Gotcha!

by Christie Craig

  She hadn’t gotten over the we part of his speech or the meat part, which she didn’t eat, when he pressed his hand to her brow. “No fever. Good. The paper said you might get a little temperature.”

  “What are you? A doctor who plays cop? Or a cop who plays doctor?” She leaned back against the sofa.

  “I like playing doctor.” His kiss might have lacked sizzle, but not his tone.

  “Seriously?” she asked.

  “I am serious. And I’m good at it, too.” He winked.

  She shook her head. “I bet. You do this too well.”

  “What? Kiss?” He leaned in again.

  She pressed a hand to his mouth. “Take care of people.”

  “Oh. Unfortunately, I had plenty of practice.” The moment the words left his mouth, the teasing twinkle left his expression.

  Macy found herself intrigued. “With who?”

  He stood without answering. “I’ll bet the soup’s hot.”

  And she’d bet Jake Baldwin had secrets. “Jake?”

  He stopped halfway across the living room and turned. She wasn’t an expert on reading emotions, but she knew grief when she saw it. It was there in his eyes.

  “You need an aspirin?” he asked.

  “Who was it that you took care of?”

  “You want milk to drink with your dinner?”

  “You don’t like talking about yourself, do you?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Some things don’t warrant discussing. Try another subject.”

  It hit her then. The man had met her ex-husband, her mom, and Nan. He’d seen her underwear, seen her naked butt in a hospital gown, had done repairs on her house, slept on her sofa, gone with her to buy tampons, had a key to her house on his key ring, had sworn to protect her, saved her life, was now taking care of her like a mama bear, and yet she knew nothing about him. Zilch.

  Try another subject. “You ever been married?”

  “No.” He walked into the kitchen, out of her view. The clink of silverware and the clatter of dishes filled the silence.

  So it wasn’t a wife he’d taken care of.

  “Ever been in love?” She spoke just loud enough for him to hear.

  The dish rattling stopped. His head popped out, then vanished again. “Once.”

  “What was she like?” Macy stared and waited. And waited.

  “Beautiful,” he finally answered.

  “Blonde and bouncy?” she asked, frowning.

  “Blonde, no. Bouncy, yes.”

  “And?” Macy asked.

  “And what?” His head popped out again.

  “What was she like?” She watched him disappear back into the kitchen.

  “She had big brown eyes. Very loyal.” More dish rattling. “And she loved to cuddle.”

  Macy would just bet she did. “She sounds nice. What happened?”

  “Heartworm. She had floppy ears,” he continued. “Part Lab.”

  Macy grinned, even though she knew he was avoiding her true question. “Seriously,” she complained.

  “I am. She thought I walked on water.” He stepped back into the living room with two sets of plates and cups in his hands and a devilish smile on his face. “She’d bounce into bed with me at the least invitation. Men like that.” He waggled his eyebrows. “She never complained when I left the toilet seat up. Oh, she even loved it when I left my dirty socks around!” He handed her a plate. “Do you know you have zero protein sources in this house?”

  The smell of basil-tomato soup filled her nose and Macy’s stomach grumbled. Her mouth watered at the sight of the toasted sandwich and the cup with swirling steam. She picked up the grilled cheese centered with gooey cheddar. “Cheese is protein.”

  “I mean real protein.” He set his plate on the coffee table and walked back into the kitchen. “I poured us some milk.”

  Her stomach begged for her to start eating; her manners dictated she wait. She licked her lips, waited, and looked up to see him coming toward her. “Cheese is real protein. And milk.”

  The sofa sank as he settled beside her and placed glasses on the coffee table. “I mean meat.” He scooted hip close. Balancing his plate on his lap, he picked up his sandwich. “Eat.”

  She was too hungry to worry about his nearness—but not too hungry to notice the warm sensation his jean-covered thigh sent swirling through her body. “There’s no meat in the house because I don’t eat it.” She sank her teeth into the sandwich.

  His eyes widened. “You’re joking.”

  The warm toasted bread and the sharp flavor of cheddar cheese spilled over her tongue. “Oh, this is good. I didn’t realize I was so hungry.”

  He stared at her. “You’re joking about not eating meat, right?”

  She took another bite. “No joke.” A string of melted cheese landed on her lip, and she licked it off.

  “Damn. This relationship is doomed. We’ll never make it.”

  She swallowed, ignoring the spark of emotion that suspiciously felt like disappointment. But deep down she recognized this for what it was: an opportunity. Picking up her spoon, she pointed it at him. “I’ve been telling you that.”

  A frown puckered his brow. “No beef, chicken, or…No bacon?” He paused. “Screw that! How can you go through life not eating bacon? Bacon is part of American culture!”

  She picked up her sandwich again, still warm, and before she realized what she was going to say, she’d said it. “Sometimes I cheat and eat seafood.”

  He smiled and seemed to contemplate.

  She frowned and did her own contemplation. Why had she said that? Best to cut this off before it went any further.

  He continued. “Well, I like seafood. So maybe there’s hope for us.” He scooped up his sandwich and took a big bite, then spoke around the food. “What kind of fish do you like? And could you…wrap it in bacon to grill it?”

  She spooned some warm tomato soup into her mouth. “Save your ego and just accept that all we’ll ever be is friends.” Friends like her and Father Luis. Her chest filled with a vague achiness. Maybe it was the fact that he’d just put her second to a piece of pork.

  “Close friends?” He leaned in.

  She flipped the spoon up over her mouth. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I.” He dodged her spoon to kiss her neck.

  She pressed a hand against his chest but didn’t push him away. He continued to kiss the curve of her neck. Using his tongue and teeth, he sent sweet vibrations through her body. “You’ve been…But I…” Oh, goodness, that felt so good. “I don’t want a relationship,” she blurted.

  He tilted his head to look her right in the eyes. “Why does that sound like a lie?”

  Because it was a lie. Instead of looking at him, she gave her soup her undivided attention. She gave the spoon a lap around the cup. Yeah, she’d admit it: she did want a relationship. But there were bad-hair, premenstrual days when she wanted to eat an entire box of Cocoa Pebbles, and she didn’t.

  Liar.

  Okay, she’d eaten a whole box once, but the point was that wanting something didn’t make it right.

  She looked up. “I like you. But…no relationship.” “Okay, no relationship. We’ll start with a fling, pure sex, and see where it leads.” His blue eyes were full of laughter.

  “I can’t.” She blinked and hoped he understood she was serious, hoped he understood that deep down she wished it could be different. But her heart just wasn’t up for the risk.

  He set his plate back on the coffee table as if she’d finally gotten through to him, and stared at the ceiling. She felt a little guilty. Okay, a lot guilty. He’d been good to her. He’d saved her life.

  After several heavy, heartfelt seconds, he faced her. “I’m sorry, but this is really hard for me to understand. I mean…have you ever even tried bacon?”

  Frustrated, she bit into her sandwich. “You’re not taking me seriously, are you?”

  “Yes, I am. Not eating bacon is very serious.”

  S
he rolled her eyes and chewed.

  He grinned. “Oh, did you mean about the relationship?”

  “Of course that’s what I mean.” She poked him in the chest.

  “Then, no, I’m not taking you seriously.” He leaned his head down again, his forehead touching hers. “Because you say one thing, Pizza Girl, but your eyes say another. And your eyes don’t lie. I learned that with the whole nun story.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Billy drove by the house where Jamie had said Tanks might be. The lights were on. His heart thumped against his breastbone with fear. He parked a block up and, staying in the shadows, walked toward the house. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the same feelings seemed to echo inside him. Moving to the side of the house, crowding the azalea shrubs heavy with blooms, he crouched down and edged closer to a window.

  One step.

  Two more. Swallowing fear, he pressed his palms against the gritty window ledge and raised up just enough to peer inside.

  People. Billy’s gaze went to a man who sat on the worn brown sofa. Facing the opposite direction, he wore a gray T-shirt and a cap. Was it Tanks?

  The man leaned back and rested his arm on the back of a sofa, and Billy saw the snake tattoos. His heart jolted. It was Tanks.

  Billy’s gaze zeroed in on the man who had tried to kill his sister. His attention was so focused, he almost didn’t see the blonde walking toward the window through which he peeped. Suddenly aware, he dropped down, pressing himself against the side of the house. At his angle, he could see the blonde with stoned eyes press her nose against the glass above him. There came a crack of thunder, then the sky lit up again, and the smell of rain grew heavier. He didn’t move and prayed she couldn’t see him.

  “It’s storming.” The blonde’s voice penetrated the glass.

  Billy pulled the gun from the waistband of his jeans. This was it. Tonight it would be over. He’d kill Tanks. Protect Macy and Ellie. Even help Jamie Clay.

  It had taken only slight persuasion for Jamie to tell him where David might be staying. She’d been scared. Now Billy was scared. His stomach churned with emotion, and in spite of the chill in the air his hand sweated around the grip of his gun.

  When the taste of blood filled his mouth he realized he’d sunk his teeth into the side of his lip. Don’t bite on your lip. Macy. Was his sister okay? Had Jake Baldwin been honest with him?

  Soft rain fell on Billy’s face. More light filtered through the window above, telling him the woman had stepped away. Trying to move silently, he scooted over to the right and cautiously lifted up to see inside again.

  Two men milled around beside Tanks, and about four women…or girls. Two of them didn’t look old enough to drive. Even from here, Billy smelled the marijuana. One of the younger girls went and stood beside Tanks. When she reached for his joint, Tanks shook his head and motioned to his lap. Obviously, the fucker expected a trade.

  The girl, dark haired and pixie faced, pretty except for the black lipstick, crawled onto Tanks’s lap. The man handed her the joint and then reached up and squeezed her breasts. She pushed him away. Tanks yanked the roach clip from her fingers.

  Billy couldn’t hear the words, but he could imagine them. The girl stared at the smoking weed as if debating whether being groped by this lowlife was worth the high. Then, nodding, she started unbuttoning her shirt. Billy saw the uncertainty and the revulsion in her eyes. The two other guys in the room turned to watch. Billy shook off his disgust.

  The thought of Ellie being close to this man made his anger gnaw deeper, however. Tanks was trash.

  And what are you? A crack of thunder seemed to punctuate the question.

  Billy inwardly flinched and wished like hell he could have been a better man for Ellie. But did it really matter? After tonight, he’d have to pull away from her. Completely.

  He ducked down again and fought the ache in his heart. “Focus,” he muttered. He needed to concentrate on what was important: killing Tanks.

  With his back pressed against the scratchy, paint-chipped siding, Billy tried to figure out how he could get to Tanks without hurting anyone else. And possibly without getting killed. He didn’t want to die, though if that’s what it took, so be it. But he definitely didn’t want to hurt one of those girls.

  Another flash of lightning filled the darkness. “Look.” Voices came from the porch and Billy’s breath hitched. “I told you it was storming,” a feminine voice remarked.

  Billy crouched down behind an azalea bush. The pink blooms hung in front of his face. A streak of lightning brightened the navy sky, and fear rose in his throat. If the pair came to the edge of the porch, they might see him. He needed the element of surprise to carry this off. The rain pattering against the leaves seemed to match the thumping of his heart.

  A cell phone rang. “Yeah?” a male voice said.

  Was that Tanks? Billy clutched his gun tighter. Slowly, he rose up to peer in through the window again. The young, black-lipsticked girl sat alone on the sofa dragging smoke into her lungs. Billy cut his eyes back in the direction of the porch. It could be Tanks there, or one of the other guys.

  Billy inched over. The squish of his footsteps on the wet ground was covered by the storm’s rumble. The man on the cell started talking again. Billy strained to listen, hoping to recognize Tanks’s voice. If it was him, he could do this and maybe get away before anyone shot back. Thunder rolled.

  “No.” The man’s voice became audible again, but Billy, still unable to tell if it was his quarry, edged closer.

  “Damn it,” the man snapped. “Listen to me, Ellie! I want you to get away from that Moore piece of shit and do it now.”

  Ellie?

  Ellie? The storm roared around him, seeped into his blood. His hold on the gun tightened.

  Light caught him, but not lightning. A car had pulled into the drive. Like an animal in the headlights, he froze. Then he fell to the ground, pointing his gun at the car. Had the driver seen him? The smell of wet earth filled his nose, soaked into his clothes, and Billy tasted blood again.

  “You ready to do this?” the driver yelled, and there came the sound of other people stepping out on the porch. They hadn’t seen him.

  “Ready,” a man answered. “This time, we do it right.”

  Billy’s breath hitched as the rain fell faster. His death grip on his gun loosened. Then Tanks and another man walked past, crawled into the car’s backseat. He’d been too slow to fire.

  Billy’s finger trembled on the trigger. He considered unloading bullets at the car, but what were the odds he’d get Tanks before one of them got him? And dead, he wouldn’t be able to protect Macy or…Ellie? Who had Ellie been talking to?

  The white Honda backed out of the drive. “Fuck!” Billy seethed. By the time he got back to the van, he’d never catch them. But he had to try. And then…

  Then he’d go back to Andy’s and find out if Ellie…If Ellie what? He’d find out why Ellie was talking to Tanks.

  “Come on, Pizza Girl, let’s get you to bed.” The voice was a whisper in her ear, and her brain started downloading data. Gun. Hospital. Home.

  A sexy man.

  She remembered. They’d eaten. She’d washed up in the bathroom while Jake stood by the closed door in case she…what? Drowned in the sink? He took this nurse/protector thing a tad too seriously. Recalling that now reminded Macy of the question Jake refused to answer: who had he taken care of before?

  “Can you walk?”

  “Of course I can.” After she’d washed up, they’d returned to the sofa and watched the Tonight Show…when, obviously, she’d drifted asleep—on his shoulder! She raised her head off that pillow of male warmth.

  He had his hands around her forearms, easing her to her feet before she could complain. But whether she wanted to admit it or not, the coddling felt good. It had been a long time since she allowed anyone to take care of her.

  Yeah! Because you don’t want to turn out like Mom. Yup, that was the reason she needed to p
ull away. Depending on people could be addictive for codependent personalities. While Macy wished she could deny it, she’d learned the hard way that she was just too damn much like her mother.

  His hand curled around her waist as he led her down the hall. She stepped out of his embrace.

  “The blanket you used last night is…is beside the sofa.”

  He beat her to the bed and drew back the covers. He motioned for her to get in.

  Macy slid between the sheets. The feel of the cool cotton on her bare feet reminded her that she hadn’t slept well in over a week. Of course, she’d had good reasons: Billy running from the police, the rapist and murderer…

  Her gaze went to the walls, primed with white where Jake had covered the ugly messages. She owed him money. Tomorrow she’d have to go to work, after she made her insurance claims and got a rental car. Thank God she hadn’t canceled full coverage.

  “Here.” Jake handed her a glass of water and shook out two tablets.

  She sat up and swallowed the pills. “If you get news about Billy, you’ll wake me, right?”

  “That’s our deal.” He took the glass from her. “You don’t do anything stupid, and I’ll keep you updated on what I know.”

  She settled back on the pillow, remembering the information she’d gotten from his files. Yeah, they’d made a deal. All she had to do was figure out how to do what she needed to do, without it being stupid.

  “Night,” she said, looking up at him staring down at her. She really wished she didn’t like him so much. “Thanks for saving my life.”

  “You’re welcome.” He turned to leave, and a little bit of loneliness crowded her chest. Yet instead of heading for the door, he went to the other side of the bed.

  She blinked and pushed up on one elbow, watching him. He squeezed his hands into his jeans pockets and started unloading the contents onto the nightstand. His keys clanked against the edge of the lamp. Quarters and dimes did a shimmy on the polished wood. A folded piece of paper landed on top. He patted his pockets.