Gotcha! (6 page)

It was almost four o’clock in the morning before the next set of headlights flashed across the window. Billy pushed back the dirty drapes, praying to see Ellie. Instead, a blue van pulled to a stop in front of Andy’s trailer. Ellie didn’t drive a van.

Jake’s phone, set on vibrate, jarred him awake. He sat up and almost tumbled out of his seat; the footrest on this green recliner had snapped forward. In the light spilling through the window, he saw a brunette and a cat curled up on a sofa. Not his sofa. Not his brunette or cat either. Where the hell was he?

The cat’s ears pulled back. Hissing at him, the animal darted off the sofa and disappeared down the hall. Jake’s memory returned.

He stood, snatched up his phone, and ducked into the kitchen. Checking the number, he saw it was Donaldson. As he pressed it to his ear, he spotted the clock on the wall. Damn. He was two hours late for work.

“I’m on my way,” he said without preamble.

“Good,” Donaldson replied. “The brown stuff the lab boys refer to as shit is nearing the fan. The Feds are looking for you.”

Jake ran a hand through his hair. He should have called in last night, reported the phone call, but damn it, he knew what would have happened. They’d have brought someone out, sent him packing, taken Macy in, but not a damn thing would have been done to investigate the call until this morning. “The Feds? It has to be about Tanks. I just don’t know why—”

“Why Internal Affairs is with them?” Donaldson said. “Me neither.”

Jake’s palm tightened on the back of his neck. “IA’s with them?” That was a surprise.

“Yep.”

Last night, he’d played all of Macy’s messages, including the earlier one where Ellie accused him of being in cahoots with Tanks. He wondered if IA had heard something similar, and if so, who’d told them. Glancing into the living room he said, “I’m on my way.”

Snapping his phone shut, he walked into the living room and reached for his gun, which was lying on the floor beside the recliner. Macy was rousing. She propped herself up on her elbow and stared.

“So, you sicced the Feds on me?” He holstered his gun.

She lowered her feet to the carpet and pulled her hair back with two hands. “Lovely day to you, too.” Her voice was husky from just waking up.

Damn, but he liked her. He didn’t have a clue why. In less than twenty-four hours, she’d committed two of the greatest sins a woman could against a man: interfering with his job and messing with his family jewels. Well, a man’s jewels could and should be messed with, but gently. For a split second his mind conjured an image of the two of them naked and—

“I only told them what Ellie said.” She frowned.

Was that guilt? Well, even the woman’s grimace was cute and sexy. “I guess you didn’t have a choice,” he admitted. “But you’d better get moving.” He pulled the tape out of the answering machine. “We’re leaving in five minutes.”

She stared droopy-eyed at the television. The ten-inch tube was still on, the volume muted. He’d cut the sound last night after she’d dropped off. Sleep hadn’t come so easily for him. He’d sat in the chair and watched her, and somewhere around four in the morning he’d finally decided she was beautiful. Not drop-dead gorgeous, exactly, with legs up to the neck and knockout boobs. But she was more than girl-next-door pretty. She had one of those faces you just wanted to study forever. And her body? Yeah, about four thirty, he’d decided a closer look at that was high on his wish list.

Visions of tattooed Tanks suddenly flashed in his head. Maybe it was his attraction to Macy, or maybe it was because he felt guilty for not listening to Ellie Chandler, but he felt personally responsible for this whole mess.

“Come on. Up and at ’em. Get ready,” he told her.

“Ready? For what?”

“You’re coming in with me. Five minutes.”

“Why?” Macy asked.

“First, because you’ve got an escaped convict after you and I don’t want to leave you alone. Second, because I’m certain that the Feds will want to chat.”

“I already talked to them,” she grumbled.

“Yeah, but that was before they knew Tanks had a thing for you and…well, it was when you had me down as a bad guy.”

“And you think I’ve changed my mind about that?”

“You chose me over your ex.”

“You were listening?” She frowned. “I don’t have time—” Her gaze shot to the clock. “My test!” She buried her face in her hands. “Oh, crap! How could I miss my test?”

Jake shrugged. “Five minutes. I’m serious.”

Macy took thirty. Five minutes were to politely suggest that she could meet him at the precinct as soon as she pulled herself together, but polite didn’t work, and she’d never had a surplus of early-morning patience. The other twenty-five minutes were needed to shower, brush her teeth, comb her hair, and then find her very last emergency tampon under the sink. Every time he’d yell from behind the bathroom door, she’d give herself permission to dawdle for another five minutes. She wasn’t his prisoner, his wife, or his girlfriend. And while she didn’t enjoy being mean, she didn’t believe in rewarding bad behavior.

Banging on the door when a PMS-stricken woman was trying to insert her last tampon? That definitely fell into the category of bad behavior. Oh, and when he screamed,
What are you doing in there?
she’d been tempted to tell him the truth. That would have shut him up.

But she also had begun to feel a few things other than annoyance for the man.

Staring at her image in the mirror, Macy made one of those face-your-fears kind of confessions that are supposed to help your mood. “Hi, I’m Macy Tucker, and Jake Baldwin scares me. He tempts me. Being with him is like driving a bike too close to the edge of a cliff.” A cliff with great scenery, of course. But Gawd have mercy, she hadn’t thought there was a man alive who could make her want to risk falling off that cliff again. Hadn’t she fallen too many times, only to find herself bruised, battered, and broken?

She blinked at her image and waited for the confession to offer her some relief. None came.

She gave her reflection another once-over. “You look like hammered poo on a bad hair day.” It all showed on her face: lack of sleep, stress over Billy, that missed exam for a teacher who swore he wouldn’t give retests, an escaped prisoner threatening to rape her, the realization that she still had a weak spot for a pair of wide shoulders and a sexy grin. Throw in PMS, and the world wasn’t ready for her.

“You’ve got one minute. Then I’m coming in,” Baldwin yelled.

She glared at the door. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

If the world wasn’t ready for her, Jake Baldwin sure as hell wasn’t.

Billy woke up as Andy trotted through the living room to let the dog out. Though the boy never glanced over, Billy pulled the sheet across Ellie, who slept beside him on the lopsided sofa.

He remembered the fear he’d felt at seeing the blue van stop in front of the trailer last night, but then Ellie had crawled out. She’d explained how she’d loaned her car to someone else and was now using their van. Then she’d told him about finding that cop, Jake Baldwin, at Mace’s house. She’d parked down the street and waited for the guy to leave, and when he didn’t, she’d peeked in the windows only to find the two sitting on the sofa together.

“I think I was wrong about him,” Ellie had said. “I don’t think he’s working with David. He even left me messages saying he wanted to help.”

Billy still didn’t like it. He had to know Mace was safe.

Andy walked back inside, his dog trotting behind him, and both disappeared back into the one and only bedroom.

Ellie’s backside brushed up against Billy’s crotch. He hardened. Last night she’d told him she was willing, if he wanted. God, he wanted, and having her soft body next to him had been a torment. But taking her for the first time on a broken sofa, with no privacy and garbage all over the place, didn’t feel right, so he’d kissed her and insisted they wait until they were alone. And while he’d never share this with his sister, he bet Mace would say he’d done the right thing. He liked thinking Mace would be proud of him.

Ellie rolled over. “Morning,” she said in her cartoonish voice.

He kissed her nose. He bet people teased her about her voice. Not around him they wouldn’t. If people couldn’t look past her voice and see her beauty, then they were stupid. And he didn’t mean her beauty on the outside. In a lot of ways, Ellie reminded Billy of Mace. Like Macy, Ellie loved with all her heart. She loved him that way, and she’d been totally devoted to her grandma, who’d raised her. Ellie even got a job at the nursing home so she could keep an eye on her granny. The woman had died, but Ellie hadn’t left her other patients, even though she could make more money waitressing.

In the letters, she’d written all about the people she cared for. Some of their stories were funny. Some were sad, about how no one ever visited. Ellie did things for those patients—things like cutting out pictures from magazines to hang by their beds. Sometimes she’d sneak candy or cigarettes to those who could have them.

Ellie rose up and eyed the trailer in daylight. She frowned. “He really lives by himself?”

Billy sat up, pushed his gun under the sofa with his foot. “Sad, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” She yawned and covered her mouth.

Billy studied her face without makeup. He knew she liked wearing it, but she didn’t need any. She had beautiful skin. He didn’t know how old she was—probably a year or so older than him? He didn’t care.

Her green eyes met his. “What are we doing today?” Concern tightened her voice.

“I’ve got to find a way to talk to Mace. To make sure she’s okay.” Billy had heard on the radio that Hal was alive. Brandon hadn’t been so lucky. Billy remembered leaning over him and yelling,
Where are they going? Tell me!
The address the dying inmate had given was his only lead, so he hoped like hell it was correct.

Billy shuddered. The memory of Brandon lying helpless on the ground was horrible. He wasn’t sure if he was the one who’d shot him. If so, it had been an accident. Not that it mattered in the long run.

Ellie stirred beside him. “Then what?”

“I…don’t know,” he said. He couldn’t tell Ellie the truth.

She wouldn’t like it, but he couldn’t think of any other way out of this mess. Yesterday he’d been a coward. Not today. As soon as he made sure Mace was okay, he’d do what he should have done yesterday. He’d go and kill Tanks.

Jake and Macy arrived at the precinct an hour later than he’d planned.

“They’re waiting in the captain’s office,” Donaldson said.

Jake gave Macy a nudge toward the other detective. “Watch her.” As much as Jake had started to like her, he’d begun to second-guess his attraction. The woman had argued about everything this morning—about getting ready, riding with him instead of following, about her rights as a civilian, about the sausage and biscuit he’d ordered at the drive-through. Well, she hadn’t argued about that. She’d simply refused to eat it. Jake eyed the bag containing her breakfast.

“I don’t need a sitter,” Macy remarked.

“In here.” Donaldson motioned Macy into Jake’s office, then followed Jake into the hall. “What’s going on?”

“Pizza Girl is Billy Moore’s sister. He’s—”

“The other escapee,” Donaldson said. “Shit.”

“Yeah. And I’m serious—watch her. She’s likely to skip out.”

“You think she’s in on the breakout?”

After her attitude this morning, Jake had actually considered it again, but…“No, I don’t. But she doesn’t want to be here. Which, to her way of thinking, gives her the right to leave.”

He remembered her spouting off about citizens’ rights and wondered where the woman got her information. It wasn’t just info she’d picked up on television shows; she’d sounded like some fancy lawyer. And everyone knew what cops thought of fancy lawyers.

He ran a hand through his hair. Macy Tucker was a mystery. One that frustrated and intrigued him all at once. He watched her move to the window in his office and stare outside.

His gaze lingered on that heart-shaped backside encased in faded denim. Oh hell, he’d always loved a good mystery. What was a little frustration? Especially when he suspected her attitude stemmed from her concern over her brother. He could only imagine how he’d feel if the shoe were on the other foot. Then again, he had his own brother issues.

Donaldson chuckled. “She’d better not go for my balls.”

“Just watch her.” Jake turned to go, then remembered. “Here.”

“What?” Donaldson took the bag, looking shocked. “You really bought me breakfast?”

“Sort of.” Jake headed down the hall to meet with the Feds and IA.

Jake, the FBI, and the Internal Affairs suit had been at it over twenty minutes and suffered long bouts of silence.

“I haven’t seen Tanks since I testified at his trial.” Jake shrugged. He was irritated as hell for having to be here, but he’d be damned if he’d let them know. It wasn’t that he didn’t intend to tell them what he knew, it just pissed him off that IA had been brought in. But years of sitting in the front pew, pretending that he loved every moment of the sermon, had prepared him for every IA questioning he’d suffered through.

On one side of the table sat Agent James, FBI. On the other sat Officer Clayton. Clayton, the weasel from IA, did all the talking. “So, you don’t know anything about this prison breakout?” Clayton asked.

“Only what I read in the report.” Jake leaned his chair back on two legs, hoping it annoyed them the way it annoyed his mom. He then dropped his chair forward and sat with arms open, posture relaxed. He could tell his lack of anxiety pissed off Clayton, but not Agent James.

He glanced at the Fed. “Why is the FBI involved?”

James closed the file he’d been reading. “Heard some allegations of prison corruption. It seems prison officials were taking payoffs from inmates for favors. Drugs and prostitution. Your name came up.”

“Interesting,” Jake said.

“Interesting?” Clayton snapped. “Is that all you have to say?”

Jake leaned in. “My only drug use is an occasional aspirin, and as for prostitutes…Well, I’ve never paid for sex. So knock yourself out looking for something. Besides, I’m the one who put Tanks in the slammer. Why the hell would I be doing him favors?” He turned back to Agent James. “Huntsville isn’t a federal prison, so why are you guys really looking into this?”

The government man didn’t look put off by the question. “We’re looking at Tanks for the murder of an FBI agent. Due to our special request, as of today I’ve been assigned to the Gulf Coast Violent Offenders Task Force. We’ll be working the case together.”

Hearing honesty in the man’s voice, Jake decided to reciprocate. He pulled the tape from his shirt pocket and laid it on the table.

“What’s this?” Clayton snapped.

Jake spoke directly to Agent James. “I don’t blame you for questioning me. I
do
blame you for bringing IA into this before you spoke to me. As for my name being mentioned, Macy Tucker was only—”

“How do you know we spoke with Ms. Tucker?” The Fed’s eyes narrowed.

Jake went through everything for the agent: Ellie’s visit, the headless corpse, finding Macy at Ellie’s place, how he discovered Macy’s name on the report. He left out the family jewels business.

He pointed to the answering-machine tape. “You’ll find two messages of importance on this. One is from Ellie Chandler. I’m not sure how she plays into it all, but she seems genuinely scared of David Tanks. The other message is from Tanks—threatening Ms. Tucker.”

“She didn’t mention Tanks’s call last night,” James said.

“She hadn’t gotten it when she saw you.” Jake also left out that he’d been there when Tanks had called back. No reason to bring more wrath down on himself.

“I need to speak with her.” James sounded annoyed that Jake knew more than he did, but there was also a hint of grudging respect.

“She’s here.” But he didn’t want them strong-arming her. “She’s a victim in all this.”

“You sound sure of that,” James said.

“Yes, I am.”

“Then she doesn’t have anything to worry about.”

James made a call and started spouting orders to someone to get a rundown on Macy and a log of incoming and outgoing calls made on her home phone in the past forty-eight hours. Macy Tucker might not be guilty, but that wasn’t going to stop the FBI from ripping her life apart. Which was never fun. A wave of guilt and sympathy hit Jake.

“Sounds as if the two of you have
bonded
,” Clayton suggested, lending sleaze to the word.

“If you mean I don’t want Tanks to get to her, well, yeah, we’ve ‘bonded,’ ” Jake answered.

Agent James closed his cell phone and eyed Clayton. “Baldwin’s right. I jumped the gun asking for IA’s involvement.”

Clayton’s expression soured. “We can’t have our officers screwing—”

“This isn’t Baldwin’s case. If he’s friends with Ms. Tucker, I’d say that’s his business.” The Fed turned back to Jake. “I’m planning on talking to her, but can I assume you’re planning on keeping an eye on her?”

She won’t like it, but…
“I’ve pretty much decided to do that. As much as I can.” The moment the words were out, he knew he’d committed himself. Just how close that commitment brought him and Macy was still up for debate, but a sliver of anticipation shot all the way down to his bruised balls. Anticipation he hadn’t felt in years.

“We’ll check in, but it’s nice to know you’ll be around.” James reached for the tape. “And I’m sure you’ll keep us informed. Unofficially, of course.” He shot Clayton a glance.

“You can count on it,” Jake agreed.

He wondered how Macy Tucker would react to knowing he’d unofficially been assigned to keep tabs on her.

He felt pretty damn good a few minutes later as he left the meeting. But nearing his office, he heard laughter—Donaldson’s deep rumble, followed by a soft female chuckle. Arriving at the door, he saw Donaldson with his feet on the desk and his head thrown back in mirth. Pizza Girl sat in the other chair, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins.

God, she was beautiful when she smiled. And Jake wasn’t the only one who noticed. Golden Boy looked at the dark-haired spitfire, and Jake saw the man take it all in: the way Macy’s lips twisted in amusement, the way her dark hair framed her face just right, the way her blue eyes crackled with fiery intelligence. Without warning, he felt the bite of an ugly and all-too-familiar emotion—jealousy. His mind summoned the image of the wedding photo on his mother’s mantel. In it, his brother stood decked out in a tux, his arm around his bride. Lisa, Jake’s ex-fiancée, dressed in a white gown, gazed lovingly at him. The hurt hadn’t gone completely away.

More feminine laughter brought him back to the present. He stared at Donaldson, whose gaze was riveted on Macy. “Something funny?”

Donaldson and Macy turned at the same time.

Moving in, Jake sat on the edge of his desk and gave the other detective’s shoes a nudge. They hit the ground with a thunk. “Has this bozo offered you something to drink?”

Macy picked up a can of juice. “He’s been very accommodating. Thank you.” But the smile she’d worn minutes earlier had faded.

Damn, if he didn’t feel cheated. Okay, so they hadn’t gotten off to the best start this morning, but considering she was the first woman to spike his interest in two years, he had to try to salvage things. “Can I get you something else?”

“A pass to leave.”

Jake shrugged in apology. “Right after the FBI talks to you.”

Annoyance filled her eyes. “Fine, let’s get it over with.”

She shot up from the chair. Her sweater gapped and gave him a peek of her smooth midriff. Jake’s mouth went dry. All he could think about was running his hand across that naked skin, letting his touch move up—The vision of her blue bra flashed in his head.

He met her less-than-pleasant expression with a smile. Okay, convincing her wasn’t going to be easy, but he’d never minded a challenge. He put some calm into his voice and said, “Agent James is taking some calls, and—”

“I don’t have all day.” One eyebrow shot up.

Jake countered with his own, and put a touch of sweetness in his tone. “Won’t be long.”

“Why don’t I take her to lunch?” Donaldson offered.

Macy smiled. “That would be—”

“Not a good idea,” Jake interrupted.

Macy sat back down and crossed her legs. For about the hundredth time since she’d walked out of the bathroom this morning, Jake admired the way her soft denim pants fit. That pizza uniform hid a lot of secrets. Curves. Dips. Interesting places a man ached to explore. Her foot rocked back and forth. Her pink-painted toenails peeked out from the leather straps of white sandals. Even her toes were sexy.