Dear Enemy

“Not good enough. I could almost let the rest go, but that watch means something to me. She’s gone too far this time. I’m asking the police for help.”

“Please.” The word rips out of me and burns on my tongue. I hate that I’ve said it. But I can’t take it back. “I’ll get your watch.”

I can’t let Sam go to jail. For better or worse, she’s my sister. And it would kill Mama. Figuratively, but I have a horrible fear that it might be literal as well. We lost our father last year, and our mother’s health is fragile at best. One day, I turned around to look at her and was stunned by how much she’d aged, as if my father had taken her spark of life with him. Sam and I are all she has left. Sadly, she’s always been overly protective of Sam.

“You have twenty-four hours; then I’m calling the police,” Macon says with a rough voice that speaks of impatience.

“Twenty-four? Are you funning me?”

“Do I sound like I’m having fun?” he shoots back.

“Well, I had to ask, what with the ridiculous time frame you’re proposing.”

I can’t possibly hear him grinding his molars, but I imagine he is. “That wasn’t a proposition,” he grinds out. “It’s a deadline.”

“This is LA, Macon. It takes at least twenty minutes to travel five miles in any direction. On a good day.” I let out a noise of pure annoyance. “Not to mention that if Sam is hiding out, she might not even be in the city. She could have hopped on over to Vegas, gone up to San Francisco, or even down to Cabo.”

All of them are favorite escapes for Sam. Not that I’ve been able to figure out how she can afford it. Hell, maybe she’s been a professional thief all this time.

“Point being,” I say tightly. “If you truly want to find her, you’ve got to give me more time than twenty-four hours. I’m not some female Jack Bauer, damn it.”

A strangled noise, like a protracted laugh, comes through the phone. “It almost would be worth the hassle to imagine you scurrying around the city with a countdown clock dinging over your head.”

A haze of red fills my vision. I swear, if he were in front of me, he’d be wearing a bowlful of flour. “Still an asshat, I see.”

“Still insulting me, I see.”

“You always were quick, Macon.” Shit, I need to stop taunting him. “Give me a week.”

“Two days.”

I snort. “Five.”

“Three,” he counters. “That’s the best I can do for you, Tot.”

My back teeth meet at the name. It isn’t much time, given the task. But hell, I don’t blame him for his anger or wanting this done. “Sold.”

“Three days,” he repeats. I relax a little until he finishes with, “I expect you and Sam at my house with the watch in hand.”

“What?” I practically hiss. “Why me? I don’t need to be there. I’m not—”

“Yes, you do. I don’t trust Sam to show up without you.”

“She’ll show.” If I have to threaten death and dismemberment. “I want no part of this reunion.” No way am I coming face to face with Macon. I can’t do it.

“Then you shouldn’t have stuck your nose into it.”

Ass. Hole.

Macon’s tone is hard and cold. “Those are the terms. Take it or leave it.”

I have to believe he’s serious; the Macon I knew never said what he didn’t mean. I would have admired that if he hadn’t been such a prick to me every time we got in each other’s orbit. The thought of facing him, meeting that cool, smug gaze once more, makes my insides flip sickly.

Just once, I’d like to bring that man to his knees, see him desperate and panting for me the way so many women are for him. There is little chance of that looking like I do at the moment, covered in flour, sticky with sweat, and my hair in desperate need of a cut.

“Delilah? We have a deal?”

I hate the way he says my name, all clipped and imperious, as if he’s my superior. I grip my phone hard enough to hurt my hand. I picture throwing the thing at his big head. Lord, grant me the strength not to do just that. “I’ll see you in three days.”

He sounds entirely too pleased. “I’ll text you my address. I’m looking forward to it, Tot.”

I’m looking forward to strangling my sister.

First, I’ll have to find her.

CHAPTER TWO

Macon

My hand shakes when I set down the phone. I’ve been in constant pain for the past two weeks, so I could blame it on that, but it would be a lie. Delilah Ann Baker is the source of my current weakness.

“Damn,” I mutter under my breath.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” North says from the doorway of my office.