Gotcha! (7 page)

“How long?” she asked, drawing Jake’s attention. Their eyes met and held. He felt it again—the soul-deep attraction, the sizzle of anticipation.

“An hour at the most. Maybe you’d like me to grab you a snack from the lunchroom.”

“No. But I do need to run to the store.”

“For what?” he asked.

She nibbled at her lower lip. “Aspirin. Gotta headache.”

“I’ve got some.” He rolled Donaldson, chair and all, aside—farther from Macy—and pulled out his desk drawer. Taking the bottle, he leaned across the desk and dropped it in her hands.

Donaldson stood up. “I’ll get you some water.”

Jake shot the detective a glare. “She’s got juice.”

Macy stared at the aspirin. After a moment she said, “I prefer my own brand.”

“I could run to the store for you.” Donaldson pulled a set of keys from his pocket. “I needed to run an errand, anyway. What kind—”

“I’ll do it,” Jake insisted, irritated by Donaldson’s play at Macy. And that’s exactly what the boy was doing.

He focused on the other detective. Suddenly the Golden Boy looked more like competition and less like a kid. He fired Donaldson the age-old “back off” glare. Hell, he’d been the one to get kneed in the balls by the woman. He had dibs.

Donaldson obviously recognized the look. “Well, I’ll go…catch up on something.”

Jake watched him leave, then faced Macy. “Now, what kind of headache medicine do you need? You name it, and I’ll get it.”

“I’d rather buy it myself.”

“Agent James specifically asked to have you wait here. But I can make a quick run.” He was putting his best foot forward. Heck, he was a preacher’s son. He knew all about being nice. Sunday manners and polite behavior had been instilled in him before potty training.

Her eyes got that particular gleam that meant she didn’t want nice. She didn’t want Sunday manners or politeness. She wanted a fight.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you purposely trying to be difficult?”

She didn’t deny it. She didn’t say anything.

“Just tell me what you need,” he pressed.

“You can’t hold me here against my will,” she snipped.

He shook his head. “I’m not—Don’t be stubborn. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it.”

She tilted her head back, and along with what he’d swear was a flash of defiance in her eyes, she smiled. “Fine.”

Relief swept him. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Not at all.”

Something in her tone warned him, much too late.

“I need tampons,” she stated—loud enough for anyone passing by to hear. “The kind with the plastic applicator. They come in a pink box. You’ll find them in the aisle of the grocery store that men avoid, beside the yeast-infection medications and feminine-deodorant products. Oh, and don’t get the cardboard-applicator kind. They’re not nearly as comfortable. Women already feel bloated this time of the month. We don’t like to feel uncomfortable, too.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but freaking hell, what could he say?

“And make sure you get the pack that has a variety of absorbency. For slow days, medium days, and heavy days. And, oh yeah, pick me up some panty liners while you’re at it. You know this time of the month can be a little messy. I like the kind of liners that have those wings.”

Macy wished she had a camera. The look on Sergeant Baldwin’s face was priceless. But she wasn’t finished. She yanked open her purse, pulled out her wallet, and handed him a ten spot.

“This should cover it. But wait. I have a coupon.” She shuffled through several, then dropped the tampon coupon in his hand. In her experience, men hated using coupons almost as much as discussing feminine protection. Oh, and buying it.

She plopped back into her chair and smiled. “I’ll just wait right here.”

She pretended to be surprised when he caught her by the elbow and practically dragged her out of the chair. As they passed the front desk, he spoke to the female attendant. “If Agent James asks, tell him we’ll be right back.”

Macy grinned all the way to the store. Eyeing Jake as she moved down the feminine-protection aisle, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had so much fun. He hadn’t said one word the whole trip. Not one.

Then, somewhere between enjoying his silent comeuppance and paying for her items, the warm fuzzy feeling that teasing Baldwin seemed to bring out in her faded. She returned to reality. Her baby brother’s life was on the line. Somehow she had to figure out how to help Billy, how to get him safely back in jail before he ended up dead. Pleasur able or not, verbally sparring with Jake Baldwin wasn’t going to do that. She had to get the FBI interrogation over and get back to her life.

It took longer than she would have wished. It was almost two before Sergeant Baldwin drove her home. The interview with Agent James had been a nail-biting experience. He’d asked her the same four or five questions in about a dozen different ways—trying to catch her in a lie, no doubt. She’d managed to keep her head and answer each question without telling him to go climb up an elephant’s butt. Oddly, the only man she couldn’t seem to control her tongue with today was the one sitting next to her. Cutting him a quick glance, she decided to blame everything on PMS.

As the interview was coming to a close, Baldwin had come inside the room and handed both Macy and the federal agent coffee. For some reason, Agent James seemed to respect him. Of course, Macy recalled how Baldwin had dealt with her ex, how even after her being difficult, he’d been nice—and protective. That had garnered some respect from her as well, in spite of the other emotions he evoked. The realization caused a little hiccup in her chest. Maybe because she’d never met a man she could respect other than Father Luis, and the priest didn’t count.

“I know that wasn’t easy for you,” Baldwin said as he pulled into her drive. His silence had ended right after they got back from buying the tampons. A part of her felt guilty for teasing him.

“I’ll be okay.”

She would be. Jake Baldwin had offered her a helping—if exasperating—hand for the last eighteen hours, but it was time for her to stand on her own. Besides, even Jake’s partner seemed to believe Tanks was halfway to Mexico by now. The car had hardly stopped when she jumped out. Feet on her driveway, she dipped down to look at him. “Thanks for…everything.”

He looked over at her as if he didn’t want to leave. “There’s going to be a cop driving by here every few hours. You’ve got my number.” He pointed to her purse, where he’d put his card. “If you need anything, call me.”

“I won’t need anything,” she said, holding fast to the belief that Tanks was long gone.

He took a deep breath. “I want to help, Macy.”

“You did.”
But all things must come to an end. And this is it. Sayonara. Adios.

The seriousness in his eyes changed to a teasing twinkle. “I want to do
more
. But if you start spouting off again about feminine protection, I’m out of here.”

She smiled. Their gaze met, held for one second. She really did respect him.

Two seconds. She could really like this guy. She already liked him.

Three seconds. Crappers. This wasn’t just PMS.

She couldn’t look away. His smile tugged her emotions tangled them tightly around her heart.

Enough! She didn’t need to start counting on a man to make her feel better. Hadn’t everyone in her life proven that? Heaven help her, the cliff loomed way too close. Jake didn’t loom quite close enough.

“Let’s have dinner tonight,” he suggested. “Somewhere nice. I could—”

“Nope.” She slammed the car door and stepped back, expecting him to drive off. Instead, he cut the engine, got out, and started around the car toward her.

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

She took a backward step and held up her hand. “Yes, I am.”

He kept coming at her, like a man who knew what he wanted and planned on getting it. The way his masculine form swaggered closer brought more emotions banging around her heart. Her lungs: she couldn’t breathe. Her brain: she couldn’t think. Nerve endings throughout her body responded to his smile.

She started walking backward around the car and, swallowing, forced herself to speak. “What are you doing? Um…if I gave the wrong impression, I’m sorry, but I’m not interested in any—”

“Liar.”

He stopped when he was almost on top of her, and she had the craziest feeling he might actually try for a kiss. All sorts of mental voices were screaming
Run
, but part of her wanted this, craved it.
Needed
it.

“Seriously, I don’t…”

He looked into her eyes, and she could have sworn he saw things she’d never intended another man to see. That she was a woman hungry for a man’s touch. A woman aching to lean on someone. A…

A woman just like her dear ol’ mom. “I mean, if you got the impression—”

He brushed a finger over her lips. “The impression I get is of a girl who’s scared. One who can be very difficult to put up with. But I think you’re worth it, and I think—” His attention shifted over her left shoulder and his face went stone cold. She tried to turn and see what had brought on the change, but he caught her by the arm.

“Get back in the car.”

“What?”

He pulled out his gun. “Get back in the car. Don’t argue.”

He pushed her behind him, yanked his phone out of his front pocket, snapped it open, and hit a button. “This is Baldwin. I’m at 417 Jackson Street. I’m going to need backup.”

“I think he’s going to be fine. Aren’t you, Mr. Klein?”

Hal nodded at the doctor and at his daughter standing beside his bed. In truth, he felt like roadkill opossum. Twenty-four hours out of surgery, and he still had tubes in places where no tube should go on a man. Not to mention the friggin’ backless hospital gown. Every time he tried to get comfortable, he ended up mooning someone. At fifty-six years old, he felt certain no one cared to see his ass. That FBI hotshot, Agent James, who had ten minutes ago rushed out after getting some important summons, hadn’t seemed too thrilled by seeing it. But between hurting like hell and the drugs, Hal didn’t give a rat’s ear.

The doc patted his leg. “I’ll get you moved out of ICU.”

“Thanks.” Hal watched the man leave, then looked at his daughter. “Maybe you can pick me up some pajamas.”

She smiled for the first time today. “You saw my bare bottom when I was little. It’s only fair I get to see yours.”

Hal arched his eyebrow, amused. “If your mom were alive, she’d call you on talking to me like you did.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I was so scared. I’m not ready to be an orphan.”

“Oh, fiddlesticks, girl. I’m too stubborn to die.”

She leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Love you.”

“You too, pumpkin.” He patted her arm. “Now go home and take care of my grandbabies.”

Melissa left, but Hal bet his bottom dollar she’d gone straight to the waiting room. Closing his eyes, he knew, stubborn or not, he’d come close to dying. The memory still floated in his head. He’d seen Judy, his wife, standing in the door of a bright corridor. “It’s not over for you, ol’ man,” she said. She’d started calling him an old man when he’d turned fifty. A year later, she’d been the one who’d aged. Cancer did that to a person.

“Go back and live, Hal,” she’d said. “And I mean
live
.”

“I don’t know how to live without you,” he whispered. Four years had passed since her death, and he’d done nothing but think about his job.

His mind returned to the prison break as he fingered the bandage on his chest. He’d heard Billy Moore had run off. He’d told the Feds and the prison officials that he thought Billy ran because of Tanks’s threats to hurt his sister. The kid had saved his life, which Hal had told the Feds, too. But it didn’t mean shit. Billy Moore was in a whole heap of trouble. It would be nothing less than a miracle if they brought him in alive.

Morphine ran through Hal’s veins, making him woozy. He sighed and bent his knee, and his catheter shifted. Hal scowled. From the corner of his eye, he saw someone walk by. “Nurse?” he yelled, with all the frustration of man with a tube up his pecker.

The woman stopped at the door. Hal yanked the sheet off him, accidentally bringing his gown with it. “I want this removed.”

The woman’s mouth dropped open.

“I mean the tube!” He tried to grab for the edge of the gown but couldn’t find it without rising. And rising up hurt, damn it, so he simply lay there, his tubed pecker bared for the world to see.

The woman’s face grew beet red. “I’m…just a volunteer. Someone asked for some ice chips.” She sniffled as if she was about to cry.

Although drugged, he wasn’t blind. He’d embarrassed the socks off of her. If he weren’t feeling fuzzy, he’d have laughed. Though that would have hurt like hell, too. Nevertheless, he hadn’t seen a beautiful woman blush in a long time. He found it refreshing.

“I’m sorry.” She pulled a tissue from her uniform pocket and patted her eyes.

A nurse appeared beside the volunteer. “Sorry, Faye. Looks as if Mr. Klein is feeling better.”

Faye, still teary eyed, stepped back. “His…name is Klein?”

“Yeah,” the nurse continued. “And when they start complaining”—her eyes moved to Hal, and she grinned—“and exposing themselves, it’s time for them to leave ICU. And I’ve got the doctor’s orders to do it.” She looked at the volunteer. “Would you help me gather his things?”

The volunteer pressed a hand to her lips. “I shouldn’t be here,” she said. And with that, she ran off.

Jake looked over Macy’s shoulder toward her front door. The words
Dead Bitch
were written across it in red.

Macy turned to see. “Is that…blood?”

He snagged her arm. “I said to get in the car.”

“Elvis?” she breathed, and her eyes filled with fear.

Oh, she acted tough…but he had her figured out. She used her sharp tongue and wit to cover up a lot of pain and vulnerability. Someone had hurt Macy Tucker. Maybe several people. Jake recalled her ex-husband last night, and wished he’d followed the jerk outside and taught him a lesson.

“I’ll check on your cat.” He opened his car door and pushed her inside. “Get in and stay.”

Sirens blared in the distance; there must have been a few units nearby. He heard them pulling onto the street behind him. Macy bounced back up and opened her mouth to argue. He didn’t know why he did it, or even how he knew it would work, but he leaned in and touched his lips to hers. She dropped back in her seat, touched her mouth, then slammed the door closed.

It wasn’t a kiss. Not by his standards. Hell, now wasn’t the time to even think of kissing. Two minutes earlier he’d wanted to pull her against him and lose himself in her mouth, to run his tongue between her lips, to taste, to savor, to move past the barriers she’d seemed to build around herself. But not now. Not now, dammit.

He shot her a warning glance to stay put. The glare she returned said he’d pay for the half kiss, but if it kept her in the car until he knew it was safe, until he found out how bad things were inside, then he’d willingly pay that price.

He refocused on the door. It did look like blood. He wasn’t exactly fond of Elvis, but for Macy’s sake he hoped like hell it wasn’t the cat’s.

Billy and Ellie had spent the last hour cuddled on the sofa, talking. Earlier, she’d gotten some crackers and cheese she had in the van. They’d eaten. Now, as much as Billy hated doing it, he knew it was time to go. He picked up the keys to her van from the coffee table.

“Why can’t I go?” Ellie asked, watching. “Maybe he’ll listen to me.”

“I don’t want you near him.” He’d lied, telling Ellie he was going to find Tanks and warn him to stay away from her and his sister.

“But what if he hurts you? He’s not like you. He’s mean.”

Her lashes were webbed with tears. Those watery eyes reminded Billy of his mom. He bet she was crying right now.

“I can be mean if I have to.” And he had to.

“I’m scared.” She buried her face in his shoulder.

“Me, too,” he admitted. His chest swelled with an ache he’d never known. He loved Ellie. Really loved her. For the last few months, she had been his link to sanity. Her letters and her visits kept him from falling into some deep place in his mind.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He whispered the lie into her soft blonde hair. He knew it wouldn’t be okay. This morning, as he’d watched Ellie cleaning up Andy’s trailer, he’d forced himself to see things clearly. Even if everything happened the way he planned, if he got to Tanks and made sure that scum wouldn’t ever be able to touch Ellie or Mace, even then things wouldn’t be okay. The cops were looking for him. They wouldn’t hesitate to shoot. And if he took Ellie with him…

When he’d first planned on Ellie’s helping him, he hadn’t thought about what it would do to her. How many times had Mace told him he didn’t think things through? There had been a second when he’d considered taking Ellie and running to Mexico. But he couldn’t let Tanks do something to Mace. And what kind of life could he offer Ellie? Always running, always afraid.

Turning himself in was the right thing, and he wouldn’t lie about killing Tanks either. Not that it much mattered. He was probably already going to be accused of killing Brandon. And maybe he had.

“I love you,” Ellie said in that squeaky voice of hers.

“I know,” Billy answered, but he didn’t say he loved her back. Because somehow, when this was finished, he had to convince Ellie to stop loving him. Before, when he’d thought about her waiting on him for two and a half more years, he hadn’t felt so bad. Now he would be in prison for a long time. Ellie didn’t deserve to spend her life loving a jailbird.

He’d almost told Ellie to leave that morning. Maybe it was selfishness, but he hadn’t been strong enough to do it. Until he got Tanks, he wanted her here. When it was over, he’d find a way to make her forget about him.

“I gotta go. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He pulled away. “You got that cop’s number?” After trying to decide how to make sure Mace was okay without getting caught, he’d decided to trust Ellie’s instinct about Jake Baldwin. Billy would tell him about Tanks threatening his sister. Hopefully, the cop would watch out for Mace.

“Yeah. He called me.” She grabbed her cell phone from her purse, found the number, and wrote it down.

Billy touched her cheek. “Remember, whatever happens, you say I forced you to help me. And don’t use your cell phone; they might trace it.”

“I’m not going to lie.” That beautiful mouth of hers pouted. “I love you and I don’t care who knows.”

Frustration swelled in his chest. “If they know you helped me willingly, you could go to jail.”

“But you escaped because you were scared David would do something to me and your sister. If you tell them the truth, they’ll understand.”

Ellie might believe that, but he knew better. Sometimes even doing the right thing came with a price.

“I’ve got to go.”

Jake had his badge out when the four officers appeared at his side.

“One of you stay here and watch her,” Jake ordered. “You two cover the back door.” He pointed to two officers. “We’ll go in the front,” he said to the last. “I haven’t seen any signs that anyone is still there, but if it’s who I think it is, and he’s in there, he plays hardball.”

Jake heard his car door open. He pointed a finger at Macy, who was emerging. “Don’t!”

Her gaze spat blue sparks, but she lowered her butt back into the seat.

“Watch her,” he reminded the officer he’d left in charge of Macy. “If you have to, handcuff her to my steering wheel.”

“I got her,” the officer said.

Jake started toward the door. The other two patrol cops headed for the back, their Glocks held ready.

As he approached, Jake eyed the words
Dead Bitch
and caught a whiff of paint. His gut relaxed. The fear of finding Macy’s cat lying in a puddle of blood lessened. But the smell of the paint jarred a sense of déjà vu.

“Houston police. Drop your weapons!” He pushed the slightly open door with his foot. He and his backup barged inside.

The words
Wanna Fuck?
were sprayed on the wall. Gritting his teeth, gun held high, Jake cut the corner into the living room.

His gaze shifted left, then right. More obscenities. Glass from the shattered back window covered the brown carpet. He heard the officer behind him. A thump sounded to his right.

Adrenaline shot through his veins. He swung around, finger on the trigger of his pistol. Elvis! His breath caught. The feline crouched down, gold eyes bright, tail twitching. Jake remembered in the nick of time and ducked. Elvis flew into the air.

Gun clutched firm, Jake motioned the officer behind him to move into the kitchen. He himself followed the cat down the hall.

He passed the bathroom, where Elvis had disappeared. He passed the computer room. More obscenities plastered the hallway walls. The smell of spray paint filled his nose. Scowling, he poised his foot to nudge open the bedroom door, when he heard a sound. It wasn’t a thump. It was an aerosol hiss. He pushed back against the hall wall, listened to get an idea of the location of the intruder, then barged inside.