Annie on the Lam: A Christmas Caper (8 page)

“You just described more than half the guys on the NYPD.”

She frowned. “You sound as if you know that firsthand.”

“I do.” Joe pulled to a stop in front of a hotel. “I used to be one of them.”

“You were a cop?”

“Yes, ma'am. Seventeen years. I turned my badge in last December.”

Annie's stomach turned over when a possibility she'd dismissed earlier returned like a bad case of the flu. Once again, she thought of him parked outside Landau's at just the right moment, as if he'd been waiting for her. Was Joe Brady playing games with her? Could this man she was telling about crooked cops be one of them?

Pulling Harry's coat more tightly around her, she assured herself paranoia was messing with her mind. Joe Brady was a cab driver now, not a police officer, crooked or otherwise. Cabs always parked along New York City streets at all hours of the night. Nothing unusual about that. And Harry had not had time to stop and call him in the moments between when she'd run from the building until she climbed into the cab. Her ex-boss had been right on her heels the entire time.

As they pulled to a stop in front of a hotel, she said, “I can't stay here.”

“Why not? You sure can't go home.”

“I didn't have a chance to get any money from my apartment before Harry's friend showed up.”

“Is there someone you can trust who'd let you stay the night?”

“I haven't made many friends since I've been here. I work two jobs. There hasn't been time for socializing.” And she'd had enough of parties and small talk back in Georgia to last a lifetime.

“I'd lend you some money,” Joe said. “But I cut up all my credit cards a while back, and I don't have enough on me for much more than a forty-dollar-a-night room. You'd probably need a tetanus shot before you slept in a place like that.” He drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. “We could make a pit stop by my place to pick up some more cash.”

“I guess that's my only choice.”

“Actually, I thought of a third option, and it's probably the best one yet.” He hesitated a second then said, “You could stay at my apartment and save us the trip back here as well as the expense of a hotel.”

Annie's heart dipped, and she guessed her hesitation showed plainly on her face because Brady shifted and said, “Look, it's not much, but I promise you won't need a tetanus shot.”

“That's nice of you, Mr. Brady, but I'm not in the habit of spending the night with strange men.”

His mouth curved up at the corner. He jerked his head once. Twice. Three times. “So you noticed the twitch.”

Heat climbed up her neck. “You know what I meant.”

“What? You prefer to sleep on the sidewalk? Or take a chance on one of Landau's thugs finding you alone in a cheap hotel room?” He watched her so closely she wanted to squirm. “I'm harmless, Anne. I can't promise the same about most of the characters you might meet on the streets.”

“I—”

“And call me Joe. We just dodged bullets and jumped off a fire escape together. In my book, that qualifies as bonding and the right to be on a first-name basis.”

Annie laughed. And relaxed a little. If this man had wanted to harm her, compromise her, or deliver her to Harry, he'd had plenty of chances. And he could've easily left her to her own defenses more than once tonight. Instead, he risked his life to help her. “If I stay with you, I'll want to pay you for your trouble.”

“It's no trouble. Beautiful women spend the night at my place all the time. Free of charge.”

He was teasing her. But realizing that fact didn't stop renewed wariness of a different sort from spewing through her like tonight's Christmas party champagne. Had every ounce of rationality she possessed trickled through her body and out her big toe when Harry Landau made that pass at her? She had done some pretty risky things since her ex-boss backed her into a corner and proceeded to try to take liberties. But preparing to spend the night in a strange man's apartment might be her stupidest stunt of all. And not only because he could be an axe murderer, for all she knew. Every time Joe Brady leveled that direct stare of his on her, she caught herself wishing he'd show her his handcuffs.

But who else could she turn to? She had to trust
someone
. And, really, he hadn't given her any reason
not
to trust him.

Except for that look….

He grinned. “You can relax. I'm kidding.”

“Oh.” Annie lifted a brow. “So you
charge
all the beautiful women?”

Joe chuckled. “There aren't any beautiful women.” A frown flickered across his face, a glimmer of embarrassment. “I mean…there are some, just not all the—oh, hell. Forget it.” This time his laugh held a self-deprecating ring. “The thing is, I might be able to help you wade through those files and piece all this together. Like I said, I was a cop. A detective. I have some experience with this sort of thing. And you'll be safe at my apartment.”

Annie thought she might be well-hidden from Harry at Joe Brady's place, but she wasn't so sure she'd be “safe.” She wondered if she'd get a wink of sleep, knowing he was under the same roof. But his eyes were more than dark and unsettling. They looked honest, too. Even friendly. And right now she needed a friend. She decided to trust her instincts and take a chance on him.

“Okay, I'll stay with you. And I'll take you up on your offer to help me wade through Harry's files.”

“Deal,” he said, and pulled away from the hotel.

“This
is it.” Joe unlocked his apartment door. “In the morning I'll call my ex-partner and we'll put our heads together about what guys on the force might have a connection to Landau. You could do worse than having Steve O'Malley in your corner.”

He pushed open the door and Annie heard the drone of a television. For the first time, she wondered if the man had a wife, a family.

Joe motioned for her to enter the apartment ahead of him. “Ammonia,” he said with a sniff. “Ma's been here.”

“
Hey, pal. How's it hangin'?!
” a loud voice screeched.

With a shriek, Annie turned and ran face-first into Joe Brady's chest.

He grasped her shoulders, looked down at her. “It's okay. It's only Mac. I should've warned you.”

“Mac?” Annie met Joe's gaze and realized they stood so close a lettuce leaf wouldn't fit between them. He felt warm and strong and safe. In that instant, she would've liked nothing better than to lean into him. Another irrational, impulsive thought, she told herself and stepped back, hearing Aunt Tawney's voice in her mind.
She is like her mother. So much so it's scary sometimes
.

Still holding her shoulders, Joe turned her around toward a far corner of the living room. “See?”

Next to the flickering TV, a five-foot-tall wire cage dominated the space where he pointed. A bright-green parrot with a yellow head perched inside of it.

“
Joey, Joey
,” the bird squawked, “
You live like a pig
.”

“Yep,” Joe said, “Ma's been here all right.” He reached behind to shut the door, then stepped around Annie and crossed to the bird. “I told you not to believe the lies that woman spreads about me, Mac.” He glanced over his shoulder and said, “Annie, meet Mac. Mac, this is Annie.”

“
Anne,
” she said, thinking it strange that he'd call her by her nickname. “Everyone back home calls me Annie. Did I tell you that?”

“No.” She thought he flinched, or maybe it was only a shrug. “You just seem more like an Annie to me.”

“It's a little girl's name.”

“That's not what I meant. You're no little girl.”

The look in his eyes made Annie shiver, then burn from the heat of a blush. What was wrong with her? She was too old to be blushing over a man.

She set down the briefcase, hugged herself, wondered about that flinch. Had she imagined it? Maybe it had been nothing more than a shrug. Or a reaction to her tone of voice. The sharpness of it had even startled her. It was ridiculous to be so sensitive about a name. Anne…Annie…what did it matter?

“I didn't even think to ask if I'd be imposing on your family,” she said.

“It's just Mac and me.”

As she moved in for a closer look at the parrot, the animal cut loose a catcall whistle. “
Nice set of hoots you got there!
”

“Mac! Watch your mouth.” Joe cleared his throat. “Sorry. Damn bird thinks he's a comedian. Too much television. I leave it on to keep him company while I'm out. I think that's a botched line from
Dumb And Dumber
.” Joe walked over to the television and switched it off.

“You might consider leaving the TV on
Sesame Street
from now on.” Annie smirked at him and walked to the couch, uncertain what to do with herself now. “So how long have you had Mac?”

“A few years. Got him from some lowlifes I busted. After they went to jail, Mac was left homeless, so I took him in.” Joe removed his coat and slung it over the back of a chair as he made his way to the kitchen counter. “Make yourself at home.”

While he sifted through his mail, Annie slipped her purse strap over her head and shed Harry's coat, though she wouldn't have minded leaving it on. She was still shaking; she wondered if she'd ever stop. Now that things had settled down a bit, instead of her body relaxing, her muscles quivered more than ever. She placed her purse and coat on the couch.

Joe stood beside a Formica-topped counter that divided the small kitchen from the living room. Two wooden bar stools sat beneath the overhang. Annie glanced around. The television looked fairly new—a large flat-screen, she noted and wondered if he was a sports fiend. A computer sat atop a desk in the corner opposite Mac's cage. And there were books. Lots of them. Stacked neatly beneath the coffee table, on the end tables, filling the shelves of a case along one wall. Annie walked over to the case and skimmed her hand across the spines. Jack Higgins and Clive Cussler and Stephen King. She looked at her fingertips. No dust. In fact, the entire apartment was immaculately clean. So clean she was ridiculously relieved that the light had been off in her place when Joe was there. As if he would've noticed while trading punches with Sasquatch.

Joe tossed the mail on the counter. “I've got to remember to pay that phone bill,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Annie sat on a bar stool and smiled at him. “You mean your mother doesn't pay your bills?”

“Why would she?” He opened the refrigerator, looked in.

“When you smelled ammonia you concluded she'd been here. She cleans your apartment, right?”

With his back still to her, Joe said, “Her idea, not mine.”

Annie could see inside of the refrigerator. Food filled the shelves. Healthy stuff. Milk and yogurt and orange juice, fresh veggies and fruit. “I see that she also buys your groceries.”

He looked over his shoulder at her, narrowed his eyes. “How do you know that?”

“You don't look like the type to buy lemon fluff yogurt.”

There it was again. That look. This time with a spark in it like the one sizzling beneath her skin.

“And just what
type
do I look like, Sweet Tea?”

The low, smooth timbre of his voice exploded the spark into a million smaller ones that cascaded through her, popping and crackling like Roman candles on the Fourth of July. “Why do you call me that?” Annie asked, startled by how breathless she sounded.

One side of his mouth curved up. “It fits.”

“I thought you said ‘Annie' did?”

“But everyone back home calls you that. Maybe I want a name for you all my own.”

“
It's a BRAND NEW CAR!
” Mac screeched, and just like that, the Roman candle fizzled along with the spark in Joe's eyes.

“Mac loves game shows,” he muttered, and ducked his head into the refrigerator again. “Well, you're right, Anne. My mother does buy my groceries from time to time. And just like I figured, there's not a single thing in here that was on the list I gave her, most importantly no six-pack.” He grabbed the last two bottles of beer inside and nudged the door shut with his shoulder. “Ma's determined to wean me off the stuff.”

“Do you need weaning off of it?” Annie asked, then thought, there you go, blurting things out that are none of your business.

“No,” Joe answered. If her blunt question offended him, he didn't show it. “But she started when I was sixteen after I stumbled home bleary-eyed one night long past curfew, and she hasn't let up since.”

“Sounds like you have a good mother.”

“The best.” He crossed to the counter, twisted the caps off the bottles, then handed her one. “You do drink beer, don't you?”

She met his gaze and smiled. “Not as often as I drink sweet tea.”

“I thought not.” He smiled back. “But I thought you could use something a little stronger after tonight.”

She took a sip, and to avoid his unsettling stare, surveyed the spotless kitchen, the folded stack of towels on the washing machine, the small red poinsettias lining the sill beneath the window. “Maybe instead of beer, you need to be weaned off your mother.”

He rounded the counter and took the stool beside hers. “Hey, I'm only forty-one years old. Give me some time.”

“Really, you should try it. Weaning off, I mean. It's very liberating. I'm close to your age and I'm ashamed to say I just cut the cord completely myself. With my father, though. My mother passed away when I was in high school.”

“Maybe that's why he babies you.” Joe shrugged. “Because he lost her and he's afraid of losing you, too.”

Annie jolted. “I never said Daddy babies me.”

Joe hesitated. “You said you'd just cut the cord.”

She tilted her head and studied him. An ex-cop, a cab driver,
and
a psychologist? Most amazing of all was the fact that what he said was exactly the truth. Her father did overprotect her out of fear. She had known that for years, but after finding out all she had the night of her wedding, Annie's understanding had turned to bitterness. She loved her dad, but she wasn't over being angry at him yet. “How do you know it's my father who's at fault?” she asked. “Maybe I'm the one who refused to grow up.”

“You seem pretty independent to me.”

She huffed a laugh. “I think you're the first person who has ever said
that
to me.”

The spark returned to his eyes. He propped an elbow on the counter, squinted at her. “So you're my age, eh?”

“I said
close
.” Annie scowled and bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a grin.

He sat his bottle down without drinking. “You lost your mom young?”

She nodded. “I was sixteen.”

“It's tough losing a parent. My dad died two years ago…a heart attack. That was bad enough, but I was grown. It must've been really hard on you, losing your mom so young.”

“It was. I think it was even harder on my dad, though.”

“I know what you mean.” He swept an arm in front of him, indicating the clean kitchen and den. “After Pop died, that's when Ma started doing all this. I think she misses having someone to pamper, so I humor her. She knows where to draw the line, so it's not so bad. We both win. She has someone to take care of, and I don't have to deal with the laundry.”

“And where does she draw the line?” Annie asked.

“For one thing, she'd never show up here unannounced. She wouldn't risk putting herself or me in an awkward position.”

Annie's pulse skittered at the implication.
An awkward position
. Such as finding him with a woman. Like finding him with
her
. Mac made a squawking sound and she grabbed the edge of the counter, her nerves still jumpy.

Joe frowned. “You're still shook up, aren't you?”

“I don't know what's wrong with me.”

Joe twisted his bar stool to face her, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You've had a rough night. Sorry if I made it any worse.”

“Worse?” She shook her head and swiveled her chair around too, so that they sat knee-to-knee. “If you hadn't come along when you did, I don't know what would've happened to me.”

“I was a little hard on you, though. I just wasn't sure what to think about you.”

She tilted her head. “And now you've figured me out?”

He grinned. “Are you kidding? You're a mystery to me in more ways than one.”

Annie almost stopped breathing. She couldn't move. His gaze held her as firmly as if he had his arms clasped around her.

“
It's just you and me again tonight, pal,
” Mac squawked.

Joe jerked and abruptly sat back.

Annie giggled, drew her lip between her teeth, looked down at her lap, the spell broken.

“Give me a break, Mac,” Joe said and scrubbed a palm over his face.

He sounded exasperated and embarrassed. Maybe even a little relieved, Annie thought. She wasn't sure how to feel about that. She should be relieved, too, yet the emotion weaving through her right now felt a whole lot more like disappointment.

Joe pushed back his bar stool and stood. “You must be beat. We'll save the talking for tomorrow. Whatever's in those files, too. You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch.”

“Do you mind if I borrow your shower?” She felt grimy and wished she had a clean change of clothes.

“Sure. No problem.” He nodded toward a short hallway leading out of the living area. “In here.”

She followed him into his bedroom and he opened an adjoining door, revealing a small bathroom. Annie spared a quick glance at the bed,
his
bed, which she would be sleeping in soon, and hoped his tank held plenty of cold water.

“I'll get you some clean towels,” Joe said, his gaze lingering a moment on her face. “I'll set them outside the door.”

“Thanks.” As he turned to leave Annie said, “Oh, I need my purse.” There were moist wipes inside that she could use to remove her makeup. She started after him.