Cut Throat (24 page)

“We missed you at Christmas. Too bad about that ice storm.” “Yeah, I missed being there, too,” he said, remembering the odd day he’d

spent with Cat, trying to help her figure out what had happened to Marsha. It seemed like a lifetime ago. “How’s Dad?”

“He’s fine. In the shower right now. He’ll want to say hello.” “Sure thing. So…is everyone okay?”

“Your father and I are fine. Your brothers are fine. Your sisters are fine. Your nieces and nephews are fine. You, on the other hand, are not. Start talking. What’s wrong, and don’t tell me nothing, because I know better.”

Wilson wanted to laugh, but he was too close to tears to chance it. “It has nothing to do with me,” he said.

“Is it a woman?”

“You could say that.”

Dorothy sighed. “You’re in love, aren’t you, son?”

Wilson was dumbfounded. It was the last thing he’d expected to come out of her mouth, and yet the moment she said it, he knew he wouldn’t lie.

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“It’s complicated, okay?”

Dorothy frowned. “You listen to me, Wilson Lee. If she’s worth loving, she’s worth fighting for. Doesn’t she care for you?”

“I haven’t the faintest idea what’s in her head, and if you knew her, you’d know what I mean.”

“So talk to her.”

“Oh…we’re way past talking. She’s made herself clear more than once in the past.”

“So what’s happened now that’s changed all that?” “How do you know something’s changed?” “Because you’re calling me,” she said.

“She’s been injured. She’s going to be okay, but it’s going to take time.”

“Oh…I’m so sorry. What can I do to help? Does she need a place to recuperate? We’ve got all kinds of empty rooms, you know. I would enjoy a little female company…if you need us, that is.”

Tears blurred Wilson’s vision as he glanced over at the bed where Cat was sleeping.

“Thanks for offering, but I don’t think she would go.”

“So don’t ask her, Wilson. Just get her down here. We’ll do the rest.”

Wilson thought about it. It would be a perfect place for her to heal physically. Would she heal emotionally, as well, or would his big, boisterous family send her the rest of the way into her shell?

“We’ll see, but you’re a sweetheart for offering.” “Wilson…”

“What?”

“Are you okay?”

He smiled. “I will be.”

“Okay then. Oh…here comes your father. Honey, it’s Wilson. Come say hello.”

Wilson heard his mother whisper something before she handed his dad the phone. Probably warning his father not to pry and promising that she would fill him in later. Their bond was something he’d taken for granted his whole life. But not anymore. What they had was beyond special. He wanted that same relationship, too, and he wanted it with Cat.

Whether it happened or not had yet to be seen. Fourteen

Wilson had sent John Tiger to Martin’s Airfield to pick up his vehicle and then leave it in the hospital parking lot.

John had done so promptly. Then he’d come up to Cat’s room with the car keys, knocked quietly on the door and waited for Wilson to answer.

When Wilson came to the door, John told him where he’d parked, handed over the keys and walked away without looking back.

LaQueen had filled him in enough to know that the relationship between Wilson and the female bounty hunter was tenuous at best. He also knew that no one was discussing what had happened to her. It was fine with him. Everyone had secrets.

When John showed no curiosity in trying to see the woman on the bed behind him, Wilson knew then that the man had a strong moral streak that would stand him in good stead. Thinking back, he’d been hesitant to hire extra help until Jimmy Franks’ assault on LaQueen had forced him to act. Now he and LaQueen wondered how they’d ever managed without John.

John seemed happy enough. It was for damn certain that LaQueen was happy. She liked him. The unexpected bonus to all of it was that John Tiger liked LaQueen, too. Wilson didn’t want to think about why he was the only one who couldn’t get the woman he wanted.

Once John was gone, Wilson pocketed the keys and returned to Cat’s bedside, where he had been for hours, watching her sleep. The swelling in her eyes was going down. Last time she’d awakened, she had been able to see out of both eyes. The stitches on her face were numerous, but looking at them, he realized the only ones that would be visible were the three on her cheekbone. The others were in her hairline, near her right ear and

under her chin. Even then, Wilson suspected Cat wouldn’t be bothered by new scars. Like the old puckered one on her neck, they were a kind of proof that she’d survived.

Cat herself was undergoing an inner metamorphosis. Losing Marsha and getting justice for her father’s death had put her in a different place. She knew she was floundering. She knew she needed a new anchor in her life. And every time she woke up and saw Wilson McKay, scruffy hair, gold earring and several days in need of a shave, her heart would ache. She didn’t know if the pain was from regret or a deeper yearning. God knows he’d given her plenty of openings. She just didn’t know where he stood on that anymore. Yes, he’d responded to her call and come after her “bones,” as she’d put it, but that didn’t change what had gone before. There were still five twenty-dollar bills in the table by her bed that he’d left behind the last time they were together, and she’d gotten the message. She’d treated him like a quick fix for sex. He’d paid her in kind. It was her intent, once she was healed, to see if there was anything left between them to build on.

Wilson was centered on the immediacy of the moment. He needed to go home long enough to shower and change clothes, but he was reluctant to leave. He couldn’t bear to think about her waking up alone—disoriented and afraid. As soon as he was satisfied that she was on the upswing, he decided, he would make a quick run home. Red Brickman, the man he’d bought the bail bond business from, was sitting in for Wilson. He still had his accreditation, and was helping John Tiger and LaQueen in Wilson’s absence.

From the time Wilson had purchased the business from Red, he’d never missed a day of work. Wilson had always claimed there wasn’t a woman for the chasing who would be worth dumping his responsibilities onto someone else. That could no longer be said.

Houston Franks was standing in an alley across from McKay’s Bail Bonds waiting on Jimmy to show, but he was late. Houston was past wanting revenge and more intent on getting the hell out of Dallas before his next court date. Jimmy, however, was out of his freakin’ mind, intent on payback.

It was Houston’s personal opinion that Jimmy was a few biscuits shy of a dozen, and he attributed it to his little brother’s meth addiction, which was probably why he was late today. More than likely, Jimmy was out trying to get himself a fix. Houston liked to drink, but he’d never gotten messed up with dope and considered anyone a dope who used it. Still, he didn’t have it in him to abandon his brother to his own stupidity. The sooner they tapped McKay and got it over with, the quicker they could be on their way.

Houston had been watching the doorway to McKay’s Bail Bonds for over an hour when a big black pickup pulled up to the curb. He saw the man who got out and frowned. He’d seen him several times before. The man looked to be in his late thirties and was obviously Native American. At first he’d thought the Indian was just a customer, but now he wasn’t so sure. Wilson McKay had been suspiciously absent from the office, while this man came and went with regularity. And there was an older, heavyset man who now sat at the desk that Wilson normally occupied. It could be that payback for Wilson McKay might prove more difficult than they’d planned.

It was the muted sound of a nurse’s call over the hospital intercom that Cat heard first as she began to wake up, and when she did, she needed no reminders as to why she was there. Her body was a ball of pain, but she’d

honored a vow she’d made many years ago and would not have changed a thing. Vigilante though it might have been, justice had been served, and without an iota of regret on her part.

Now it was over. Almost.

When she shifted on the bed, Wilson sat up. “Hey,” he said softly.

“Hey yourself,” Cat said, then reached for her water cup.

“Here, let me help,” he said, and poured her some fresh water, then held the straw to her lips.

She drank thirstily, then nodded when she was done.

Wilson eyed her carefully as he set the cup down. The old independent Cat was slowly emerging. He was glad she was healing, but uncertain as to where that would leave him.

“Is there something I can get for you?” he asked. “Want me to check with the nurse and see if you can have something for pain?”

“I’m okay for now,” Cat said, then winced from the binding on her ribs as she tried to pull up the covers.

“Let me,” Wilson said, and straightened them for her before tucking her back in.

Cat watched the intentness on his face, but she wondered what was going on behind the mask.

“Wilson?”

“Yeah, honey?”

“What are you thinking?”

He was a bit taken aback by her forthrightness, then realized he shouldn’t be. Getting straight to business was Cat at her best. He shifted his weight from one hip to the other, then moved to the foot of her bed, needing to put space between them to answer. His gaze was dark, his face expressionless as he stared. Finally he shook his head.

“Hell, Catherine, I’m not sure how to answer that.” “Just tell me what you’re thinking right now.” “I’m thankful you’re still in one piece.” “Yeah,” she said, and looked away.

Wilson knew she was reliving her encounter with Tutuola. He doubted she would ever volunteer what had gone on between them, and he knew he wasn’t going to ask.

“Is it over?” he asked.

She nodded, then looked away. A tear slid out from beneath her eyelid and slipped down her cheek.

“You’re one hell of a woman. You know that, don’t you?” Cat blinked, then looked up, a little surprised by the passion in his voice.

“I will never ask you what happened,” he said. “I don’t need to know, okay?”

She nodded, then frowned slightly as her thoughts moved ahead. “Were we in a chopper?”

“Yes. A friend flew me down to Chihuahua. I won’t tell you what hell we went through to get you put back together enough to move you, but it wasn’t easy.”

“I don’t remember much after…”

“Did you register at the hotel under your own name?” “No.”

He breathed a quick sigh of relief. That was a loose end that had been bothering him.

“I swept the room when we left. Even took your trash with us. Didn’t want to leave anything that could be traced back to you, although the blood

trail in the hall of your hotel was still there. The best we can hope for is that they never put two and two together.”

Cat hadn’t even considered the repercussions of that. She’d been too focused on meting out her own justice. Then she remembered her car.

“My car! I left my car! They’ll find it eventually…and there’s a gun in it. I killed—uh—I need to get it out of the hotel parking lot.”

“The gun is gone, and your car’s not at the hotel parking lot anymore. It’s parked out by a peanut-sized airport. Look…here’s what I’ve been thinking. I have someone new working for me. I was going to have him fly down and drive it back.”

Cat frowned.

“What if someone saw me? What if the authorities are looking for the car, waiting for someone to try to cross the border with it?”

Wilson frowned, but before he could answer, Cat had come to her own conclusion.

“I don’t want it back,” she said.

“You don’t want it left there, honey,” Wilson said. “Eventually, someone will get curious and trace the owner. Then they’ll be wondering why an American woman would go off and leave a good vehicle like that behind. They might even be inclined to see if there was any kind of connection between you and an unsolved murder, and you and I both know there’s one hell of a connection. If this had happened in the States, we’d be talking

self-defense in the act of arresting a wanted criminal. But what we do is illegal in Mexico. They’d throw your pink-butterfly-tattooed ass in jail for life for playing your bounty-hunting cards in their country.”

Cat frowned, unsure as to whether she was irked because he’d mentioned the pink butterfly or because she could wind up in a Mexican jail.

“They won’t be able to connect me to anything if the car is gone.” “But how?”

“If you’ll go to my apartment and bring me the title and a set of keys, I’ll tend to the rest.”

“Yeah, sure. Just tell me where the stuff is…but what are you going to do?”

Cat closed her eyes for a moment, remembering Padre Francisco’s old station wagon and the effort it had taken for them to keep it running long enough to come get Pilar Mendoza’s baby.

“Give it to a man I know.”

“It’s your call,” Wilson said. “I don’t have my keys,” Cat said. “But I do,” Wilson said.

Cat sighed. “I should have known.” “So tell me where the title is.”