Just as she stepped toward the door, Anthony the cook called out, “Macy, I got two cheese pies we had to redo. Want ’em?”
“Thanks,” Macy said. She hadn’t had dinner yet, so she took the boxes and said her good-byes for the night. Maybe it’d be nice to go home early. Maybe catch the late-night news. Maybe she could catch up on last night’s lost sleep.
But as she got into her car, she saw the scrap of paper she’d abandoned on the passenger seat: Ellie’s address.
“I didn’t promise I’d go,” she muttered, gripping the steering wheel. Then again, what would it hurt to just talk to the girl? Maybe she could get some info that would help in her conversation with the warden tomorrow. And yeah, she had definitely decided to talk to the warden.
As she pulled out of the lot, two cop cars pulled in. She hoped it was the Rude Police, arriving to arrest Mr. Prack.
She soon parked in front of her brother’s girlfriend’s old frame house. The place looked about as “reasonably priced” as Macy’s rental. It was an old, not-so-good residence in a not-so-good neighborhood, where some not-so-good things happened to good people. Taking a deep breath, Macy remembered the squeaky voice on her answering machine.
“You’re going to owe me big, Billy,” she muttered.
As Macy stepped out of the car, she caught sight of the boxes in the back. An idea arose: if Ellie’s voice grew to be too much, one of these pizzas might shut her up.
The night’s silence thickened as Macy walked up to the front door. In the back of her mind she heard Billy saying, I’m scared for Ellie—and you, too. The hairs on her neck did a little dance. Ignoring a tingle of fear, she knocked. No answer.
Macy moved to the window and peered inside. A light beckoned from a room in the rear. Seeing it, she moved down the steps and ambled toward the back. The inky blackness reminded her of every horror movie she’d ever seen. Her foot banged into a metal trash can, sending up the smell of rotting fruit. A cat shrieked in the bushes next door. A dog barked. Fear fluttered in her stomach.
Macy bit her lip and moved around a few flowerpots. “It’s nothing,” she muttered. Balancing her pizza in one hand, she put one foot in front of the other. The hairs on her neck did another prickle dance. The chorus of noise exploded again, only louder. A dog. A cat. Something like a kicked trash can. And…was that a man’s voice in the middle of the chaos?
She darted up onto the back porch. Footsteps echoed behind her. Right behind her. She screamed. The pizza box flew up in the air. She jammed her elbow back and hit a solid male mass that didn’t budge. But she hit it hard enough that an oomph of air struck her neck. Chills tap-danced down her spine. She bolted off the porch and away.
She’d barely hit the ground when someone snagged her arm. Her second scream pierced the night. No stranger to a man’s weak spot, she hiked up her knee. The mass she hit this time wasn’t so solid.
“Son of a…” Her attacker’s grip weakened.
Macy yanked free, and her hat went flying. Her assailant’s hand latched onto the front of her shirt. She heard her uniform buttons rip. She hiked her knee up again and hit pay dirt one more time.
Her attacker cursed and started to crumple. But he didn’t fall alone; he took her down with him. Her body hit the ground with a thud. Hard. And before she could react, the man rolled over, pinning her to the ground with his body.
“Police!” A voice yelled from the side of the yard. “Hold it right there.”
Thank God! “Get him off me,” Macy screamed. Her attacker’s weight and warmth continued to suffocate her.
“Don’t move,” her assailant hissed with puzzling authority.
She stopped jerking and gasped for air. The man on top of her pushed up onto his elbow, allowing her breathing room. She focused on his scowl until the beam of a flashlight hit her eyes. The orb of light then lowered, and her attacker glanced down, following it. Macy’s own gaze shifted, and she saw what had drawn his attention. Her shirt lay open, her blue bra and chest spotlighted. She jerked to sit up.
His hand shot out and pushed her back to the ground. “I swear, you knee me again and…”
“You okay?” asked the man who’d claimed to be a cop. He’d walked up to the two of them.
Was he blind? No, she wasn’t okay! “He attacked me!” she shrieked. She gave the self-proclaimed cop a quick once-over. He was blond, about six feet. He wasn’t in uniform, but he had a gun and an official-looking flashlight. However, neither the gun nor the flashlight was aimed at her assailant.
Nope. They were aimed at her.
“Fine,” muttered the man on the ground beside her. He sat the rest of the way up.
Macy reached to close her shirt, but the cop yelled, “Freeze!”
Her attacker, who she was beginning to believe might also be a cop, shifted forward and pulled the garment closed. While the movement didn’t seem hostile, or sexual, his words weren’t exactly friendly. “You got any weapons on you? Any needles?”
She managed to squeak out a no.
He ran his big hands firmly down her black polyester pants to check for weapons. “She’s clean.”
The flashlight moved from her eyes. Macy’s gaze flickered from the blond with the gun to the dark-haired man she’d just kneed twice. Still grimacing, he pulled out a badge. She scanned it.
“I didn’t know. You grabbed me and—”
“I said, ‘Police.’ ” He spoke between gritted teeth.
“Maybe at the same time the dog barked and the cat howled.” She started to sit up.
“Not so fast!” He pressed a palm on her leg. “Until I can stand up, you’re not moving.”
The heat of his hand on her thigh zipped through her, and her breath caught. A cool April breeze hit her breasts, and she realized her shirt had fallen open again. His eyes shifted down. In spite of his orders, she yanked her shirt closed.
“Who are you?” He raised his hand from her leg, and his gaze darted to her hat on the ground. Picking it up, he eyed the cap, and then his gaze shifted to her uniform. “I asked you a question,” he snapped.
“Macy Tucker.” The idiot who just assaulted a police officer. I guess my brother’s not the only criminal in the family.
As Macy sat up, the blond cop stepped closer, his gun and light still in his hands. “You okay, Baldwin?” he asked.
Baldwin? Ellie’s message rang in Macy’s head. Surely not Jake Baldwin?
“You delivering a pizza to this address?” the dark-haired man asked.
Macy’s panic inched up a notch. Had something happened to Ellie? Is that why the cops were here? “What’s going on?”
“I ask the questions,” he replied. “Why were you sneaking—?”
“I wasn’t sneaking.” But her heart skipped a beat.
He eyed her hat again. “So, you were delivering pizza?”
She hesitated. She needed time to think, to rationalize. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was working with David. That’s what Ellie had said about Baldwin. What if she and Macy’s brother weren’t crazy? What if this was a dirty cop?
“There’s a pizza over here,” the blond officer said, flashing his light across the ground.
Baldwin eyed her. “It’s late for a delivery, isn’t it?”
Still clutching her shirt, Macy pondered the wisdom of lying to the police. “We’re open until midnight,” she responded. Not a lie.
“Kind of strange that no one’s home,” he accused. “Who ordered it?”
“I…” Something about his eyes bothered her. They were either dark blue or brown, she couldn’t tell which, but she didn’t like the way they analyzed her or the way his gaze had shifted to her chest. And she remembered the feel of his body pressing her against the hard ground, causing things to tingle that hadn’t tingled in a long time, a not-so-subtle reminder that she hadn’t been close to a man in a long time. She definitely didn’t like this and didn’t want those tingles.
More uncomfortable than ever, she stated another truth. �
��I wasn’t doing anything wrong.”
“Really? What’s your name again?”
“Macy Tucker. And yours?” Don’t let it be—
“Sergeant Jake Baldwin.” The cop pressed a fist to his thigh.
Her hopes dashed, Macy’s heart pounded with indecision. Tell him the truth. Don’t tell him. What if he’s a dirty cop?
“I’m sure you’ve got identification on you,” he said.
“It’s in my car.” Her gaze shot back to the house. “Something happen here?”
“Why don’t you get me your ID?” The cop got to his feet and motioned for her to do the same. Either she hadn’t hit her mark perfectly or he had balls of steel.
Standing, blouse held tightly together, she walked to her car. There she used her right hand to dig her wallet from her purse. Her left hand kept her shirt closed. The blond cop, standing under the spray of a streetlight, watched her with a keen eye, while Baldwin walked around her vehicle and studied the license plate, her hat clasped in his hands. He met her at the driver side door and took her driver’s license.
“Why did you try to run, Pizza Girl?” He studied her license before returning it.
“Because you scared the crap out of me,” she answered.
“I told you I was police.”
“And I told you, I didn’t hear you identify yourself. I heard the dog, the cat, and the trash can. Didn’t you hear the commotion?”
“Maybe I did.” He set her hat back on her head and gave it a playful little twist. The action matched a suddenly playful look in his eyes.
Ugh. She didn’t want “playful” with a man, and her body’s response to his nearness didn’t matter. She tossed her wallet back in her car and readjusted her hat. “Can I go now?”
Instead of answering, he dipped his head inside her car, eyed the second pizza box, and sniffed as if he’d caught wind of the old pizza scent. Pulling back, he met her gaze. “Looks as if you might be telling the truth. I’m sorry I scared you. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
His apology rang sincere. Could she trust him? She wanted to, but Ellie hadn’t and Billie hadn’t. What if they were right?
She glanced back at the house and asked one more time, “What happened?” She hoped he’d give her a reason to trust him. She needed a reason. Her time studying legal philosophy had taught her that cops were not above breaking the law. Her time on the Earth had taught her trusting men could get her hurt.
“What do you mean, what happened?” A sudden suspicion pulled at his eyebrows. “And why do I get a funny feeling in my gut about you?” He leaned his arm on her car roof. His blue shirt stretched taut across wide shoulders.
“Could be because I kneed you.” But now wasn’t the time to showcase her smart mouth, so she added, “Er, which I’m very sorry about.” She met his eyes. They were blue. Dark blue. And instead of the anger she expected, they almost held amusement. Taken aback, she asked again, “Can I go?”
He nodded. “If I need you, I know where to find you, Pizza Girl.”
“But you won’t,” she said before she thought.
“Won’t what?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Need me.”
His eyes crinkled into that almost smile again. “I might. I really like pizza.”
Not answering, she got in her car and took off. She didn’t look back. Okay, she looked one time in the rearview mirror. But not because he was male, or gorgeous, and not because she could still remember how his hand had felt on her thigh, how his body had felt pressed atop hers. She looked back because…just because.
She hadn’t made it all the way down the block when his almost smile flashed again in her mind. She switched on the radio to chase away her thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. Downright gorgeous—
The radio announcer’s voice pumped through the airwaves. “Continued breaking news: three Huntsville Prison inmates have escaped.”
Macy immediately slowed her car, shocked.
“A guard and an inmate were shot during the escape,” the broadcaster continued. “Both are listed in critical condition. Police—Wait. We’ve just received another report. The inmate has died.”
The inmate died?
Died? Died! Macy told herself it wasn’t Billy, but all she could hear was her brother saying, And now he wants to kill me.
Then she remembered her mother calling work. She remembered the police pulling into Papa’s Pizza.
Slamming on her brakes, she turned the car around and headed straight to Nan’s.
CHAPTER THREE
Macy came to a tire-screeching halt in front of her grandmother’s house. Tears dampened her cheeks. She’d passed the two-tissue limit about four stop signs ago, but that hardly mattered. Nothing did but Billy. She needed to know her baby brother was okay.
She bolted out of her car and raced to the front porch. Intent only on talking to her mom, she didn’t even jump when someone caught her arm. She swung around and came face to face with a uniformed Harris County deputy. Breathing became almost impossible.
“Slow down,” he commanded. “Who…?” His eyes widened.
She ignored the commanding grip, disregarded his awkward expression, and yanked open the door. “Mom? Nan?”
The grasp on her arm tightened. Swerving, she glared at the officer. She’d brought one cop to the ground tonight. What was one more?
“Macy?” her mom called from inside.
The cop released her but followed her inside. Another man, dressed in a suit, stood beside her crying mother. Nan jumped up from the green sofa. The look of anguish in her eyes wrenched a sob from Macy’s throat.
“Tell me it’s not him. Tell me!” She made her hands into fists. Her nails cut into her palms.
Nan rushed over and placed a hand on each of Macy’s shoulders, but she didn’t say a word. Pain exploded in Macy’s chest.
“No.” She dropped to the floor and buried her face into her knees. “Nooooo.”
Behind her closed eyelids, she saw her brother as a boy standing at the foot of her bed, teddy bear clutched in his arms. I’m scared Daddy will come home. She heard his whispered words and knew she’d failed him for good this time.
Macy’s mom joined her on the carpet. “Go ahead and cry,” she said.
“Oh, Mace.” Nan plopped down beside Macy. “It’s gonna be okay.” Her grandma’s voice cracked with emotion, and Nan never cracked. She was strong, together, everything Macy wanted but often failed to be. As she’d failed Billy.
Images of him sitting across from her at the prison flashed in Macy’s mind. He’d been so afraid. Why hadn’t she done something? This was her fault. He’d asked for help and she hadn’t done a damn thing. Gripping two handfuls of the faded green shag carpet, she rocked back and forth. “No.”
“Listen.” Nan brushed a hand over Macy’s back. “Billy’s not totally brainless. He’ll turn himself in.”
Macy hiccupped and stared at her grandma. “He’s alive?”
“As far as we know,” someone answered. “I’m assuming you’re his sister?”
Macy looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a suit. “Yes.”
“Oh goodness, you thought—” Nan didn’t finish her sentence before starting another. “He’s fine. Of course, we’re going to kick his ass when this is over.”
The realization of it all hit Macy with sweet relief, but it left a bitter aftertaste. Billy wasn’t dead, but he’d broken out of prison? Why hadn’t she realized how desperate he sounded, how afraid? Now the police would chase him down, shoot him dead if he did something stupid. And Billy was notorious for doing stupid things. Nan was right. As soon as they got him safely back behind bars, Macy was going to kick that boy’s ass.
She glanced at her mother, wrapped in her faded pink terry-cloth robe, then at Nan, who appeared strong in her purple Cinderella pajamas. God, she loved them both. And Billy. She loved her brother—who was alive. Alive!
Another sob escaped Macy’s lips, and she hugged her mom.
Nan moved in, and it became a group hug. “I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Macy said. “I thought you wanted to ask about the visit.”
A deep clearing of a male throat made Macy glance up.
“I’m Peter James, FBI,” said the middle-aged, suited guy who’d spoken earlier. His expression implied that his training hadn’t handled whimpering females who sat huddled on the floor. And yeah, right now Macy fit that profile. Not that she cared what he thought.
Macy stood, then offered a hand up to her mom and Nan. Drawing in a shaky breath, she hugged her mom again. “I love you,” she whispered. Turning, she gave her grandma a watery smile.
“Mace?” Nan’s eyes widened.
“I’m okay,” she replied. Then, willing herself to be strong, Macy walked over to the coffee table and snatched a tissue. Feeling more composed, she gathered her wits and blew. Nose clean, dignity intact, she faced the two lawmen. “I want to know everything. For starters, why is the FBI involved?”
It wasn’t until both men’s gazes lowered that Macy remembered the state of her attire. She jerked her shirt closed over her blue bra, realizing that maybe it would take a few more minutes to gather her dignity. But that didn’t matter—Billy was alive. Now all she had to do was figure out how to keep him that way.
It was pitch dark out as Billy paced the trailer’s living room, uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes and with the gun tucked inside the waist of his pants. He watched out the window for Ellie’s car. The sixteen-year-old boy who had picked him up, Andy Canton, now sat with a bag of potato chips in his lap. The kid’s black Lab lay beside him on the lopsided sofa, which was missing a front leg.
When the boy had first pulled over and asked Billy if he needed a ride, Billy worried the kid was either high on something or one of those “special” kids. But he didn’t seem to be either. Not that it mattered. Billy got in the car.
When Andy had asked him where he was going, Billy asked if the kid could spare him a change of clothes. At first, he thought Andy was going to say no, but he’d nodded and told him he’d take him to his place—that no one but him lived there.
“You think your girlfriend is gonna come?” Andy shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. The dog sniffed at the boy’s jeans for crumbs.
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