Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  Macy shook her head. “Mom, what did you say to this guy?”

  “Nothing.” Faye dropped her face into her hands. Snorting sounds leaked through her fingers.

  Macy had never heard her mother cry like that, and she blamed it all on Billy. Then her mom raised her face. She wasn’t crying.

  “It was terrible!” A full-blown giggle escaped her lips.

  “What was terrible?” Macy asked, confused.

  Nan snickered. “He flashed her.”

  Macy leaned forward. “What?”

  “She saw everything,” Nan said. “The full monty.”

  Macy’s mother talked around her giggles. “He thought I was crying because I didn’t like what I saw!”

  “I think she liked it.” Nan reached her hands to the ceiling in one last stretch.

  “I didn’t say that.” Faye snickered again. “I said it wasn’t that bad.”

  “Wait,” Nan said. “If you’re going to tell the story again, I’m going to get us some wine coolers. You’re going to love this, Mace.” They all moved to the kitchen table.

  Macy did love it. Well, she loved seeing her mom laugh for the first time in years. They all laughed.

  Macy stopped laughing when Nan brought up Sergeant Baldwin again.

  “So, you and that cop have got the hots for each other, huh?”

  Macy felt her face flush. “Are you joking?”

  “She hit him in the balls,” Nan explained to Macy’s mom.

  “Macy!” her mother scolded. “Didn’t you learn anything when you got expelled from school for doing that?”

  “That creep was stealing panties from my gym locker. He deserved it.”

  “Did Baldwin deserve it?” Nan asked.

  “How did you meet this guy?” Her mom looked at Nan. “And how do you know about him and I don’t?”

  Macy glanced at Nan. “I just mentioned it to her this afternoon. But he’s not important. He’s sort of working with that task force, and sort of came to see me about Billy.”

  “And you sort of hit him in the balls?” her mom asked.

  “I didn’t know who he was at the time.” Macy sipped her wine cooler, then flicked the bottle label with her fingernail.

  “He’s good-looking,” Nan remarked. “Dark and sinful.” Her gaze switched from her daughter to her granddaughter. “I think you should go for it.”

  The image of Jake Baldwin flashed into Macy’s head, but she sent it packing. “I’ll go for it right about the time they start serving Baskin-Robbins in hell.”

  “Why wouldn’t you go for it?” her mom asked. “You’re divorced now.”

  “Please. Do I really have to explain?”

  “Yeah,” Nan said. “Explain.”

  Macy rolled her eyes. “Look at us, all three. Where has a man gotten any of us?”

  “I loved your father,” her mom sniffled.

  “Yeah. And Dad left you so he could go pan for gold in Nevada.” And screw showgirls, she didn’t say. Hearing that would have hurt her mother. “Then there’s Tom. He brought his bimbo to my bed.” And the sofa. And probably the floor.

  Macy looked at Nan next. “You’ve had two husbands. Where are they?”

  Nan’s brow furrowed. “It’s hard to blame them for dying.”

  “That makes it even worse,” Macy snapped. “Because even if by some grace of God you find a decent man who makes you feel safe and loved, he gives you nickels for candy, promises to take you to the circus, and then spoils everything by falling dead into a plate of spaghetti.”

  “It was lasagna,” Nan corrected.

  “I think it was spaghetti,” Macy’s mother said and sniffled.

  Macy sighed. “Lasagna, spaghetti. I was five. All I remember is tomato sauce everywhere. My point is, all men end up hurting me. Hurting us.”

  “This is my fault.” Her mom started crying.

  “No, it’s Dad’s fault. It’s Tom’s fault. It’s Grandpa’s fault for croaking during dinner. It’s all men, even Billy.” Tears filled her vision. “Look what he’s done to us. You’re getting flashed and I…” Have a murderer out to rape me. But she couldn’t say that.

  “You what?” her mom asked, still sniffling.

  Macy was saved from answering by the bell. Well, not a bell, but a loud, whacking knock at the door. One thought hit Macy like a brick.

  Tanks.

  And from the look on Nan’s face, Nan thought the same thing.

  Macy and Nan hotfooted it to the door. Nan got to the peephole first.

  “Oh, crappers,” she said.

  “Who is it?” Macy glanced around the room for a weapon. The lamp, her grandma’s purse…Hey, the thing weighed a ton.

  “It’s your boyfriend, but he doesn’t look happy.”

  “I don’t have a boyfriend,” Macy spat out.

  “You really shouldn’t have hit him in the balls.” Her mom stepped up behind them. “Men are really funny about that.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend!” Macy repeated. She gripped her wine cooler as Nan started to open the door.

  “Don’t!” Macy didn’t want to face Baldwin right now. Then again, maybe he was here about Billy.

  “What?” Nan asked. “You want me to holler that no one’s home? Tom might have been stupid enough to fall for that, but I don’t think this guy will.”

  Macy bit down on her lip. “Fine. Open it.”

  Nan did, and Baldwin charged inside. No Hello, how are you, can I come in? He barged in, not shutting the door, and his eyes alighted on her like fruit flies on a gone-bad banana.

  “You ditched him on purpose,” he accused.

  “No, I forgot he was there.”

  Macy’s mom stepped forward. “Forgot who?”

  Macy ignored her. “I didn’t mean to do it. I went into the apartment complex. He didn’t follow. I looked for him before I left.”

  “Do you have a death wish? Are you stupid?”

  “You must have hit him really hard,” her mom remarked. “Tell the man you’re sorry, Mace.”

  Nan stared at Baldwin. “What did my granddaughter do?”

  Her mom spoke up. “You said she hit him in the balls.”

  “She did.” Nan looked at Baldwin. “Did she hit you in the balls again?”

  Macy tried to ignore the tangent the conversation had taken and focus on the angry man in front of her. “I drove around the block looking for that guy.”

  “He was supposed to follow you. You knew that. Why make it hard on him?”

  Suddenly, bolting through the open door came the FBI man himself. He glared at Macy. “I want to talk to you,” he growled.

  “Did she hit everyone in the balls?” her mom asked.

  “Maybe,” Nan said. “It does give a woman a rush.”

  The FBI agent stepped closer. “You need to be taught a lesson,” he said.

  Macy stepped back.

  Nan and her mom moved forward, each taking a protective stance beside her. What a picture, Macy thought: Nan in lemon yellow Little Mermaid pj’s, Macy herself in drab Papa Pizza polyester, and her mom in a faded pink nubby robe. All three of them were clutching fuzzy-navel wine coolers.

  Nan and her mom’s protectiveness didn’t surprise Macy. But Baldwin joined the defense. He stepped between her and the angry agent. “I deal with Miss Tucker.”

  Nan snickered. “Told you he had a thing for you.”

  The FBI agent started smarting off to Baldwin. Baldwin gave back in kind. Macy decided to be smarter than both of them, and snatched her purse and left.

  Billy sat in the van and watched the cars pull in and out of the Girls Galore parking lot. Was Tanks here, inside and watching naked girls? Billy considered trying to get in, but without an ID it would be impossible.

  “Damn!” He looked down at the loaded gun resting on the passenger seat and wished this was over. He almost bit his lip, but stopped himself.

  He drew in a deep breath of pure frustration. The sound reminded him of his grandma doing yoga.
He missed Nan and his mom, missed Mace. What he wouldn’t give to go back eight months and tell the Harp brothers no. No, I’m not going to be a part of your game. All they were supposed to do was score some beer. Billy hadn’t known the Harp brothers carried knives and had robbed stores in the past. Sometimes what you didn’t know cost a hell of a lot. His whole friggin’ life was screwed up because he hadn’t said no.

  For a while, Billy had wanted to blame the Harp brothers. Then he’d wanted to blame his lawyer and the judge. After a week behind bars, a week of hearing all the other inmates blaming someone else for their being there, Billy had accepted the cruel, cold truth. He had no one to blame but himself.

  His focus stayed on the front entrance of Girls Galore until, when he least expected it, the van’s passenger door swung open.

  Billy went for his gun.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Almost home, Macy wanted nothing more than to bury herself under her covers, to snuggle with Elvis while indulging in a good two-tissue cry, but ever since Baldwin had caught up with her and ridden her bumper, she had a feeling he entertained the idea of continuing his are-you-stupid lecture. It was a lecture she might deserve, because she remembered feeling half guilty when she’d waved at the agent from behind the gate. However, deserving or not, she really preferred being in tip-top shape for a chewing out. Tonight she wasn’t tip-top.

  She parked in her driveway and bolted out of the car, hoping her pace alone would encourage him to leave. No such luck. The slam of his car door echoed hers almost instantly. She got to her front porch, then heard him talking—not to her, but on the phone.

  “It was Billy?” he said.

  She turned around.

  “I know. She’s difficult. Hardheaded. Stubborn.” His gaze slapped into hers.

  Now, who could he be talking about? Macy rolled her eyes.

  “I simply said it was my job to handle her.” Baldwin paused. “Put a trace on it. I don’t care.”

  Realizing she was obviously eavesdropping, she started to look away but then decided she didn’t care. Her brother was more important than manners.

  “He said he’d seen your guy.” Pause. “He was right. So, what does that tell you?”

  Still listening, Macy attempted to fit her key into the lock. It wouldn’t go. She turned the key over, listening more than paying attention to the door. She tried again. No fit. She studied the knob, perplexed.

  Something was wrong. Her doorknob had long ago tarnished. It had white paint speckles from three years ago when Tom had done a lousy job painting the house. This knob was shiny and new. Her gaze shot up to the door. The extra-white door.

  While her mind tried to work out the color issue, Baldwin stepped up on the porch. He slid a key into the lock and pushed open her front door. Her front door? His key? Something didn’t compute. Yes, this was her extra-white door, but where and why…?

  It hit her then. Not the reason the door was so white, or why her knob looked new, or why Sergeant Baldwin had a key, but what she was returning to. “Home, Sweet Home” didn’t feel so sweet anymore. David Tanks had been here, had left his mark on the walls. Somehow she’d managed to forget.

  Her gaze shot back up to the door. Tanks’s mark was gone. Extra-white problem solved. She touched the wood panel. The tacky feel met her fingertips at the same time as the smell of wet paint tickled her nose. She looked back at Baldwin, who was still on the phone. He’d painted her door?

  “Yes, I agree,” he said. His gaze met hers. “Can we discuss this tomorrow? I realize that. Tomorrow at nine.” He closed his phone and motioned for her to go inside. She didn’t need an invitation to enter her own home, but she took it.

  Inside, the smell of fresh paint grew stronger. She turned on a lamp, dropped onto the sofa, and gazed from wall to wall. The words were gone, replaced by splotches of primer. Her attention shot to the window. Fixed. She looked at Baldwin. Standing with his arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her with a scowl on his handsome face. Not GQ handsome, but manly. She hugged her knees to her chest and wished he was gawd-awful ugly.

  “Do you have any idea how stupid you were tonight?”

  She tightened her arms around her shins and emotion clogged her throat. The are-you-stupid lecture was about to begin. “Yes. It was wrong.”

  He looked baffled. “It was stupid.”

  Her sinuses stung, a precursor to tears, but she refused to cry. “I said I was wrong. And generally the word wrong can be translated to mean stupid. But how about cutting me an itsy-bitsy break? This is new for me.”

  “What’s new?”

  “All of it. Having my baby brother do time. Having cops tackle me. Having an escaped convict trying to rape me—and who knows, he may even fancy the idea of cutting my head off. And…oh yeah, having the FBI follow me and threaten to have my driving license yanked because he couldn’t keep up with a dented Saturn.”

  Sergeant Baldwin’s arms tightened across his chest. “He threatened to have your license yanked?”

  “Yeah. I’m not saying it made what I did right. But—”

  “Good, because neither am I.” Silence followed his words.

  She looked around again. “You do all this?”

  He inhaled. “I’m not finished raking you over the coals.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because you scared the shit out of me.”

  “No. Why did you do this?”

  He got an odd look on his face. “I like fixing things. It’s not a big deal.”

  But it was. “Thank you.”

  Spotting the discarded package that had held the new doorknob, she unwrapped her hold on her legs and grabbed it from the table. The price tag was stickered on the front. Frowning, she looked up. “There was nothing wrong with my old doorknob.”

  “Nothing except your ex has the key.” Baldwin’s right eyebrow arched.

  Macy sighed. “My ex is the least of my problems.” She reached for her purse and pulled out some money.

  “You should have changed the locks when you kicked him out.”

  “If we’re summing up my mistakes, it began when I married him. Or better yet, when I slept with him. Here.” She tossed money on the coffee table.

  “I’m glad we agree on something.” He ignored the money and dropped into her green recliner.

  She grabbed a throw pillow, hugged it, and tried to think of a clever way to find out about the phone call. When nothing came to mind, she just spit it out. “I heard you on the phone. Has something happened?”

  Baldwin leaned forward. Their gazes met and held. Interest filled his blue eyes. “You scared me.”

  So, you and that cop have got the hots for each other? she remembered Nan saying.

  “What about Billy?” she asked, determined not to think about this man as anything but a source of information.

  He let out deep breath. “Let’s make a deal.”

  “What kind of a deal?” What did she have worth bartering for, anyway? Nothing except what every man wanted. What Mr. Prack wanted. What Tom had wanted with the bimbo, and what he’d wanted when he’d come over last night, allegedly to help her.

  The fact that Baldwin might want to barter for sex should have had her feeling repulsed, and it did. A little. But lying to herself wouldn’t change the fact that a spark of excitement shimmied down her spine. And that spark came with a message: Welcome back to the real world, where women want men and men want women, a world where people put their hearts on the chopping block and wait for the ax to fall. You can only hide from it for so long.

  Oh, hell. She didn’t want any part of the real world.

  Sergeant Baldwin continued. “I’ll tell you what I know, but only if you promise not to pull any more stunts like tonight.”

  “Deal.” She answered before he could add, And if you let me take you to the bedroom and have my way with you.

  He didn’t say that. Instead, he studied her. “Your brother called.”

  “Billy?” She glanced a
t her answering machine. The red light blinked. She reached over to hit the play button.

  “No. He called me. On my cell phone,” Baldwin corrected.

  Macy froze, her finger poised. “You?”

  “Yeah.” He told her about the call—or about part of it. The suspicious way Baldwin cut the conversation short seemed to mean he held something back.

  “What else did he say?” She glared, daring him to lie.

  “He mentioned he knew the cops were following you, that you managed to lose them. He must have been there watching you.”

  “Why didn’t he talk to me? Why…?” Questions floated up to the top of her head like a school of dynamited fish. “Why did he call you and not me? How did he even get your number?”

  “Ellie,” Baldwin said. “I left my number on her cell.”

  “But is Ellie on my brother’s side, or with that creep who cuts people’s heads off?”

  “I don’t know. It appears she helped with the escape.”

  Emotion tightened Macy’s throat. “I don’t understand.”

  “I know,” Baldwin said. There was a pause, then: “You want some hot chocolate?”

  She stared at him. “How do you know—?”

  “Your ex mentioned fixing you hot chocolate.”

  “Oh.” She laced her hands together, uncomfortable with the sympathy she saw in his eyes. Wasn’t that the way most people looked at her mom? “I’m fine, but thanks.”

  Jake decided Macy Tucker wasn’t fine. She looked like a woman on the verge of a meltdown, so he ignored her and went into the kitchen.

  “What are you doing?” she called.

  “You’ll see.”

  When he pressed the mug of freshly made hot cocoa into her hands a few minutes later, he wished he could also offer a shoulder. Something warned him she’d decline melting onto it. Instead, she sipped her steaming drink, and the silence drifted toward the awkward stage—to the point where he feared she might ask him to leave. He hoped like hell she wouldn’t. While driving back tonight, he’d noticed that Macy’s house backed up onto a strip mall. Even if he slept out front, someone could easily come in the back.

  Giving the window a quick glance, he said, “Tell me about your brother.”