Cut Throat (23 page)

Pedro tossed his surgical gloves and the disposable footies he wore over his shoes into a disposal unit and the apron he wore over his scrubs into the laundry bin, washed himself thoroughly, then left. He had a report to finish and a date with his wife, and he didn’t want to be late.

As he was walking through the hallway on his way to his office, his cell phone rang. He answered absently, concentrating only after he recognized the police chief’s voice. The conversation was brief.

Yes, the autopsy was finished. Due to the quantity of gunshot wounds and the destruction of the lungs when the body had burned, it was hard to say whether Tutuola was still alive when the fire had begun. Most of the internal organs had been charred so thoroughly that it was hard to tell what was pre-fire damage and what was post.

It was Pedro’s understanding that the roof had also fallen in on the body, which confused the issue as to what bones, if any, had been broken before the fire, or if all the breaks had come afterward. His official ruling was going to be death by gunshot, but the fire would have done him in if the bullets hadn’t. Notifying next of kin—if there were any—fell to the police. Pedro’s job was over.

As for the police chief, thanks to the Realtor who’d sold Tutuola the mansion, they at least had a name for the victim. This morning he’d begun getting back info in response to the faxes he’d sent out last night. Once he’d read them, it became apparent why the victim might have met such an end.

His full name was Solomon Ranu Tutuola, and his rap sheet in Mexico was staggering, beginning back in the eighties. After further checking, it turned out that Tutuola had a similar arrest record in the United State, and even a couple of arrests in Central America. Not once was there a

next of kin listed, and his place of birth, listed as Brisbane, Australia, turned out to be a lie.

He shoved the paperwork into a file folder and tossed it on the edge of his desk. It appeared that a professional hit man had come to their city and died a violent death in what was, most likely, a case of revenge. He would keep the file open and send a couple of officers to interview people in the surrounding area. The houses, because of their size and the occupants’ desire for privacy, were separated by as much as a half mile, sometimes more. It was unlikely that anyone would have heard the gunshots unless they’d been outside after midnight, which was when the fire was first spotted. The truth was, they had no witnesses and too many motives, which meant no starting point for an investigation. It certainly wasn’t the first time they’d started a case with nothing to go on, and it wouldn’t be the last, but he wasn’t inclined to put a rush on it. He would never admit it, but he had an inborn prejudice against career criminals and a personal belief that when they bought it, it was nothing more than fate coming back to give them a much-deserved send-off to hell.

At that point, his telephone rang. He answered, frowning as his focus quickly shifted from the dead man to a child who had gone missing. There was no question of where his priorities would lie.

The flight to Dallas was nothing short of agony for Cat. Wilson did all he could, but other than keeping pain pills in her system and steadying her somewhat from buffeting winds, there was nothing more he could do.

Hours later, they were finally within sight of the city. It wasn’t the first time Wilson had flown into Dallas after dark, but they weren’t landing back at Martin’s Airfield. Mike had already made plans to land at the

heliport that served Dallas Memorial Hospital.

Wilson breathed a weary sigh of relief when Mike got on the radio and began their descent to the landing pad. Once they were down, everything began happening quickly. The bay doors were yanked open, instantly filling the chopper with blinding lights and cold winter air. There was an emergency team from the hospital waiting with a gurney to take Cat inside, and Wilson wasn’t going to let her go alone. As he got out, he stopped long enough to give Mike the keys to his SUV.

“When you get back to the airport, just put all our stuff in my car and lock it up. I have an extra set of keys at the apartment.”

Mike nodded. “Will do, buddy.”

“I’ll come by tomorrow with a check for the ride,” Wilson said. “Yeah…and don’t forget my tip,” Mike teased.

Wilson smiled, then shook his head. “I will never be able to repay you for what you did.”

Mike pointed to the woman who was swiftly being wheeled away.

“I’d like to meet her one day when she’s got both eyes open and a smile on her face.”

“Count on it,” Wilson said, then hurried to catch up.

Cat knew she was no longer in the chopper, because the smell of stale coffee was gone. What she did smell was cold air. She heard strangers talking, then felt the motion of the gurney on the concrete as every joint and muscle in her body screamed for relief. Then the gurney rolled over a crack in the concrete, and she passed out.

The next thing she heard was a man calling her name. “Miss Dupree…can you hear me?”

She inhaled slowly, then exhaled a soft yes.

He laid a hand on her shoulder in a reassuring manner. “You’re in the emergency room of Dallas Memorial. We’re bringing in a portable X-ray for you. After we’re done there, you’ll be going down to the lab for an MRI.”

Cat managed a nod.

“Do you remember anything about what happened to you?”

Wilson had been standing against the wall out of the way, but when he heard the question, he stiffened. If Cat was too out of her head, she might let something slip that could get her in trouble.

As it happened, Cat took care of the situation.

“Ask Wilson,” she mumbled.

The doctor looked up, then around. “Is someone here named Wilson?” “That would be me,” Wilson said, stepping closer to the gurney.

“What can you tell me about Miss Dupree’s injuries? She’s obviously been treated already.”

“Not a lot. I don’t know what happened to her. I just responded to a phone call. When I got to her, she was unconscious. It appeared to me that she’d been beaten…maybe she was mugged. I don’t know for sure. But she’s a bounty hunter. She could have gotten in the way of some bad guy she was after.”

“So where did this happen?”

“We were in a rural area. The local doctor who bound her broken ribs and stitched her up said to get her to a hospital for X-rays as soon as possible, which is what we did.”

Satisfied with the answer, the doctor dropped the inquisition, which suited Wilson.

“Well, then, let’s see what we can see,” the doctor said, and waved to the orderlies who were bringing the portable X-ray into the E.R.

“Wilson…Wilson…” Cat mumbled.

Wilson moved past the doctor and then gently cupped Cat’s face. “I’m here, honey. Just let them do their thing. I won’t be far away.” “Don’t leave,” she begged.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Wilson said.

Cat couldn’t put into words what it meant to her to be back in Texas. She still didn’t know how Wilson had made this happen, but she knew one thing for sure. Wilson McKay had saved her life, and in doing so, pulled off a small miracle.

She owed the man. She owed him big time.

As soon as the doctors put her back together again, there were going to be changes made. She just hoped it wasn’t too late to make amends.

A couple of hours later, the tests had been done and Cat had been admitted to the hospital. For the first time in days, Wilson felt his world returning to an even keel. He watched them taking her toward an elevator while listening to the doctor’s decisions.

“I want to keep her in the hospital for a couple of days, just to make sure there aren’t any surprises.”

Wilson frowned. “Besides the obvious, is something wrong that you’re not telling me? Are there internal injuries that—”

“No, no, nothing like that,” the doctor said. “At least, nothing showed up that would lead us to believe she’s in danger. She has a slight concussion but seems to be on the upswing from that. Whoever set her ribs did a good job. Nothing needed to be redone on that front. She may have some slight scarring from the stitches, but a good plastic surgeon can smooth all that out at a later date. As for the swelling on her face, that, too, will subside. Does she have any next of kin…someone we need to notify?”

“Just me,” Wilson said. “I’ll let her boss know.” Then he pointed down the hall. “Where are they taking her?”

“Check with the desk. They’ll tell you where her room is going to be.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Wilson said, and headed for the front desk. A few minutes later he was in an elevator on his way to the third floor.

Tutuola was on top of her, pounding his fist into her belly and ribs over and over until she could no longer breathe. She wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn’t come.

The gun. She had to get hold of the gun again.

Wilson woke up only seconds after Cat moaned, then screamed. He was instantly out of the chair and at her side. She was dreaming. He could tell by the way her muscles were jerking. He cupped Cat’s face with his hands and spoke softly but urgently.

“Cat, you’re dreaming. Wake up, honey, wake up.”

Cat inhaled swiftly, as if surfacing from a drowning pool, and clutched Wilson by the wrist.

“God…Wilson…oh, God.” “Are you in pain?”

Cat shuddered. Pain? She couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been in pain of one kind or another. Physical pain, emotional pain—to her, they were one and the same.

“Tutuola,” she muttered.

“Shh, baby…don’t say the name. Don’t even think it. So far, no one knows anything about the history that was between you. As far as they know, he was just a man Mark Presley hired to get him out of Texas. Last time you saw him, he was inside a burning house outside Nuevo Laredo, and let’s keep it that way.”

Before she could answer, the nurse came hurrying into the room. “What’s wrong in here?” she snapped.

Wilson looked up. “I think she was dreaming.”

The nurse eyed Wilson suspiciously as she moved toward the bed and began checking Cat’s IV hookup, as well as her vitals. Only after she realized that all was as it should be did she ease her guard.

“Miss Dupree, is there anything I can do to make you comfortable? Are you warm enough? Are you in pain?”

Cat lifted a hand to her lips. “Yes,” she said, then added, “water.”

“Yes, of course,” the nurse said, and picked up the little plastic pitcher. “I’ll be right back.”

As soon as she was gone, Wilson stepped back to the side of Cat’s bed. The ice packs that they’d put on her eyes were taking the worst of the swelling down, and the ointments they’d applied to her bruised and swollen lips seemed to give comfort. But the tears running down her cheeks told him that she was still suffering, and in a way he couldn’t make go away.

“You’re a tough one. Remember that, baby. You faced down the devil and beat him. Don’t quit on yourself now.”

Cat licked the edge of her lower lip as she reached for Wilson again. This time her fingers not only curled around his wrist but tightened, then dug in.

“Wilson…”

He sensed the determination in her—the struggle she was having with her

own need to fade back into an unconscious state. “What, baby?”

“I…don’t…quit.” He sighed. “Right.”

She exhaled slowly, turning loose of the breath carefully so as not to aggravate her bound ribs. She felt herself losing her grasp on reality and tried to hold on long enough for one more thought. It didn’t happen.

She slipped back into a drug-induced state of peace just as the nurse came back with her pitcher.

“Here you are, dear,” she said. “She’s out again,” Wilson said.

The nurse set the water pitcher down beside the bed.

“Well, it will be here when she wakes,” she said, and with a brief smile in Wilson’s direction, left the room.

Wilson watched Cat’s face for a few seconds more, then retreated back to his chair and sat down. After a few seconds, he reached for his cell phone. He probably wasn’t supposed to use it in here, but he needed to make a couple of calls and he wasn’t leaving her alone.

It was ten minutes after six in the morning at the McKay home outside of Austin. The old horse who’d borne the weight of all the McKay children was waiting in the corral for his morning feed. He stood with his gaze toward the back door, nickering impatiently.

Inside the old two-story home, the sound of the shower could be heard. Carter McKay was getting ready for the day, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee was wafting throughout the house.

Dorothy McKay was a lot slower these days than she’d been when all her children had still been at home, but there was nothing slow about her instincts. When the phone rang and she saw the caller ID, she knew something was wrong. Wilson was her eldest, but also the one she worried about most. Not only was his chosen profession one she considered dangerous, but he was so very alone. She picked up the phone on the second ring.

“Hello, honey. Are you okay?”

Wilson sighed. Just the sound of her voice was settling to the panic with which he’d been living for the past few days.

“Yeah, Mom, I’m fine. Just checking in with you guys before the day gets crazy.”