Bad Penny (30 page)

Now he couldn’t kill the bitch first, because it would be letting her off easy, and he, by God, intended to make her life as miserable as possible before he put the gun in her ear and pulled the trigger.

“So you don’t want to smell me? Too damned bad. You’re not only gonna smell me, you’re gonna feel me, too…jamming my cock inside your ass until you’re begging to die. Do you hear me, bitch?”

Cat’s hands were free now, but she needed him closer. She knew how she could take him down, but she wasn’t sure what his reaction would be. Still, if she wanted to live, it was a risk she had to take.

“Answer me, bitch!” he screamed, and waved the gun near her ear.

Cat turned her head, looked him straight in the eyes, then answered without a hint of emotion.

“Boo. Hoo.”

Jimmy went nuts. He jumped at her, intent on raping her where she lay.

Cat’s hands came up and caught him around the neck just as he took her down. They fell backward onto the floor together. The gun went off, and again the slug missed her, hitting the wall beneath the porch roof.

Before Jimmy could move, Cat had her thumbs in his eyes. She pushed

until she felt something pop, then kicked out from under him, rolled onto her belly and got up on the run.

Jimmy Franks went sailing, hitting his head against the porch post with such force that it loosened a mud daubers’ nest, which fell out from under the eaves and onto his head.

Cat was running for the barn when she heard the shot. There was a burning sensation on her back that sent her staggering, and she heard four more shots as she went down.

Luis Montoya was feeling smug. Not only had he managed to stay on the correct road, but when he found Carter McKay’s name on the mailbox and took the gravel road leading to the house, he felt certain his journey was coming to an end. One way or another, he should be on his way home by tonight.

He had to marvel at the beauty of a Texas spring, and the blue flowers blooming in the pastures and along the roadside as he passed. He had, however, also seen remnants of the tornado that had passed through this area. Bits and pieces of buildings were still lying about in pastures, and now and then a piece of metal siding was wrapped around a wire fence like a twist-tie from a loaf of bread.

When he topped a small rise in the road, the panorama below was like something in a painting. The bright green of new grasses, the white fences, well-kept outbuildings and a ranch house to be envied. The singlestory home with the gray roof and white siding was neat and tidy, with flowers and blooming shrubs planted around the porches.

As he drove into the yard and pulled up, he suddenly realized a woman dressed in blue jeans and a T-shirt was running away from the house. To his horror, he saw a man go running after her, carrying a gun. When he saw the man stop and take aim, Luis bolted from his car with his own gun drawn. Before he could shout, the man fired. He saw a bright splash of red appear on the woman’s white shirt.

He shouted, but the man didn’t acknowledge him, and the woman was still running. When he saw the man taking aim again, he didn’t hesitate. He fired four shots in rapid succession.

When Jimmy’s first shot hit Cat Dupree and he saw blood splatter, he screamed,

“Yeah! That’s what I’m talking about, bitch!”

He was taking aim again when something shattered his thoughts. A searing pain shot through his belly, then another and another. Before the last shot hit, he was already dead, facedown in the dirt with the gun still in his hands.

Wilson was standing just outside the door to his father’s room when his mother began to wave at him to come inside.

He dropped his can of Mountain Dew into the trash and hurried in. Carter

was already struggling against the needles and wires hooked up to his body, and Dorothy was trying to calm him down.

“Carter, you have to stop this,” Dorothy said. “You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“Wisson…Wisson.”

“He’s here. He’s standing right here beside me.”

Wilson grabbed his father’s hand. “Dad. Dad! It’s me, Wilson. I’m here, okay? You need to settle down before you hurt yourself.”

Carter’s fingers clenched around Wilson’s hand, as if unwilling to let him go.

“Lissen…gotta lissen.” “I’m listening,” Wilson said. “Franks…Franks.”

Wilson’s heart skipped. Shit! He couldn’t be talking about Jimmy Franks, could he?

“I’m here, Dad. I hear you. Are you talking about Jimmy Franks?” Carter exhaled slowly, then nodded.

Suddenly Wilson began to understand. Somehow Franks was connected to what had happened to his dad.

“Did you see him?” he asked.

All the tension was leaving Carter’s body. Finally he was getting his message out.

“Yes…fencing,” he mumbled, then rubbed at his mouth. “You saw Jimmy Franks when you were fixing fence?” “Yes, yes…shot at me.”

Dorothy gasped. “Dear lord…no wonder he had a heart attack,” she said and started to cry.

“Did Franks know who you were?” Wilson asked. Carter nodded.

Wilson was suddenly sick to his stomach. He’d left Cat alone at the ranch.

“Mom, I’ve got to go. Cat’s out there alone. You call the sheriff. Tell him what happened and that I’m on my way home.”

“Oh lord, oh lord,” Dorothy moaned. “What if—”

“Don’t say it,” Wilson said. “Just don’t….”

He couldn’t finish his own thought. It was too horrible to consider. He left without saying goodbye and was running before he reached the elevator, calling home as he went.

There was no answer at the ranch phone, and when he tried her cell, he didn’t get an answer there, either. He told himself it didn’t mean anything, but he knew that wasn’t true. Cat wouldn’t ignore his call—not when everything in their family was so off kilter.

For the first time since she’d announced she was having his baby, he hoped to God she was in the bathroom, puking up her guts.

When Cat felt hands at her back, she came up fighting. It wasn’t until she saw a stranger holding up his hands and backing away that she realized it wasn’t Franks.

“Please, señora, I mean you no harm. You’re safe. You’re safe. The man who was shooting at you is dead, and you are bleeding. Will you let me help you inside the house?”

Cat was lightheaded enough to want help but streetwise enough not to take it without an inquisition.

“Who the hell are you? How do I know you’re not one of his buddies?” Luis stared. She was bleeding from a gunshot wound. She had a terrible

cut on her face, and her knuckles looked raw and bloody, but her eyes were on fire, her fists were doubled and she wasn’t backing down.

He exhaled as if he’d just been punched in the gut. It had to be her. No other woman would react to what had just happened to her in such a manner.

“Is your name Cat Dupree?”

Her eyes narrowed, and her nostrils flared. “Like I said before…who wants to know?”

Luis wanted to smile. She was amazing. But he couldn’t relent, not until he knew that she wasn’t the killer he’d been trying to find.

“My name is Luis Montoya, and I am a homicide detective from Chihuahua, Mexico.”

Cat froze, staring at his dark eyes and trim black mustache. Absently noting his hair pulled into a small ponytail at the back of his neck while watching his face for an accusation, looking for handcuffs, watching her life as she’d known it so far ending before her eyes. She wanted to scream. She wanted to fall on her knees before this man and beg him to understand. Instead, she lifted her chin and stared him down.

“So, Detective Montoya, I have you to thank for my life. However, since I seem to be bleeding, I hope you’ll excuse me for not offering you some tea.”

Then she grabbed her side, and when she looked down and saw blood on

her hand, she said, “Dear lord, baby mine…I’ve taken you with me through hell and back one too many times. If I promise not to do this again, will you promise me that you’ll be all right?”

Luis frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

She put her bloody hand on her belly, then let it drop to her side, unaware of the horrifying imprint she’d left behind.

“My baby. I’m pregnant.”

Luis stared down past the bloody handprint to her still-flat stomach. “Dios Mio.”

“Ditto,” she muttered. “I’m going in the house now to call my husband and then the police. They’ve been looking for this man for two murders, an attempted murder, and for assault and kidnapping. Congratulations. You’ve just made yourself a hero.”

When she walked away without another word, Luis couldn’t help but admire her spirit. She neither stumbled nor staggered as she strode past the dead body. When she didn’t even bother to look down, Luis knew, with a sinking feeling, that he was watching a woman capable of murder.

He sighed, then followed her inside, to find her already on the phone. “No, Wilson, I swear I’m all right. Yes, he’s dead. I have company.”

“Who’s there, honey? The contractor?”

“No. It’s the man who killed Jimmy Franks and saved my life.”

“Thank God he arrived when he did. What’s his name? Tell him to stay there. I want to thank him in person.”

“Don’t worry. I imagine he’ll still be here when you arrive. His name is Luis Montoya. He’s a homicide detective from Chihuahua, Mexico.”

There was a long moment of silence; then Cat heard Wilson curse. At this point, there wasn’t anything either of them could say.

“See you in a few,” Wilson said.

She hung up, then turned around to see Montoya watching her.

“If you don’t mind a bit of a wait, I’m going to find some bandages and a clean shirt. The sheriff is on his way, and knowing my husband, there will be an ambulance, too, but if Wilson sees me in this shape, there’s a good chance he’ll feed Jimmy Franks’s body to the hogs before the sheriff can take him away.”

Luis didn’t know whether she was making a joke or stating a rather gory fact, but he knew he wasn’t about to budge, so he nodded politely and took a seat at the kitchen table.

Cat looked him straight in the eyes, then nodded, as if satisfied.

“Give me a couple of minutes,” she said, and walked away.

For some reason, it never entered his mind that she would run. Even if she was guilty, he knew she wouldn’t.

Eighteen

Cat’s hands were shaking so badly that she could hardly get her shirt over her head. The adrenaline rush that had kept her moving during Jimmy Franks’s attack was crashing down around her in waves.

All the while she was digging through the medicine cabinet for bandages, she wanted to cry. Instead, she taped a wad of gauze to her side, then pulled a clean shirt over her head.

The walk from their bedroom to the kitchen seemed endless. She kept imagining cells on both sides of the hall and prisoners with their arms hanging through the bars, watching her pass.

In her mind, she heard someone say “Dead woman walking.”

Her life was in tatters. There was the very real possibility that her baby would be born in a Mexican prison, and that she would never see it or Wilson again. Could she keep on living, knowing that Wilson and their child were in one country and she was in another, doomed to an existence behind bars?

She didn’t know. What she did know was that she’d gotten herself here without anyone’s help and had no one but herself to blame. She was scared out of her mind, but Luis Montoya would never know it. By the time she reached the kitchen, she had her game face on.

“Thank you for waiting. Would you please follow me? It’s more comfortable sitting in the living room.”

Luis was constantly amazed by this woman. There was a dead man out in her backyard, and she was talking to him as if he’d arrived for a friendly visit. If she was guilty, she was doing a masterful job of hiding the fact.

“I’m fine here,” he said.

“I’m not,” Cat said. “My back hurts like hell, and those chairs are hard. If you want to talk to me and you’re not willing to shout, you’ll have to move.”

Once again her bluntness put him at a disadvantage. He quickly stood and followed her into the living room while stifling an urge to apologize for not understanding her pain.

Once they reached the living room, he realized that her fight with the dead man in the yard had begun here. The sofa was overturned, there was a bullet hole in the ceiling, and a lamp was broken. Before he could offer, she’d righted the sofa, picked up the broken lamp and seated herself in a large overstuffed chair.

When she sat, she eased herself down, not bothering to stifle a soft groan. He felt sorry for her in so many ways.

As he took the chair next to her, he was struggling with how to begin this interview, which was actually an interrogation. It was then that he noticed the huge ropey scar at the base of her throat and remembered how it had gotten there. No wonder she hadn’t reacted to the dead man he’d left outside in the dirt.

Cat was tired and aching and wanted this over. As always, she chose to be the one in charge and began the conversation.

“So. You’ve obviously come a long way to talk. I assume it wasn’t out of loneliness. I’m sure there are a lot of people you could visit in your own country, especially if you took the time to look for them.”