Gotcha! (28 page)

As he pulled up to his condo, he tried to find another way to say how sorry he was. “Macy, I know what I said was cruel and incomprehensible. But I swear to you, I didn’t mean…I was trying to hurt Harry, and I used you to do it. I was wrong, and I…deserve your anger and whatever else you want to do to me.”

She looked over at him, her eyes still tearless. “Good. Then you’ll understand that I never want to see you again.”

She jumped out of his car. By the time he caught up with her, she was in his bedroom tossing clothes into a garbage bag. Elvis, already in his carrier, meowed.

“You can’t do this.” A knot rose in his throat. He gripped the back of his neck so tight he was certain he’d leave a bruise.

A lump of emotion climbed up to his tonsils and made it hard to talk. “I’ll stay on the sofa. I won’t talk to you. But you can’t go back to your place. Tanks could still be out there.”

Macy snatched her pj’s from his dresser drawer and added them to her bag. Then, with her garbage bag of clothes in one hand and the cat carrier in the other, she walked past. The front door slammed shut. It couldn’t have hurt more if his fingers had been in the jamb. Frankly, it felt as if his heart had been.

And of course he deserved it.

Macy sat curled up on her sofa, wearing her pajamas, staring at the TV. Not that she could remember what had been playing for the past three hours. All that mattered was that she wasn’t crying. She wouldn’t become her mother. She wouldn’t fall apart. She wouldn’t quit her job or school. She wouldn’t run to Nan to pick up the pieces of her shattered life.

The knock on her door did enter into her consciousness, but she chose to ignore it. Whoever it was would eventually get tired and leave. They had earlier. But then she heard Nan.

Macy unlocked the door, and Nan and her mom rushed in. From their grave expressions, they knew. It was that, or something had happened to Billy. Macy’s heart gave a lurch inside her chest. She’d spent the last few hours selfishly thinking of only herself.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Jake called us,” Nan said.

“About Billy?”

“No, about you,” her mom said. “What happened?”

Macy hugged a pillow that she hadn’t realized she held.

“What did he do?” her mom asked. “Hal will teach him a lesson.”

Macy shook her head and fought the growing lump in her throat.

Nan stepped forward. “She doesn’t want to talk about it, Faye.” She held up a plastic grocery sack. “Hot chocolate. I’ll fix you a double.”

Macy nodded, and stared at her mother and grandma. She’d sworn not to go running to them for a pity party. Did it make a difference if they had run to her?

“You know he’s out there, don’t you?” her mom said. “He’s parked right in front of your house. He called us. He said he’d hurt you, that it was his fault, and that he was worried about you.”

That piece of news had the lump rising in Macy throat. Crappers! She was gonna cry! She went to the sofa, flopped back against the cushions, and buried her face into the pillow.

Billy was fucking tired of waiting. Tired of waiting for Tanks. Tired of thinking about Ellie. He’d heard on the radio that her brother had been killed. Tanks had done it—somehow Billy knew. He knew Ellie was still at the beach house, too. He’d called the number she’d forced him to take with him, but when she answered, he’d hung up.

Tonight, like the last four nights, the car pulled up in the driveway of the green-shuttered house, and tonight, like the other nights, the guy inside the car was alone. But tonight was going to be different.

Billy watched the guy let himself into the house. “Tired,” he mumbled. Then, pulling the gun from the waistband of his jeans, he walked across the street. If this guy knew where Tanks was, Billy was going to find out. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, and hoped he wouldn’t have to, but he wasn’t waiting anymore. He’d find Tanks or die trying.

Taking the porch two steps at time, gun in hand, he knocked.

“Just a minute,” a male voice called.

Billy gripped his gun and waited. He didn’t have to wait too long. The door swung open and the nose of a sawed-off shotgun jabbed into his gut.

Jake sat in his car, eyes focused on Macy’s house and heart focused on not breaking. He watched Nan and Faye go inside. Macy had opened the door for them, but not him.

“Damn it!” He slammed his palm so hard on the steering wheel that the car shook.

He’d screwed up so bad he couldn’t think straight. If he weren’t afraid that Tanks would come after Macy, he’d go find a liquor store and buy himself a bottle of something that would numb the ache. He wasn’t much of a drinker, not of strong stuff, but right now he was sure he could drink anyone under the table. Weren’t all sons of Baptist preachers known for that?

He took a deep breath and fought the urge to run to Macy’s door and plead with her to listen to him one more time. Couldn’t she hear in his voice how damn sorry he was? Maybe Nan and Macy’s mom would convince her to at least let him in.

As he reached for the car door, his cell phone rang. Jerking it out of his pocket, he snapped it open without even checking caller ID. “Hello?” Hope had his chest knotted in one big spasm.

“Baldwin?” a male voice asked.

Jake pushed back in his seat, uninterested in talking to anyone other than Macy. “Yeah?”

“It’s Billy.”

Jake sat upright. “Yeah?” He held his breath.

“Look, I know where Tanks is. I thought maybe you could be there, too. Help me with him. Then I’ll turn myself in.” The boy’s voice sounded strained, labored.

“Are you okay, Billy?” Jake asked.

“I’m just ready for it to be over.” The kid paused. “Is Macy okay?”

Jake forced himself to lie. “She’s fine. Where’s Tanks?”

Shortly afterward, Jake stood outside his car, parked a block from the abandoned warehouse where Billy said he and Tanks would be. Stan’s car pulled up, then Mark’s. Because no one from the task force showed up, Jake figured they’d already taken the bug off his line. Sure, he planned to call them, as he would call for standard backup, but only after he got Billy out of this alive. He owed Macy that much.

He grabbed his cell phone and dialed Officer Sala, who’d agreed to watch Macy’s house. “Everything okay?”

“I got it covered,” his friend said.

Jake hung up and went to meet Stan and Mark.

“Here’s what I know, and what I think we should do,” he told them. “If that warehouse is like the rest of these, there’ll be three entrances, all unlocked. I’ll take the front. Stan, you take the back. Mark, you take the side. You two don’t come in unless you hear shots fired.” He flashed the kid’s mug shot. “Let’s get this guy out of it alive.”

The three of them walked down the street. Each had pulled his weapon. Darkness covered the block. Jake hesitated, having second thoughts about skipping protocol entirely. He took out his cell. “I’m calling Agent James now. That should cover our asses and give us about five or six minutes before they arrive.”

Both Stan and Donaldson nodded.

Jake rang James. He was quick and to the point. “I’m at a warehouse. I think Tanks is here.” After he gave the address, he hung up.

Nearing the building, Stan motioned to a parked motorcycle. Jake nodded. Their quarry was here.

They all went to their positions. At the front door, Jake heard voices inside, and then—

Gunfire?

“Police! Throw down your weapons!” Jake stormed into the warehouse, his eyes trying to adjust to the darkness. Blinking, he sent up his usual prayer as he raised his weapon, finger on the trigger.

A shadow appeared, swerved to the left. Jake ducked behind some metal shelving. The shadow darted across an aisle. By the man’s size and shape, Jake pegged him as Tanks.

“Give it up!” he yelled.

“Fuck you!” Tanks called back. More gunfire rang out. The bullets dinged off the metal shelving all around Jake. Then came silence.

“I’m not going back!” Tanks called out.

More shots were fired from the rear of the building. Was it from Stan, or someone else? It was too dark to tell.

“Billy!” Jake yelled, and heard shuffling where Tanks had been.

Believing Tanks was on the move, Jake jumped up, gun held high, and made a run for an upside-down refrigerator he planned to use as cover. Tanks spotted him. One shot came so close that Jake felt it pass just before he reached his destination.

A shadow moved up from the rear of the warehouse. Stan? He heard a noise directly behind him and swung around, gun aimed, but at the last second he recognized Mark, who was crouching down by a case of wooden boxes.

“You’re outnumbered!” Jake shouted, glancing back at Tanks’s last known location. “Give up!”

“I’d rather die,” Tanks called back. “And I won’t die alone.”

“Billy, are you here?” Jake yelled. He heard nothing, and remembered the gunfire just as he’d rushed in. Had Billy already bought it?

“Where’s Billy, Tanks?” Jake shouted.

Only silence answered.

Then someone bumped into one of the metal shelves where he’d last spotted Tanks. Jake listened, hoping to get a lead on where the convict was heading. From the corner of his vision, he saw Mark. The detective waved toward his right, as if telling Jake where he planned to go, then dashed forward.

Jake heard more noises where he believed Tanks to be. Apparently seeing Mark without cover, Tanks jumped up, gun aimed. Jake leapt up, too. “Over here, you bastard!”

“No!” someone screamed. Shots exploded from all directions. Jake saw Tanks hurtle backward.

“I think Tanks is down,” Jake shouted, keeping his eyes on the darkness where the convict had fallen. “Stan?”

“I’m fine.”

Jake took a moment to glance toward Mark. He called out when he didn’t see the detective, “Mark? Donaldson!” Panic began to buzz within him.

“I’m…fine. I think.”

“What the hell does
think
mean?” Jake stepped toward his friend’s voice, which was tight, keeping an eye and gun on Tanks, who still lay in a heap on the floor. Dead? Maybe not. Jake didn’t want to take a chance.

He saw Stan moving in Tanks’s direction, and his friend called, “I got him covered.” Then: “He’s not breathing.”

Jake rushed to where Mark’s voice had emanated, and he found his friend squatting against a stack of boxes. Even in the dark, Jake saw the blood. It was smeared over Mark’s hands. Kneeling, Jake pulled his friend’s coat back.

“Where are you hit?”

Mark stilled Jake’s hands. “I don’t think it’s me.” He shook his head, as if dazed. He pointed to his right, where another body lay crumpled on the concrete.

“Damn.” Jake recognized Billy. “Hey, kid!”

Billy didn’t answer at first, but at last he opened his eyes. His features were enough like Macy’s that it hurt like hell to see them—and the pain twisting his face.

“Call for an ambulance,” Jake yelled to Stan.

“Is Tanks…dead?” Billy’s voice was a rasp. Blood was oozing from his shoulder. A lot of blood. Too damn much. Jake put his hand on the wound, praying that it would slow down.

“Yeah,” he said.

Mark dropped to his knees beside Jake. “Tanks had me straight on. Kid knocked me out of the way. Took the bullet for me.”

Billy’s eyes closed. “It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought. Take care of—”

Blood oozed through Jake’s fingers. “Listen to me, kid. Your sister is waiting for you. I really need for you to be okay.”

“I treated her…really bad,” Billy murmured.

So did I.
“I know,” Jake said. “But she loves you anyway.”

And it was more than he could say for himself.

“Police!” a voice yelled from the front door, a voice accompanied by a figure pointing a gun at Stan.

“
We’re
police.” Jake stood up. Shots exploded.

Macy sat in the waiting room, Nan on one side, her mom on the other. Macy felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Agent James had called, said there’d been an altercation, that Billy was shot. He hadn’t said how bad or if anyone else was hurt. Right after receiving the call, she’d run outside to see if Jake was still in front of her house. There was a car, but it wasn’t Jake’s.

Arriving at the hospital, they’d been told that Billy was in surgery. “How serious is it?” her mom had asked a nurse she recognized.

The nurse shrugged. “I don’t know. But I’ll get the ER doctor to come talk to you.”

Before the nurse walked away, Macy managed to ask, “Was anyone else hurt?”

The nurse paused. “I heard there was one casualty. But he wasn’t brought here.”

Casualty.
The word now bounced around Macy’s head.

Jake?

Ten minutes later, a doctor walked in. “Are you the Moore family?”

All three of them bounced up, and the doctor started talking. “Mr. Moore is still in surgery. I won’t lie to you, it doesn’t look good. But we’re doing our best.” Macy’s mom dropped back in her seat and started sobbing.

Nan stood straight as an arrow and reached out and squeezed Macy’s hand. After a few minutes, the doctor left. Macy and Nan sat beside Faye and they held hands in silence.

The waiting room door opened and Mark Donaldson walked in. Macy zeroed in on his face, trying to guess what he was about to say. A knot crowded her throat when she saw the blood on his shirt. She didn’t stand up. She couldn’t. She couldn’t even breathe.

He walked across the room. His gaze focused on her. “How’s Billy?”

“Still in surgery.” Nan was the one to answer, squeezing Macy’s hand.

“J-Jake?” Macy managed to say the name. “Is he…?” Her throat ached. Her chest was an open vat of pain as she awaited his answer.

“He was detained by the task force. He asked me to make sure you guys are okay. He’ll be here soon.”

Every muscle in Macy’s body went limp with relief.

“We heard there was a casualty,” Nan remarked.

Donaldson nodded. “Tanks.”

Jake is alive. Alive!
The knowledge ribboned through her heart, assuaging her fear. But then she remembered her brother.

It doesn’t look good.
The doctor’s voice echoed in her head. A chasm of hurt opened in her chest again. Loving anyone came with a price. A price she couldn’t afford.

Jake balanced a Styrofoam tray of hot chocolate in his hands as he pushed open the ICU’s waiting-room door. His gaze shot to Macy. She sat between her mother and grandma. She looked up, then away. His stomach filled with a sharp hollowness. He hadn’t been sure what kind of a reception he’d get, but when Mark said she’d asked about him he’d hoped for the best.

Macy’s grandma motioned to Macy’s mom, and they both stood. Nan moved forward and whispered, “I’m giving you a minute, but you’re on thin ice.”

Then Macy’s mom leaned close. “Hurt her again and I swear you’ll answer to me. My mom has been teaching me about busting balls.”

Jake watched them leave, then sat down beside Macy. “I brought hot chocolate.” He held out one of the cups.

She took it. “Thanks.”

One word. She offered him the one word, and hope rained down like sunshine. “I would have been here earlier, but James had some questions.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

She didn’t look at him. Why wouldn’t she look at him?

She continued, “Mark told me what you did, to try to help Billy. Thank you.”

He didn’t want her thanks, he wanted
her
. “I heard he’s looking better.”

He reached for her hand. She pulled away, and he closed his hands together, feeling his chest swell.

“I just want to help,” he said.

She faced him. Finally. “You want to help me?” There was so much pain in her eyes, he felt certain a piece of his heart had been chipped off.

“I’ll do anything. Name it.”

“Go.” She waved a hand between them. “This hurts. I’m hurting too much for my brother, and I can’t handle two different hurts right now.”

He inhaled. “I should have never taken you to that party. I—”

Her eyes narrowed. “Maybe you should have told me you were still in love with someone else.”

He passed a hand over his face. “Is that what you think? It’s not Lisa I love. It’s you.”

She looked away. “No. You don’t mean that. You would have told me. Told me about her.”

“I didn’t want you to know because…because I didn’t want you to know someone else didn’t want me.”

“So your pride is more important than being honest with me?”

“No!” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering how that word popped up a lot.
Pride.
“Maybe,” he admitted. “Pride probably did play a part in it.” He gripped his hands together. “But I know I was wrong. And for the life of me, I never meant what I said. Can’t you forgive—?”

“No, I can’t.” Her tone was icy. “I can’t. And to be honest, I don’t even want to try.”

He felt that damn lump return to his throat. “You really want me to leave?”

“Please.” She turned to stare at the wall.

It took everything Jake had to walk out of the waiting room, but he owed her that much.

The next day, Jake pulled up at his condo, returning from visiting Ellie Chandler. So far, no charges had been brought against her. The boots had proved to be Ellie’s brother’s, and Ellie had a rock-solid alibi for when the escape went down. There wasn’t even any proof that she’d been with Billy. Though Jake felt certain she had, he was relieved at the lack of evidence.

Billy had regained consciousness, and he’d told authorities about the friend of Ellie’s brother who’d almost shot him because he was afraid Tanks was going to kill him, too. It had been he who’d led Billy to Tanks. When the cops found the guy, he’d spilled his guts, telling exactly how Tanks had gone wild on Ellie’s brother, trying to learn where Ellie was. The confrontation had gotten ugly. Ellie’s brother had died trying to protect her.

Ellie had cried when Jake told her. She’d cried again when she told Jake that Billy refused to see her. God knows, Jake could sympathize. He felt like crying, too, and when he stepped into his condo, the ache in his chest doubled. Everything in his place reminded him of Macy.

His doorbell rang. He hurried to open it, hoping, praying—

“Lisa?” He waited for anger to swell and rise, to add to this emotional maelstrom, but the anger wasn’t there—or if it was, it was buried beneath all his misery.