Bad Penny (27 page)

As she paused in the hallway, she began scanning the dozens of photos hanging on the walls. It was instinctive for her to search for Wilson’s face first in each one. The progression of the years was recorded—from his first baby pictures to what appeared to be formal photos taken for high school graduation. Even as a little boy, Wilson had stood out from his siblings, as if he’d known he would walk a different path. In looking at them, she couldn’t help but wonder if the baby she was carrying would look like Wilson or be a combination of both of them.

She thought of the pictures she’d had on her wall. Criminals, every one of them sporting every form of tattooed art a person could envision.

Without thinking, her hand went straight to her belly in a protective gesture. There were no baby pictures of Cat left in this world. No birthday photos where she was blowing out the candles on her cake or looking at presents piled on a table, with friends and family standing nearby. There weren’t any pictures of her sitting with her family around the Christmas tree or running wild outside in the yard on an Easter egg hunt.

Emotion shattered her focus as she thought about all the growing up she’d done on her own. Without guidance. Without love. Most especially without love. Her jaw tightened, and her eyes narrowed, almost in anger.

“Don’t you worry, my baby. You are going to belong to a big, loud family who might drive you crazy but who will never let you down. What happened to me won’t happen to you. I promise.” Her fingers clenched on her belly, as if trying to hold on to the beginnings of the tiny life inside.

Moments later, her cell phone rang. When she saw it was Wilson, she answered before he could ask.

“Hello. I’m fine.”

The husky chuckle in her ear made her smile.

“Hello to you, too,” Wilson said. “Dad’s still out, but his vitals are good.” “What about your mom?”

She heard him sigh and knew that he was worried.

“As Dad would say, her fur is standing on end and her claws are out.” “In protective mode, I assume.”

“You can’t imagine,” Wilson said. “She watches everything they do to him like they’re trying to kill him, not save him.”

“She’s just scared,” Cat said. “Believe me, I know the feeling.”

There was a moment of silence as Wilson absorbed her words, only now realizing what she’d gone through while he was fighting for his life.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

Cat frowned. “For what?”

“For fighting for me when I couldn’t fight for myself.”

Cat’s vision blurred. “Oh, Wilson. You did the same for me, time and time again.”

“Yeah…that’s what people who love each other do.”

This time it was Cat who got the message. “I know. I’m slowly but surely learning that, thanks to you and your family.”

There was a moment of silence while he absorbed that, and then he asked, “Have you eaten anything?”

“Um…yes.”

It was her hesitation that gave her away.

“Let me rephrase that. Have you eaten anything that’s stayed down?”

“No.”

“Mom says to tell you to have some tea and dry toast or crackers…and to sip the tea. It can be hot or iced, but no coffee.”

A single tear rolled down Cat’s cheek as she struggled with an answer.

“You take good care of your mother, do you hear me? Even now, when she’s so worried about Carter, she’s still thinking of others.”

“Yeah, and I didn’t know until I met you that we took all that love and attention for granted.”

“Then we’re good for each other, aren’t we?” This time it was Wilson’s voice that broke.

“Baby…I’ve known that since the day we met. I just had a hard time convincing you I was right.”

“So is this where I say thank-you for not quitting on me?” “Yes.”

Cat sighed. “I do love you, Wilson McKay.”

“Right back at you, baby. Hey…Mom’s got a look on her face that I recognize all too well. There’s hell to pay somewhere. I’d better go see what’s up. Take care of yourself, and call if you need me. Don’t forget, I’m

not an only child. There’s a bunch of us. Any one of them can come and stay with her, too.”

“Okay. Call me.” “You know it.”

She was still smiling when the dial tone sounded. She dropped the phone back in her pocket, then moved into the living room. The sun was setting. It would be dark before long. She glanced out the front windows, scanning the area for a sign of something that didn’t belong. Satisfied that all was well, she went to the kitchen to find something to eat.

She turned on the television to the local news, listening with half an ear as she dug through the pantry and settled on a can of soup to go with her toast.

But her culinary foray quickly ended when she heard a familiar name. She turned abruptly, then upped the volume, listening in disbelief until the bulletin was over.

“For the love of God,” she muttered, then grabbed her cell phone and quickly dialed Wilson’s number.

She expected him to think something was wrong, especially since they’d just spoken. She wasn’t surprised when she heard tension in his voice.

“Hello? Catherine?”

“Yes, it’s me. We’ve got a problem,” she said.

“What’s wrong?”

“Jimmy Franks isn’t dead. The police are saying that the ID was premature, and that they have proof the man found beaten to death in his motel room was definitely not him. And they know he’s on the run because he abducted a woman from a mall parking lot, then dumped her in a junkyard and took off to God knows where with her car. The only good news is that he didn’t kill her.”

“Damn it,” Wilson muttered. “Ditto,” Cat said.

At that point the home phone began to ring. “Hold on, Wilson. Someone’s calling. Don’t hang up.” “Okay,” he said, his mind racing.

When she came back, he could hear the disgust in her voice.

“You’ll be relieved to know that a Lieutenant Jakowski of the Austin police department thought it prudent to let you know that the man who tried to kill you in Dallas isn’t dead after all. I told him we’d already heard it on the news and thanked him so very much for the warning, however late. He did say that he’d called earlier and left a message. I didn’t check the answering machine. Maybe he had, but it’s still a case of dragging their feet, not wanting to admit they issued a false death report.”

Wilson had to grin. Cat’s sarcasm was evident.

“They didn’t have to call me, you know. It’s not their job to pass along messages like that.”

“I don’t care. All they had to do was pick up a phone as soon as they knew for sure. For God’s sake, Wilson. That creep could be anywhere, just waiting for a clear shot at your head.”

“Just keep your pretty head inside, okay?” “And you keep yours on your shoulders.” “Duly noted. I love you. Thanks for the update.” “I love you, too. You’re welcome.”

Then they both laughed.

“I don’t know about you, but I feel better already,” Wilson said.

Cat’s chin jutted. “I don’t, and I won’t until that man is behind bars or six feet under, whichever the hell manages to come first.”

“It’s gonna be okay,” Wilson said. “Charlie is on his way in, and I’ll be heading home as soon as he gets here.”

The tension in Cat’s shoulders began to ease. She suspected Delia was responsible for the reprieve.

“Drive safe. I’ll see you soon,” Cat said.

“I will, and just to be on the safe side, make sure all the doors and windows are locked.”

“I’m going to check them now,” Cat said, and hung up.

Once she was satisfied that she was well and truly locked in, she ate her soup and toast, and was prowling for something else to eat when it dawned on her that she wasn’t feeling sick anymore.

“So I have to be pissed to be able to eat now? What the hell is that all about?” she muttered, and moved into the living room to watch for Wilson’s return.

Cat was in the shower when Wilson got home and didn’t hear him until he was in the bathroom, calling her name.

“I’m in here!” she yelled.

He yanked the curtain back, then grinned.

Cat arched an eyebrow, then grinned back. He was stark naked and obviously happy to see her.

“Well…hello to you, too, mister. Are you looking for someone?”

Wilson grinned as he stepped inside, pulling the curtain shut behind him.

“Not anymore,” he said, then cupped her cheeks and tilted her head upward. “Pucker up, baby…Daddy’s home, hungry and hot for Mama.”

Cat laughed aloud, slid her arms around his neck and turned him so that he was standing directly under the shower head.

“You’d better not drop me,” she warned, as he pulled her legs up around his waist.

“Then don’t let go,” he growled, and smothered her lips with his own.

She heard him groan, then sigh, and knew exactly how he felt. No matter what went wrong with the world, this thing that was between them was strong enough to cure anything.

He started with kisses—hard and demanding, then soft and sensual. “Put me down,” Cat finally begged.

When she was on her feet, she took him in her hands, soaping then rinsing his erection in a slow, steady rhythm that nearly brought Wilson to his knees.

“Cat…wait,” he mumbled, as he tried to hold on. “Can’t,” she said, and knelt in front of him.

“Sweet mercy,” he said, as she took him into her mouth.

She was one sweet lick from driving him insane when he thrust his hands into her hair and pulled her up, then out of the tub. He carried her to the bed and was about to lay her down when she flinched.

“Wait, Wilson…the bed…I’m wet.”

His eyes were slits, his jaw hard and clenched.

“God, I hope so,” he said, then laid her flat on the bed and slid inside her.

Cat arched up to meet him, and for a second their gazes locked. She saw his nostrils flare; then his eyes shut. After that, he made damn sure she lost her mind.

The next day, Luis Montoya was fifteen minutes early for his appointment with Detective Bradley. The same woman who’d shown him the tape of Cat Dupree was on duty again. She greeted him like an old friend, seated him in a waiting area with a fresh cup of coffee, and would have stayed and visited, but he reassured her that he was fine and she finally went back to her desk.

A few minutes later Bradley arrived, carrying a stack of folders, a cup of coffee and a fast-food sack with grease spots already showing through the paper.

“Morning, morning,” Bradley said, as he led Luis back to his office, dumped the folders, then set down his breakfast. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No, no. That’s my line,” Luis said.

Both men laughed. “Then we’re even,” Bradley said, and dug a paperwrapped object out of the sack. “Sausage biscuit? I have two.”

“No, thank you. I have had my breakfast. Please go ahead, though,” Luis said.

Bradley took a big bite, then chewed while he talked.

“Please, refresh my memory. You’re interested in the Mark Presley case… because…?”

“A few weeks ago a man was murdered in Chihuahua. His name was Solomon Tutuola. We had no leads except for a business card with Mark Presley’s name on it. After a few phone calls, I discovered that Mark Presley was behind bars for murder.”

“Yes, it was a big deal here in Dallas. Presley’s wife came from old money. It was her father who built the business he was running. Mark Presley married into it, then couldn’t keep his pants zipped. It was what brought him down.”

“So I understand,” Luis said.

“Now, how can I help you?” Bradley asked, as he downed the last of the biscuit and opened the second one.

“During my initial investigation, I discovered that Tutuola had been in possession of a very large sum of money, and by that, I mean millions. We are surmising that he was murdered for it, but we can’t be sure. Someone pumped several bullets into his body, then set him and the fancy home he’d just purchased on fire and burned them both to ashes.”

“Damn. Brutal way to die.”

“The dead man’s rap sheet wasn’t much better.”

“Hmm,” Bradley said, as he downed the last sausage biscuit, “exactly how can I help you?”

“During my inquiries, there was a name that kept popping up, and I must eliminate all suspects by, at the least, interviewing them.”

“Yeah. And?”

“Cat Dupree. Do you know her?”

Bradley’s eyebrows arched. “Oh, yeah. She was instrumental in bringing Mark Presley down.” Then he grimaced. “Hell, if I’m honest, she pretty much did it on her own.”

“Indeed? How so?”

“The woman Presley killed was her best friend, Marsha Benton. Benton worked for Presley, had an affair with him and was carrying his child when she went missing. Cat Dupree came to us, told us that Benton was

missing and that Presley had killed her. Well, you understand our position. She didn’t have any evidence, and we could hardly take her word for it.”

“I see. So what happened to change things?”