Bad Penny Page 6

  She pushed her way through the crowd and reached for him. Wilson grabbed her hand, then stepped up beside her. She patted his chest.

  “You need to warm up and get into some dry clothes,” she said, then looked to Dorothy for confirmation.

  “And so do you,” Dorothy added.

  Cat nodded. As long as they were on the same page regarding Wilson’s recovery, everything was good.

  The family followed them down the hall, stopping short at the door to their bedroom.

  “If you need something, give a yell,” Dorothy said, then kissed Cat on the cheek. “Thank the lord you’re all right.”

  Then she shooed everyone away, leaving Cat and Wilson to tend to their own cleaning up. They went inside, and for a moment simply savored the silence. After the desolation they’d witnessed outside, the familiarity of their neatly kept bedroom seemed surreal. But the longer Cat stood, the stiffer and colder she was getting.

  Wilson saw her shiver.

  “Into the shower with you,” he said gently.

  “You first,” Cat said, concerned about the exertion he’d suffered.

  “No, baby. Together. You’re shivering, and I can already see bruises beneath the mud. Let’s get clean and warm, then we’ll deal with the rest of it.”

  Cat sighed.

  Together.

  It had taken her a long time to accept it, but as long as they were together, she knew she could face anything.

  The trip to the emergency room had been brief. Wilson was given a thumbs-up quicker than Cat. The staff had taken X-rays to make sure she didn’t have any broken bones, a concussion had been ruled out, and they’d cleaned all her cuts and abrasions. None were deep enough to need stitches, so she’d been sent home with pain pills and blessings.

  Now night had come, but Wilson couldn’t sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, he kept seeing the back end of his truck sticking out of the water and Cat floating lifelessly inside it.

  Cat was restless, too. Twice she’d cried out in her sleep, and both times he’d eased her with a touch and a whisper in her ear to remind her she was safe. But when she woke just before daylight and slid her arms around his neck, his exhaustion disappeared.

  “Make love to me, Wilson. My mind has been stuck on rewind all night. If I have to relive those moments when I thought I was going to die one more time, I’ll scream. I need to remember what it’s like to be alive.”

  Wilson rose up on one elbow to gaze down at her face. The room was lit by the blue glow of a full moon shining through the gap in the curtains. Even in the dimness, the scratches and bruises on her body were more pronounced than they’d been when they’d gone to sleep. But then he looked in her eyes. They were on fire. She was still the same strong, audacious woman she’d been when they’d first met, coming down a staircase in a blazing building with an unconscious man slung over her shoulder, demanding he get out of her way.

  “Honestly, Cat, I’m scared to touch you. You’re covered in bruises.”

  “They’re only skin deep. The ache I have for you is bottomless.”

  He sighed. That was persuasion he couldn’t ignore.

  He kissed her then, and heard the sound of a sob—soft, barely detectable. He knew how she felt.

  “I love you, Catherine. So much,” he whispered, and then began a slow journey of rediscovery, making sure he acknowledged every scratch and bruise on her skin—first with his fingers, then with his lips.

  She was his life.

  The fear that had accompanied Cat into sleep was gone, replaced by a building fire deep in her belly. The man who’d fought so hard to win her heart was reminding her how much she was loved. She knew his tenderness, felt his passion, accepted his love. When she felt his mouth on the inside of her thigh, she moaned.

  Wilson hesitated, then looked up.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  Cat slid her fingers through his hair and grabbed hold.

  “Only if you stop.”

  Moonlight caught on the single earring in his ear, then on the glitter in his eyes.

  “Close your eyes,” he said.

  Cat turned loose of his hair and grabbed hold of the headboard instead. It was none too soon. She felt his fingers, then his mouth, then the warmth of his breath as he took her where she wanted to go.

  The first climax came hard and fast, rocking Cat to her bones and leaving her gasping for breath. Before she knew what was happening, he took her back to the peak, then up and over—this time shattering what was left of her.

  By the time he was inside her, she was weeping.

  “Are you still afraid?” he asked.

  “No…God, no.”

  “Tell me, Catherine. I need to hear you say it.”

  “I love you.”

  He sighed.

  She said it again. “I love you, Wilson.”

  He slid his hands beneath her hips.

  She raised her arms, pulling him down until his cheek was resting in the curve of her neck.

  “I don’t just love you. I want to have babies with you. I want to grow old with you.”

  Her words humbled him. He rose up on his elbows as she added one last request.

  “Make love to me again, Wilson.”

  “Again?”

  “Yes, but this time…do it for you.”

  She saw his nostrils flare, and then a muscle jerked on the side of his cheek as he swept her away.

  There had been a time today when he had feared he would never hear her laughter or share a moment like this with her again. Making love to her now was an affirmation of their miracle.

  He wrapped his arms around her, then let himself go, rocking her world—taking them both on a collision course.

  Time ceased.

  Muscles burned.

  Perpetual motion was a given, addictive, then explosive.

  Wilson felt it building—and never wanted it to end, even though he was aching for release.

  Then it came, sudden and shattering. He buried his face against her shoulder, stifling the groan that boiled up his throat as his climax exploded. He clung to Cat like a lifeline as the aftershocks rippled through him.

  Jimmy Franks was sitting at the counter of a small café, nursing a cup of coffee and licking the remnants of a sugared doughnut from his fingers when another customer, a short man with red hair sitting three seats down from him, pointed to the television on the wall behind the counter.

  “Hey, Angie, turn that up, will you?”

  The waitress, Angie Sherman, upped the volume.

  “I’ve already seen this twice, and it still brings tears to my eyes,” she said.

  Jimmy shifted his focus from having another doughnut to the news anchor who was doing a voice-over accompanying footage shot after yesterday’s tornado.

  “In the midst of yesterday’s death and destruction, we have all witnessed a true miracle. While our chopper pilot and a news crew were filming the aftermath of the tornado that swept through the outskirts of Austin and points west yesterday, they captured this real-life drama.”

  Jimmy leaned forward, watching as the news crew began filming men arriving at the scene of destruction.

  “Look,” Angie said. “There’s the man finding the truck in the pond. Now he’s going into that water. Just look at his face. You can tell he thinks the driver is inside. Lord, lord, can you imagine the panic?”

  The redheaded man took another bite of his biscuits and gravy as Angie continued her play-by-play.

  “Look. There’s where he comes up the first time. Then he goes back down. They said that older man is his father. He looks so worried. Now the man comes up out of the water, takes a big breath and goes back down for the third time.”

  Jimmy wished she would just shut up. They could see and hear for themselves, but Angie was too caught up in the drama to be quiet.

  “Now watch! This is where he comes up out of the water and screams. Oh lordy…this just about broke my heart the first time. I thought he’d found the body a
nd couldn’t get it out or something. Then when he walked away, I didn’t know what to think.”

  Jimmy took another sip of his coffee and thought, So the guy was having a bad day. Well, welcome to my world.

  “He’s a bounty hunter, you know,” Angie said. “I heard them talking about it later. Said the woman he thought was in the pond was his fiancée. She’s a bounty hunter, too.”

  Jimmy’s eyes widened. Bounty hunter? Now that he thought about it, the man who’d been in the water looked a little like Wilson McKay.

  “Uh…lady, what did you just say?”

  Angie turned around, saw who was talking and almost turned her back on him. He smelled real bad; it had been all she could do to serve him. Now he wanted to start a conversation?

  “I said the man is a bounty hunter. Got an office right here in Dallas.”

  “Did they give a name?” Jimmy asked.

  “Why? You need bailing out from somewhere?”

  Jimmy glared. “Do I look like I’m in jail?”

  She shrugged. “I can’t rightly say what you look like. I do know you need a bath.”

  Before Jimmy could fire back a retort, the news anchor gave him the answer.

  “…McKay, a bail bondsman from right here in Dallas. The incident happened on the family ranch west of Austin, where McKay had gone to recover after being shot during an attempt on his life. Talk about a string of bad luck…Or maybe I should say, good luck. He did survive his gunshot wounds, and his fiancée, Cat Dupree, just survived a tornado. What do we have here, anyway—the Six Million Dollar Man and the Bionic Woman?”

  The newscast was over. Jimmy stood up without comment and walked out of the café. Now he knew where McKay had gone. All he had to do was find a way to get there.

  Luis Montoya was back in the office. He and most of the other detectives had spent the past thirty-six hours looking for the man who’d been running a meth lab in the back room of a tile factory. The explosion had turned out to be the fault of the men who’d been cooking the meth. Two had died and one was still in the hospital, suffering from third-degree burns over most of his body. They’d finally caught the head of the operation when he tried to sneak into the hospital to see his friend.

  But now that was over and he was rereading his notes on the people he’d interviewed regarding Tutuola. After a long review, he decided he wasn’t any closer to solving the murder of Solomon Tutuola than he had been when he’d started.

  He’d interviewed the Realtor who’d sold Tutuola the property on which he’d been killed.

  He’d interviewed the couple who’d been hired to cook and clean.

  He’d talked to the appropriate homicide detective in the Dallas, Texas, police department regarding Tutuola’s connection to convicted murderer Mark Presley.

  He did know how Tutuola had come by the burn scars, but the money everyone claimed he’d had was missing, and, Luis suspected, was the reason he’d been killed.

  He was at a dead end here in Chihuahua, and what happened next was up to his commander. Either he gave Luis the okay to backtrack along the path Tutuola had taken to get to their city, or the case was going to be shelved and classified as a cold case.

  So he gathered up his notes and the files he’d compiled, and headed for his captain’s office.

  Thirty minutes later, he was on his way home to pack a bag. He didn’t know whether to be glad or sorry that he’d made such a persuasive case. He did know that Conchita was not going to be happy about the fact that he was going to be gone for her birthday. Such was his life. He’d missed many family events during the years they’d been married. But it was also this job that kept them in a nice house, with money to travel now and then. His brother was nothing but a day laborer, and he and his wife and six kids were often down to nothing but tortillas and beans to put in their bellies at night.

  Conchita had, as of yet, been unable to conceive. The absence of children left a huge empty spot in their lives, and the demands of his job only increased her loneliness. Still, there wasn’t anything to be done about it. His job was his job, and he was fortunate to have it.

  So Luis kept going over the facts in his mind as he packed, tossing in a couple of changes of clothes and reminding himself to get extra cash before he left. It wasn’t going to take all that long to get from Chihuahua to Nuevo Laredo, but he didn’t know what he would encounter along the way. Then he heard Conchita talking and realized she was home.

  She was still on the phone when she came into the bedroom, but when she saw he was packing a suitcase, she ended her call and sat down on the side of the bed. The look on her face was one Luis had seen before.

  “You’re leaving again?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  “For how long this time?”

  “Maybe two or three days.”

  There was an odd expression in her eyes, but he didn’t want to go there, knowing it would only result in another fight.

  She sighed, then looked away.

  “It’s my birthday tomorrow. What do I do while you’re gone?” she asked.

  Luis didn’t know how to answer her, and because he felt frustrated, his remarks sounded short.

  “Whatever you want to do,” he said. “You should be glad you don’t have to work.”

  She looked up at him then, her dark eyes swimming in tears.

  “Yes, I am a very lucky woman,” she said softly, and walked out of the room without looking back.

  He felt like a heel, but it had been said, and he didn’t know how to take it back without making things worse.

  A few minutes later he was packed. He went to find her to tell her goodbye, only to find that she was nowhere to be found. When he went out to his car, he realized hers was gone.

  He cursed beneath his breath, then got in and drove away. When he got back, he would make it up to her—maybe take her to Mazatlán for a quick holiday. She had family there.

  Convinced that everything was fine, he never looked back.

  Five

  Cat put down the hair dryer, then combed her fingers through her hair before giving her face and arms the once-over. It had been three days since the storm, and while the scratches on her body were beginning to heal, the bruises were vivid hues of purple and green. There was even one bruise on her back shaped like a hoofprint. Wilson had gone through the roof when he’d seen it, and she’d understood. Thinking about how it must have gotten there gave her the creeps. She was just grateful to be alive.

  She left the bathroom with slow, measured steps, paying homage to her new bruises. Today she’d chosen to wear her oldest, softest pair of jeans and a T-shirt, but since she’d lost her boots during the tornado, she was down to socks and some old moccasins.

  If the tornado hadn’t dumped Wilson’s truck in the pond, and if she weren’t so miserably sore, she would have taken herself into Austin for a quick shopping trip. But for now she was going to have to be happy with going downstairs.

  Art Ball had seen the video of her rescue and called her every day since. He wasn’t just her boss, he was her friend, and she’d hated the thought of letting him down. After speaking to him last night, she’d been relieved to learn that he’d hired another bounty hunter full time. Although he’d assured her that she had a job with him any time she wanted it, they both knew her bounty hunting days were over.

  The phone was ringing as she started down the hall, and she thought of Art again. Following the murmur of voices, she joined the rest of the family, who were already in the kitchen. Carter was standing outside on the porch with the phone to his ear, and when Wilson saw her, he came to meet her with a good-morning kiss.

  “Morning, Tinkerbell. How are you feeling?”

  “Tinkerbell?”

  “She flew. You flew. The only difference between the two of you is her wings.”

  Cat ignored him, but Dorothy took umbrage.

  “Wilson, for heaven’s sake. Don’t tease her about that.”

  “Can’t help it, Mom. If I don�
��t keep things on the light side, I’ll wind up bawling all over again,” Wilson said, as he pulled a chair out from the table so Cat could sit down.

  “It’s okay, I’ll get him back. I’m good at waiting,” she said as she settled herself slowly into the seat.

  Wilson thought of all the years she’d bided her time, waiting to avenge her father’s murder. She was a formidable enemy, and he considered himself lucky they were on the same side.

  At that moment, Carter walked back into the kitchen. “Hey, if I’d known you were up, I would have passed the phone to you.”

  “Why?” Cat asked.

  “That was some journalist wanting to talk to you.”

  Cat frowned. “No.”

  “That’s pretty much what I told him,” Carter said. “However, you get to tell the next one yourself.”

  “Next one?”

  “They’ve been calling by the dozen ever since that video aired,” Wilson said.

  Cat’s expression tightened. “And they’ve seen all of my naked butt they’re going to see. All I can say is I’m really glad I was coated in muck. It covered a multitude of sins.”

  Dorothy chuckled. “You crack me up, honey. I love a woman with a sense of humor.”

  The phone rang again.

  Everyone turned to Cat.

  “Don’t look at me,” she muttered. “I’m eating breakfast.”

  She got up and moved to the counter to put a slice of bread in the toaster, while Dorothy poured her a cup of coffee, leaving Wilson to answer the phone.

  “Hello?”

  “This is Turner’s Body Shop. That you, Wilson?”

  “Hey, Greg. Yeah, it’s me.”

  “Dang, man. I seen you and your girl on the TV the other day. Real glad that turned out okay.”

  “Me, too,” Wilson said. “So…is Cat’s car ready?”

  “Yep. The insurance adjuster was the only thing holding us up. As soon as he came and went, we got right on it. You can pick it up anytime.”