Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  Using the barrel of the gun, he hit the light switch. “Fuck!” He jumped back but didn’t look away. He couldn’t. Bile rose in his throat. A man lay faceup on the floor, eyes open. They were empty eyes. The man’s throat was slashed, and blood, a lot of blood, soaked the beige carpet. Its coppery smell filled Billy’s nose.

  Gagging, Billy ran back to the living room and threw up on the carpet. When he stopped puking, he saw the phone book lying open on the sofa. He blinked and stared at the number underlined in red. Papa’s Pizza.

  “You got it bad for her, don’t you?” Donaldson asked.

  “Just hold the glass.” Kneeling in Macy’s living room, Jake removed a piece of the broken glass. CSI had called and said they’d gotten several good prints and wouldn’t need to come back. They hadn’t gotten the results yet. Not that Jake needed proof who’d done this.

  Unlike Agent James and the Gulf Coast Task Force, Jake wasn’t sure Tanks would be satisfied with spray painting Macy’s walls. Not when his intent had obviously been to do more. He wasn’t the sort to give up. Jake recalled why he’d put the man away in the first place.

  “You can pay people to fix windows, you know,” Donaldson said.

  “What? You don’t like getting dirty?”

  Donaldson shot him a go-to-hell look. “She doesn’t know you’re doing this, does she?”

  Jake squirted the glazing compound into the window seal. “Just helping her out.” The task force wasn’t going to take it upon themselves to watch Macy full-time, so she was stuck with him. He didn’t mind one iota. The problem was, Macy didn’t share the sentiment.

  Donaldson watched him. “Where did you learn to do this?” he asked.

  “Habitat for Humanity.”

  “You worked for them?” Donaldson asked.

  “I volunteered.” Sons of Baptist preachers always volunteered. And wasn’t that what he was doing now, being a Good Samaritan and fixing Macy’s window? Without her permission?

  Oh, hell, Donaldson was right. He had it bad. Then again, she had said for him to make himself at home. At home, if something was broken, he’d—

  “Did you ever meet President Carter?” Donaldson asked.

  “We have lunch once a month,” Jake retorted.

  “He’s a friend of my dad’s, too.”

  Jake glanced up. “I was being sarcastic.”

  “Oh.” Silence fell while he worked. “I’m surprised you aren’t following her.”

  “When Agent James found out she was going to work, he decided it might be worth his while to have her tailed in case her brother tried to contact her.” If Jake thought Macy wouldn’t have fought him, he would have insisted on being the one watching her.

  “Is that who you’ve called? Twice?”

  Yeah, he’d called the Fed. He was just making sure the guy was doing his job.

  “Okay, I’m interested in her,” he admitted to Donaldson. “Does it matter?” He moved away from the window pane. “Unless you’d like to hit on her yourself.”

  “Hey. I backed off when I got the look,” Donaldson replied.

  Jake finished securing the window. Satisfied that the other detective was really backing off, that Macy would be okay, and that his handiwork was sufficient, he folded his arms over his chest. Would this get him brownie points with Macy, or would she accuse him of overstepping his boundaries? Brownie points would be nice. He knew exactly how he’d spend them.

  “What now?” Donaldson asked.

  “You know how to use a brush?” Jake picked up a can of Kilz.

  “You’re joking. You want us to paint her house, too?”

  “Not paint it all, just cover the graffiti with some primer. Why, you scared of a little manual labor, Golden Boy?”

  Donaldson reached for the can. “I’ll help, but only because you brought me breakfast,” he grumbled.

  “I guess now wouldn’t be the time to tell you that I actually bought it for Macy.”

  Both men laughed, then they positioned several plastic drop cloths and started splashing primer on the walls.

  Dipping his brush into the can for the fifth time, Jake looked at the other man. “You must really be bored.”

  “Why? Because I’m helping your sorry ass get lucky instead of trying to get lucky myself?”

  “Yeah.” Jake grinned. “What’s with that?”

  “I’ve only been here a month. I haven’t met anyone yet.” Donaldson dropped his brush and picked up one of the beers they’d raided from the fridge.

  “Don’t tell me you’re shy.”

  “Just picky.”

  An hour later, they had the graffiti covered. Jake grabbed them each another beer. He’d have to refill Macy’s fridge, he realized, but he’d been planning to do that anyway. Dropping into a recliner, he faced Donaldson, who sat on the sofa. The memory of watching Macy sleep there filled his mind. Anticipation of seeing her tonight brought a stirring low in his belly.

  Not wanting to start down that road, he shot Golden Boy another question. “What was it like growing up rich?”

  Donaldson raised an eyebrow. “Fantastic.” He didn’t offer any other comment.

  “So even the rich and famous have ugly childhoods.”

  Donaldson cut him a sharp look. “Why would you say that?”

  “If rumors are true, you’ve got more money than God and an education to match. I figure your becoming a cop was a way of throwing all that fancy schooling back in your parents’ faces.”

  The tightness in Donaldson’s eyes told Jake he’d tapped a nerve. “What? Are you trying to save my soul and stop me from disrespecting my parents, preacher’s boy? Guess I’ve heard a few rumors, too, huh?”

  Jake leaned back in the recliner. “That’s fair. Who told you my dad was a preacher?”

  “It’s common knowledge. Rumor is you never go to church, but you still pray before you pull your weapon.”

  “Doesn’t everyone?” Jake palmed his beer.

  Donaldson eyed the bottle in his own hands. “We should.” After a moment, he looked at the clock. “What time is she due home?”

  “Midnight.”

  “And you’re going to be here?”

  Jake grinned. “You think I did this for nothing?”

  “You believe you’ll get lucky because you played handyman?”

  “No. Just to second base.”

  Both men laughed. Macy didn’t seem like the kind who jumped into bed with a man very fast. Jake wasn’t above trying to change her mind, though.

  He eyed the walls and decided he’d share his suspicion with Donaldson. “Remember those home-robbery cases that were tagged with red paint?”

  The other cop’s eyes widened. “You think this is connected?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, Tanks was in prison. And I know he did this, but…” He let his thoughts run around his brain. “Maybe whoever helped him was involved with those.”

  “Sounds like a long shot,” Donaldson said.

  Jake’s cell phone rang. He said, “That’s why I didn’t mention it to the task force.” Then he answered the call. “Hello?”

  “Baldwin?” It was his buddy Stan, with Homicide. “You called. What’s up?”

  “I needed someone to give me a hand replacing a window. But I found someone else.”

  Stan snorted. “I’m glad I missed your call. Hey…” The man’s tone changed. “Did you get with the Clear Lake detectives about that headless floater?”

  “We talked,” Jake admitted.

  “Good. So where you at now? It’s after work. Tell me you’re out with a woman for a change.”

  Jake glanced at Donaldson, who picked up a book off Macy’s end table. “Maybe soon.” If he didn’t get his ass kicked by said woman for trying to help her.

  He explained to Stan about Macy’s house being broken into and spray painted. He also mentioned the coincidence of the other robberies tagged with red paint.

  “Is this the squeaky-voiced Monroe chick?” Stan asked.

&nb
sp; “No. She’s the sister to the one of the escapees.”

  “Ah. Well, good luck with that family.”

  Jake said good-bye and hung up, then told Donaldson, “Stan Anders, from Homicide.”

  Donaldson nodded and looked at the books on the table again. “Macy in school?”

  “Yeah.” Jake remembered her mentioning a test. It hit him suddenly how little he knew about her. Well, he planned to remedy that. In about three hours, when she came home.

  “So she’s studying to be a shyster.” Donaldson held up a constitutional-law textbook.

  Crap. That would explain her citizens’ rights speech. Lawyers weren’t his favorite people. Then Jake remembered her smile, her never-ending wit, her body, and how the whole package made him feel whole again. He supposed not all lawyers had to be bad.

  Donaldson stood and glanced down at his paint-speckled jeans. “Well, I’ve reached my quota of manual labor for the day.”

  “Rich kids,” Jake teased. He stood as well. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Anything to help a guy get lucky.” Donaldson hesitated. “Actually, I enjoyed it.” He started out the front door and then glanced back. “Tomorrow I want cheese on my biscuit.”

  Macy pulled up to the condo gate and punched in the apartment number of her final delivery. She’d already paid for the pizza out of her own money and turned in her bank so she wouldn’t have go back to the restaurant. Since she’d gotten off a little early, she planned to swing by and visit Nan and her mom. If she couldn’t stop thinking about Billy, she suspected her mom and Nan couldn’t, either. While Macy wasn’t eager to hear her mom cry, family stuck together—but only through two tissues.

  “Pizza delivery,” Macy said into the gate phone. A buzzer sounded and the gate opened. Macy pulled inside.

  She drove to the second building and parked. She was out of her car before she remembered she was being followed. When she looked back to see if her tail had made it through, she saw he hadn’t; the agent was standing by the iron gate. He yelled something in an angry voice.

  Macy waved, smirking. “Guess FBI agents need to work on their tailing skills as well as their manners,” she muttered, remembering his unkind comments about her driving when he’d accosted her between deliveries. She considered pulling back to let him in. But she’d be out in a snap.

  Two minutes later she was back in her car with a five-dollar tip. She glanced around to see if her tail had made it into the complex, but it seemed he hadn’t; the sedan was nowhere to be seen. Exiting the lot, she drove around the block to see if he’d waited. Nothing. So she headed towards Nan’s. It wasn’t her fault she’d lost the guy. Well, not all her fault. Besides, Tanks was probably halfway to Mexico right now. She just hoped Billy wasn’t with him.

  Jake had gone to his place to grab an overnight bag and a quick shower. Convincing Macy to let him stay would be tricky, but if he had everything already collected, she might be more inclined to give in. Though the idea of Macy giving in to anything seemed farfetched. For that reason, he’d also tucked a blanket and pillow in the backseat of his car.

  Yep. He had it bad. And this wasn’t about being a Good Samaritan. This was about a man wanting to protect a woman. And about getting her naked—provided she wanted him to, of course.

  Returning to Macy’s, he tossed the used drop cloths into the garage. They could use them again when he helped her paint over the primer. If she let him help. Even he had to admit his sudden possessiveness seemed too much, especially when he hadn’t had any real interest in women since Lisa. He shook his head, determined not to do a Sunday drive down memory lane. Plain and simple, he liked Macy, wanted to see where that could lead. Now, what could be wrong with that? Not a damn thing.

  He snatched new locks out of his bag. No, he hadn’t forgotten about the key-toting ex-husband. And after making fast work of the installations, he went to the shower. Earlier he’d spotted the painted messages on the shower walls. Staring at them now, he couldn’t believe Macy had bathed here.

  He scrubbed off most of the paint. As he headed out of the bathroom, Macy’s phone rang. The answering machine caught the call. He listened to her recorded message. “Hi, this is Macy…” She sure had a sexy voice.

  “Macy. It’s Father Luis. I hate to call you again, but I wanted to talk about you replacing Sister Beth. I know you’re concerned about how it will fit into your life, but I know it would work. The church needs you, Macy. God needs you.”

  What? Jake remembered hearing the message last night. Was Macy…? Was he lusting after a woman who was about to take vows? No! She was divorced. Then he recalled reading that the Catholic Church was desperate for new nuns and priests.

  Dropping onto the sofa, he ran a hand through his hair. While he didn’t like competition, he could handle the normal kind—but he hadn’t planned on taking on the Catholic Church. Before he made any serious moves, he’d have to get to the bottom of this.

  As he stood up, his cell phone rang. He snatched it from the table, and he couldn’t keep the frustration of imagining Macy Tucker garbed in a nun’s habit out of his voice. “Yeah?”

  “Jake Baldwin?” the male voice asked.

  “You got him. Who’s this?”

  “This is Billy Moore.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jake gripped the cell phone tight. “Where are you, Billy?”

  “I’m only going to talk for thirty seconds, so listen.” The kid sounded scared.

  “Tell me where you are, and we’ll talk in person.”

  “I need a favor.”

  “Tell me in person.” Jake searched for a pen and pencil.

  “I need you to watch my sister Macy. David Tanks doesn’t make idle threats. He—he’s already killed someone else.”

  “Billy, your sister is worried. Let me—”

  “He’s capable of anything. Watch her. Don’t let him get to her. And about Ellie…I made her do everything.”

  “Do what, Billy? What did you make her do?”

  “Tanks knows where Mace works. He had her work number and address circled in a phone book. I drove there to make sure she was okay. I saw someone following her, like a cop or something, but…she went to a gated apartment to deliver a pizza, and the man following her couldn’t get in. Then I think she left. I couldn’t find her.” There was the sound of a scared hiccup. “And Tanks knows where she works. Find Mace and make sure she’s okay.”

  “Billy, look—”

  “Find her. Do it now!”

  “Is Tanks near Macy? Where are you?” Jake demanded. The line clicked. He hit his callback button, but though the phone rang, no one answered. He hit memory keys until he found Agent James’s number. It rang again—once, twice. No answer there, either.

  “Damn!” He grabbed his keys and bolted out the door.

  He drove like hell and parked in front of Papa’s Pizza. Through the restaurant’s glass doors, he saw the agent who’d been following Macy talking to another employee. Jake jumped out of his car and hurried inside.

  “Where is she?”

  “She got away!” Agent Mimms snapped back. “She pulled—”

  “How the hell could you lose her?” Jake bellowed.

  “She did it on purpose. And I swear to God, I’m going to teach—”

  Another female employee came out of the back and interrupted. “Are you guys talking about Macy? She mentioned going to her mom’s place.”

  “Where’s that?” Jake asked, frustrated that he knew so little. He prayed he still had a chance to learn more.

  The moon vanished behind clouds just as Macy got out of her car and headed across Nan’s lawn, and the night went black. A spray of light caught her as a car turned down the street, and at the same time, the bushes rustled. Macy swung around. Spook, the neighbor’s golden retriever, tail thumping, came swaying up to her, hoping for a handout.

  Macy willed her heart to stop racing. “Sorry, no pizza tonight.” She gave the dog a rub behind his ear and cast another glance
around the darkness, then hurried to the porch.

  Macy tapped on the door at the same time as she opened it. One step inside, and she found everything was the status quo. Nan sat on the floor, her body pretzeled in yoga. Her mom burrowed deep into a recliner, sobbing into a tissue.

  “Oh, Mace!” her mom cried, hugging her nubby robe closer around herself. “I’ve done a terrible thing.” She sniffled.

  Macy looked at Nan, who unwrapped her left leg from around her neck. “What did she do?” She shut the door behind her.

  “I visited that guard who accused Billy of shooting him.”

  Macy stopped short of Nan’s yoga mat. “You did what?”

  Nan swung her right leg around her neck. “He’s at the same hospital where she volunteers.” She took in a deep breath and held it.

  Macy plopped down on the sofa. “You can’t do that, Mom! You can’t start accusing—”

  “She didn’t do anything.” Nan unfolded her body.

  “But I wanted to,” her mom cried out. “I wanted to ask him how dare he say my son shot him when…when we know that Billy could never do that. He’s a good boy.”

  Nan shot Macy a smile. “It’s a funny story.” She stood and brushed off her Little Mermaid pajamas. She had a thing for Disney.

  “Then why am I not laughing?” Macy snapped. She turned back to her mom. “The guard never said Billy shot him. He told the FBI that Billy saved his life.” Sergeant Baldwin had told her that.

  “He did?” her mom and Nan both asked at the same time.

  “How do you know this?” Nan asked.

  “Baldwin told me. After you left.”

  “Who’s Baldwin?” her mom said.

  Nan grinned. “That cop who has a thing for your daughter.”

  “He doesn’t have a thing for me,” Macy said. She regretted saying it, because she knew it was a lie. But he could take his thing somewhere else.

  “And bears don’t do the hanky-panky in the woods,” Nan answered.