Nine Lives (4 page)

“Absolutely,” Wilson said, but Cat was already walking away.

“That was weird,” he muttered. She'd been ecstatic to know he had the charm, then had turned all businesslike and cold.

Still, he had her number and he had the charm. It was only a matter of time before they got together. He packed up his things and left the gym, much happier than when he'd gone in.

Cat, on the other hand, had just had her joy reduced to a large knot in the middle of her belly.

“Mimi, what's wrong?”

Marsha was sobbing. It was all Cat could do to make out what she was trying to say.

“He fired you? Is that what you said? The sorry bastard actually fired you?”

“Yes,” Marsha said, and then drew a deep, shaky breath. “I was escorted from the building as if I'd try to steal company secrets.”

“Are you okay to drive home? Do you want me to—”

“I'm fine,” Marsha said. “My feelings are just hurt. Even though I knew he was angry, I never really thought he was capable of something like this.”

“I'm coming over,” Cat said. “I'll be there by—”

“No, no, I'm not even home,” Marsha said. “I have a doctor's appointment in an hour. I'll come over later.”

“What time?” Cat asked.

“I don't know. I'll call you, okay?”

“If you're sure,” Cat said. She didn't like it, but Marsha was a grown woman. She had to give her some room to grieve.

“I'm sure,” Marsha said. “Talk to you later.”

“I'll be waiting,” Cat said.

C
at went home, showered quickly and dressed, then began an anxious vigil, waiting for Mimi to call. If she'd had the good sense to ask who her doctor was, she would have met her there, but she hadn't asked, and Marsha wasn't answering her cell phone.

Noon came and went, and just when she was getting really worried, her telephone rang. She picked it up on the first ring.

“Mimi?”

“No, it's me,” Wilson said.

Cat's heart dropped. “I'm sorry. I'm waiting for a call from a friend who's in trouble. Can I call you back?”

Wilson didn't know whether he was getting the runaround or she was telling the truth, then decided it didn't matter. He would find out soon enough, one way or the other.

“No problem. I'm working at home today, but I'll be back in the office tomorrow.” He rattled off his phone number. “Good luck to your friend,” he said lightly, and hung up.

Cat was a little surprised by the abruptness, then decided she'd given him no choice.

“Rats,” she muttered, and hung up. “Come on, Mimi, call me. Call me. You know I don't like to wait.”

But the call didn't come. Cat tried her friend's cell phone again, but all she got was voice mail. Finally she left messages on both Mimi's cell and her home phone, then settled in for the day. She ordered Chinese from a restaurant around the block, picked at the sesame chicken when it came, tore her spring roll apart without eating it, then tossed the lot down the garbage disposal and called it quits.

Before she could talk herself out of it, she grabbed her coat and keys, and headed out the door. Mimi had to be home by now and was probably ignoring her calls. She knew Cat would be ready to take Mark Presley apart, and she probably didn't want to deal with it. She had a habit of ignoring what she couldn't face, and they both knew it.

Cat fed the fuel of her anger all the way to Mimi's townhouse, but when she got there, the silver Lexus was nowhere to be seen. Cat circled the entire complex twice, looking for that car and its telltale license tag, but to no avail. Then she decided Mimi could have had car trouble; maybe the car was in the shop and she'd taken a cab home.

She parked and got out. When she got to Mimi's door, she rang the bell. Still no answer. She knocked several times, then called out her name. When that got no response, she picked the lock. It wasn't exactly legal, but these were extenuating circumstances.

After a quick check of the rooms, she confirmed what she'd already suspected. Mimi wasn't here. Still, the fact that she wasn't home yet didn't really worry her. She could be doing any number of things, from shopping to having her nails done, to being detained at the doctor's office for some reason. Cat was still irked with herself for not asking who she'd chosen as her obstetrician, but she resisted the urge to dig through Marsha's personal papers in hopes of finding the doctor's name and address. All she could do was go home and wait for the call, and when it came, read Mimi the riot act for causing her so much worry.

 

Mark Presley was a self-made man. He'd grown up in a rural community in southwest Texas, the only child of a blue collar family. His father had been a mechanic, his mother a beautician. He'd had a normal childhood up until his senior year of high school.

The end of phase one of his life began on homecoming day at the local high school. Besides a parade and a pep rally before the big game that night, the chamber of commerce had sponsored a city-wide barbecue. Mark, being the starting quarterback for the local football team, was one of the honorees who would be riding the school float in the parade. Two hours before the parade, his daddy had dropped dead at work from a heart attack.

Mark missed the parade. He missed the big homecoming game. He missed graduation. He missed the athletic scholarship he'd been counting on. And the day he realized all his dreams were as out of reach as his father, he made a promise to himself that he would never miss out on anything again.

When his girlfriend realized his status wasn't as shiny as it had been, she slowly drifted away. After that, it was anger and disappointment that fueled his drive to succeed.

He'd gone to work at the local auto parts store, sweeping up and making deliveries. By the age of twenty-one, he was head of the parts department. By twenty-five, he'd married the daughter of his boss, who also owned a large farm implement company. When his father-in-law passed away six years later, Mark was named president of the company. He'd taken it from a profitable business to one with worldwide recognition.

He cheated on his wife on a regular basis, as did most of the men in his social circle. Power was a big turn-on for pretty girls wanting a free ride, but he made sure his wife never wanted for a thing, including his attention. That was his safety net, because he had vowed he was never getting caught.

He'd known Marsha, his personal assistant, had a thing for him. He'd known it for years, but he'd never made a practice of playing where he worked. Then, about four months ago, in a moment of weakness, he'd broken his own rule and, for a while, thought it would all work out. Marsha was a beautiful woman and smart as they came. It had been a refreshing change to be with someone who was his mental equal, only she'd gotten all crazy, talking about love and babies. He'd tried to give her money for an abortion. She threw it in his face and made an appointment with an obstetrician instead.

He'd had her followed. He knew she was seeing an OBGYN on a regular basis. It was at that point that he'd known he would have to take a different tack with her. He couldn't have her showing up nine months later with a kid bearing his DNA. In spite of the aggravation, he wasn't all that concerned. It was just another hitch in his world that needed to be smoothed out.

Presley was in the middle of a transatlantic conference call when his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and silently cursed. As soon as he could, he ended his call and called Marsha.

The fact that Mark hadn't answered had been upsetting for Marsha, but not unexpected. She was leaving the parking lot of the doctor's building when her cell phone rang. When she realized it was Mark, she was elated. He'd been so cold when he'd fired her, but now he was calling her back. Surely this was a good sign. She parked in the first empty space she could find and reached for her phone.

“Mark! I knew you would call.”

Mark was so angry he was shaking, but he wasn't going to alert her that all was not right in his world.

“What did you want?” he asked.

“To talk to you…but not to make any demands. Please, you have to believe me.”

“I'm not leaving my wife.”

“I don't want you to. I've accepted what I meant to you, but I was hoping you'd take our child into consideration. You know my background. You know how hard it is for a child to grow up without parents.”

“The kid will have you.”

“Every child deserves both parents,” Marsha said. “Won't you at least meet with me to talk? Just to talk? I'm not making demands. I just want you to think of the child.”

“I'll meet with you,” Mark said. “But no promises.”

Marsha's joy surged. “Oh, Mark…darling…thank you, thank you. I promise you won't be sorry.”

“Penny and I are leaving in a couple of days for Christmas vacation. If you want to talk, it will have to be today.”

It was all Marsha could do not to giggle. He was going to see it her way after all.

“That's fine. Just name the time and place,” she said.

Mark smiled to himself. She was playing into his hands, just as he'd planned.

“I'm on my way to the airport, so my time is short.”

“Are you going to the company airport?”

“Yes.”

“I'll be there within the hour.”

“I'll be waiting,” Mark said. He'd already given the airport employees their Christmas bonuses, and they'd scattered to the four winds. He would have the place to himself.

He walked out of his office, told his secretary he wouldn't be back until morning and left. It was nothing he hadn't done a thousand times before. Within thirty minutes he was at his private airport.

He put on an old pair of coveralls he got out of an employee locker, took a baseball cap from a hook inside the office and gave the company helicopter a flight check, then sat down to wait for Marsha.

He didn't have to wait long.

When he saw her car turn off the main road and onto the property, a knot formed in his belly. Then he reminded himself that he could do this—he had to. She'd given him no choice.

When she pulled up beside his car and parked, he swallowed once, then stood up and put on the work gloves that had been in the pocket of the coveralls.

Through a dusty window, he saw her get out and pause beside the car door. It was cold but sunny, and he noticed how pretty she looked. How odd that he would notice that today, when he was about to end her life. Marsha was stunning, but she was also a death sentence for him. If one of them had to go, it wasn't going to be him.

 

Marsha's heart was thumping erratically as she got out of the car, but she was filled with hope as she wrapped her red coat more tightly around herself to cut the cold. She'd been out to the company hangar plenty of times over the last few years, so even though the place appeared deserted except for his car, she felt no hesitation in going inside.

Once inside, she paused, allowing time for her eyes to adjust to the dimness. When she saw the office door open and a man in coveralls step out, she assumed it was one of the employees.

“Hi, it's me, Marsha. I'm meeting Mr. Presley. Is he in the office?”

The man just raised his arm and waved as he continued toward her.

It took a few moments for Marsha to realize that the man in the coveralls was Mark.

“Mark?”

“Yes, it's me.”

She thought no more of the odd clothing as she started to talk.

“Thank you for meeting me like this,” she said.

“Don't mention it,” Mark said, and pulled a large wrench out of the carpenter's loop on the side of the coveralls. Without hesitation, he drew his arm back and hit her.

It was so unexpected and so fast that Marsha never realized what was happening until it was too late.

She went down like a rock.

Mark saw the deep indentation in the side of her head, as well as the blood beginning to seep from the wound. He grabbed a greasy rag from his pocket and clamped it on top of the blood as he picked her up in his arms. Without looking at her face, he carried her to the open door of the helicopter. There was a large sheet of blue plastic on the floor behind the pilot's seat. He laid her on it and then rolled her up.

He drove her car inside the hangar to hide it, then got in the chopper, checked to make sure that he'd loaded what he would need for later and revved up the engine. There was no flight plan to where he was going, but it didn't matter. He knew the way by heart.

 

Marsha floated in and out of consciousness several times, and each time she came to, she found it difficult to breathe and impossible to move. She tried to call out, but her lips wouldn't open. There was something wet and sticky on her face and an indescribable pain in her head. She could hear a loud roar, and she could feel a sense of motion.

Fear was swallowing her so fast that she couldn't keep herself focused. She knew she was hurt. She knew Mark had done it. She also knew that he meant to kill her.

Anger swept through her, knowing he was going to get away with it. She'd been so damned vague about her personal business with Cat. If only she'd called her and told her where she was going. At least Cat would have had a starting place from which to find her body.

At last Marsha's focus began to waver. She knew she was going to pass out again—this time, maybe for good—and she couldn't let Mark Presley get away with her murder.

But what could she do? Surely there was something….

Suddenly she remembered her cell phone. It was in her coat pocket. If only she could reach it.

Her fingers felt numb as she tried to move her arms. Whatever Mark had rolled her up in was so tight she could barely breathe, let alone move. Still, she had to try.

Slowly she managed to ease onto one side just enough to give herself room to maneuver. As she did, her arm slid downward, almost of its own accord. She tried not to panic and focused on the baby she was carrying, knowing that the child deserved justice, even if she did not. It was her own foolishness that had gotten her into this mess. It broke her heart to know that her baby's life was going to be over before it had a chance to begin.

Again and again, she tried to find the opening of her coat pocket, but with no success. Just as she was on the point of giving up, her fingers slid into the void. The contours of the phone were so familiar. She slid her fingernail between the flip-top and bottom, then pushed upward, revealing the tiny buttons beneath.