Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  Pretty?

  She ground her teeth, then snapped, “First, you’d need a search warrant. Second, you can’t arrest me. I haven’t done anything.”

  “First, I don’t need a warrant when I have reasonable cause to believe there might be an escaped convict hiding out in your home and putting someone’s life in jeopardy. Second, you’ve lied and assaulted—”

  “I didn’t lie. And the assault was only because—”

  “Quit stalling.” He waved his cell phone. “Do I call or not?”

  He was serious—she saw it in his eyes. “I’ve already talked to the FBI,” she complained.

  “And now you’re going to talk to me.”

  “About what?”

  “About why you weren’t up-front with me tonight. Why you’re so dead set against me coming in.” His right brow arched up. “Did you help your brother escape? Is he here?”

  “No.”

  “Prove it. Let me in.” He stared at her and waved the phone again. “Call, or not call?”

  “Fine. Come in.” Fighting with him was more trouble than it was worth. She stormed inside and into the living room. The red light was blinking on her answering machine, making her heart pound. She dropped her purse on top of it, then set the pizza box on the coffee table. Weak-kneed, she collapsed on her sofa.

  “Look around,” she suggested. “You’ll see no one is here. Ask your questions, but don’t expect drawn-out answers. I gave those to the FBI.”

  The cop lingered outside, clearly wary. Finally, he came in and shut the front door. He scanned the room.

  “You live alone?”

  “With Elvis.” She looked around for the feline.

  Baldwin’s gaze speared her. “Elvis. Does your smart mouth ever stop?”

  A thump sounded from behind him. The cop swung around, his right hand dipping inside his shirt as if for his gun. Then his gaze met the cause of the thump. He froze. Elvis, on the ground in front of him, hissed and flicked his tail.

  Satisfaction poured into Macy’s chest. She’d have to give the feline a treat for perfect timing. “Sergeant Baldwin, meet Elvis.”

  Baldwin’s gaze cut to her, and she bit back a laugh. Then she saw her cat’s tail flicking in discontent.

  “Elvis doesn’t like strangers,” she said. The cat’s ears flattened back and his gray fur fluffed out. He crouched down, hissing, and his yellow eyes rounded. Macy knew what came next; the question was if she would warn Baldwin. He didn’t deserve it. Then again, she really didn’t like the sight of blood.

  “If I were you, I’d move back. Because in about two seconds, he’s going to jump. And I haven’t had him”—the cat sprang up in the air—“declawed.”

  “Damn!” Baldwin yelled as Elvis caught his shoulder and used the cop to propel himself up onto a bookshelf. A moment later he jumped down and disappeared down the hall.

  “I warned you.” Macy curled back on her sofa, fighting amusement.

  Hand clapped to his shoulder, Baldwin swung around. Macy waited for him to lash out, to claim he’d have the cat put down for slashing him. Not that he could do it. She knew the law, but she still expected the guy to try to bully her. She waited, counting to ten, but he didn’t prove her right. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that big of a bully.

  “I’m bleeding.” He yanked his shirt away from his shoulder.

  “Maybe you should seek medical attention. Cat scratch fever can be deadly.”

  His blue gaze locked on her. “You never ease up, do you?”

  “I’m tired. I’ve had a hellish day.” Plus PMS, she didn’t say. She cut her eyes to her purse-covered answering machine. And a brother who needs me.

  His gaze shot down the hall. “Well, I’m going to look around.”

  “Go for it,” she said, wishing he’d hurry.

  “Is Elvis going to attack again?” he asked as he walked off.

  “I wouldn’t suggest you stick your head under the bed. Of course, someone could be hiding under there. So maybe you should.”

  Surprisingly, she could have sworn she heard him laugh. Slumping back, she raked her palms over her shirt. Nan’s emergency safety pins now served as buttons.

  Eyes closed, Macy suddenly realized her fear of Baldwin, and even her suspicions, had evaporated. Was she just so tired that she was forgetting to be afraid, or was she beginning to trust the guy? It hadn’t been very long. But she remembered him threatening to bring out more police. If he was working with David Tanks, would he do that? Not likely. Of course, nothing else made sense. Why had Billy run off with a man who’d threatened to kill him? Why was the FBI involved?

  Baldwin’s footsteps sounded in the hall. As Macy opened her eyes, he walked past the living room and into the kitchen. Letting her eyelids flutter closed again, Macy leaned her head back. Where are you, Billy?

  Baldwin cleared his throat, and Macy snapped her eyes open to find him standing in front of her.

  “Finished?” she asked.

  “Just getting started.”

  The cop wore a dark blue, long-sleeved shirt, unbuttoned. Under it, he had on a white T-shirt. His jeans were well-worn, and were faded where they hugged his body as he lowered himself into a green recliner. Oddly enough, Macy compared how he fit the piece of furniture to how her ex had filled the chair. Baldwin’s hard frame, wide shoulders, and long legs made the chair look smaller. She figured him to be taller than her ex’s six feet. Baldwin probably weighed in around—she appraised his flat stomach, the snug fit of his jeans—maybe 210.

  She stopped appreciating the man’s form as her gaze found his eyes, eyes that seemed to find her survey amusing.

  “I’m tired,” she said. She wished he’d leave. She was feeling antsy, and the feeling grew as he glanced around the room.

  “Where’s your phone?” he asked, rubbing his shoulder.

  She fought the tightness in her voice. “Use your own.”

  “Where’s your phone?”

  She debated whether or not to lie, but she knew when she was beaten. Well, she almost knew. Throwing in the towel had never been easy. “Can’t you just call the FBI?”

  “Where is it, Macy?”

  Something about the way he said her name made her even more eager to see him gone. Accepting defeat, she yanked her purse off the end table.

  He stood and eyed the machine’s flashing red light. “Did you really think I wouldn’t ask?”

  She shrugged. “Actually, I did.”

  “And your cell phone?” He pointed to her purse.

  “Dead. Out of minutes. Out of money.”

  “Convenient,” he said as if he didn’t believe her.

  She pulled the phone from her purse and tossed it at him.

  He caught it. Eyeing her suspiciously, he opened it, pushed a few buttons, and tossed it back at her. Then his gaze went back to the blinking red light on her answering machine.

  His face was like granite. “Before I listen to this, is there anything you’d like to tell me? I’ll say you gave the information voluntarily.”

  “Voluntarily?” She stiffened under his scrutiny. “I don’t know where Billy is or who’s on the machine. I’m not guilty of anything but loving my brother.”

  He settled down on the couch, between her and the recorder. She scooted over, away from his body warmth. She expected him to hit the play button, but instead he shouldered back in the sofa and watched her squirm.

  “Why were you at Ellie Chandler’s tonight?”

  “I went to talk to her, but I didn’t know Billy had escaped. I went to see him today. He begged me to go see Ellie. And…I told all this to the FBI.”

  “Where were you the rest of the afternoon?”

  “I had a five-thirty shift. I went straight to work. It wasn’t until I left Ellie’s that I heard about the prison break. My mom had called me several times tonight at work, and that’s probably her on the answering machine. I didn’t call her back, and when I heard—” Emotion crowded her throat. “When I heard about the inmat
e who was killed, I thought it was Billy.”

  “Why would you assume that? Did he tell you he was going to try to escape? Ask for help?” Suspicion thickened the policeman’s tone.

  “No! He told me that another inmate wanted him dead. He said that the guards were afraid of this David Tanks person. He said Tanks has people on the outside who do things for the guards, and—”

  “What kind of things?” the cop interrupted.

  Macy shrugged “He didn’t say. And then Ellie said—”

  “You talked to Ellie?” Baldwin leaned forward. “When did you talk to her?”

  “I haven’t actually spoken with her. When I came home today, she’d left a message on my recorder.”

  “I thought you went straight to work.” Suspicion again tightened his voice.

  “I came home to get my money bag. After I went to the library.”

  He nodded, but she couldn’t tell if he believed her or not. “What did Ellie say?”

  “She said she was afraid Tanks was going to do something.”

  Sergeant Baldwin’s eyebrows pinched together. “Did it occur to you to come to the police with the information?”

  “I might have, if Ellie hadn’t already tried, but she said some cop was too busy staring at her boobs to listen. You wouldn’t happen to know that jerk, would you? Someone named Jake something?”

  She could swear he flinched, but he didn’t comment. “And, that’s all you know? I’m not going to learn something else on this tape? They’ll go easier on you if—”

  “That’s all I know,” she snapped.

  He looked over at her answering machine. His gaze lowered, then froze. Leaning down, he picked up her gardening boots from under the end table. He turned them over. A clod of dirt from the church garden dropped onto her carpet. He stared.

  She frowned, a little unnerved. “Don’t tell me. Boot fetish?”

  The cop stared at her. “Did you wear these to see your brother today?”

  “No.”

  “They found boot prints at the prison, in the flowerbed where the gun was planted. When I take these in to be checked, the guys in the lab will know if they match,” he warned.

  Macy clenched her jaw, furious, though unsure why his suspicions bothered her so much. Then understanding dawned: she’d been the one with reasons to distrust him, and she’d pushed those reasons aside. Had he? No.

  “Take the boots. Have them tested,” she snapped. “But when those size sixes don’t match, I can promise—”

  A resounding knock on the door brought both of them bolting from the sofa.

  Baldwin stared at her. “Expecting anyone?” His hand reached inside his shirt and drew out a weapon.

  “No!” She hurtled between him and the door. “Put the gun away.”

  “Move aside,” he ordered. His focus stayed on the door.

  “I’m not going to let you shoot my brother.”

  “I won’t shoot unless—”

  “No!” More tears threatened. Just like her mom. She hated it. “Let me answer. You can stand beside me. I just…I don’t want Billy hurt. He’s not a bad kid. Even if he’s done some things wrong, he—”

  The knock sounded again.

  “Please,” she begged.

  The policeman wavered. “Ask who it is.”

  Macy stepped closer to the door.

  “Wait!” He pulled her back into the living room from the hall and whispered, “Ellie said Tanks threatened to kill Billy’s sister. That’s you. This could be Tanks.”

  “And it could be Billy,” she snapped. She tried pulling free, but he held on. “Let me answer!”

  “Calm down,” he said in her ear. “Ask who it is.”

  She took a deep breath. “Who is it?” she said. The knocking thudded harder. “He can’t hear me.” She looked back at the door. “Who is it?” she yelled, and prayed her brother would answer—prayed Baldwin wouldn’t hurt him.

  The knocking stopped. Baldwin released her. The doorknob rattled, and from the corner of her eye she saw Sergeant Baldwin raise his gun.

  “No!” she screamed.

  “Mace?” a deep voice called from outside the house.

  The timbre of the voice filled Macy’s ears. It rang all sorts of bells—familiar bells, though not Billy ones.

  “Is it your brother?” Baldwin asked.

  “No.” Her mind tried unsuccessfully to wrap around the voice.

  “Mace?” the man called again from outside. “I heard what happened.”

  Recognition hit. It hit with a resounding thud. Not a positive thud, either, but an ex-husband, cheating-louse kind of thud. She looked back at Baldwin, gun drawn.

  “What the hell,” she said. “Go ahead and shoot.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Shoot? Had he heard right? Jake latched an arm around Macy Tucker’s abdomen. “Who is it?” he growled.

  She looked up. “My husband.”

  He jerked his arm back. “You’re married?” While he hadn’t meant the hold to be personal, it suddenly felt personal—at least too personal for a married woman.

  “We’re divorced,” she said.

  He breathed a sigh of relief. “Then I think the correct terminology is ex-husband.”

  “Didn’t I say that?” She stared at the door.

  Jake shook his head. “No. You didn’t.” He didn’t have a clue why the thought of her being married made him flinch, but…Oh, hell. Yes, he did know why. Macy Tucker, ball buster and conniving twit, had snagged his interest the moment he laid eyes on her. Lust at first sight. It had been too long since he’d felt real lust. Too long since he’d wanted—

  The knocking grew louder.

  “Mace?” the voice called again. “I thought you might need some company.”

  Jake studied the woman before him. “If you’re lying to me…”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m not. It’s Tom, my ex-husband.”

  He stared into her baby blues and, just like that, he believed her. Believed the man behind the door was her ex-husband, believed that she hadn’t helped her brother escape prison, believed her boots weren’t the ones that had left the prints at the breakout scene. The doorknob rattled again, only this time it came with the clink of a key and the click of a lock. Jake tucked his gun behind his shirt right before Macy’s ex-husband stepped inside.

  An ex-husband with a key. What did that say about their relationship?

  Then he saw Macy staring at the keys in the man’s hand. The ex was busy staring at him.

  “Why do you still have—?” She reached for the keys just as her ex reached for her. Macy skidded back so fast that she banged up against Jake.

  “Who are you?” the ex asked him.

  Jake just smiled and watched Macy.

  Emotion flashed in her gaze, and not a good kind. Pain, really. Maybe he was reading more into it than he should. Maybe his own issues were affecting him. Or maybe not. Either way, his protect-and-serve instincts took over. He wrapped an arm around Macy’s waist.

  She felt good against him. This time, his touch was meant to be personal, or at least to appear personal. Or maybe it wasn’t just for show.

  Macy flinched and took a quick few steps away. Then her gaze shot to her ex, as if she realized the movement had brought her closer to him, and she frowned. She divided the distance, moving to stand equally between the two men. As crazy as it seemed to him, Jake hoped she’d scoot back closer to him.

  One step. Come on, Pizza Girl.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked her ex.

  “I heard about Billy.” The man scowled at Jake. “But you’ve got company.”

  She did it. She took a step toward Jake, and he couldn’t help but smile.

  “You should try calling first,” she said. “How did you hear—?”

  “Don’t be rude, Mace,” the ex insisted. “Introduce us.”

  Macy looked back at Jake as if debating what to say.

  Without thinking, Jake took the decision from her.
He brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder. “No need for introductions. I know who you are. You’re Tom.”

  “Now, if I only knew who you were…” Tom glared at him.

  “I’m Jake Baldwin.” He winked at Macy. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but not a word escaped.

  “And what are you doing here with my wife?”

  “I think that’s ex-wife,” Jake responded.

  “Okay, let me rephrase. What are you doing with my ex-wife?”

  Jake smiled again. “Macy invited me in.”

  The woman’s eyes widened.

  Her ex looked at her. “Can I have a minute with you, Mace? Alone?”

  Jake shrugged. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “You two go ahead. Just pretend I’m not here.”

  The ex’s posture tightened, but he seemed to resolve himself. “You’re already bringing guys home?”

  Macy appeared shocked by his question, but she recovered quickly. “Well, I guess I didn’t think you’d mind, considering you brought girls home while we were still married.”

  Jake laughed, and they both stared at him as if he were crazy. He spoke his mind. “She sure has a way with words, doesn’t she?” Then he raised his hand. “Oh, carry on. Sorry.”

  Macy faced him. “Can you give us a minute?”

  Jake saw the ex smirk, but if Macy’s expression was any indication, he shouldn’t exactly have been planning any victory parties. He winked at Macy. “Anything for you. I’ll just wait in the bedroom. With Elvis.”

  Macy watched Sergeant Baldwin walk toward the rear of her house, but something told her he didn’t go as far as the bedroom.

  Bedroom? How suggestively he’d said it. Had he purposely, shamelessly, tried to give Tom the wrong idea? Was he so cocky, so bold, that he would really try to deceive her ex-husband into believing that—?

  Oh, heck, she didn’t have time to admire or be grateful to the cop right now. She refocused on Tom.

  “How did you hear about Billy?” She worked at keeping her tone casual, because she was just a bit touched that her ex-husband was worried about her. Not enough to accept his offer of company, of course. His shoulder to cry on would no doubt come with a price. A flat price—as in, she’d be flat on her back. She’d heard that his fling had flung itself out.