raced. Gun? Shattering glass? Someone had shot through her bedroom window. Someone could shoot again. Her sleep-hazed mind ricocheted from thought to thought and ended with the question
Where the hell does Jake think he’s going?

She arched her neck and saw him about to clear the edge of the bed. Hadn’t he told her to stay down? That sounded like a darn good plan!

“No!” She jerked over and latched both hands around his hairy leg. “Are you an idiot? They’ve got guns.”

“So do I!” He tried to yank free.

She held on like a hungry tick and butt-scooted in reverse, dragging him back behind the bed. “They could kill you.”

He swiveled around and pried her fingers off his ankle. “Stay here!”

Before she could grab him again, he was on his feet and running out of the bedroom. She heard the thud of his footsteps, followed by the creaking of her back door. And then…more gunfire.

“No!” Macy jackknifed upright.

She cleared the hall, darted around the coffee table, and made it to the open back door, where she stopped dead in her tracks. People had guns out there! What the hell she was doing? One deep breath, and she crouched against the wall and peered around the doorjamb. Inky blackness clung to the wet night, and she prayed she’d see Jake. Prayed she’d see him standing. Walking. Alive.

She remembered the most recent gunshots. Her hands trembled at the thought that he lay out in the blackness now, dying.

Dead?

Damn him! She should have never let go of his ankle. “Jake!”

Nothing. No answer. Fear clawed at her throat. And—bam!

She was five years old, sitting at Nan’s dinner table. Her grandpa was smiling.

“Eat up, sweetheart, and I’ll take you to the—”

She was certain he’d intended to say
circus
. There was one in town, and she’d begged to go. But he never finished his sentence. He flinched, his eyes went blank, and he fell face-first into his plate of spaghetti.

Five years old, and she’d learned death nullified promises, that death was final, that loving someone came with a price.

“God, let Jake be okay,” she mumbled into the night.

She jumped up and put her finger on the light switch, then hesitated. Her heart pounded against her ribs, and she hugged the doorjamb. Was he lying facedown on the ground, the way her grandpa had lain in his lunch? She wanted to turn on the light and see.

Before she could think about it any further, she hit the switch. A silver glow flooded the tiny patio, and her gaze flicked out, back and forth. “Jake?”

Nothing. No Jake. Oh, God!

Voices came from the alley behind her fence. She stepped past the patio and onto the squishy grass. The fence creaked, and two men hurtled over it, toward her. One wore a dark suit and tie. The other wore a pair of boxers.

Jake!

Macy’s knees folded like chewed toothpicks.

“I don’t give a damn. Goddamn it, I trusted that you guys had things covered, but—,” Jake was saying. But after he and the FBI agent took the fence, he came to an abrupt stop when he saw Macy collapsing. His bare feet pounded the wet grass. By the time he got to her, she sat curled into a ball, her arms hugging her legs.

He squatted in front of her. “Hey, you okay?”

“Just dandy.” She blinked, and her breath came out in quavering gasps. “I’m just…dandy.” Moisture spiked her lashes, and a few tears dripped down her cheeks.

Guilt bored holes into his chest. He should have stood up to Agent James and taken her to his place. He’d known what they were doing. Setting a trap, using her as bait. They had underestimated Tanks. But damn it to hell and back if Jake hadn’t overestimated their ability to do it. He hadn’t liked the plan, but he hadn’t assumed they’d screw up this badly. This wouldn’t have happened if he’d listened to his gut. He wouldn’t make that mistake again.

Macy leaned forward and placed a soft palm on each side of his bare shoulders. “You idiot!” She shoved him backward so hard that he landed on the muddy ground. His Glock thudded next to him.

“They had guns!” She crawled on top of him and pounded his chest with her tiny fist. “I thought they killed you!”

Jake heard a chuckle come from the agent behind him, but he focused on the tears streaming down Macy’s face.

He took two, three blows, four, before he captured her wrists in his hands. “I’m fine.” He pulled her down, wrapped his arms around her, and held her cotton-covered body against him. The cold mud oozed against his back, but she was warm on his chest, and nothing had ever felt so right.

Deep, heartfelt sobs bubbled from her throat.

“Shh,” he whispered, and brushed his hands up and down her spine. “It’s okay, baby. I promise. I’ll take care of you.” And he pitied the man who tried to get in his way.

He heard her catch her breath, felt her stiffen. “It’s not”—sniffle—“okay.”

She spoke between little hiccups, sounding just like her mom. And that woman scared him. But even the fact that Macy might be more like her mother than he’d suspected didn’t lessen his desire. He didn’t need perfection. He just needed Macy. Her sense of humor, her one-liners, her giving heart. And he’d take more of this, too—the holding, the closeness. Damn, he loved the way she fit against him. In spite of his height advantage, their bodies met in all the right places. Yeah, he wanted her in a forever kind of way.

She pushed up. Her chest raised off his. “I can take care of”—sniffle—“myself. Never wanted”—sniffle—“to go to the circus anyway!” She crawled off him and marched inside.

Two hours after the attack, Macy stood on the threshold of Jake’s condo, physically, mentally, and emotionally exhausted. Before they’d left her place, she’d changed into a pair of gray sweats and a powder blue T-shirt. She’d forgotten to change out of her bright-yellow bunny slippers.

“You can come inside, Pizza Girl.” Jake set down the litter box and bags of clothes, and he looked back at her. “I’ll even let your three friends in.” He motioned to the cat carrier and her bunny-slippered feet.

“You could have just taken me to my mom’s,” she said, too tuckered out to answer his joke.

He gently pulled her inside. “It’s five in the morning.”

“Nan’s up doing yoga.”

“Well, you’re here now.” He closed the door and then, taking the cat carrier from her, unlocked it to let Elvis free. The feline hissed and didn’t come out.

Macy let her gaze move around his living room. If she weren’t so zombified, she’d have enjoyed checking out his place, picking up clues about who Jake Baldwin really was. But right now, all she wanted was a place to get horizontal, to crash and forget the storm of emotions raging over her when she’d thought he was shot.

“This way.” He led her down a hall and into a bedroom.

“Sorry. I never make my bed. But the sheets are semiclean.” He pulled back a rumpled blanket.

Semiclean didn’t sound good. She almost insisted she’d sleep on the sofa, but sheer exhaustion left her devoid of energy. Elvis appeared in the doorway and darted under the bed. Maybe he had the right idea. A bed was a bed, semiclean sheets or not.

She dropped onto the mattress. “If I get cooties, I’ll sue.”

He knelt between her knees and removed her slippers, as if taking off bunny shoes were part of his job description. Looking up, his gaze grew tense. “I’m so damn sorry.”

She blinked, her lids almost too heavy to hold open. “For what? Being stupid enough to almost get yourself killed?”

“No.” He put his palms on her knees. “For being stupid enough to take you back to your place. I had a feeling Tanks wouldn’t quit. I let Agent James—”

“I’m the one who insisted I go home.” Even dog tired, she saw the guilt he shouldered, saw his bloodshot eyes and the sad-little-boy look that she ached to chase away. Before she started questioning her feelings again, however, she collapsed back on the bed and stared at the ceiling fan. It was going around and around.

“I’m killing my brother when I see him,” she muttered.

Raising her knees, she slipped her legs beneath Jake’s semiclean sheets and rolled onto her side to face the wall.

“We both need sleep,” Jake’s husky voice said. “I don’t have to be at work until after lunch. You’re supposed to call and make an appointment to see your doctor later. Your grandma said she’d take you.”

Macy heard the zipper of his jeans, but she closed her eyes, too tired to care that he was stripping down. The bed swayed as he climbed in beside her.

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her into a spooning position. His chest surrounded her. His arms cradled her. His body heat melted through her T-shirt, and she felt safe—so safe that she didn’t listen to the voice that said safe was dangerous.

“Macy?” Jake’s voice pulled her from the fuzzy edges of sleep.

“Huh?”

“What did you mean tonight when you said that you didn’t want to go to the circus?”

“Pick another subject,” she muttered. Then she fell asleep, feeling safer than she had in years.

Hal glared at the clock. Ten, damn it! She should have been here.

He sat up, grabbed the phone, and dialed the front desk. “I need to speak to Faye Moore. She’s a volunteer here.”

The lady told him to hang on. He did so for five freaking minutes before the woman returned. “She’s on the fourth floor. I’ll connect you.”

He let out a deep breath. It hurt less to breathe today.

A floor nurse answered his call. “Just a minute,” she said after he asked for Faye. “She’s passing out books.”

He waited another four or five.

Finally Faye answered. “Hello?” She sounded concerned.

“Faye? It’s Hal.”

She didn’t say anything, so he just jumped headfirst into the conversation. “You said you would come by today.”

“I—I’m not working that floor.”

His grip on the phone tightened. “And you don’t get a break? You couldn’t have stopped by before you started volunteering?” More silence. “I’m not sure if…I think it’s best if…

They said I shouldn’t see you.”

“I don’t care what they say,” he growled, gruffer than he intended. “I think you at least owe me an explanation.”

“I…I guess”—sniffle—“I could drop by during my lunch.”

“I’ll wait for you.” He hung up and glanced at the clock. Patience wasn’t his virtue.

A soft touch against her cheek stirred Macy from sleep. Warm, comfortable sleep. The growing hardness against her bended knee brought her closer to alertness. But not close enough. She shifted her leg over it.

Up.

Down.

Recognition struck. Her eyes flew open. A deep masculine inhalation sounded at her ear.

Oh, damn. She lay half on top of him, was giving him a knee job.

“Good morning,” he whispered.

She didn’t speak, didn’t move. It had been forever since she’d dealt with such a “hard” issue. She wasn’t sure if she should acknowledge the fact that she was aware of his condition or play clueless to the impressive situation arising in his boxer shorts.

“How do you feel?” He rose up to look down at her.

Clueless sounded better. She slammed her eyes shut, but too late—he’d seen her. She knew, because he chuckled. “I think it’s time we get up,” he said.

“Well, your Mr. Dudley seems to have gotten a head start.” Inwardly she cringed. But what the heck, clueless had never worked for her. She rolled out of the cradle of his arm, sat up, but made the mistake of glancing back and down to his…

“Mr.
Dudley
?” Jake laughed. “Last night you referred to him as my best friend. Did you two meet and get acquainted when I wasn’t looking?”

“No. That’s what they’re all called.”

“Says who?” he asked.

She paused. “Says me.” She stiffened. “And don’t look so proud. He’s not that impressive.” It was a whopper of a lie, but she didn’t want to give the guy a bigger head than he already had. Literally.

Jake’s right eyebrow arched. The bright confidence sparkling in his gaze told her she was in trouble.

“Come back to bed and we could work on making him more impressive.”

“I think I’ll go pee instead.” Macy scooted off the bed. Elvis appeared in the doorway.

“Macy?” Jake called. “I’m sorry.”

She turned to him. He’d raised his knee to hide the evidence, but his smile told her he wasn’t really sorry at all. Not that she deserved an apology. She’d started this conversation. Not one of her brightest moves, either. My God, she’d named the guy’s penis! A
really
bad move. Because once introductions are made, men feel perfectly fine bringing them into conversations.
Mr. Dudley this. Mr. Dudley that.

“You…you just seem to have that effect on…Mr. Dudley.”

See? Big mistake.

She spent fifteen minutes in the shower of Jake’s extra bathroom. Grabbing her purse, she took care of her feminine necessities, then wrapped a towel around her breasts. He’d suggested they shower and then go grab a bite to eat before he went to work. He’d suggested they shower
together
. She’d turned him down on that, but accepted breakfast.

Pulling her hair back, she gave the mirror a one-handed circular swipe. “Ugh!” she moaned. The image staring back had a semiblack eye and a bruised forehead, though the stitches were indeed high enough that any scar wouldn’t be noticeable. Not that she was vain, but who wanted to be scarred? One stretch of her neck proved she wasn’t as sore as she’d expected. Good, because she had a lot to do today. And it was already eleven.