“Your grandma’s neighbor called my mom. When I got the message, I knew you’d be upset, so I came to—”
“I appreciate your concern.” A tiny part of her did. Then again, she would have appreciated a lot more his not having had an affair with his secretary, and especially not in her own bed. “But we’re divorced. You should go.”
“You’re really seeing that clown?” he seethed.
She shrugged, not willing to lie. “What? You don’t like his sense of humor?”
“I suppose you do. My God, we’ve only been divorced a few weeks!”
His words landed with a bruising bump on her heart—a heart that had suffered too many blows today. Too many blows in the last five years, mostly thanks to Tom himself.
“We’d have been divorced almost two years ago if you’d signed the papers.”
He took a step forward. “Don’t be hardheaded. Tell the guy to leave. I’ll fix you some hot chocolate, just the way you like it.” He opened his arms as if he expected her to melt into his embrace and rejoice because he remembered her culinary dependency.
She didn’t move into his arms. The hot chocolate sounded good, but Tom’s embrace didn’t tempt her. Not even a smidgen. That felt pretty damn good, too.
He puffed out his chest. “Come on Macy, it’s him or me.”
That clinched it. “Him.”
“You would choose—?”
“Definitely.” Her gut had always told her Tom was an idiot, and now she knew for sure. She pointed to the door. “You need to go.”
His green eyes widened. “You’re obviously upset. You’re not thinking clearly.”
“You’re right about me being upset. I’m worried about my brother. As for thinking…?” She pushed a finger to her temple. “Seems pretty clear.” She opened the front door. “ ’Bye, Tom.”
He didn’t budge. She could tell from his expression that he was struggling to find a new approach. That did a little something for her ego. Other than doing everything he could to delay the divorce, he hadn’t once seemed to regret their split. But why now?
The answer hit her: Baldwin. Tom didn’t want her. Not permanently. But he didn’t want anyone else to have her, either. Especially when he didn’t have anyone. The dog.
It still felt good. What woman didn’t want a man to regret his mistakes?
She spotted the red blinking light on her answering machine. “Door’s open,” she said. “Good-bye.”
“Look,” he begged. “I was wrong to get involved with Tammy, but I said I was sorry.”
His words brought back her anger. “No, what you said was, ‘Can’t we just forget about this?’ And I recall telling you that I would do that just as soon as hell turned into a snowy winter wonderland that Santa lists among his top ten favorite places to visit.” Macy thought she heard a chuckle from the hall.
“Okay, it’s obvious we need to talk.” Tom’s gaze darkened with anger. “Ask the bozo to leave.” He grabbed her.
She stared at his hand on her arm. “Let me go!” Tom had never hit her, but he had a bad habit of being grabby. She wasn’t his to grab anymore. One glance at his crotch, and she locked in on her target.
She didn’t get a chance to strike. Baldwin came hotfooting it into the foyer and tucked her to his side. “That’s it,” he said.
Normally, Macy would have resented the implication that she couldn’t take care of herself, but the resentment didn’t come. The policeman’s surprising action felt nice. Kind of.
With one arm around her waist, Baldwin said, “I’ve counted four times that she’s asked you to leave, Tom. In my book, that’s four times too many, because you shouldn’t be here in the first place. So do yourself a favor and go.”
“And if I don’t?” Tom snapped. “You gonna fight me? What are you, some tough guy?”
Baldwin’s body tensed against hers. The cold shape of his gun pressed against Macy’s ribs. Anger seemed to ooze out of him, though he appeared to purposely hold it in. She could tell he was a man who depended on his wits before his fists—but she’d hate to see what he’d do to Tom with his fists. Maybe.
“Fight? Oh, no. I’ll just sic Elvis on you.” His hand tugged Macy a little closer and he smiled, though not a flicker of warmth filled the expression.
“Oh, hell,” Tom gritted out. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait,” Baldwin said. “Macy meant to ask you for something.”
“I did?” She looked up at him in surprise.
“You said I was to remind you to get your key back.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She held her hand out to Tom. The knowledge that she should move away from Baldwin played havoc with her sanity, but the strength in his touch, the sense of being protected, seduced her for just a few more seconds.
“I’ll mail it.” Tom left, slamming the door in their faces.
Baldwin’s palm sank deeper into the curve of Macy’s waist. “You want me to get that key?” he asked.
No, she needed to fight her own battles. “I’ll get it later,” she said.
His arm felt so solid around her, and his touch reminded her that she was female and normally most females found the opposite sex appealing. But she didn’t want normal, so she stepped out of his embrace and shuffled back to her living room. She dropped onto the sofa. Sighing, she pulled a pillow into her lap and hugged it, purposely ignoring the blinking light on her answering machine. Maybe she’d get lucky and Baldwin would leave.
Jake Baldwin stood there, studying her, as if he expected her to say something. But, what?
“You’re welcome,” he finally said. He reached down, flipped open the pizza box, and snatched out a slice. “Just cheese?” he groused.
“I didn’t say thank you,” she snapped. She watched him eat. She hadn’t offered him pizza either.
He spoke around the food in his mouth. “Yeah, but I could tell you were thinking it. You wanted him gone.”
She didn’t deny it. However, the fact that this stranger could read her so easily made her uncomfortable.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she watched him inhale the entire slice. “Thank you,” she said, accepting she owed him that much. He winked. Emotionally, she felt that wink all the way to the pit of her stomach—the kind of flutter that got women in trouble. “You should go,” she said.
He snagged another slice. “I haven’t forgotten the messages.”
Thoughts of hearing Billy’s voice, and Jake Baldwin’s hearing it too, tightened her stomach. She asked something she needed to know. “If he’s on here and he tells me where he is, what are you going do?”
“The only thing I can do. Go pick him up.”
A knot formed in her throat. “You won’t hurt him…?”
“I’m not into hurting people, Pizza Girl.”
He didn’t offer guarantees. She’d known he wouldn’t. Then she recalled how he’d handled himself with Tom, and a part of her realized she trusted him.
Scooting over to the arm of the sofa, she hit the play button on her answering machine. The recorder stated in its monotone computerized voice, “You have ten new messages.” There was a pause, and then: “Tuesday, 4:48 p.m.”
Macy tightened her hold on her legs as she awaited the first message.
“Mace. It’s your mom. I was”—sniffle, sniffle—“just wondering how the visit went.”
“Tuesday, 4:57 p.m.”
“Macy. It’s Father Luis. Sister Beth told me you were wavering on joining us full-time. It’s a lot to ask, but you belong here. It’s God’s work. I know this is your calling. Sister Beth won’t be leaving until next month. We really need to fill her position.”
Baldwin choked on his pizza. “What position?”
Macy just quirked an eyebrow.
The phone messages continued. They were all her mom, time and again. “Mace, baby, please call me.” And there was a lot of sniffling. Then there was a hang-up. Finally, they were at the last call. Macy didn’t know whether to hope it was Billy or not.
/> “Wednesday, 12:03 a.m.”
“Hello, bitch.”
Macy flinched. Sergeant Baldwin moved closer. The message played on.
“Just wanted to let you know I was thinking about you. If you talk to your brother, tell him David Tanks always makes good on his promises. You and I are gonna have us a fucking good time. You do like to fuck, don’t you?” Then the machine clicked off.
Silence filled the room. Macy sat frozen, staring at the phone.
Suddenly, it rang.
“You have a speakerphone?” Baldwin asked in a rushed voice.
“Yeah.”
“Use it.”
Gulping, Macy hit the speaker button. “Hello?” she said.
“Glad you’re home finally, bitch. Get pretty for me and wait. It might be tonight or tomorrow, but I’ll be there.”
Then the escaped convict hung up.
Billy’s patience had cracked about an hour before. At least a dozen times he’d picked up Andy’s cell phone to call Mace or try Ellie’s number, but he’d never followed through. Every police show talked about tracing phone calls. He didn’t want to be traced, but damn it, where were they?
It was almost four o’clock in the morning before the next set of headlights flashed across the window. Billy pushed back the dirty drapes, praying to see Ellie. Instead, a blue van pulled to a stop in front of Andy’s trailer. Ellie didn’t drive a van.
Jake’s phone, set on vibrate, jarred him awake. He sat up and almost tumbled out of his seat; the footrest on this green recliner had snapped forward. In the light spilling through the window, he saw a brunette and a cat curled up on a sofa. Not his sofa. Not his brunette or cat either. Where the hell was he?
The cat’s ears pulled back. Hissing at him, the animal darted off the sofa and disappeared down the hall. Jake’s memory returned.
He stood, snatched up his phone, and ducked into the kitchen. Checking the number, he saw it was Donaldson. As he pressed it to his ear, he spotted the clock on the wall. Damn. He was two hours late for work.
“I’m on my way,” he said without preamble.
“Good,” Donaldson replied. “The brown stuff the lab boys refer to as shit is nearing the fan. The Feds are looking for you.”
Jake ran a hand through his hair. He should have called in last night, reported the phone call, but damn it, he knew what would have happened. They’d have brought someone out, sent him packing, taken Macy in, but not a damn thing would have been done to investigate the call until this morning. “The Feds? It has to be about Tanks. I just don’t know why—”
“Why Internal Affairs is with them?” Donaldson said. “Me neither.”
Jake’s palm tightened on the back of his neck. “IA’s with them?” That was a surprise.
“Yep.”
Last night, he’d played all of Macy’s messages, including the earlier one where Ellie accused him of being in cahoots with Tanks. He wondered if IA had heard something similar, and if so, who’d told them. Glancing into the living room he said, “I’m on my way.”
Snapping his phone shut, he walked into the living room and reached for his gun, which was lying on the floor beside the recliner. Macy was rousing. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared.
“So, you sicced the Feds on me?” He holstered his gun.
She lowered her feet to the carpet and pulled her hair back with two hands. “Lovely day to you, too.” Her voice was husky from just waking up.
Damn, but he liked her. He didn’t have a clue why. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d committed two of the greatest sins a woman could against a man: interfering with his job and messing with his family jewels. Well, a man’s jewels could and should be messed with, but gently. For a split second his mind conjured an image of the two of them naked and—
“I only told them what Ellie said.” She frowned.
Was that guilt? Well, even the woman’s grimace was cute and sexy. “I guess you didn’t have a choice,” he admitted. “But you’d better get moving.” He pulled the tape out of the answering machine. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”
She stared droopy-eyed at the television. The ten-inch tube was still on, the volume muted. He’d cut the sound last night after she’d dropped off. Sleep hadn’t come so easily for him. He’d sat in the chair and watched her, and somewhere around four in the morning he’d finally decided she was beautiful. Not drop-dead gorgeous, exactly, with legs up to the neck and knockout boobs. But she was more than girl-next-door pretty. She had one of those faces you just wanted to study forever. And her body? Yeah, about four thirty, he’d decided a closer look at that was high on his wish list.
Visions of tattooed Tanks suddenly flashed in his head. Maybe it was his attraction to Macy, or maybe it was because he felt guilty for not listening to Ellie Chandler, but he felt personally responsible for this whole mess.
“Come on. Up and at ’em. Get ready,” he told her.
“Ready? For what?”
“You’re coming in with me. Five minutes.”
“Why?” Macy asked.
“First, because you’ve got an escaped convict after you and I don’t want to leave you alone. Second, because I’m certain that the Feds will want to chat.”
“I already talked to them,” she grumbled.
“Yeah, but that was before they knew Tanks had a thing for you and…well, it was when you had me down as a bad guy.”
“And you think I’ve changed my mind about that?”
“You chose me over your ex.”
“You were listening?” She frowned. “I don’t have time—” Her gaze shot to the clock. “My test!” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, crap! How could I miss my test?”
Jake shrugged. “Five minutes. I’m serious.”
Macy took thirty. Five minutes were to politely suggest that she could meet him at the precinct as soon as she pulled herself together, but polite didn’t work, and she’d never had a surplus of early-morning patience. The other twenty-five minutes were needed to shower, brush her teeth, comb her hair, and then find her very last emergency tampon under the sink. Every time he’d yell from behind the bathroom door, she’d give herself permission to dawdle for another five minutes. She wasn’t his prisoner, his wife, or his girlfriend. And while she didn’t enjoy being mean, she didn’t believe in rewarding bad behavior.
Banging on the door when a PMS-stricken woman was trying to insert her last tampon? That definitely fell into the category of bad behavior. Oh, and when he screamed, What are you doing in there? she’d been tempted to tell him the truth. That would have shut him up.
But she also had begun to feel a few things other than annoyance for the man.
Staring at her image in the mirror, Macy made one of those face-your-fears kind of confessions that are supposed to help your mood. “Hi, I’m Macy Tucker, and Jake Baldwin scares me. He tempts me. Being with him is like driving a bike too close to the edge of a cliff.” A cliff with great scenery, of course. But Gawd have mercy, she hadn’t thought there was a man alive who could make her want to risk falling off that cliff again. Hadn’t she fallen too many times, only to find herself bruised, battered, and broken?
She blinked at her image and waited for the confession to offer her some relief. None came.
She gave her reflection another once-over. “You look like hammered poo on a bad hair day.” It all showed on her face: lack of sleep, stress over Billy, that missed exam for a teacher who swore he wouldn’t give retests, an escaped prisoner threatening to rape her, the realization that she still had a weak spot for a pair of wide shoulders and a sexy grin. Throw in PMS, and the world wasn’t ready for her.
“You’ve got one minute. Then I’m coming in,” Baldwin yelled.
She glared at the door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
If the world wasn’t ready for her, Jake Baldwin sure as hell wasn’t.
CHAPTER SIX
Billy woke up as Andy trotted through the living room to let the d
og out. Though the boy never glanced over, Billy pulled the sheet across Ellie, who slept beside him on the lopsided sofa.
He remembered the fear he’d felt at seeing the blue van stop in front of the trailer last night, but then Ellie had crawled out. She’d explained how she’d loaned her car to someone else and was now using their van. Then she’d told him about finding that cop, Jake Baldwin, at Mace’s house. She’d parked down the street and waited for the guy to leave, and when he didn’t, she’d peeked in the windows only to find the two sitting on the sofa together.
“I think I was wrong about him,” Ellie had said. “I don’t think he’s working with David. He even left me messages saying he wanted to help.”
Billy still didn’t like it. He had to know Mace was safe.
Andy walked back inside, his dog trotting behind him, and both disappeared back into the one and only bedroom.
Ellie’s backside brushed up against Billy’s crotch. He hardened. Last night she’d told him she was willing, if he wanted. God, he wanted, and having her soft body next to him had been a torment. But taking her for the first time on a broken sofa, with no privacy and garbage all over the place, didn’t feel right, so he’d kissed her and insisted they wait until they were alone. And while he’d never share this with his sister, he bet Mace would say he’d done the right thing. He liked thinking Mace would be proud of him.
Ellie rolled over. “Morning,” she said in her cartoonish voice.
He kissed her nose. He bet people teased her about her voice. Not around him they wouldn’t. If people couldn’t look past her voice and see her beauty, then they were stupid. And he didn’t mean her beauty on the outside. In a lot of ways, Ellie reminded Billy of Mace. Like Macy, Ellie loved with all her heart. She loved him that way, and she’d been totally devoted to her grandma, who’d raised her. Ellie even got a job at the nursing home so she could keep an eye on her granny. The woman had died, but Ellie hadn’t left her other patients, even though she could make more money waitressing.
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