Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  “Yeah.” He didn’t move.

  The door opened, and Faye almost ran him over on her way out. She bumped his IV pole and sent the dang thing rocking. As she caught it, her blue eyes found him.

  Desire to suck in his gut rolled over Hal. He didn’t have a large one, but a man his age came with a toolshed. Funny thing was, he hadn’t thought about his toolshed—or his tool—in years. Ahh, but she made him think about it.

  “We meet again.” Hal smiled. “At least I got my clothes on this time.”

  Faye’s gaze darted to his nurse. “Hospital-gown problems,” she explained, blushing. Then she met Hal’s eyes. “You look better,” she offered, though she looked nervous.

  “Because I’ve got clothes on?” he asked.

  “Healthier.” She was probably in her early fifties, he realized, noticing the gray strands in her dark curly hair, but as her cheeks brightened, she reminded him of someone a lot younger.

  The nurse looked back and forth between them. “Great, Faye. You two know each other? Could you finish walking Mr. Klein?” She didn’t wait for an answer before she made tracks down the hall.

  “Looks like you’re stuck with me.” Hal glanced at Faye’s name tag to see if it had a last name. It didn’t.

  The woman nodded. “So it seems.”

  Hal held out his arm, even though a few minutes ago he’d told the nurse he could gimp better without her clinging to him. But the idea of touching Faye…

  She looped her arm through his, and a warm tickle, the one a normal man gets when he touches a beautiful woman, washed over Hal. Thing was, Hal hadn’t felt normal in a long time.

  “So”—he purposely kept his pace slow, but began to walk—“how long have you volunteered here?”

  “Four years.” She kept her eye on the passing doors, as if she couldn’t wait to dump him in his room.

  “You do anything else besides volunteer?” His hip brushed against hers. It felt good. He caught her fresh, clean scent, too. Not perfumed, but something familiar. Baby powder?

  “I…work part-time at my mother’s yoga school.”

  He looked at her, to make sure he wasn’t hitting on a woman way too young. But nope, there were definitely some signs of age around her eyes. “Your mother runs a yoga school?”

  She stopped. “This is your room, isn’t it?”

  He glanced at the door. “The nurse said I needed to do two laps,” he lied, and set off walking again. “It’s not often I get escorted by a pretty woman.”

  When he saw her frown, Hal got a bad feeling. Shit, he hadn’t been in this business so long that he’d forgotten to consider she might be married. But when his gaze darted to her left hand, he saw no ring.

  She fidgeted with something in her pocket. They took several steps in silence.

  “I’m Harold Klein,” he said at last. “People call me Hal.” He hoped she’d tell him her own full name. He still got the strange feeling he’d met her before.

  “Hal’s a nice name,” she said, but she didn’t look at him.

  “Doing good, Mr. Klein!” one of the nurses called out, walking by.

  He smiled at her, then focused on Faye again. “So, what do you do at the hospital?”

  “Run errands, help with the food trays.” The woman still didn’t look at him.

  “Walk old men around the halls,” he suggested.

  She glanced up. “You’re not old.”

  “I feel old right now.” Or I did until you walked up.

  “You’ll feel better in a few days.”

  “I might if…you’ll come visit me.” It was a horrible come-on line, but Hal lacked practice. Not that he hadn’t whispered sweet nothings to his wife, but those had been different, not first-time nothings. “Will you? Come visit me again?” he asked.

  Her eyes widened and she glanced away. “I’m pretty busy.”

  He frowned, realizing he’d failed. “I guess I’m bad at this.”

  “Bad at what?” she asked.

  “I haven’t flirted in thirty years. I guess a man gets rusty.”

  He’d forgotten what it was like to be rejected by a woman. His chest felt heavy, and not because of the bullet he’d taken. He let go of her arm as they reached his room and she stopped. “Sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

  “I need to see you to your bed,” she said. She wouldn’t even look at him.

  He shuffled in and pushed himself up on his mattress. She gave his legs a little lift. Then she pulled his house slippers off and dropped them on the floor.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  He expected her to run out, but instead she stood there, staring at her hands. And, damn it, he could swear he saw tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve got my clothes on,” he joked. “You have no reason to cry.”

  She half grinned. Then, raising her tear-filled eyes she said, “Maybe it’s not that you’re bad at flirting. I’m probably rusty at being flirted with.”

  Hope fluttered to life in his aching chest. “Then maybe you’ll give me another shot. Come back this afternoon?”

  “I—I’m leaving in just a bit.”

  “Tomorrow, then?” he tried.

  She stood there, clearly debating with herself. Finally: “For a short visit.”

  “I’ll look forward to it.”

  She didn’t say, Me, too, but he could swear he saw it in her eyes. For the first time in eons, Hal found himself smiling for no apparent reason.

  Jake sat in his office, thumping his pencil against his desk and studying the recent unsolved-robbery files. Donaldson sat across from him, his nose in his own stack of documents. Jake’s mind kept jumping from his work to the sweet way Macy’s mouth tilted when she smiled. To the taste he’d had of that mouth. To how sexy she’d made pink cotton pj’s look.

  “So, we have six burglaries that were tagged with red paint and four that weren’t,” Donaldson said.

  It took Jake a minute to pull his thoughts away from pink flannel being unbuttoned, of imagining his hand running along feminine dips and valleys. “Yeah, there’re ten,” he said.

  “You’re right. There are major differences between those houses that were tagged with paint and those that weren’t.” Donaldson pointed to one file. “For example, the cases that had graffiti took only the big items, were grab and go. No searching for the harder-to-find valuables.” He picked up another file folder. “The others, the perps either knew where things were or took time to look.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” But Jake’s thoughts were actually on Macy. Would he ever get a chance to remove that pink flannel, or would it be replaced by a nun’s habit?

  “You know anything about the Catholic religion?” he asked.

  Donaldson’s brow furrowed. “I’m Methodist.”

  Jake looked up as Evelyn, an older female clerk, walked by his open door. She looked Catholic, didn’t she? Not that he had a clue what a Catholic looked like.

  “But I met the pope once,” Donaldson continued. “In Italy, in—”

  “Evelyn?” Jake called, interrupting.

  She stuck her head in the door. “Yeah?”

  “You Catholic?” he asked.

  She smiled. “Buddhist.”

  Tired from his lack of sleep, and frustrated, he asked, “Do you know anyone who’s Catholic—a friend, a neighbor, your mailman?”

  “Why?” Evelyn and Donaldson both asked.

  “No reason. Never mind.”

  Jake ignored Donaldson and Evelyn’s shared look and gazed at his watch. Eleven o’clock. Macy had said she’d be at church until afternoon. Hell, instead of looking for a Catholic person, why not go directly to the church and ask there? And while he visited, maybe he could talk Macy into having lunch with him.

  Besides, he had to explain to her why she wouldn’t be delivering pizzas for a while. He hadn’t told her about finding her work address circled at the murder scene, because he hadn’t wanted to scare her. But if scaring her was a way to get her to see reason, he’d do
it.

  He stood. “I’ll be back after lunch,” he said. Turning to Donaldson he added, “Do me a favor. Call the victims of the robberies and see how many have painted over the graffiti. Let’s get chip samples from those who haven’t, see if they match the stuff on Macy’s walls.”

  He’d just made it to his car when his phone rang. Checking the number, he smiled. “Hello, Mom. Nice day, isn’t it?” He looked around. Blue sky. Green grass. Even the birds chirped. What more could a person ask?

  “I wanted to ask you if you’d do me a big favor,” his mom said.

  He got in his car. “A favor? What?”

  “I’ve ordered some chicken salad from that deli by your house for your grandfather’s party. I was wondering if you would pick it up and bring it when you come.”

  The day suddenly lost its appeal. Jake knew this was his mother’s way of finding out if he seriously planned on coming. And…he seriously didn’t. But each time he’d start to tell her so, he’d recall the last conversation he’d had with his dad. He’d promised his dying father he’d make sure his mom was always happy.

  “Let’s talk about this over lunch tomorrow,” he suggested. “How about the deli you like on Fifth Street?” If he was going to break her heart and his promise to his father, he could at least do it over the pasta salad she loved.

  “Lunch is great. But son, I expect you to be at your grandfather’s party. It’s time to make amends. I swear, if I have to personally snatch your dad from Heaven to talk with you, you will be at that party!”

  He didn’t get to reply. His mother had hung up.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Jake spent the drive over to the church worrying about his mom’s doggedness to reconcile the differences between him and his brother, differences Jake wasn’t so sure were reconcilable. What did she expect him to do, go shake his brother’s hand and say, I’m glad you’re happy and found yourself a great little wife—never mind that she was supposed to be mine?

  Parking in front of the church, Jake popped a lid on those thoughts and went back to his original problem: Macy. While he didn’t have a clue how to ask if the church allowed divorced women to become nuns, he’d be damned if he left without knowing Macy’s availability.

  A warm breeze stirred as he stepped out of his car. Everything smelled and looked green. Spring fever—the world was changing and he didn’t mind one bit, because for the first time in two years, Jake felt like changing. He wanted…more. He wasn’t ready to make amends with Lisa and his brother yet, but he wanted to move past the emptiness in which he’d wallowed for the last two years.

  As he started up the church steps, he spotted the black sedan parked across the street. Agent Mimms, he suspected. He was pleased the task force had continued Macy’s sometime protection, but he suspected they would be pulling the tail if Tanks didn’t try something soon. The idea of Tanks trying something didn’t appeal to Jake, but neither did the idea of Macy being left unguarded.

  As he reached for the church door, it swung open. A man in his early fifties wearing mud-caked overalls barged out. “You’re going the wrong way, aren’t you?” the man asked in a cheery voice. Then, startled, he gave Jake a second look.

  Jake hesitated. “Well, I was—”

  “I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else. I’m Father Luis.” The priest held out his hand. “Can I help you?”

  Jake shook, ignoring the dirt.

  “Excuse my muddiness. I’m working in the garden.”

  As the priest zipped off down the steps, Jake followed. “I’m Sergeant Jake Baldwin, with the HPD.”

  “Ah.” The priest chuckled. “You should keep your naked partner out of Macy’s bathroom. Or at least tell him the singing rule.”

  Jake fought back surprise. Macy had told the priest about that? “I…Mark swore he wouldn’t wake up if he didn’t take a quick shower, and I didn’t think Macy would mind. I tried to warn her.”

  The priest just laughed. “Walk with me. Macy’s in the garden. I’m assuming you’re here to see her.”

  And to get some answers, Jake silently vowed. “The garden?”

  “She didn’t tell you about her garden?” Father Luis continued walking.

  “Her garden?”

  “Well, God’s garden. But Macy’s brainchild. We were going to simply plant roses, and she said, ‘Roses don’t fill bellies.’ Girl’s got a way with words, doesn’t she?”

  “I’ve thought the same thing, myself.”

  “Anyway, it’s been an amazing success for three years.” The priest talked at the same speed as he walked; Jake had to walk fast to keep up. “Sister Beth has been tremendous at heading it up after Macy got it started, but now she’s being called away, and we’re stranded. There’s a shortage of help within the church, you know.” Father Luis shook his head. “Then one morning God told me to offer the position back to Macy.”

  Position? That doesn’t sound like joining a convent. “Give it back to Macy? You mean…”

  “Macy told me about the prison escape. Poor girl.”

  Father Luis kept walking and talking. He and Jake darted across the street, dodging traffic, and passed in front of the black sedan where Mimms probably waited. Jake gave the dark windshield a nod, then saw a two-acre garden. He almost tripped over the sidewalk at the sight of Macy.

  Instead of the jeans she’d worn out of the house this morning, she had on a pair of khaki shorts. Not too short, not too tight, but what he could see sent every bit of his blood south. Slender legs, shapely calves, and the way the shorts fit her backside…

  She raised her hands and stretched. The pink T-shirt she wore pulled across her breasts. Jake’s body, not caring that a priest stood nearby or that they were fifty feet from a place of worship, responded with about two years of stored-up desire. He wanted those legs wrapped around his waist, to feel those breasts in his hands and up against his naked chest. Damn it, he had to know if she was off-limits!

  He took some fast steps to catch up with Father Luis. “We’re tying up the tomatoes,” the clergyman said.

  “Sir…uh, Father?” Jake interrupted before he lost his nerve. “About Macy’s position…”

  “Listen to Father laugh,” Sister Beth said. “I’m going to miss him.” The Sister looked up from the tomato plant and glanced over Macy’s shoulder. “What’s he doing here today? I thought his crew comes tomorrow.”

  “Who?” Macy turned around to see, but the sun hit her eyes. All she could see were two male shapes. Looking back at the plant, she pulled out the small branch so it wouldn’t get tied along with the stem. The smell of earth and the verdant scent of tomato vines flavored the air. Working in the garden brought her peace. Here, at least, she felt what she did produced positive results. Face it, she hated failing, and lately she’d tallied up too many failures in her life.

  “Oh. That’s not Pastor Harry.” Sister Beth went back to knotting the strip of material around the plant. “But he’s the spitting image of him.”

  “I’ve never met him,” Macy said.

  A couple of shadows fell over them. Macy looked up at a smiling Father Luis, but the other man was still indistinguishable in the sun’s glare.

  “Did you two know that Macy is considering entering the convent? A Methodist nun!” The clergyman’s brown eyes danced with humor as he asked.

  Baldwin.

  Macy knew the nun story would fall flat sooner or later. She just hadn’t planned on having witnesses when it fell.

  “Really?” Sister Beth chuckled and gave Macy a nudge on the arm. “Must have been seeing that naked man this morning.”

  Macy regretted sharing that story, too.

  “Sister Macy Tucker.” Father Luis laughed again, but managed to make introductions. “This is the detective watching out for her.”

  Sister Beth stood. “Oh, my. I hope you weren’t the one in—”

  “No, ma’am,” Baldwin answered and shifted into a spot where Macy could see him better. “It wasn’t me.”
>
  Father Luis spoke up. “How about we check on the baby corn and leave Sister Macy with the detective to talk about her entering the Methodist convent.”

  Sister Beth said good-bye to Baldwin and made footprints in the moist dirt as she hurried after Father Luis. Macy watched her go.

  Feeling the same disconcertment she usually felt around Baldwin, Macy stood, dusted off her hands, and faced him. His grin made her want to step back, but she thought she might trample the baby cucumbers. So she held her ground in midrow.

  “I never actually told you I was entering the convent. You just assumed….”

  “More of my shoddy police work.” He chuckled. “For some reason, I don’t do my best work when you’re around.” His gaze lowered to her legs. “Too many distractions.”

  She ignored the heat in his eyes and the sexy tone of his voice, and heard Father Luis laughing again.

  “Exactly what did you say to him?” she asked.

  Jake’s left eyebrow quirked upward. “Let’s just say it wasn’t one of my finer moments.” He paused. “So you’re not even Catholic?”

  She shook her head. “I met Father Luis at a shelter where I volunteered a couple of years ago. We hit it off.”

  “I can see why. He seems like a nice guy.”

  Yeah, sort of like you. Their gazes met, held, and Macy felt the pull between them.

  A war of instincts battled inside. One screamed Run, while the other cheered Jump his bones right here in the tomato patch. Her hormones had no shame! However, she didn’t plan on listening to either voice. On the drive over this morning, she’d given her situation some serious thought. Basically, she needed Jake Baldwin. Not Baldwin the man, but Baldwin the detective. Not just for her safety, but to keep her posted about Billy.

  Billy.

  Her gaze shot to Baldwin. Did he have news? “Is everything okay?”

  “Yeah. I just thought I could buy a soon-to-be nun lunch.”

  Her gaze moved over him. He wore jeans and a green polo shirt that hung loose, average clothes that didn’t look average on him. Sex appeal oozed from him like honey out of an overstuffed beehive.