Bad Penny (25 page)

good, he’s back in time for lunch. Then it hit her how fast he was driving. That wasn’t like Carter at all.

She watched for a moment, then called out to Wilson. “Wilson! Come here!”

Wilson was helping Cat put lunch on the table when he heard his mother call, and from the tone of her voice, he knew something was wrong.

He and Cat looked at each other; then he hurried outside with Cat right behind him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She pointed. “Carter! He’s coming too fast. Something is wrong.”

Wilson’s frown deepened as he watched the dust boiling up behind his dad’s old truck.

“What’s going on?” Cat asked.

Dorothy’s hands were clenched into fists. She didn’t answer. Cat moved up behind Wilson.

“Honey?” she said, sounding worried.

“Dad doesn’t ever drive like that.”

The cattle scattered as Carter’s truck went barreling through the herd. His heart was hammering so loud against his eardrums that he couldn’t hear the sound of the engine, and when he didn’t see Franks behind him, he was afraid the man was already on his way back to their property by way of the highway. He kept thinking of Franks beating him back to the house and finding everyone dead. He was cursing himself for not taking his cell phone with him. Dorothy was always fussing at him about it, but he never liked the idea of being tied to the damn thing. Now he wished he’d listened to her.

The same mantra kept going through his mind: Tell Wilson. Tell Wilson. When he finally topped the hill and saw the ranch house and the outbuildings below, he thought he would be relieved, but his panic increased. And when that happened, a niggling pain he’d barely noticed in his neck and arm suddenly spread through his chest so sharply that he almost lost his breath.

“Sweet Jesus, please…” he whispered, and kept on driving.

The road was beginning to blur before his eyes, and it was growing harder and harder to breathe.

“Not like this. Not like this,” he said, as he swung past the barns and headed for the house. He could see Dorothy standing on the porch, and Wilson and Cat beside her.

Just a little bit farther.

A hundred yards from the house, the people on the porch began to shift in and out of focus. Afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop at all, he hit the brakes while he could still think and slammed the truck into Park almost fifty yards from the house.

“Wilson…tell Wilson,” he mumbled, and tried to get out, but when his feet hit the ground, his legs went out from under him. He heard Dorothy scream his name, and then everything went black.

When Wilson saw his father clutch at his chest and then drop, he knew instantly what was happening.

“He’s having a heart attack!” he shouted, and jumped off the porch and started running.

Cat came off the porch with him, but Dorothy had already gone into the house to call for an ambulance. Moments later, she came back out with her cell phone, talking as she ran.

Wilson’s hands were shaking as he felt for a pulse in his father’s neck. It wasn’t there.

“He’s not breathing,” he said.

Dorothy screamed, then dropped to her knees and started to pray. Wilson ripped his dad’s shirt open, checked to make sure the airway was

clear, then began CPR with a half dozen quick breaths into his father’s mouth, before he switched to chest compressions. As he moved, Cat positioned herself to do the breaths. When Wilson paused, she didn’t hesitate. She pinched Carter’s nostrils together, then bent down. His skin felt clammy, and she tasted sweat as she touched his lips, then nothing, as she focused on her tasks.

She heard Wilson counting for her, then she went into a zone. Over and over—without stopping, without looking at each other, afraid to see failure in one another’s eyes—they worked, keeping Carter McKay alive.

Beside them, Dorothy kept saying the same words over and over. “Don’t die, don’t die. Please hear me, Carter. I love you. Don’t die.” Finally, in the distance, they began to hear a siren. “Oh, thank God,” Dorothy sobbed.

The ambulance pulled up, and seconds later, one EMT took over for Wilson, while another grabbed a defibrillator. As soon as it reached full power, he yelled, “Clear!” and put the paddles on Carter’s chest, then zapped him. Carter’s body bucked from the electrical jolt.

All eyes went immediately to the readout, which still registered a flat line.

“Again,” the paramedic said, then shouted, “Clear!”

Again the current coming through the paddles hit Carter’s chest, and

again his body rocked from the jolt, but this time…magic. Within seconds, a heartbeat registered.

The EMTs quickly began to stabilize Carter for transport, putting in an IV, then strapping him to the gurney before pushing him toward the ambulance.

“I want to go with him,” Dorothy begged. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but we can’t let you.”

Wilson took his mother by the arm, holding her back as the driver slammed the door shut, then headed for the front seat.

“Don’t worry, Mom. We’ll get you there. Get in Dad’s truck. We’ll follow right behind them.”

Dorothy was shaking so hard she couldn’t walk. For once she was the one in need of comfort.

Cat took one arm, Wilson the other, and they helped her into the truck. They hadn’t even cleared the yard before she began to cry.

“Oh God, oh God, I need to call the other kids.”

“We’ll call after we get to the hospital,” Wilson said, then gave Cat a nervous look. “Are you okay? Are you up to this?”

She nodded. “Don’t worry about me. I can throw up just about anywhere. Just drive.”

“Shit,” Wilson muttered, then stomped the accelerator all the way to the floor.

Fifteen

Another black mark had been added to Jimmy Dale Franks’s rap sheet.

After looking through books of mug shots, Tita Little had made a positive ID on the man who’d abducted her. Trouble was, the Austin police department had already issued a statement regarding his death.

At that point Lieutenant Jakowski was forced to release an amended statement to the media stating that the dead man previously identified as Jimmy Dale Franks was in actuality a man named James Martin. Additional arrest warrants had been issued for Franks in connection with Martin’s death, and the assault and kidnapping of area resident Tita Little. He made a call to the McKay home but got the answering machine. Reluctant to leave a message about this mess, he just left his name and number and a request for someone to call him.

Once that shit hit the fan, the national news media picked up on the story, and Franks’s status as a no-account junkie had changed. If his intent had been to be remembered in history, he was well on his way, just not in the way his mother might once have hoped.

Jimmy Franks was cursing himself up one side and down the other. He’d gotten cocky, then gotten careless and almost gotten himself killed.

Bottom line was, he’d panicked. He wasn’t half as confident about killing when someone fought back. Carter McKay’s shot had taken the heel off one of his boots. A fraction of an inch closer and it would have gone into his foot.

Even worse, he’d been made. Shaved head, fake tattoo, leather pants and all, the son of a bitch had recognized him.

Now Jimmy was making his getaway off the property as fast as he could, aiming for the highway and heading for someplace new to lay low.

Wilson Carter’s old man was sure to alert the authorities as to where he’d seen him and what he’d done. He was going to have to rethink his whole plan. But even in the midst of the mess that he’d made, it never occurred to him to just keep on driving and forget he’d ever met a man named Wilson McKay.

Luis Montoya was about an hour outside Dallas when he realized he needed fuel. He checked the map and took the next exit he came to, pulling into a mom-and-pop gas station with an attached café. It was well after noon, and his belly was grumbling from lack of food. He could fuel both his car and himself at the same time, then check on Conchita and Amalita before he got back on the road. His appointment with Detective Bradley in Dallas wasn’t until three o’clock. He had plenty of time for a short break.

He began pumping gas, then stepped to the front of the car to use the phone, counting the rings until Conchita answered.

“Hello.”

“Hey, honey, it’s me. How are my girls doing?” He heard her giggle before she answered.

“Oh, Luis, Amalita is so beautiful and so smart. Today I showed her two oranges, and she held up one finger on each hand and said dos.”

Luis chuckled. “Counting already, huh? Pretty smart for such a little niña.”

“It will be her birthday soon. She must have a party. We’ll invite all the family. It will be such fun. I saw a huge angel piñata the other day that would be perfect.”

“Yes, perfect,” Luis echoed, then heard the gas pump cut off. “Hey, honey, my gas tank is full. I’ve got to go pay and get something to eat. I’ll talk to you tonight after I get to my hotel, okay?”

“Yes, yes, very okay,” Conchita said, then disconnected.

Luis dropped his cell phone in his pocket and headed inside. It was amazing how someone so small as Amalita could make such a huge difference in their lives.

Inside, he paid for his gas, then walked through a breezeway into the café and chose a booth. He didn’t bother to read the menu on the table behind the catsup and mustard. He knew what he wanted.

A waitress appeared with a pot of coffee, a cup and a glass of water. “Want some coffee, hon?” she asked.

Luis nodded, then watched her pour. When the aroma hit his nostrils, his mouth actually watered.

“Do you know what you want to eat?” she asked.

“Yes. A hamburger with cheese, and French fried potatoes, please.” Then he added, “And a piece of chocolate cream pie.”

“A man after my own heart,” the waitress said, then flashed him a smile before leaving to turn in his order.

Luis settled back, satisfied that, at least for now, all was right with his world. His wife was happy. He was back on task with his case and was awaiting his favorite American foods: a cheeseburger and fries, and chocolate cream pie.

The McKay family was gathered in a room off the critical care unit, awaiting word on Carter’s condition. All Carter and Dorothy’s children, their wives and husbands, and even the grandchildren were unnaturally silent.

Dorothy hadn’t said more than a dozen words to anyone since they’d arrived. The toddlers, who were always so sure of their grandmother’s

love, clung to their mothers in uncertainty. Every so often, Cat noticed Dorothy close her eyes, and even though she couldn’t hear her, she knew Dorothy was praying.

Wilson pulled Cat closer, taking comfort in her presence. “She’s praying,” he said.

“I know. God…even worse, I know just how she feels.”

Cat shivered, remembering how afraid she’d been when Wilson had been shot, and how the world had dropped out from under her when she’d witnessed his death. The fact that he’d been revived and lived to tell the tale gave her hope for Carter, because she couldn’t imagine the family without him.

“I still can’t figure this out,” Wilson said, more to himself than to her. “What do you mean?” Cat asked.

“This came out of nowhere. Dad didn’t have any heart trouble, and I don’t think he’d been feeling bad.”

Cat slid her fingers through Wilson’s, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to temper her words.

“Sometimes that’s just the way life goes. One minute you’re on top of the world, and the next thing you know, you’re trying to crawl out from under the damn thing.”

Before Wilson could answer, a doctor entered the waiting room.

“McKay?”

“Here,” they all said, and jumped up en masse. Except Dorothy, who seemed frozen to her seat.

“Is he still alive?” she asked weakly.

Wilson’s heart ached, for his mom and for all of them. Please God, let the answer be good.

“At the moment he’s stable. We’re giving him oxygen, and he has a heart monitor, so he might look worse to you than he actually is. I don’t think he’s suffered any lasting damage, but of course I can’t promise. The next few hours are vital. We’ll just have to see how it goes.”

Dorothy sagged, then buried her face in her hands and wept. Her children gathered around her, all talking at once, elated by the news.

It was Cat who realized the doctor was going to leave without someone asking the obvious question.

“When can we see him?” she asked.

“For now, I’m afraid only Mrs. McKay will be allowed in, and that will have to be brief. He won’t know she’s there, but—”

“I don’t care,” Dorothy said, and began swiping at her tears with the

backs of her hands. “Please…take me to him.”

The doctor nodded, and he and Dorothy disappeared behind a set of double doors, leaving the rest of the family looking at each other, a little uncertain as to what to do next.

It was Delia who noticed Cat’s pallor and whispered in her ear, “Honey, are you all right?”

Cat sighed. “You tell me. I have good days and bad days. Sometimes I can’t eat enough, and other days, like today, everything I eat wants to come up.”