Nine Lives (2 page)

“Traffic on the stairs! Traffic on the stairs!”

The footsteps faltered, then kept on coming, but with less speed. They all passed the third floor landing, then the second, and when they finally hit the first floor and ran out into the street, firemen were running past them into the building.

Wanelle was beginning to come to as Wilson handed her off to some EMTs. He mentioned smoke inhalation and that he'd knocked her out when she'd started to panic.

The medics nodded their understanding as they transferred her to a stretcher and carried her toward a waiting ambulance.

Wilson's legs were shaking as he watched them take Wanelle away, knowing she would be all right. Then curiosity made him look for the woman who'd been behind him on the stairs.

At first he thought she was already lost in the gathering crowd, and then he caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired woman carrying a man over her shoulder. He'd had no idea she'd been carrying someone. Added to that was the fact that she had not handed the man she was carrying over to the medics scattered around. For whatever reason, she was headed toward an SUV parked on the opposite side of the street. What surprised him most was that the man she was carrying appeared to be twice her weight.

“Damn, a real superwoman,” he muttered, then decided to follow her.

He started across the street at a jog, dodging hoses and firemen, coughing a couple of times as fresh air slowly cycled through his smoke-filled lungs. She had already reached her vehicle and was in the process of stuffing the man in the back seat when he arrived.

“Hey, lady, do you—?”

Cat's hand flew beneath her coat, shoving it back as she reached for her handgun.

“Back off,” she said.

Wilson stopped, his eyes narrowing as he caught a glimpse of her weapon, as well as some kind of badge fastened to her belt. He held up his hands in a gesture of submission.

“Easy…”

“I'm never easy,” she snapped.

Wilson stifled a smile. He would have bet money on that.

It was all he could do not to stare, but she was truly a sight. There were sooty streaks on her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed; and from the number of times she was blinking, they were probably burning. But her legs were long, her hips almost boy-slim, and she looked ready to fight. Black hair hung way below her shoulders, and there was a small drop of blood on the curve of her lower lip. If it wasn't for the muscles she quite obviously had, and the impressive size of her breasts, he would have called her skinny.

“Was it you who called out to me on the stairs?” he asked.

“I yelled at somebody,” she said. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

He grinned. “I just wanted to make sure you're okay,” he said, then reached out and wiped away the blood drop with the pad of his thumb.

Cat swatted at his hand. “I'm fine,” she snapped, then swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if to wipe away his touch.

Wilson stifled a second smile. Pure hellcat. He eyed the handcuffs on Brownlee's wrists, then pointed.

“What happened…lost the key in the middle of your game?”

Cat's eyes narrowed angrily. He was accusing her of sex games with the piece of shit in the back seat of her car. She kept telling herself to ignore him all the while she was opening her mouth.

“He's a bail jumper,” she said. “I'm taking him in. You want to make something of it?”

Wilson eyed her closer. The only female skip tracer he knew of in Texas was Cat Dupree, but he'd never met her.

“Okay, okay, lady. Don't get all hot and bothered. It looks like we're in the same business.” He pulled out a badge and ID.

“My name is Wilson McKay.”

“Of McKay's Bail Bonds,” Cat said, well aware of her boss's competition. “Good for you,” she said, then heard noise in the back seat of her car and realized Brownlee was beginning to come to.

 

Nelson opened his eyes, felt the cold steel around his wrists and kicked. The car door hit Cat on the backside before she could turn and sent her flying forward, right into Wilson McKay's arms.

It was an automatic reaction that made Wilson grab her to keep her from falling, but he turned her loose on purpose when she came up swinging and lit into the man in the back seat of her car.

“You sorry bastard! I should have let you fry,” she growled, then tasered Brownlee as he was trying to get out.

He screamed with pain as he fell backward in the back seat.

“No more! No more!” he begged.

Cat was still glaring as she yanked him upright and shoved his legs inside the car. She fastened his seat belt and then slammed the door shut so hard that it rattled the glass. Before she got inside the SUV, she pulled a baton from beneath her seat and whacked it on the top of the seat about six inches from where Nelson was sitting.

“Do you see this, Brownlee?”

“Yes, oh God, yes, I see it, I see it. Just don't hit me no more.”

“Then stay where you're put,” she snapped. “I'm not the one who robbed a Quick Stop, and I'm not the one who jumped bail, so being mad at me isn't going to solve your damn problem. You screwed up and walked out on a man who did you a favor. He bonded you out, and this is how you repay him?”

Brownlee shuddered as he rode the wave of electric shock continuing to ripple through his body.

“I know. I know. I didn't mean to hurt you none. I just woke up disoriented and all. I'd never—”

“Shut up, Nelson. You're lying, and we both know it. You already tried to cold-cock me. Now sit back and relax. We're going for a ride.”

Cat got into her car, locked the door and buckled up without giving Wilson McKay a second look.

But Wilson
was
looking. He knew his suspicions had been right. He'd just met the infamous Cat Dupree. This was the first time he'd seen her up close and personal, and he was surprised by how truly beautiful she was. He was, however, more than a little bit put out that she hadn't even given him a second look.

It took him a few moments to realize that the fine spray of water from the fire hoses was drifting down on him, and that it was freezing to the outer surface of his leather coat.

“Well, damn,” he muttered, and started to walk away when he saw something glittering in a growing puddle.

He bent down and picked it up, then realized it was a small silver charm in the shape of a cat. He glanced back up at Cat Dupree's disappearing vehicle and grinned as he dropped the charm in his pocket. Now he had an excuse to see her again.

He shivered, watching the firemen as they continued to spray water into the building and thinking how close they'd all come to dying. Finally he stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed down the street to where he'd parked his car the night before. As much as he wanted to go home, take a hot shower and crawl into bed, good manners meant he should go to the hospital and make sure Wanelle was okay.

 

Cat's lungs were still burning when she turned Brownlee over to the authorities.

The ride from Fort Worth to Dallas had given him plenty of time to consider what had just happened. Granted, Cat Dupree had tracked him down to take him in. That had been inevitable. But she'd also saved his life. How was he supposed to stay pissed when she'd gone and done something like that? He went back to lockup without comment, unwilling to look Cat in the face.

Cat couldn't have cared less what life-changing behaviors Brownlee might be considering. He'd been nothing but a job to her, and now it was over. She just wanted a bath and about twelve straight hours of sleep.

The traffic from police headquarters to her apartment was worse than usual, thanks to the freezing rain that had started to fall. By the time she unlocked the door, her hands were shaking and her stomach was doing somersaults, reminding her that she had yet to eat a decent meal today.

She tossed her car keys in a bowl on the hall table and started to hang her coat up in the closet, then wrinkled her nose when she realized it smelled of smoke. She tossed it on the floor near the door as a reminder to take it to the cleaners when she next went out, then began undressing on her way to the bath. She stopped in the kitchen to get a bottle of water and noticed that the message light was blinking on her answering machine. She took a big drink of water and put off the task of checking the messages in favor of a hot shower.

She was standing in front of the mirror over the sink when she realized something was missing. The tiny links on the silver chain around her neck were familiar enough, but the small cat charm that had been on it was gone.

“Oh no,” Cat said, and then quickly traced the length of the chain, praying that the charm had somehow shifted to the back of her neck. It was the only thing she had left from her life before Social Services, and now it was gone. She thought back over the past few hours. The stakeout, the fire, the altercation with Nelson Brownlee. Even if she could retrace her steps, a good portion of them had gone up in smoke. She had to accept that the charm was gone.

A hard, burning knot filled the back of her throat as she swiftly turned away from the mirror. The pain was so sharp she couldn't bring herself to look at the wound it surely left on her face.

She turned on the shower and then stepped beneath the spray, not waiting for the water to heat. The cold water was like a slap in the face. Shivering slightly, she reached down for the soap and lathered her washcloth.

Soap burned her eyes as she began to scrub at her face, then washed herself all over. When the soot and smoke were gone from her skin, she shampooed and rinsed her hair until it felt clean, as well. Then she turned her face up to the water and closed her eyes.

Most of the time, her world sucked. Today was no exception.

I
t was almost dark by the time Wilson left the hospital, satisfied that Wanelle was going to be all right. The fire at the apartment building had left Wanelle homeless, but her cousin, Shirley, had come to collect her. Shirley had a good heart and an extra bed, which left her better off than most. Wilson had given Wanelle a couple of hundred dollars to go toward replacing her lost clothing, which was all the cash he had on him.

“You're a doll,” she said, as she pocketed the cash. “Any time you want a freebie, just give me a call.”

Wilson stifled a grin as he gave her a hug.

“You are, without doubt, the most memorable birthday present I've ever had.” He brushed a finger along the side of her jaw, where a noticeable bruise was forming. “Sorry about having to whack you like that.”

“No biggie,” she said. “It was my fault for freaking out.”

“You had a reason to freak,” he said. “So…take care of yourself, okay?”

She smirked and rolled her eyes at Shirley.

“He's the best, I tell you. The best.”

“See you around,” Wilson said, and watched as they drove away.

Then he got into his car. For a few moments he just sat, thinking back over the events of the day. He'd been watching the evening news in the lobby of the E.R. while waiting for Wanelle to be released and had seen footage on television. It was daunting to learn that seven people had died in the fire they had escaped. Were it not for the grace of God, they could have been included in that statistic. Even now, as a cough bubbled up from deep in his chest, he was reminded of how close they'd come and wondered how Cat Dupree had fared.

Lights from a passing ambulance swept across his line of vision and broke his musing. His belly growled from hunger as a cold gust of wind rocked the truck. He shivered slightly and quickly started the engine. As soon the motor warmed up, he put the truck in gear and drove to work.

He put in several hours at his office, then sent his receptionist home when the weather began to worsen. He set the phones in the office so that they would ring at his apartment, then locked up and went home.

Due to the freezing rain, traffic was heavier than normal. There appeared to be some kind of pile-up on the freeway he normally drove, so he took the closest exit and wound through a small business district before driving into a residential area.

He couldn't help but notice the colorful Christmas lights decorating the outsides of the homes. He tried to imagine what it would be like to drive up one of the driveways and be met at the front door by a loving family. There would be kids—maybe three, two boys and a girl—and a wife who, after fifteen years of marriage, still rocked his world.

In the middle of the fantasy, a car sped out of a side street and cut in front of him without caution. If it hadn't been for Wilson's quick reflexes, he would have broadsided the other vehicle.

“Dumb ass,” Wilson muttered, as he watched the man drive away. He had everything Wilson wanted and didn't have the good sense to take care of it by even looking where he was going.

A muscle ticked at the edge of Wilson's mouth as he shifted mental gears. Obviously he didn't want that kind of life bad enough, either, or he would have done something in the last ten years toward making it happen. His parents would be ecstatic if he ever committed himself to a woman. Of all their children, he was the only hold-out. His brothers and sisters had married years ago, making him an uncle many times over.

A short while later, he drove into the parking lot of his apartment complex. His steps were dragging as he entered the building. When he got inside his apartment, he dropped his smokey clothes in the floor of the utility room, turned up the thermostat and headed for the shower. As soon as he was clean, he dressed in an old pair of sweat pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt, then moved to the kitchen. He hadn't eaten all day, except for a Coke and a package of cheese crackers he'd gotten from vending machines in the hospital, and he was hungry for real food.

The contents of his refrigerator were slim, but there was enough to make a decent-sized cheese omelet—one of his favorite quick meals. He finished it off in front of the TV, watching an old Chuck Norris movie and washing it down with the last of the Coke.

Remembering the pile of dirty clothes he'd left in the utility room, he went to put them in the washer. As he was going through the pockets, he found the cat charm again. Fingering it lightly, he set it on a shelf, poured in the soap and started the machine.

The phone rang as he was going to the bedroom. He could tell by the ring that it was a call being forwarded from the office. It wouldn't have been the first time he'd been called back to some jail to bond someone out, and he frowned as he answered.

“McKay Bail Bonds.”

“Um…hey, Wilson, old buddy. It's me, Shooter.”

Wilson's frown deepened. “Well, old buddy, you better not be in jail again, 'cause if you are, then you've just wasted your free call.”

Shooter Green shifted to whining.

“Aw…now, Wilson…it ain't like you think. They've got me on a bad rap and—”

“I'm serious,” Wilson said. “You and I aren't doing any more business. The last two times I bonded you out, you let me down. The first, you were a no-show. If your public defender hadn't sweet-talked the judge on your behalf and gotten you a second appearance date, you would have cost me my money. Then, the second time I bond you out of jail, I have to go after your ass…remember?”

“Yeah, but—”

“No buts, Shooter. Sleep tight, and don't let the bed bugs bite.”

Shooter was still begging as Wilson hung up the phone.

 

Cat slept fitfully through the night, reliving the trip down the stairs with Brownlee over her shoulder so many times that her legs were actually aching when she woke up. She rolled over on her side and opened one eye just enough to see that it was after ten in the morning. With a sigh, she sat up in bed and ran her fingers through her hair. The urge to lie back down and sleep away the day was strong, but there were a couple of things she'd been planning to do, and one of them was taking her best friend, Marsha, out to lunch.

There weren't many people that Cat Dupree called friend, but Marsha Benton was one of them. She and Marsha had been fostered to the same family just before their seventeenth birthdays and had become fast friends. Their bond had lasted, even after they'd been processed out of the system.

Cat and Marsha often laughed at how different their lives had become once they'd been on their own. For the past eight years, Marsha had been a private secretary for Mark Presley, CEO of a company with worldwide distribution rights for farm implements, while Cat chased down bad guys with a taser and a gun.

Marsha was a little over five feet tall.

Cat was almost six feet in height.

Marsha was a curvy redhead who loved to eat.

Cat often forgot to eat, which accounted for her lanky build.

But they spoke the same language, laughed at the same jokes, and were the only family each other had.

Cat stretched languidly and then reached for the phone, punching in the number for Marsha's office from memory. She was already smiling to herself as she waited for Marsha to answer.

“Presley Implements.”

“Hey, Mimi, it's me, Cat. Are we still on for lunch today?”

There was a moment of silence, something Cat hadn't expected.

“Hey, girlfriend…are you there?”

Cat heard what sounded like a stifled sob; then Marsha answered.

“Yes, I'm here, and lunch sounds great. Where do you want me to meet you?”

“Um…how about Billy Bob's?”

“Good,” Marsha said. “One o'clock?”

“Yeah,” Cat said, and then added, “Are you okay?”

“Absolutely,” Marsha said. “See you later. I've got to go.”

“Okay,” Cat said, and disconnected, but she was still frowning as she got out of bed.

She knew Marsha well enough to know that something
was
wrong. She'd heard it in her friend's voice. Then she shrugged off her concern, knowing that once they got together, Marsha would talk. She never could keep secrets.

Cat got some clean underwear and headed for the bathroom. Even though she'd washed her hair last night before going to bed, she imagined it still smelled of smoke.

A short while later she was blow drying her hair and trying not to think about the missing cat charm. The loss was something she wasn't going to get over any time soon, but dwelling on it wasn't going to bring it back. Sick at heart, she hoped seeing Marsha would help. Maybe a reminder of what they'd overcome in their young lives would put the loss of a simple charm into perspective.

As she was going through her closet for something to wear, she abandoned what would have been a normal choice. Marsha would be dressed to the nines, so the least Cat could do was leave her gun at home and wear something besides leather. A cold blast of wind rattled the bedroom windows, which reminded her that whatever she chose, it needed to be warm.

A short while later she was dressed, unaware of how her choices had softened her appearance. Instead of denim and leather, she wore a soft white cable-knit sweater and a pair of brown wool slacks. Her brown alligator shoes looked great, although they were a pair she'd owned for several years. Today she chose them for comfort, rather than style. She pulled her hair away from the sides of her face and fastened it at the nape of her neck with a tortoise shell clip.

She glanced down at her fingernails and frowned. The nails were short and unpolished, with one broken to the quick thanks to Nelson Brownlee, but they were clean. In her line of work, polished fingernails were the last thing she was concerned with.

After swiping her lips with a pale, glossy lipstick, she flipped off the light as she exited the dressing area, grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

Considering the number of holiday shoppers out on the streets, the drive to Billy Bob's went smoothly. When Cat pulled into the parking lot, she quickly spotted Marsha's silver Lexus with her personalized license plate, ALLMINE. It never failed to make Cat smile.

As she got out, she caught a whiff of the faint scent of burning hickory, a tempting hint of meat grilling inside. She was already pulling off her coat as she entered the restaurant and threw it over her arm as she scanned the room for her friend. When she saw Marsha stand up and wave, she began weaving her way between the tables.

“Hey, you,” Cat said.

Marsha kissed Cat and gave her a brief hug as Cat draped her coat over an empty chair.

The tension in Marsha's body was unusual. Warning bells went off as Cat returned Marsha's embrace.

“Sit, sit,” Marsha said, and waved toward a free chair. “I've already ordered some chips and queso. They'll be here shortly, and that margarita is yours.”

“Yum,” Cat said as she sat, then took a quick sip of her drink.

Marsha's smile was genuine. Impulsively, she reached out for Cat's hand and gave it a quick squeeze.

“You look great, as always. So what's new with you?”

Wilson McKay's face immediately came to mind, but Cat ignored it. They hadn't even had what would amount to a real conversation, so there was nothing to report.

“Nothing,” Cat said, then leaned closer and lowered her voice. “Spit it out, Mimi, and don't lie. I'll know if you do.”

Marsha blinked, then looked away as tears immediately pooled. The sound of her old nickname from her best friend's lips was a painful reminder of a happier time.

“You are too smart for your own good,” she mumbled.

Cat felt sad. Seeing Marsha in such distress broke her heart.

“And you're too gentle-hearted for yours. Who hurt you? Tell me and I'll make him sorry.”

Marsha tried to smile through the tears. “Why would you assume it's a man?”

Cat rolled her eyes. “Because they're always trouble. Am I right?”

Marsha sighed, then nodded.

“Who is he?” Cat asked.

“It doesn't matter. Besides, you can't keep fighting my battles.”

Cat frowned. “I can and I will. Come on, Mimi…I don't like to see you this way.”

Marsha shrugged. “It's my own fault. I knew better, but I did it anyway.”

Cat knew there was more. Suddenly it dawned.

“He's married, isn't he?”

Marsha hesitated, then dropped her head without answering.

It was answer enough for Cat, although Marsha stayed silent.

Cat stared at her for a few moments, waiting for details. When they weren't forthcoming, she began to think back over the past few weeks to the times when Marsha couldn't meet her for dinner because she had to work late. As she did, suspicion grew.

“Is it your boss?”