Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  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 t
o 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.

  Reaching into the plastic bag Jake had packed for her last night, she pulled out…a pair of muddy boxers and men’s jeans. Damn. She’d grabbed the wrong bag. Glancing down at her sweats puddled on the floor, she saw the leaky shower curtain had doomed them.

  Tucking her towel securely beneath her arms, she poked her head out into the hallway and listened. The sound of running water told her he’d already jumped into the other shower. She could wait and ask him to bring the clothes, or she could tempt fate and…

  More of a fate tempter than a patient person, she stuck her bare feet back in her bunny slippers and stepped out of the steamy bathroom. She dashed across the adjoining study and got almost across the living room, when she heard the doorbell ring. Freezing, she tried to decide between darting back to the bathroom or running for her clothes. The sound of a key turning in the lock gave her a shot of adrenaline. She took off at a dead run toward the closest cover: the master bedroom.

  She cleared the door but smacked straight into a freshly showered, naked Jake—well, naked but for the navy towel slung low around his waist. The feel of his skin against her nipples sent messages firing to her brain. The first message being that she really liked him undressed like this. The second message: I lost my towel.

  His gaze dropped to her breasts, which were flattened against his lower abdomen. His hands went to her naked hips.

  “Jake?” a female voice called. Then footsteps. “Sweetheart? Did you forget our date? Oh, my!” The last two words were said in panic.

  Date?

  Instantly Macy realized that “sweetheart’s” date was probably staring at her naked ass. Her gaze shot to Jake’s towel, and instantly she developed a plan. Since his date had probably seen him before, Macy took what she needed—providing everyone a good look at Jake Baldwin and the full monty.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Jake’s gaz
e shot to the woman standing in his hall. He realized he was standing naked, now with a hard-on, in front of—

  He snagged back his towel. Unfortunately, Macy fought him for it. It became a tug-of-war between them.

  “Shit!” Finally coming to his senses, he slammed the bedroom door closed. He heard Macy dash for the master bath and close herself in.

  As he stared at the door, laughter bubbled up in his chest. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened the door an inch. “Mom, hold on. I’ll…be right out.”

  “I’ll just leave,” his mom yelled, obviously shaken.

  “Please don’t.” He knew it was best to handle this right away. The creaking of the bathroom door behind him made him turn. All he could see was Macy’s nose, which was not nearly as nice as the view he’d gotten earlier.

  “Please tell me I heard that wrong. Tell me it’s not your mom who just saw me buck naked.”

  A laugh escaped as he grabbed a pair of jeans. “You weren’t completely naked. You had on bunny slippers.”

  Hal stared at the lunch tray and waited for Faye. Ten minutes, and he’d be calling again.

  A tap came at the door. She stepped inside, carrying one of those foldable lunch boxes. She wore khaki slacks and a striped smock. Her hair wasn’t purple anymore, but a dark brown—her normal color, though missing the gray. Not that he’d minded the gray. His thick mop of hair had turned more salt than pepper a long time ago.

  “I thought you weren’t coming,” Hal said.

  “I almost didn’t.”

  He started to ask why, but suddenly keeping her around seemed more important. “What did you bring for lunch?”

  She looked down as if she’d forgotten what she’d packed. “Uh…a sandwich.” Pause. “You haven’t eaten?”

  “I thought I’d wait and see if we couldn’t trade.”

  A tiny smile brightened her eyes. “You’re forgetting, I know how bad the food is here. Why would I trade for it?”

  “Ah, but I got an ace up my sleeve.”

  “An ace?”