Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  “I’ll try,” he heard her say. “It’s hard. We’ll talk later.”

  He pushed open the door. “Who were you talking to?”

  She swung around. “You scared me.”

  “Who were you talking to?” He frowned. “I’ve told you that you shouldn’t talk to—”

  “I was talking to Mrs. Kelly, my patient at work. She wants me to come to Fred’s funeral.”

  Billy shook his head. “You can’t go, Ellie.”

  Her eyes grew bright, the way his mother’s did before she cried. “I told her I couldn’t promise, but it’s just…She really wants me to come.”

  “You shouldn’t be talking to her. And going there last night was crazy. The cops are probably looking for you, too.” He shook his head. “I should have never gotten you into this.”

  Anger sparked in her green eyes. “Fred was dying. I had to go. And don’t you dare say you shouldn’t have gotten me into this. I love you. How can you regret what we—?”

  Andy called from the kitchen. “I’m going to work.”

  “Do you need your phone?” Billy asked, and pulled Ellie against him.

  “Nah, keep it tonight,” Andy said. “Watch after Spike.”

  When the front door shut, the whole trailer shook. Ellie stayed where she was, her head pillowed on Billy’s shoulder. He buried his nose in her hair. She smelled like cotton candy, and something about having her this close made him feel stronger, important. He’d miss her more than he’d miss anything when he got back to prison, more than the outside air, more than having a dad. He’d miss her even more than his family. Ellie was…special. She didn’t make him feel bad about the mistakes he’d made, and at the same time she made him want to be a better man for her.

  “I know you want to be there.” His words were whispered against her wispy blonde locks. “I just don’t want you to get into any trouble. If they caught you, even if you didn’t get into any trouble, they’d watch you. We wouldn’t be together anymore.”

  She raised her face. “Then, don’t leave tonight. I’ll fix us some dinner and we’ll stay here.”

  He hated disappointing her, but he had to deal with Tanks. To protect her and Mace.

  “We’ve got the trailer to ourselves again,” she whispered. She brushed her hips against his.

  “I have to go.” But he felt himself grow hard, wanting to be with her again. And again.

  “Then let me come with you.”

  “No.” He reached for her wrist to see her watch. “We got an hour.” He slid his hand under her shirt. Her nipple grew hard at his touch. “How many times do you think I can get you to come in an hour?”

  She looked up with pleading in her eyes. “Don’t go tonight.”

  He ached to give in, to give her anything she asked. He couldn’t. Instead of arguing, he kissed her and decided to make use of the time. Because, face it, time was running out.

  Macy shifted in her seat, growing more and more impatient. Wait here, leave your car there, let me kiss you. Jake was super bossy, and she was getting tired of it. Fidgeting, she shifted in her seat and saw a receipt beside her shoe.

  She picked it up and noticed where it was from. Home Depot. She read off the list of items: primer, glass, doorknob, caulk, caulk gun, doorknob. Two doorknobs? Had he replaced the back doorknob, too? She looked at the sum on the bottom and subtracted the money she’d already paid him for the front door lock, even if it was still sitting on her coffee table. That still left ninety-eight dollars. Wonderful! Lovely. With her rent due next week, it would be at least two weeks before she could pay him back. Then she recalled him telling her that she shouldn’t go to work, that Tanks knew all about Papa’s Pizza. That meant no tips, no money to pay rent. Panic swirled in her gut. Hadn’t Baldwin ever met anyone that lived from paycheck to paycheck? She had to work, didn’t she?

  More edgy than ever, feeling almost claustrophobic, she practiced yoga breathing. “In. One, two, three…Out. One, two, and three. In. One…”

  Turning, she eyed the backseat. A pillow? The heck with yoga—a nap sounded good. Hoisting herself up on her knees and bending over, she reached for it. But as she snatched at the pillow, a thick manila file dropped to the floor.

  She might have ignored it, might have taken the pillow, napped, and forgotten all about snooping. Might have, if Billy’s mug shot hadn’t landed faceup on the floorboard behind the driver seat.

  Hal stared at the hospital’s white walls. He’d refused another pain shot and turned on the news. Moore’s mug shot flashed across the screen. Hal let out a sigh of regret. The kid didn’t stand a chance.

  The anchorman spoke into the camera. “Early this morning our reporters went out to visit the home of one of the escaped convicts.” The picture changed to one of a reporter standing in someone’s front yard. An elderly woman wearing a black T-shirt and biker shorts walked out.

  “Are you Billy Moore’s mother? Could we have just a few words with you?”

  The woman turned and faced the camera. “No comment,” she said. The focus on the screen went to her shirt, which read don’t ask.

  “Have you heard from your son?” the reporter pressed.

  The old lady frowned, and Hal felt a wave of sympathy. He blinked and looked closer at the screen. He recognized Mrs. Moore. She’d probably been out to the prison to see Billy.

  “I said, ‘No comment.’ ” The woman pushed past.

  The reporter dogged her tracks. “Just a few words?”

  “I have words for you, but do you have your bleeper ready?”

  Hal grinned. The camera shifted. Stepping out of the door was a purple-haired woman wearing…a candy striper’s uniform? Recognition hit. Faye! His Faye. His volunteer.

  Jake watched Agent James pace beside the black sedan while CSI went over it a second time. “How could no one have seen anything? It happened in friggin’ daylight!”

  Jake didn’t answer. Internally, he waged his own war with frustration.

  James stopped pacing. “Nothing? You saw nothing?”

  “I was in the garden.”

  “You’re a damn cop, Baldwin, not a friggin’ farmer!”

  Jake intentionally kept his expression blank. “I wasn’t aware I needed to babysit your guys while they did their job.” Even as he said the words, guilt knotted in his belly. It was a knot that wouldn’t go away until he made this right, until he personally slapped a pair of handcuffs on David Tanks. If he’d been more aware of what was going on, Agent Mimms wouldn’t be at the hospital.

  Donaldson stepped forward. “Who would have guessed this idiot would try something in the middle of the day on a busy street?”

  I should have. The words zipped around Jake’s head at the same time Agent James spoke them.

  “I should have!” Guilt echoed in the FBI agent’s tone. “Tanks is suspected of taking out one of our other guys. He has no boundaries. He’s one sick motherfucker. I should have known.”

  And the sick fucker is after Macy. Jake cut his gaze to his car and let Agent James simmer for a minute before asking, “You get anything else on Ellie Chandler?”

  “Just that she turned her cell on for about forty seconds. Not long enough to get a location. We’re still working on it.”

  Jake remembered the info he’d dug up on the Marilyn Monroe look-alike. Deceased parents. No siblings. No family. Raised by her grandma, who had died about a year ago. “Have you checked with her work again?” He’d read in the reports that they’d questioned her boss. “Talked to neighbors?”

  “Got a man working it,” Agent James said.

  But they weren’t getting anywhere. Jake decided he’d do his own checking. He would find David Tanks. First, because he wanted to stop the bastard from hurting Macy. Second, because when he screwed up, he always set out to make things right. He saw letting an officer of the law get hurt when he was within yelling distance as a major screwup. Nothing short of hauling David Tanks back to jail would make this right.

  Macy crawled
over the seat, picked up the file and photograph, then hoisted herself back. She stared at her brother’s mug shot. Maybe she saw him through rose-colored glasses, but this wasn’t the face of a criminal. Too much youthful innocence. She ran a finger over the image and tried to see his smile. All she could see was the frightened little boy who’d stood up for her against their father. You’re not hurting my sister. His long-ago words echoed in her head.

  “Where are you, Billy?” As the first hot tear slid down her cheek, she opened the folder.

  While snooping in Baldwin’s file wasn’t illegal, it wasn’t exactly ethical. She didn’t give a damn. This was about her brother.

  The file wasn’t just about Billy. It contained information about David Tanks, Ellie Chandler, and the other escaped convict, and mug shots were included. Macy read everything. Then she reread Ellie’s information. Something felt amiss. But, what? What did she know about Ellie?

  Too antsy to do much thinking, Macy found a pen and notepad in the glove box and took down names, phone numbers, and addresses. She didn’t know what she would do with the information, but one thing was for sure: she was tired of doing nothing.

  Almost an hour after speaking to Agent James, Jake eased into his car so he wouldn’t wake Macy. She’d found the pillow he’d thrown in his backseat. Now, with it beneath one cheek, she slept cuddled against the passenger door.

  Damn, but she was beautiful. He studied her profile. Her nose had a slight tilt, her thick lashes rested on the tender skin beneath her eyes, and her mouth…Her lips were full—not Julia Roberts full, but close.

  Protectiveness, desire, and something softer filled his chest. That trio of emotions had propelled him to leave the scene to find her in the first place. When an officer was down, protecting him or her took top priority. While one patrol car had arrived before he’d taken off, he’d been the first on the scene, and his leaving had left the arriving officers in the lurch. James had reminded him of this. Jake’s captain would no doubt read him the riot act, too. He deserved it, and yet if the same situation happened again, he’d do the same thing. How had the petite brunette sleeping next to him become more important than his job?

  As he sank deeper in his seat, the sun spilled into the car, making it warm but not too hot. Jake yawned. Running on less than four hours of sleep for the last two days, he needed a bit of shut-eye himself. Macy stirred, and his gaze veered to her again. What he wouldn’t give to take that nap with her in his arms after they reached exhaustion from making love a couple of times. He let himself enjoy the view—the way her breasts pushed against her shirt, the way…

  Why was she so adamantly against them becoming something more? The answer shot back with clarity: the same damn reason he’d been celibate for two years. Her ex had hurt her. From the conversation he’d overheard between the two, Jake gathered Tom had run around on her. Some people didn’t know what they had until they’d lost it.

  He remembered Tom showing up the other night, acting possessive. Jake would be damned if he’d let the man walk back into the picture now. What was that childhood saying? Losers weepers, finders keepers. He’d found Macy Tucker, and he planned on…

  Keeping her?

  The words bounced around his brain. Just how serious was he about her?

  Serious enough.

  Her eyes fluttered open, her gaze met his, and she shot up, blinking the sleepy look away. “I really need to get back to my car,” she said.

  From the stubborn tilt of her chin, he knew she was going to try to get rid of him. He also knew it wasn’t going to work.

  Dusk had turned everything gray as Billy exited the freeway and headed toward Nan’s house. Toward home, he thought. He could hardly remember living anywhere else. Sure, there were a few mental snapshots of times before his dad left, mostly of his dad hitting things. Hitting his mom. Hitting Mace. Billy recalled telling Andy that he missed his dad. Funny, how you could miss people you hardly remembered and weren’t even sure you liked.

  At last he pulled into Nan’s neighborhood. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as if someone was watching. He forced himself to keep driving. He needed the fake ID. His mom and Nan would be at Yoga Works. Nan had classes on Wednesday evenings.

  He turned onto Nan’s street, the street where he’d tossed the football with his friends, the street where Macy had taught him to ride his bike. Memories assaulted him. Bittersweet memories. He eased off the gas as the van rolled closer. Nan’s house was dark except for the porch light. He’d almost pulled over, when he noticed a sedan parked across the street. Shit! It had to be the police.

  Billy drove past and prayed the car wouldn’t follow. It didn’t. He let out a breath. He drove two more blocks, checking the rearview mirror constantly. Finally, he pulled to a stop.

  What now? His palms had started to sweat. He clenched and unclenched them around the steering wheel. Leave. That one word echoed inside Billy’s head. He put his foot on the gas. But without the fake ID he’d never get into Girls Galore. Without getting in and talking to Jamie Clay, Tanks’s ex-girlfriend, he might never find Tanks.

  He cut off the engine. He had to get that ID.

  Getting out of the car, he looked at the elderly Mrs. Perry’s house, located one block behind Nan’s. He could jump her fence and the cops in front might not even notice.

  Might not. But if he got caught…

  He walked past Mrs. Perry’s front porch. Not seeing anyone, he ducked between the two houses. A German shepherd warming a doormat on the back porch barked and lunged.

  Crap! Billy hauled his ass to the back fence and hurled himself over. He landed hard. His hand came down on a rock that cut into his palm. The fence beside him wobbled as the dog clawed the aged wood, and his shrieking bark warned the whole damn neighborhood.

  “Smoky?” Mrs. Perry called. “What is it?” Her question mingled with the scratching of the dog’s claws on the fence. The sound of footsteps kept Billy from stirring. “Who’s there? Somebody there?”

  Macy settled into her pizza-scented vehicle. Her gaze shot to the parking lot of Yoga Works. She was curious to see her mother’s hair, but her mom’s car—and thus her and her hair—was already gone.

  She pulled her Saturn out into the street and watched Jake’s Monte Carlo follow. He flashed his lights as if to remind her to turn hers on. Great, now the man was telling her how to drive. She shot him a quick scowl in her rearview mirror and then hit her lights. Stopping at a yellow signal, she dug into her front pocket to make sure she hadn’t lost the names and addresses she’d taken from his file.

  She slipped out the folded paper and stared at it. Tomorrow, she would do her own investigation. Hopefully, somehow, one of the addresses or phone numbers would lead her to her brother. Then by the grace of God, she’d talk Billy into turning himself in. She’d worry about what his prison escape would do to his sentence once she had him off the streets. With the help of a good lawyer, maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be too bad. She could hope.

  Fighting back the feeling of doom, she tucked the paper back into her khaki shorts and stared up at the stoplight. From the corner of her eye, a movement in the car next to her caught her attention. She turned.

  “Crappers!”

  Jake spotted the end of the gun. “Son of a…” His breath hitched.

  No time to go for his Glock. No time to think. He slammed his foot on the gas, rear-ending Macy’s Saturn. The screech of crashing metal came at the same time as the blast of a gun. Panic crushed his chest. Macy’s green Saturn shot into the intersection. A white Honda smashed into the front of it. The impact sent the Saturn spinning.

  Jake yanked out his gun. He shoved his car into park, aiming his Glock at the gunman’s car. The car burst forward, ran the red light. A garbage truck swerved to miss it and crashed into the side of a hearse. The sound of brakes, of metal slamming into metal, and the smell of hot rubber were terrifying.

  Jake leapt out of his car as a coffin flew out of the back of the hearse. The cask
et spun across the road, slamming into Macy’s Saturn, bounced off, and kept spinning. Jake managed to get his phone out as he ran. He dodged cars and the still-twirling coffin to get to Macy. He screamed into the phone, “I need backup. Shots fired. Several automobile accidents.” He added the name of the intersection into the phone as his gaze riveted on Macy’s car. The sight of the shattered driver side window caused air to lock in his chest. He remembered the sound of a bullet being fired.

  “A gold Cavalier,” he added, and forced himself to spout out the license plate number. “Going southwest on North Banks. Suspect is armed.” He called out his location again. “Get some ambulances here. Now, damn it!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Macy couldn’t breathe. She forced her eyes open and felt blinded by white. Memories flashed. A gun. Getting hit from behind. Being thrown against her seat. Slamming her head against the steering wheel. Careening into the intersection. Another bone-jarring jolt, then the car spinning. And…a coffin?

  A coffin? Oh, God. Was this the white? As in, The White Light? As in, The End? If so, why wasn’t it beautiful? Why didn’t she want to go into it? Or did she want to?

  No!

  She opened her mouth to scream and got a mouthful of a chalky substance. Her mental fog started to lift. And she saw…not the path to the afterlife, just the freaking air bag. She sat back, gasped, and that’s when she saw red. Red all over the white air bag. Red, as in blood.

  Her vision blurred. Black spots started popping up like fireworks in front of her eyes. She recalled another car hitting her. People could be hurt!

  She opened the door. It creaked in protest but complied. She got one foot out of the car, and it landed on the street with a heavy thud. She saw more black spots.

  “Macy,” someone called. She twisted, got her second foot out of the car. Between the black splotches, she saw Baldwin dodging a spinning coffin to get to her. Yup, it was really a coffin. Damn, he looked…hot? Good thing she wasn’t dead, because she’d have regretted never…Never what? Seeing him naked? Doing the naked Hokey Pokey? Okay, obviously she wasn’t thinking straight.