Gotcha! (18 page)

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.”

She 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.”

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 pull 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.

Then came his gun. Though gently placed, it clacked against her nightstand.
Her
nightstand,
her
bedroom,
his
pocket contents and gun, as if…

He unbuttoned his blue shirt and tossed it onto her dresser. Her dresser. His shirt.

She blinked. The man looked downright edible without a shirt. The golden hue of the lamplight showcased his warm, melt-against-me skin. His chest, dusted with dark hair, appeared even more muscular without a shirt stretched across it.

An innie belly button, the cutest little dimple she’d ever seen, was centered among hard abs. His jeans fit snug around his narrow waist, and a trail of hair disappeared under the snap of his jeans. A treasure trail—wasn’t that what the thin spray was called? Because it led to…

He unsnapped those jeans. His thumb and forefinger pinched at his fly, ready to unzip and unleash the treasure.

Her gaze shot up and found him studying her. “Uh, what are you doing?” she asked.

“I got on boxers,” he said. His cocky grin proved he’d noted her feminine appreciation.

She tried to wipe all approval from her expression. “Okay, I had you down for a white briefs kind of guy, but you don’t have to prove me wrong.” She sat the rest of the way up. “Now back to my original question. What are you doing?”

“Getting in bed.” He heel-kicked off his shoes.

She pointed to her bedroom door. “The sofa is thataway, big boy.”

He picked up the folded piece of paper from the nightstand and handed it to her. “Doctor’s orders. I’m to wake you up on the hour, every hour, and keep a very close eye on you. Hard to do if I’m sleeping in there.”

He unzipped. The jeans dropped and a well-filled pair of navy-and-white-striped boxers drew her gaze. Thank God they had buttons, because something looked ready to come out and play.

Macy yanked her gaze up, and Jake pulled back the comforter. “You really need new pillows.”

She fought a thrill. “What I need is for you to get out of my bed.”

“It’s not up for debate.” He switched off the lamp. The darkness added more intimacy. “I’ll wake you in an hour.”

“I’m not—”

“Nothing is going to happen. Think of me as your doctor.”

“My doctor doesn’t strip down to his Skivvies and crawl in bed with me.”

“Okay.” There was a teasing quality to his tone. “I’m a doctor that comes with perks, but I don’t charge extra.” He let out a deep sigh. “Now go to sleep and quit talking about sex before you get me worked up.”

“I wasn’t talking…I’m not sleeping next to you with nothing but a thin piece of cotton between me and—and your best friend.”

He let a loud laugh. “He could be your best friend, too.” He rolled to his side, facing her, and propped himself on his elbow. “Nothing’s going to happen, Pizza Girl. Promise.”

She blinked, her eyes adjusted to the low light.

His chest was close enough that she could feel the heat from his body. “I’m not having sex with you,” she blurted. She
couldn’t
have sex with him. And thank God she really meant it, because it was the wrong time of the month.

“You’re right. Tonight we’re not having sex. Now go to sleep.”

“We’re not having sex tomorrow night either.” It would be two or three more days before she could even consider it, and hopefully, if God was on her side—
and please, please let Him be
—she would have found her runaway willpower by then.

He laughed again. “Okay, we’ll shoot for Monday or Tuesday.”

“Hmm, let me check my mental when-I-will-have-sex-with-you calendar.” She pressed a finger to her temple. “Nope. Tuesday’s out.”

He didn’t move. He just lay there, looking way too sexy, but at least he’d stopped smiling. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

She knew he referred to Tom, but it was her turn for silence. Falling back onto her pillow, she stared silently at the ceiling. Elvis leapt up on the bed, then jumped off.

“Crappers. I forgot to feed him,” she muttered.

He caught her hand as she struggled to rise. “I did it.”

“You fed my cat?” And why did his hand feel so good?

“I did it when I was fixing dinner.”

Elvis hissed from below. Macy closed her eyes.

Jake gave her fingers a squeeze. “What happened?”

Macy laughed quietly. “He’s upset because you’re in his bed.”

“I mean with your ex. What did he do besides cheat on you?”

Cheating wasn’t enough? But deep down, she knew there was more. Tom’s sin had not only shaken her weak belief in men; it had shaken her belief in herself. The situation had proven just how much like her mother she really was.