Ugh. She didn’t want “playful” with a man, and her body’s response to his nearness didn’t matter. She tossed her wallet back in her car and readjusted her hat. “Can I go now?”
Instead of answering, he dipped his head inside her car, eyed the second pizza box, and sniffed as if he’d caught wind of the old pizza scent. Pulling back, he met her gaze. “Looks as if you might be telling the truth. I’m sorry I scared you. You okay?”
“Yeah.”
His apology rang sincere. Could she trust him? She wanted to, but Ellie hadn’t and Billy hadn’t. What if they were right?
She glanced back at the house and asked one more time, “What happened?” She hoped he’d give her a reason to trust him. She needed a reason. Her time studying legal philosophy had taught her that cops were not above breaking the law. Her time on the Earth had taught her trusting men could get her hurt.
“What do you mean, what happened?” A sudden suspicion pulled at his eyebrows. “And why do I get a funny feeling in my gut about you?” He leaned his arm on her car roof. His blue shirt stretched taut across wide shoulders.
“Could be because I kneed you.” But now wasn’t the time to showcase her smart mouth, so she added, “Er, which I’m very sorry about.” She met his eyes. They were blue. Dark blue. And instead of the anger she expected, they almost held amusement. Taken aback, she asked again, “Can I go?”
He nodded.” If I need you, I know where to find you, Pizza Girl.”
“But you won’t,” she said before she thought.
“Won’t what?” he asked.
She hesitated. “Need me.”
His eyes crinkled into that almost smile again. “I might. I really like pizza.”
Not answering, she got in her car and took off. She didn’t look back. Okay, she looked one time in the rearview mirror. But not because he was male, or gorgeous, and not because she could still remember how his hand had felt on her thigh, how his body had felt pressed atop hers. She looked back because . . . just because.
She hadn’t made it all the way down the block when his almost smile flashed again in her mind. She switched on the radio to chase away her thoughts. Disturbing thoughts. Downright gorgeous—
The radio announcer’s voice pumped through the airwaves.” Continued breaking news: three Huntsville Prison inmates have escaped.”
Macy immediately slowed her car, shocked.
“A guard and an inmate were shot during the escape,” the broadcaster continued. “Both are listed in critical condition. Police—Wait. We’ve just received another report. The inmate has died.”
The inmate died?
Died? Died! Macy told herself it wasn’t Billy, but all she could hear was her brother saying, And now he wants to kill me.
Then she remembered her mother calling work. She remembered the police pulling into Papa’s Pizza.
Slamming on her brakes, she turned the car around and headed straight to Nan’s.
Chapter Three
Macy came to a tire-screeching halt in front of her grandmother’s house. Tears dampened her cheeks. She’d passed the two-tissue limit about four stop signs ago, but that hardly mattered. Nothing did but Billy. She needed to know her baby brother was okay.
She bolted out of her car and raced to the front porch. Intent only on talking to her mom, she didn’t even jump when someone caught her arm. She swung around and came face to face with a uniformed Harris County deputy. Breathing became almost impossible.
“Slow down,” he commanded. “Who . . . ?” His eyes widened.
She ignored the commanding grip, disregarded his awkward expression, and yanked open the door. “Mom? Nan?”
The grasp on her arm tightened. Swerving, she glared at the officer. She’d brought one cop to the ground tonight. What was one more?
“Macy?” her mom called from inside.
The cop released her but followed her inside. Another man, dressed in a suit, stood beside her crying mother. Nan jumped up from the green sofa. The look of anguish in her eyes wrenched a sob from Macy’s throat.
“Tell me it’s not him. Tell me!” She made her hands into fists. Her nails cut into her palms.
Nan rushed over and placed a hand on each of Macy’s shoulders, but she didn’t say a word. Pain exploded in Macy’s chest.
“No.” She dropped to the floor and buried her face into her knees. “Nooooo.”
Behind her closed eyelids, she saw her brother as a boy standing at the foot of her bed, teddy bear clutched in his arms. I’m scared Daddy will come home. She heard his whispered words and knew she’d failed him for good this time.
Macy’s mom joined her on the carpet. “Go ahead and cry,” she said.
“Oh, Mace.” Nan plopped down beside Macy. “It’s gonna be okay.” Her grandma’s voice cracked with emotion, and Nan never cracked. She was strong, together, everything Macy wanted but often failed to be. As she’d failed Billy.
Images of him sitting across from her at the prison flashed in Macy’s mind. He’d been so afraid. Why hadn’t she done something? This was her fault. He’d asked for help and she hadn’t done a damn thing. Gripping two handfuls of the faded green shag carpet, she rocked back and forth. “No.”
“Listen.” Nan brushed a hand over Macy’s back. “Billy’s not totally brainless. He’ll turn himself in.”
Macy hiccupped and stared at her grandma. “He’s alive?”
“As far as we know,” someone answered. “I’m assuming you’re his sister?”
Macy looked up and saw a middle-aged man in a suit. “Yes.”
“Oh goodness, you thought—” Nan didn’t finish her sentence before starting another. “He’s fine. Of course, we’re going to kick his ass when this is over.”
The realization of it all hit Macy with sweet relief, but it left a bitter aftertaste. Billy wasn’t dead, but he’d broken out of prison? Why hadn’t she realized how desperate he sounded, how afraid? Now the police would chase him down, shoot him dead if he did something stupid. And Billy was notorious for doing stupid things. Nan was right. As soon as they got him safely back behind bars, Macy was going to kick that boy’s ass.
She glanced at her mother, wrapped in her faded pink terry-cloth robe, then at Nan, who appeared strong in her purple Cinderella pajamas. God, she loved them both. And Billy. She loved her brother—who was alive. Alive!
Another sob escaped Macy’s lips, and she hugged her mom. Nan moved in, and it became a group hug. I’m sorry I didn’t call,” Macy said. “I thought you wanted to ask about the visit.”
A deep clearing of a male throat made Macy glance up.
I’m Peter James, FBI,” said the middle-aged, suited guy who’d spoken earlier. His expression implied that his training hadn’t handled whimpering females who sat huddled on the floor. And yeah, right now Macy fit that profile. Not that she cared what he thought.
Macy stood, then offered a hand up to her mom and Nan. Drawing in a shaky breath, she hugged her mom again. “I love you,” she whispered. Turning, she gave her grandma a watery smile.
“Mace?” Nan’s eyes widened.
I’m okay,” she replied. Then, willing herself to be strong, Macy walked over to the coffee table and snatched a tissue. Feeling more composed, she gathered her wits and blew. Nose clean, dignity intact, she faced the two lawmen. “I want to know everything. For starters, why is the FBI involved?”
It wasn’t until both men’s gazes lowered that Macy remembered the state of her attire. She jerked her shirt closed over her blue bra, realizing that maybe it would take a few more minutes to gather her dignity. But that didn’t matter—Billy was alive. Now all she had to do was figure out how to keep him that way.
• • •
It was pitch dark out as Billy paced the trailer’s living room, uncomfortable in the borrowed clothes and with the gun tucked inside the waist of his pants. He watched out the window for Ellie’s car. The sixteen-year-old boy who had picked him up, Andy Canton, now sat with a bag of potat
o chips in his lap. The kid’s black Lab lay beside him on the lopsided sofa, which was missing a front leg.
When the boy had first pulled over and asked Billy if he needed a ride, Billy worried the kid was either high on something or one of those “special” kids. But he didn’t seem to be either. Not that it mattered. Billy got in the car.
When Andy had asked him where he was going, Billy asked if the kid could spare him a change of clothes. At first, he thought Andy was going to say no, but he’d nodded and told him he’d take him to his place—that no one but him lived there.
“You think your girlfriend is gonna come?” Andy shoved a handful of chips into his mouth. The dog sniffed at the boy’s jeans for crumbs.
Billy gazed around the home—if it could be called one. Take-out boxes and junk mail littered the floor. He’d heard the term trailer trashy and he suspected this was an example. Not that he judged Andy. Nope. He couldn’t blame Andy. The boy had explained that his parents just up and left. That was hard to grasp. Sure, fathers tended to run off—Billy’s own had—but mothers weren’t supposed to do that. Yeah, his mom could be pretty crazy, but she would never have left him. It was a shame that Andy didn’t have a sister like Mace, or maybe a grandma like Nan. They’d have taken care of him. Of course, Andy said he didn’t need anyone. He worked at a fast-food place where they fed him on his shifts and let him bring home any mistakes from the kitchen. Pride had filled the teen’s eyes when he’d claimed to make enough money to pay the utilities, his cell phone, and to buy dog food for Spike.
Why had Andy picked him up? The question still jumped around Billy’s confused brain. If it was for money, the kid hadn’t asked yet. Maybe the boy was just lonely. He sure as hell didn’t have anyone else in his life. Then again, it was probably because he thought it was cool to help an escaped prisoner. There might have been a day when Billy believed that, too. But right now, nothing felt cool about this. And when Andy asked Billy why he’d gone to jail, Billy’s answer had been short. “I made a mistake.”
The dog stirred beside Andy. “It’s been four hours since you called her.”
“She’ll come.” Billy refused to think that something had happened. Ellie had been so scared when he’d told her that Tanks had escaped. Somehow, Billy had managed to calm her down and tell her what to do. At least he hadn’t screwed that up. He’d almost reminded himself of his sister: taking care of situations, telling others what needed to be done. Not that Mace would ever have gotten herself into this jam. Why did he always get messed up in things?
He wanted to call Mace to see if Ellie had gotten there yet, but he was afraid the police had tapped her phone. And while he wanted to see his sister, he knew she would try to talk him into turning himself in. That wasn’t an option, not until he fixed this.
Stepping over a pile of dirty clothes, he bit the inside of his lip. He could almost hear Mace saying, Don’t bite your lips raw—it’s just gonna hurt. She was right.
His sister had always taken care of him. But now it was his turn to take care of her. Especially when this was his fault. He wouldn’t let Tanks hurt Mace or Ellie.
He thought about Hal. Was the guard alive? Images flashed in Billy’s mind of the man lying on the ground, blood oozing from his chest. Then he saw the other inmate, Brandon, his prison uniform soaked in red. Billy wanted to puke.
The gun tucked into the waistband of his pants felt heavy and cold against his hip. Part of him wanted to throw it away, but another part wouldn’t let him. He’d messed up. He wouldn’t be a coward again. David Tanks had to be stopped, and it no longer mattered what happened to Billy himself. Hadn’t Mace told him that he had to grow up, to stop thinking about himself and start thinking about other people?
A spray of light danced across the blinds, followed by the sound of a car pulling down the gravel street. Billy ran to the window, praying it was Ellie and that she’d brought Mace. But the car drove past, its red taillights winking in the darkness.
“That’s my neighbor,” Andy said. “He works second shift . . . when he works. Mostly he just hides from his ex-wives.”
Billy bit down on the inside of his lip so hard he tasted blood.
• • •
It was midnight when Jake pulled his car into the precinct parking lot. “You can head home,” he told Donaldson, who sat in the passenger seat. He opened the car door but didn’t look forward to getting out; he was still sore from his run-in with a certain brunette’s knee. “I’m just going to see if the reports I requested on the prison breakout were faxed.”
“You want me to go over them with you?” Donaldson
“Nah. I’ll probably grab them and head home myself.”
Donaldson’s orthodontist-straightened teeth gleamed in the dark. “Wait until I tell the guys that you got taken down by a pizza girl.”
“Wait until I tell everyone you get your ass waxed.” While Jake only had a year of experience on the other detective, it felt like more. Probably it was because of Donaldson’s background. His daddy was a bigwig in Washington. Donaldson, an only child, had spent his childhood traveling the globe—first-class, no doubt. Not that Jake had anything against rich people, but he and this kid came from two different worlds. Of course, while he didn’t relate to Donaldson, he’d grown to respect him. No matter how much razzing the unit gave him about being a golden boy with Washington ties, the new detective took it on the chin and continued to prove he cared about his job.
“My ass has never been waxed,” Donaldson laughed. “But you buy me breakfast in the morning and I’ll keep this to myself.”
“What’ll it be, caviar?” Jake’s parents had raised him and his brother on a preacher’s salary. They’d never gone hungry, never gone without clothes, though hand-me-downs and meatless casseroles had been a way of life. Still, he’d never considered them poor until his dad got cancer and the insurance had covered only a portion of the medical expenses. He doubted Donaldson had ever experienced that sort of glitch.
“A ham omelet will do—with a side of caviar.” The new detective chuckled and got out of the car.
Jake, bruised balls and all, followed suit. He groaned. “How about a Pop-Tart?”
“Still hurting?” Donaldson asked.
“Hell, no.”
“You got more pride than balls.” Donaldson smiled.
Jake took a step. It wasn’t the first time he’d been accused of having pride to spare, but some things were hard to forget. Like the humiliation of watching church members drop change into the Baldwin donation tin every Sunday. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate help, but he hated being at the mercy of others.
Donaldson took the keys to his Mustang Cobra out of his pocket, tossed them up in the air, and caught them. “I like my Pop-Tarts with icing.”
Jake kept walking. “See you tomorrow,” he said over his shoulder.
After limping to his office, Jake found the ten-page report on the fax machine. He dropped the papers on his desk, placed his gun and handcuffs in a drawer, curled back in his chair, and ran his hand between his legs. Pizza Girl could fight, he’d give her that. He would’ve been furious if he hadn’t believed it was panic that sent her into attack mode.
“Macy Tucker.” He’d memorized her name, address, and descriptive information from her driver’s license. And of course there was his visual inspection and their physical contact. Twenty-eight, five feet four, brunette, blue eyes. A full B or a small C cup. And while he’d bet she didn’t weigh a hundred pounds in wet shoes, what she lacked in mass she made up for in spunk . . . and in hair. He remembered pinning her to the ground, burying his nose in all that hair. She’d smelled like pizza. He loved pizza. Give him the meat lover’s special, a beer, and . . .
Closing his eyes, he intended to visualize a pie with extra sausage. Instead, his mind conjured up an image of Macy Tucker, her long dark mane spread around her head and her shirt open. Damn, he’d always been fond of colored underwear. Did she wear matching panties? Maybe a thong, or some
thing lacy?
He moaned as he realized where his mind was taking this. Hell, the woman had kneed him in the bails, twice, and he was lusting after her? He really needed to start working on his personal life. Meaning, he needed to get laid.
Rummaging through his desk drawer, he found an unused address book. He took a moment to jot down her info, hoping that after doing so he could let it go. Then, forcing her image from his mind, he focused on the prison report.
All they’d gotten from the guard before he’d lapsed into unconsciousness was that a gun was buried in the flowerbeds where the prisoners were working, and a couple of boot prints had been found that didn’t appear to match those of the inmates. CSI had taken images. They’d release any information as soon as they had it, yet it was obvious the inmates had help from outside. Someone had either picked them up or left a getaway car.
Jake tapped his pencil’s eraser against his desk. Was Ellie Chandler’s showing up at his office yesterday a coincidence? Hell, no. He’d learned not to believe in coincidences. Like the coincidence of his ex-fiancée announcing her engagement to his brother six months after she’d broken up with him. Yeah, that was a coincidence.
Why the hell was he thinking about that now? The answer rolled over him like a sputtering 18-wheeler. His mom expected him to attend the celebration that she was hosting in a couple of weeks for his grandfather’s hundredth birthday. He’d been a no-show last year, managed to avoid the newly-weds altogether. But this time his mom had made her feelings clear: You will be there.
Gritting his teeth, he pushed back in his chair and focused on work. He had escaped convicts and a different coincidence to figure out. Not that this was his case, but having ties to David Tanks, his captain would expect him to contribute. Jake prided himself on exceeding people’s expectations. He was no one’s charity case—not anymore.
Elbows bracketing the report, he focused on reading. Had Tanks orchestrated the breakout alone, or were all the inmates involved? The bullet that killed the fourth prisoner appeared to be from the same nine millimeter that had shot the guard.
The Junkyard Cowboy (Tall, Hot & Texan Book 3) Page 21