Bad Penny (22 page)

“What’s so funny?” James asked. “My name is Jimmy.”

“Oh. Yeah. Right. That’s a real coincidence. So where’s the party?” Jimmy put his hand on James Martin’s shoulder.

“Just follow me. I’ve got a room over at a motel that’s nice and cozy.”

“Whatever,” James mumbled, and stumbled along beside Jimmy, unaware he’d taken up with a killer.

James Martin was dead.

Jimmy stepped back to eye his handiwork. It was pretty much finished, and it had been easier than he’d imagined.

First, he’d gotten him high, then he’d made him strip down.

James Martin had been too wasted to argue and figured the hit was worth whatever came next. He’d figured wrong. As soon as he’d gotten naked, Jimmy had told him to get dressed again, only this time in clothes other than his own.

He didn’t give a fuck what he was wearing. He just wanted to lie down and ride out the high. As soon as he’d dressed, he passed out on the bed.

Jimmy had been planning this for the better part of two days and was well prepared for the next step.

He took off his costume and laid it on a chair on the far side of the room, then put his wallet in James Martin’s pocket. He scattered some drug paraphernalia and a handful of girlie magazines around the bed, making sure that his fingerprints were on everything.

The next step was erasing this man’s identity and substituting his own.

Yesterday, as Jimmy had been passing a construction site, he’d picked up a discarded piece of rebar about four feet long and brought it back to the motel. Now he pulled it out from beneath the bed, hefted it firmly, then raised it over his head, bringing it down squarely in the middle of

James Martin’s face.

Martin’s body bucked from the impact as his face split like a ripe melon. He never knew what hit him.

Now that the first blow had been struck, Jimmy got down to business. He hammered the dead man’s face so many times that it no longer looked human, and when he was through with that, he started on James Martin’s hands. He didn’t intend to leave anything to chance. No facial recognition. No fingerprints.

It was a brutal execution, and when he was done, he was covered in blood and brain matter.

He wiped the rebar clean of prints and tossed it on the bed beside the dead man, then calmly walked into the bathroom and showered off every drop of blood and gore from his body.

Afterward, he redonned his transvestite gear, pocketed all his cash and James’s, and left without a backward glance, well aware that the maid would discover the body sometime tomorrow.

It would be soon enough.

Now he had all the time he needed to put the last part of his plan into action. He needed another ride, some ammunition for his recently acquired gun and directions to the McKay property.

There was no need to rush. Not once the police discovered poor Jimmy Franks beaten to death, at least.

His fingerprints were all over the room. They would assume they belonged to the body as well. If they felt the need to run a DNA test, he knew it would take weeks, if not months, to get back a report. By then he would be long gone and Wilson McKay would finally be right where he belonged: six feet under.

Thirteen

It was nearing sunset, and Cat and Wilson had been at the old homestead all day, working with the contractors as the remodeling continued. The workers had gone home a few minutes ago, and Cat had wandered through the rooms in progress, then out onto the back porch.

As she sat on the steps, she became caught up in an unfolding drama taking place in the sky. She was watching a bevy of small birds divebombing a red-tailed hawk that had made the mistake of flying through their airspace. The hawk was flying fast and low, trying to escape the smaller birds’ beaks and claws. Cat watched until they flew into the sun and she lost sight of the chase.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Wilson asked, as he came outside, wiping the paint off his hands with an old rag. He tossed it aside, then sat down on the steps beside her.

“I think I was watching the ferocity of parenthood in action.”

“There’s plenty of it in nature,” Wilson said. “Dad always said that Mom was meaner than an old mama bear when someone messed with her kids.”

“I think I’ll be like that,” Cat said.

“Oh, honey, I know what you’ll be like,” he said, and then kissed the backside of her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

She sighed, then moaned as she leaned into his embrace. “What will I be like?” she asked.

“An absolute angel until crossed. After that, it’s shovel time.” She laughed.

She was still being teased by the family for taking out the gunman with a shovel. Charlie and Delia had come over the night after it had happened, bearing Cat and Wilson’s first housewarming gift.

When Cat saw the shovel with the big red bow, she knew she was in. Teasing was a major part of this family’s dynamic, and she’d just been roasted.

“I admit I’m not the shy, retiring type,” Cat said. “So what?” Wilson laid his hand on her belly, then rubbed it gently. “So I say this baby is going to be real lucky. That’s what I say.”

She sighed, then turned in Wilson’s embrace and put her arms around his neck, then whispered in his ear, “Don’t you think it’s time you carried me across the threshold?”

Wilson’s breath caught; then he tightened his arms around her and stood, taking her with him into the house.

Once inside, he put her back on her feet, then proceeded to kiss her senseless.

“Sweet lord…there’s no bed in this place,” he muttered.

Cat cupped her hands on his cheeks, then ran a finger around the single gold hoop in his ear.

“Since when does a pirate need a bed in which to ravish?” When she began to undo her pants, his eyes glittered.

She watched a muscle jerk at the side of his jaw and knew this man was never going to give her a moment of regret.

When he knelt at her feet and pulled her pants down around her ankles, then off, she began to shake.

She wanted him.

Now.

“Wilson…”

He shed his shirt, then his belt, and got as far as unbuttoning his jeans before she put her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

After that, it was all a blur.

The wall was at Cat’s back, while the last rays of the setting sun were in her eyes. She felt the waning heat on her face, then a blast of heat within her belly as Wilson took her hard and fast.

She hung on all the way to the end of the ride, but when he suddenly hit the brakes and came to a shuddering stop—still inside her—she groaned. Both of them were shaking.

Cat was past the edge of reason—all the way gone with love for this man. Her fingers curled, her nails digging into his shoulders as she struggled to hold on.

“Wilson…Wilson…”

His eyes glittered, his nostrils flaring as he struggled to breathe. One last thrust was all he had left. He closed his eyes and gave it up.

Cat screamed as the climax rocked her, shot through and through by the heat of his spilling seed.

Luis and Conchita Montoya had become parents overnight. Today marked the second day of their new life. The only name the authorities had come up with for the orphaned child was the one the pimp knew her by, which was Boo. While that was a sweet baby name, it wouldn’t get her far in the real world. So they named her Amalita, after Luis’s mother, Amalia, who

Conchita credited with helping to save their marriage.

Amalita took to Conchita and Luis as if she’d known them all her life. Luis suspected that the little girl had been exposed to far too many people in her brief life, and was used to new faces coming and going.

She’d only said the word “Mama” once since they’d arrived back in Chihuahua, and Luis had been holding her at the time. He’d just calmly turned around and put her into Conchita’s arms and said, “This is your mama now. Give Mama a kiss.”

The little girl had complied.

The crisis that might have been had passed without incident.

Now Luis was standing in their extra bedroom, which had been turned into a nursery overnight, watching his wife rock Amalita to sleep.

When Conchita looked up and saw him watching, she smiled. Luis swallowed past the lump in his throat. He’d never seen her this happy and felt shame that he’d been unaware of how empty her life had been.

“Is everything all right?” he asked softly.

Conchita nodded, then went back to the business of mothering, so Luis left her to it.

Tomorrow, he was flying back to Nuevo Laredo to retrieve his car and finish what he’d started. This time, when he left, he doubted he would be missed.

He’d called the Dallas Police Department earlier and made an appointment to meet with Detective Bradley, the man who’d closed the case on Mark Presley. After that, there would be one more interview—this time with a bounty hunter named Cat Dupree. Where things went from there would be anybody’s guess.

Cat’s morning had taken a turn for the worse when she woke up nauseated. She’d made it to the bathroom in time to throw up and was now sitting in bed, sipping a cup of hot tea and nibbling on a piece of dry toast, hoping it would settle her stomach. Wilson had gone into the kitchen to eat breakfast with his parents, so when Cat heard him running down the hall, she quickly set her food aside.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he entered the bedroom and quickly turned on the TV.

“Listen to this,” he said, and then sat down on the side of the bed with her.

“What is it?” she asked.

“Just watch,” he urged, and upped the volume as the morning newscast came back from commercial.

“As we said before the break, the body found yesterday in a local motel has been identified as that of Jimmy Dale Franks, of Dallas, Texas. An arrest warrant had been issued for Franks last week, after he was identified as the man who robbed Lowry’s Gas and Guzzle in Dallas, killing

the clerk and stealing her car, which was later found abandoned here in Austin.

“According to authorities, Franks’ death was the result of a brutal beating. If anyone has any information regarding this crime, they are asked to call Crime Stoppers. The number is at the bottom of the screen.”

Cat leaned back with a sigh.

“I can’t believe it. After everything he did, it’s over. Just like that.”

Wilson hugged her. “It’s about time things started falling our way. Now we can concentrate on the important things in life, like bathtubs and babies.”

Cat grinned. “Bathtubs?”

“Yeah, they’re supposed to deliver them this afternoon.” “Oh. For our house.”

“That has a nice ring to it,” Wilson said, and then gave her a quick kiss before he slid off the bed. “I’m going to leave you alone. Maybe you can get a little more sleep.”

“I’m not sleepy. Just sick to my stomach,” Cat said. “Don’t rock the boat, then. Take your time, okay?”

Cat nodded. “Tell your mom that I’ll help her snap beans as soon as I can get dressed.”

“Okay, but don’t stress about it. There are enough beans in that garden to feed an army. Before it’s over, we’ll all be snapping beans.”

“I know this is old hat to you, but it’s pretty exciting to me,” Cat said. “I need to learn how to do this so I can—”

“Good lord, no,” Wilson said. “Mom does this because she likes to. Unless you happen to fall in love with growing stuff, we’ll be buying our food at the supermarket.”

Cat laughed. “I have to admit, that’s something of a relief. I’m not sure how green my thumb is.”

Wilson shook his head. “You don’t need a green thumb, just the patience to live with me. I come with a lot of baggage.”

Cat’s smile died. “Revenge is baggage. I’m the one who still has things to learn.”

Wilson watched her face run the gamut of expressions and knew she was remembering her showdown with Tutuola. She’d still never talked about it. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

“You’re doing just fine, baby,” he said softly, and gave her a quick kiss before tucking her back into bed.

She made it up in time to help peel potatoes for the noon meal and felt fine the rest of the day. Just knowing that Jimmy Franks was no longer a threat had changed the tone of their lives.

The next morning began with a promise of rain, which meant Wilson wouldn’t be tearing off the old roof on the home place as planned. And since it was Saturday, that meant the contractor and his crew were off, too.

That just left Dorothy and her beans.

Green beans—the first produce of the season—were coming to fruition in Dorothy’s garden. Every time someone sat down, she put a big bowl of beans in their lap to be snapped. This morning she was hauling empty canning jars from the storm cellar to wash and sterilize before filling them with a new crop of green beans.

And every time she started back to the cellar, she paused at the old doghouse to play with the kittens, who were just beginning to venture out to play on their own.

Carter had suggested they move the cat and her babies back to the barn before she started bringing them all onto the back porch, but Dorothy had said no. She told Carter that the momma cat had a reason for moving them to begin with, so they needed to butt out of her business.