surprising action felt nice. Kind of.
With one arm around her waist, Baldwin said, “I’ve counted four times that she’s asked you to leave, Tom. In my book, that’s four times too many, because you shouldn’t be here in the first place. So do yourself a favor and go.”
“And if I don’t?” Tom snapped. “You gonna fight me? What are you, some tough guy?”
Baldwin’s body tensed against hers. The cold shape of his gun pressed against Macy’s ribs. Anger seemed to ooze out of him, though he appeared to purposely hold it in. She could tell he was a man who depended on his wits before his fists—but she’d hate to see what he’d do to Tom with his fists. Maybe.
“Fight? Oh, no. I’ll just sic Elvis on you.” His hand tugged Macy a little closer and he smiled, though not a flicker of warmth filled the expression.
“Oh, hell,” Tom gritted out. “I’m out of here.”
“Wait,” Baldwin said. “Macy meant to ask you for something.”
“I did?” She looked up at him in surprise.
“You said I was to remind you to get your key back.”
“Oh. Yeah.” She held her hand out to Tom. The knowledge that she should move away from Baldwin played havoc with her sanity, but the strength in his touch, the sense of being protected, seduced her for just a few more seconds.
“I’ll mail it.” Tom left, slamming the door in their faces.
Baldwin’s palm sank deeper into the curve of Macy’s waist. “You want me to get that key?” he asked.
No, she needed to fight her own battles. “I’ll get it later,” she said.
His arm felt so solid around her, and his touch reminded her that she was female and normally most females found the opposite sex appealing. But she didn’t want normal, so she stepped out of his embrace and shuffled back to her living room. She dropped onto the sofa. Sighing, she pulled a pillow into her lap and hugged it, purposely ignoring the blinking light on her answering machine. Maybe she’d get lucky and Baldwin would leave.
Jake Baldwin stood there, studying her, as if he expected her to say something. But, what?
“You’re welcome,” he finally said. He reached down, flipped open the pizza box, and snatched out a slice. “Just cheese?” he groused.
“I didn’t say thank you,” she snapped. She watched him eat. She hadn’t offered him pizza either.
He spoke around the food in his mouth. “Yeah, but I could tell you were thinking it. You wanted him gone.”
She didn’t deny it. However, the fact that this stranger could read her so easily made her uncomfortable.
Pulling her knees to her chest, she watched him inhale the entire slice. “Thank you,” she said, accepting she owed him that much. He winked. Emotionally, she felt that wink all the way to the pit of her stomach—the kind of flutter that got women in trouble. “You should go,” she said.
He snagged another slice. “I haven’t forgotten the messages.”
Thoughts of hearing Billy’s voice, and Jake Baldwin’s hearing it too, tightened her stomach. She asked something she needed to know. “If he’s on here and he tells me where he is, what are you going do?”
“The only thing I can do. Go pick him up.”
A knot formed in her throat. “You won’t hurt him…?”
“I’m not into hurting people, Pizza Girl.”
He didn’t offer guarantees. She’d known he wouldn’t. Then she recalled how he’d handled himself with Tom, and a part of her realized she trusted him.
Scooting over to the arm of the sofa, she hit the play button on her answering machine. The recorder stated in its monotone computerized voice, “You have ten new messages.” There was a pause, and then: “Tuesday, 4:48 p.m.”
Macy tightened her hold on her legs as she awaited the first message.
“Mace. It’s your mom. I was”—sniffle, sniffle—“just wondering how the visit went.”
“Tuesday, 4:57 p.m.”
“Macy. It’s Father Luis. Sister Beth told me you were wavering on joining us full-time. It’s a lot
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