Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  Not that Jake doubted that she’d been aiming for any place but where the knee had landed.

  An hour later, Macy sat on her sofa with Nan. “Don’t tell Mom about this,” Macy said. She snatched a pillow and hugged it. “Where is she?”

  Nan frowned. “She wanted to stay home and cry today, but I talked her into going to the hospital. She can cry there just as good as she can cry at home.” When Macy slumped against the sofa, Nan patted her leg. “Your mom’s gonna be fine. She just needs to cry it out.”

  “Duh? She’s been crying for over a decade.”

  “Yeah. I figure she should be stopping any day now.”

  Pillow still hugged close, Macy watched the cops skitter around like roaches. They were everywhere, different cops in different uniforms, and some in plain clothes. Every few minutes, one of the roaches—the one with a red stripe across his shirt—would wink at her. Why was he doing that? And why had he kissed her? Just what sort of idea had she given him?

  Mark Donaldson plopped down beside her on the couch. He introduced himself to Nan, then focused on Macy. “You okay?”

  “Dandy.” She tried to smile. Mark seemed like a nice guy, and for some reason she found him harmless. At least, he was harmless compared to how Sergeant Baldwin made her feel.

  She raised her right hand and the handcuffs danced in the air. “Got a hacksaw?”

  Donaldson chuckled. “They’re thinking about having your knee declared a lethal weapon and making you register it.”

  Grimacing, Macy stared at the painted words on the wall: Fuck and Die. Fear played a slow tune on her heart.

  As Baldwin appeared, fear vanished. Or really it just changed tempo. She’d already admitted that this man scared her.

  Jake nudged Donaldson aside—not physically, but with a look. The blond cop moved to a chair, and Jake lowered his six-feet-plus frame next to Macy. His jean-covered thigh pressed warm against hers. She scooted closer to Nan.

  “Give me your hand,” he said.

  “Why?”

  He dangled a key in front of her. “I talked Thompson into forgiving you.”

  “He’s a wuss. I didn’t hit him half as hard as I hit you.”

  “Hold your tongue,” Nan commanded. “And give him your arm.” Her gaze went to Baldwin. “She gets mouthy when she’s scared.”

  “I figured that out.” Baldwin winked at Nan. His smile oozed charm, and Nan responded with a grin of her own.

  Great. Now the man was flirting with her grandma.

  Nan leaned in. “The ball busting might be my fault. I taught her to do it.”

  “You taught her well.” A smile filled Baldwin’s blue eyes. He removed the cuffs, then gently rubbed Macy’s wrist.

  She jerked away and glanced at the clock. “How much longer will this take?”

  Jake glanced around. “I think they’re almost done. I’ve never seen CSI move so quick.”

  Donaldson sat forward. “That’s because of the FBI.”

  Macy looked back at Jake. “I’ve got to leave in an hour.”

  “Where to?” Baldwin’s brow wrinkled.

  Macy scowled. “I have to clear my schedule with you?”

  “Since an escaped convict is trying to kill you,” he said in tense voice, “yeah.”

  The front door swung open, and two men wearing suits crossed the threshold as if they owned the joint. Macy recognized one of them. “What, my doorbell isn’t working?” she asked.

  “Behave,” Baldwin snapped.

  Agent James’s gaze moved from wall to wall before focusing on Baldwin. The look in the FBI agent’s eyes predicted bad news. “Can I have a word with you?” he asked.

  Baldwin rose from the sofa. Macy popped up beside him. Nan shot up, too.

  Macy and Nan asked in unison, “Is Billy okay?”

  Hal had just settled into his new room and got the damn tube out of his pecker when the urge to pee hit. He almost called the nurse, but hated feeling useless. Pulling himself up, he managed to get his legs to the side of the bed. He inched off the mattress, tested his footing, and found himself shaky but mobile. One hand on the bed, he reached for his IV pole.

  Cold air breezed over his bare ass. The door squeaked open, followed by a soft yelp. He’d just mooned himself another victim.

  “Goddamn it.” He looked over his shoulder. The same volunteer from the ICU stood in his doorway, her blue eyes zeroed in on his behind. His knees weakened. “Could you give me a hand? Before I fall on my ass?” he grunted.

  She rushed forward and wrapped her arm around his waist. His naked waist. She nudged him toward the bed.

  “I’m not getting in,” he growled. “I’m getting out.”

  She sniffled. He glanced up. The woman had tears in her eyes. Again.

  “I know my ass isn’t pretty, but I didn’t think it could bring a woman to tears.”

  She blinked. “You need to get in bed.”

  “I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “I’ll get you the bedpan,” she said in a hiccupping voice.

  “I’m not using a damn bedpan. Help me to the john.”

  “I’m not a nurse,” she argued.

  “It’s not surgery,” he countered. “I just want to take a piss.”

  She sniffled but moved toward the bathroom. “You shouldn’t be so stubborn.”

  “I’m sorry,” he seethed. “But getting shot by a damn jailbird put me in a piss-poor mood.” Hearing her take a sharp breath, he studied her face again. “Do I know you?”

  She opened the bathroom door. “Can you manage from here?” Her voice trembled.

  He continued to study her nice, familiar face. Right then he became aware that he held her waist, aware that her arm pressed sweetly around his hip. His naked hip. It had been a long time since he’d touched or been touched by a woman, and damn if a tightness didn’t stir low in his belly. He almost jerked away, but he knew he’d land flat on his face, bare ass up. So he grabbed the doorjamb. “I’m fine.”

  He shut the door and rolled his IV pole to the toilet. Too weak to do his business like a man, he sat down. Down was easy. Getting up would be hell. He heard a door squeaking as if she’d fled. Great. He was stuck on the pisser until someone came in. Or until he got desperate enough to ring the dang buzzer.

  A nurse poked her nose in the door. “You should have called someone,” she chided.

  “I had someone, but she ran off.”

  I’d like her back, too. The thought came out of nowhere, but it was true. He wanted to see that woman again, to figure out if he knew her. To figure out why her touch had stirred things he’d thought were all through stirring.

  The corners of the nurse’s lips tightened. “You’re going to be a troublemaker, aren’t you?”

  He thought about it. “Probably.”

  “Baldwin?” Agent James nodded toward the front door and motioned.

  Macy’s grandma grabbed the Fed by the arm. “Is Billy okay?”

  “As far as we know,” the man replied.

  Jake gently pulled the old woman off him. “I’ll be right back.” He sent Macy a look that he hoped promised he’d explain.

  He followed Agent James outside. “What’s up?”

  The agent stared at the painted door. “This guy needs to be caught.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know,” Jake replied. “You guys taking over the scene?”

  James waved away an insect. “Let’s just say we’ll be looking over Harris County’s shoulder.” He leaned back on his heels. “You said that when Ellie Chandler came to see you, she appeared afraid of Tanks?”

  “Yes.”

  “And you believed her?” he asked.

  Jake considered the question. “Didn’t you hear the message she left on Macy’s recorder?”

  James handed the tape back. “We made copies.” He paused. “You think Miss Chandler was telling the truth.”

  “Yeah, I do.” Jake paused. “Why?”

  “We spoke to Hal Klein, the priso
n guard.”

  “He’s awake? He gonna make it?” Jake asked.

  “Looks like. You were right about Moore. Klein says Moore and Tanks didn’t run off together. Moore stopped Tanks from shooting the guard a second time. They fought. The gun went off during the scuffle. That’s how the other inmate took a bullet.”

  “So that’s why Billy ran. He got scared.”

  “According to Klein, Tanks threatened Moore’s sister. Klein thinks Moore left to protect her.”

  “I believe that.” Jake had been hit with the overwhelming desire to protect her, too.

  Skepticism etched the agent’s face. “Or maybe he just decided to take advantage of the opportunity. He hasn’t contacted her yet, has he?”

  “No.” Jake studied the paint-chipped house. “My gut says this kid isn’t bad. I read his sheets. Nothing really serious until the convenience store, and he swore up and down he didn’t know they were robbing the place.”

  “Don’t you think every driver of every getaway car says the same thing?” Agent James asked.

  “Maybe, but perhaps this one is telling the truth.” Jake brushed a fly away. “Why the questions on Ellie Chandler?”

  “She cleaned out her checking account and hasn’t shown up at work in two days.”

  Jake crossed his arms over his chest. “I assume she’s with Billy. He probably contacted her after—”

  “We assumed that, too. But we checked the recent calls Tanks made from prison. Her number showed up six times last week. According to the guard, the getaway car was a gold Cavalier. The same make and description as Chandler’s.”

  That information bounced around Jake’s head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  Another fly buzzed past the agent’s face. “Neither does the fact that the boots we found at her place are a match for the prints found in the flowerbed where the gun was buried.”

  “She helped with the breakout?” Jake was shocked.

  “Looks like it,” James said. “Sure as hell looks like it.”

  Jake recalled his visit with Ellie. He had her pegged as a ditz, but he didn’t think she would have done this. “It doesn’t fit.”

  “It seldom does.” The agent shifted in place.

  The words Dead Bitch caught Jake’s eye. His gut clenched. “You’re going to have someone on her, right?”

  “If we knew where Chandler was—”

  “Not Ellie. Macy Tucker.”

  The agent frowned. “We don’t have the manpower to put someone on her full-time. I thought you said you were going to watch her. You and your department can—”

  “I can’t be here all the time. And he’s after her. And having a car ride by isn’t—”

  “He was after her. He has to know that the law will be on to him after this. If he’s got half a brain he’ll be trying to get out the state. I’ve got most of my men at the borders now.”

  “The guy’s meaner than he is smart,” Jake said.

  Agent James swatted at another bug. “We’ll do what we can. But our first priority is catching Tanks, not protecting Miss Tucker. If you can keep watching her, I’d do so. But I don’t think this guy is stupid enough to hang around.”

  “That’s what everyone thought this morning, too.”

  “Then make her your personal project. I can only do so much.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  Macy stepped into the shower. She felt even more vulnerable when she reread the vulgar graffiti on the wall. Frantically scrubbing a washcloth over it, she felt panic drum through her ears. Soap and water wouldn’t fix this. But while fear crawled like fuzzy spiders along her spine, she knew that if she let herself be consumed by it she was letting that bastard win. Better to just get mad. He wasn’t going to win!

  Adjusting the water temperature, she stood under the hot spray and willed herself to relax—willed herself to believe Billy was still okay. Was he with Ellie? What if Agent James was right? What if Ellie had helped with the escape?

  “That doesn’t make sense,” she’d told Baldwin.

  “I know,” he’d said, and then launched into a dozen reasons why she shouldn’t go to work. She’d just as quickly launched into a dozen reasons why she should.

  “Are you always this stubborn?” he’d snapped.

  “No. It gets worse on weekends.”

  He’d looked as though he didn’t have a clue how to deal with her. Admittedly, she didn’t have a clue how to deal with him. She was also completely at a loss as to why Baldwin cared. She’d been shocked that he’d told her what he and Agent James had spoken about. When had the cop decided to trust her?

  Not that she was complaining, but—Okay, she was complaining. She didn’t want to like this man, and she already did. If he started trusting her, she was a tiny baby step away from trusting him in return. Really trusting him. And trusting someone led to depending on them. She’d learned the hard the way that depending on men could land you in a world of hurt. Look at her mom.

  Fifteen minutes later, freshly showered and determined to avoid harm from murderers and hunky cops alike, she stepped into the living room wearing her Papa’s Pizza polyester. Baldwin stood up from her recliner.

  “You’re really going to do it?”

  “If by ‘do it’ you mean rob a bank, no, I’ve reconsidered. I found out I don’t deal with cops very well.”

  He frowned.

  She frowned back. “I’ve got to go to work.”

  “Take the night off.” He spoke between gritted teeth.

  “And what about tomorrow, or the next night? What if you don’t catch him this month?” She imagined getting axed by Mr. Prack, unable to pay her bills, crying her eyes out and living with Nan. She was her mother’s daughter after all, so an unending tearfest wasn’t farfetched. “I’ll be fine. Besides, I heard that FBI guy tell someone he bet Tanks has already left the state.”

  “What if he’s wrong? Have you read the messages Tanks left you? That isn’t love poetry.”

  “They’re just words,” Macy said. Fake courage was better than no courage at all. “I appreciate this”—she waved to the plywood he’d nailed over her broken window—“and you staying last night. Which, for the record, I never asked you to do.”

  He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “CSI needs to run one more check for fingerprints. I told them someone would be here.”

  “Well, this someone has to go to work. Make yourself at home.” She pointed toward the kitchen. “There’s beer in the fridge.” She pointed back to the entryway. “Please, lock the door when you leave. ’Bye.”

  She was almost out the door when she heard him talking.

  “She’s leaving.” His voice held buckets of frustration. “Make sure you do.”

  Macy two-stepped it back into her living room. Hit again by how darn gorgeous Sergeant Baldwin was, she had to fight to remember why she’d stomped back. “Make sure who does what?”

  He snapped his phone shut. “The FBI is following you.”

  She started stuffing her hair under her hat. “They’re not following me because of Tanks, though, are they? They think I know where Billy is.”

  Baldwin shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Are you stupid enough not to want the help? Are you too dumb to be scared?”

  I’m scared, she admitted to herself, but I’m not going to let that freak win. “If I don’t go to work, I’ll lose my job,” she reminded him. And it was true. Mr. Prack would do cartwheels at the chance to fire her. That wasn’t going to happen. “Besides, everyone but you seems to think he’s long gone.”

  Billy waited outside the empty house for three hours, watching the shadows deepen and waiting for Tanks to show up. Where was he? Had Brandon lied about the address?

  Exhaling a puff of stale air, Billy ran his tongue along the inside of his lip. The taste of blood lingered. Mace was right. He needed to stop biting himself. Gripping his fist, he swore he’d stop. He wasn’t going to continue to do stupid things.

  The walls o
f the van seemed to close in on him. He slipped out of the vehicle and ducked into the shadows lining the house. If he could just get inside, maybe he’d find a clue that would tell him where Tanks was. The sound of his footfalls echoed in the empty street.

  The golden glow of the sun had faded to gray. With his back against the house, he reached under his shirt and wrapped his hand around his gun. Fear fogged his mind as he peeked into the window. He’d checked earlier to see if anyone was home, but better safe than sorry. Better safe than dead. Tanks wouldn’t think twice about killing him. Billy only hoped to kill the bastard first.

  Cheek pressed against the cool glass window pane, he studied the kitchen’s peeling linoleum floors and scarred pine table. When he saw no one, heard only the hum of the refrigerator, he tried to lift the window. The heavy frame wouldn’t budge.

  He moved to the door and grasped the knob. It twisted. He pushed it open, the hinges squeaking. Dead still, he waited and listened. Time seemed suspended. The hum of the fridge grew louder. A drip of sweat rolled down his forehead. Did he have what it took to kill Tanks?

  He moved through the kitchen into the living room. The whole place smelled like dirty socks, as if only men lived here. Women always made things smell good. Ellie smelled good. It was hard to keep his mind off her.

  Just enough gray-dusk light came in through the window so he could see. A pizza box lay on the coffee table. The idea that Macy delivered pizza to people like Tanks made his gut twist. He thought again about calling that Baldwin cop. And he needed to call Ellie, too.

  Beside the pizza box lay a book of matches with the silhouette of a naked woman. girls galore was printed across the front. A titty bar. He and one of his friends had sneaked into one once with fake IDs.

  On the end table lay a pad with a number scratched across it. Billy picked up the phone and dialed.

  “Girls Galore,” someone answered.

  Billy hung up.

  Girls Galore. Was Tanks there? Billy took a step toward the door, but the unnatural silence beckoned him to stop. He walked down the hall. The first bedroom held only a bed and a pile of dirty clothes. He made his way to the second bedroom. Pitch darkness swelled inside.