Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  In the letters, she’d written all about the people she cared for. Some of their stories were funny. Some were sad, about how no one ever visited. Ellie did things for those patients—things like cutting out pictures from magazines to hang by their beds. Sometimes she’d sneak candy or cigarettes to those who could have them.

  Ellie rose up and eyed the trailer in daylight. She frowned. “He really lives by himself?”

  Billy sat up, pushed his gun under the sofa with his foot. “Sad, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.” She yawned and covered her mouth.

  Billy studied her face without makeup. He knew she liked wearing it, but she didn’t need any. She had beautiful skin. He didn’t know how old she was—probably a year or so older than him? He didn’t care.

  Her green eyes met his. “What are we doing today?” Concern tightened her voice.

  “I’ve got to find a way to talk to Mace. To make sure she’s okay.” Billy had heard on the radio that Hal was alive. Brandon hadn’t been so lucky. Billy remembered leaning over him and yelling, Where are they going? Tell me! The address the dying inmate had given was his only lead, so he hoped like hell it was correct.

  Billy shuddered. The memory of Brandon lying helpless on the ground was horrible. He wasn’t sure if he was the one who’d shot him. If so, it had been an accident. Not that it mattered in the long run.

  Ellie stirred beside him. “Then what?”

  “I…don’t know,” he said. He couldn’t tell Ellie the truth.

  She wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t think of any other way out of this mess. Yesterday he’d been a coward. Not today. As soon as he made sure Mace was okay, he’d do what he should have done yesterday. He’d go and kill Tanks.

  Jake and Macy arrived at the precinct an hour later than he’d planned.

  “They’re waiting in the captain’s office,” Donaldson said.

  Jake gave Macy a nudge toward the other detective. “Watch her.” As much as Jake had started to like her, he’d begun to second-guess his attraction. The woman had argued about everything this morning—about getting ready, riding with him instead of following, about her rights as a civilian, about the sausage and biscuit he’d ordered at the drive-through. Well, she hadn’t argued about that. She’d simply refused to eat it. Jake eyed the bag containing her breakfast.

  “I don’t need a sitter,” Macy remarked.

  “In here.” Donaldson motioned Macy into Jake’s office, then followed Jake into the hall. “What’s going on?”

  “Pizza Girl is Billy Moore’s sister. He’s—”

  “The other escapee,” Donaldson said. “Shit.”

  “Yeah. And I’m serious—watch her. She’s likely to skip out.”

  “You think she’s in on the breakout?”

  After her attitude this morning, Jake had actually considered it again, but…“No, I don’t. But she doesn’t want to be here. Which, to her way of thinking, gives her the right to leave.”

  He remembered her spouting off about citizens’ rights and wondered where the woman got her information. It wasn’t just info she’d picked up on television shows; she’d sounded like some fancy lawyer. And everyone knew what cops thought of fancy lawyers.

  He ran a hand through his hair. Macy Tucker was a mystery. One that frustrated and intrigued him all at once. He watched her move to the window in his office and stare outside.

  His gaze lingered on that heart-shaped backside encased in faded denim. Oh hell, he’d always loved a good mystery. What was a little frustration? Especially when he suspected her attitude stemmed from her concern over her brother. He could only imagine how he’d feel if the shoe were on the other foot. Then again, he had his own brother issues.

  Donaldson chuckled. “She’d better not go for my balls.”

  “Just watch her.” Jake turned to go, then remembered. “Here.”

  “What?” Donaldson took the bag, looking shocked. “You really bought me breakfast?”

  “Sort of.” Jake headed down the hall to meet with the Feds and IA.

  Jake, the FBI, and the Internal Affairs suit had been at it over twenty minutes and suffered long bouts of silence.

  “I haven’t seen Tanks since I testified at his trial.” Jake shrugged. He was irritated as hell for having to be here, but he’d be damned if he’d let them know. It wasn’t that he didn’t intend to tell them what he knew, it just pissed him off that IA had been brought in. But years of sitting in the front pew, pretending that he loved every moment of the sermon, had prepared him for every IA questioning he’d suffered through.

  On one side of the table sat Agent James, FBI. On the other sat Officer Clayton. Clayton, the weasel from IA, did all the talking. “So, you don’t know anything about this prison breakout?” Clayton asked.

  “Only what I read in the report.” Jake leaned his chair back on two legs, hoping it annoyed them the way it annoyed his mom. He then dropped his chair forward and sat with arms open, posture relaxed. He could tell his lack of anxiety pissed off Clayton, but not Agent James.

  He glanced at the Fed. “Why is the FBI involved?”

  James closed the file he’d been reading. “Heard some allegations of prison corruption. It seems prison officials were taking payoffs from inmates for favors. Drugs and prostitution. Your name came up.”

  “Interesting,” Jake said.

  “Interesting?” Clayton snapped. “Is that all you have to say?”

  Jake leaned in. “My only drug use is an occasional aspirin, and as for prostitutes…Well, I’ve never paid for sex. So knock yourself out looking for something. Besides, I’m the one who put Tanks in the slammer. Why the hell would I be doing him favors?” He turned back to Agent James. “Huntsville isn’t a federal prison, so why are you guys really looking into this?”

  The government man didn’t look put off by the question. “We’re looking at Tanks for the murder of an FBI agent. Due to our special request, as of today I’ve been assigned to the Gulf Coast Violent Offenders Task Force. We’ll be working the case together.”

  Hearing honesty in the man’s voice, Jake decided to reciprocate. He pulled the tape from his shirt pocket and laid it on the table.

  “What’s this?” Clayton snapped.

  Jake spoke directly to Agent James. “I don’t blame you for questioning me. I do blame you for bringing IA into this before you spoke to me. As for my name being mentioned, Macy Tucker was only—”

  “How do you know we spoke with Ms. Tucker?” The Fed’s eyes narrowed.

  Jake went through everything for the agent: Ellie’s visit, the headless corpse, finding Macy at Ellie’s place, how he discovered Macy’s name on the report. He left out the family jewels business.

  He pointed to the answering-machine tape. “You’ll find two messages of importance on this. One is from Ellie Chandler. I’m not sure how she plays into it all, but she seems genuinely scared of David Tanks. The other message is from Tanks—threatening Ms. Tucker.”

  “She didn’t mention Tanks’s call last night,” James said.

  “She hadn’t gotten it when she saw you.” Jake also left out that he’d been there when Tanks had called back. No reason to bring more wrath down on himself.

  “I need to speak with her.” James sounded annoyed that Jake knew more than he did, but there was also a hint of grudging respect.

  “She’s here.” But he didn’t want them strong-arming her. “She’s a victim in all this.”

  “You sound sure of that,” James said.

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Then she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

  James made a call and started spouting orders to someone to get a rundown on Macy and a log of incoming and outgoing calls made on her home phone in the past forty-eight hours. Macy Tucker might not be guilty, but that wasn’t going to stop the FBI from ripping her life apart. Which was never fun. A wave of guilt and sympathy hit Jake.

  “Sounds as if the two of you have bonded,” Clayton suggested, l
ending sleaze to the word.

  “If you mean I don’t want Tanks to get to her, well, yeah, we’ve ‘bonded,’ ” Jake answered.

  Agent James closed his cell phone and eyed Clayton. “Baldwin’s right. I jumped the gun asking for IA’s involvement.”

  Clayton’s expression soured. “We can’t have our officers screwing—”

  “This isn’t Baldwin’s case. If he’s friends with Ms. Tucker, I’d say that’s his business.” The Fed turned back to Jake. “I’m planning on talking to her, but can I assume you’re planning on keeping an eye on her?”

  She won’t like it, but… “I’ve pretty much decided to do that. As much as I can.” The moment the words were out, he knew he’d committed himself. Just how close that commitment brought him and Macy was still up for debate, but a sliver of anticipation shot all the way down to his bruised balls. Anticipation he hadn’t felt in years.

  “We’ll check in, but it’s nice to know you’ll be around.” James reached for the tape. “And I’m sure you’ll keep us informed. Unofficially, of course.” He shot Clayton a glance.

  “You can count on it,” Jake agreed.

  He wondered how Macy Tucker would react to knowing he’d unofficially been assigned to keep tabs on her.

  He felt pretty damn good a few minutes later as he left the meeting. But nearing his office, he heard laughter—Donaldson’s deep rumble, followed by a soft female chuckle. Arriving at the door, he saw Donaldson with his feet on the desk and his head thrown back in mirth. Pizza Girl sat in the other chair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins.

  God, she was beautiful when she smiled. And Jake wasn’t the only one who noticed. Golden Boy looked at the dark-haired spitfire, and Jake saw the man take it all in: the way Macy’s lips twisted in amusement, the way her dark hair framed her face just right, the way her blue eyes crackled with fiery intelligence. Without warning, he felt the bite of an ugly and all-too-familiar emotion—jealousy. His mind summoned the image of the wedding photo on his mother’s mantel. In it, his brother stood decked out in a tux, his arm around his bride. Lisa, Jake’s ex-fiancée, dressed in a white gown, gazed lovingly at him. The hurt hadn’t gone completely away.

  More feminine laughter brought him back to the present. He stared at Donaldson, whose gaze was riveted on Macy. “Something funny?”

  Donaldson and Macy turned at the same time.

  Moving in, Jake sat on the edge of his desk and gave the other detective’s shoes a nudge. They hit the ground with a thunk. “Has this bozo offered you something to drink?”

  Macy picked up a can of juice. “He’s been very accommodating. Thank you.” But the smile she’d worn minutes earlier had faded.

  Damn, if he didn’t feel cheated. Okay, so they hadn’t gotten off to the best start this morning, but considering she was the first woman to spike his interest in two years, he had to try to salvage things. “Can I get you something else?”

  “A pass to leave.”

  Jake shrugged in apology. “Right after the FBI talks to you.”

  Annoyance filled her eyes. “Fine, let’s get it over with.”

  She shot up from the chair. Her sweater gapped and gave him a peek of her smooth midriff. Jake’s mouth went dry. All he could think about was running his hand across that naked skin, letting his touch move up—The vision of her blue bra flashed in his head.

  He met her less-than-pleasant expression with a smile. Okay, convincing her wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d never minded a challenge. He put some calm into his voice and said, “Agent James is taking some calls, and—”

  “I don’t have all day.” One eyebrow shot up.

  Jake countered with his own, and put a touch of sweetness in his tone. “Won’t be long.”

  “Why don’t I take her to lunch?” Donaldson offered.

  Macy smiled. “That would be—”

  “Not a good idea,” Jake interrupted.

  Macy sat back down and crossed her legs. For about the hundredth time since she’d walked out of the bathroom this morning, Jake admired the way her soft denim pants fit. That pizza uniform hid a lot of secrets. Curves. Dips. Interesting places a man ached to explore. Her foot rocked back and forth. Her pink-painted toenails peeked out from the leather straps of white sandals. Even her toes were sexy.

  “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.