by Sharon Sala
Now he strutted through the rooms, gazing on the opulence with a sense of having earned his way here, never mind that he’d actually gotten here on the backs and the blood of his victims.
Even though he’d been awake less than an hour, he paused at the wet bar and poured himself a bourbon and Coke, added a couple of ice cubes, then headed for the vine-covered patio. Despite Solomon’s massive size, he moved with an odd grace. Just as he was about to exit the house, his new housekeeper, Juanita, came down the hallway.
He paused, waiting for that first look of shock to pass so he could find out what she wanted.
“Señor…the food…it is cooked.”
He nodded, then pointed toward the table outside.
“I will eat there,” he said.
She looked away quickly, nodding her understanding, and went scurrying back the way she’d come.
Within a few minutes he was enjoying a breakfast of scrambled eggs with a large helping of sautéed peppers, tomatoes and chorizo sausage on the side. He had a stack of warm flour tortillas and a pot of thick, black coffee. As far as Solomon was concerned, it was food fit for the gods and he was in his heaven.
He ate with relish, then called for more coffee before he was done.
Juanita, who was hovering nearby, breathed a sign of relief when she realized her very frightening boss was satisfied with her food and, when he demanded more coffee, she ran to do his bidding.
Once Solomon was through eating, he got up and walked away, leaving her to clean up his mess. His property consisted of the house, the immediate grounds and almost two acres of land, most of which ran behind the house. He liked knowing all of that was his, and especially liked the security features the place already offered. He’d made plenty of enemies in his lifetime, and while he wasn’t afraid of the devil himself, he did sleep better knowing there was a rock wall around the bulk of the property. As soon as he had it extended around the front, he would be happier.
He stuffed his hands in his pockets as he began to circle the property, walking with his usual long swaggering stride, making mental notes as to what he would change. He wanted the pool, that was for certain, so he needed to look into someone to do the renovation. Tomorrow he would do a little checking and find some reliable craftsmen. When he got to the back of his property, he lifted his head, then turned, eyeing the house and all that was his.
“Who knew?” he muttered, then began to smile. The smile turned into a chuckle, then a full-blown laugh.
Juanita’s husband, Pedro, was underneath Solomon’s car, changing the oil, when he heard the laughter. He paused, trying to figure out what was happening. When he realized it was his boss, and that he was all the way at the back of the property, laughing like a man gone mad, he crossed himself, then said a quick prayer. Pedro didn’t know what he thought about the job he and Juanita had taken, but as long as they got their pay and the crazy man left them alone, he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He picked up a wrench and went back to work on the car.
* * *
It had taken Cat less than two hours to find Tutuola’s exact location and learn that he’d paid big money for the property and had two employees, neither of whom stayed over at night. To the best of her knowledge, Tutuola spent the nights alone, although she couldn’t count on that. However, even knowing someone else might be there wasn’t enough to stop her from what she’d come to do.
The layout of the property gave her few options as to how she would get in, but that was minor. She gave the place a last once-over through her binoculars, then drove away. She would get some food, some rest and wait for nightfall. It wasn’t much of a plan, but the way Cat looked at it, it wouldn’t take all night to put a bullet between his eyes.
It never occurred to her to call the authorities. There was no evidence linking him to the crime that had left her an orphan other than her word. And there were too many lonely years and bad memories to lay at his feet for her to relent. As she paused at a stoplight, she absently ran her finger along the length of her scar, then swallowed past the knot in her throat as she gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
“Soon, Daddy,” she said softly. “Soon the devil will pay for what he did to us.”
The light changed. She accelerated through the intersection, on her way back to her hotel.
* * *
LaQueen was taken with the new employee. She’d given the big Indian the once-over, then produced a new coffee cup and put it on the extra desk Wilson had set up.
“Last one to empty the pot makes a fresh one,” she said, and swept off to her desk with a roll to her step.
“Yes, ma’am,” John said, then eyed Wilson, waiting for him to set things in motion.
Wilson was a little stunned by LaQueen’s instant approval, but it was a good sign. She was, after all, the boss of all she surveyed, despite the fact that Wilson signed her checks.
“Okay, John. We’ve got a couple of skips to run down today, so you’ll be coming with me to get the gist of how this all works. As time goes on, when one of us is out of the office, the other one will stay close here with LaQueen. I don’t want her to suffer a repeat of the other day.”
John frowned, as he glanced over at the tall, elegant woman.
“What happened?”
“A client got pissed off at me and took it out on her. Had to have the bastard arrested for assault.”
John’s frowned deepened.
“Is she all right?” he asked.
Wilson looked at her, then grinned. “Does she look like she’s not?”
John blinked, then realized Wilson was teasing him.
“She looks fine to me.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Wilson said, and picked up a couple of files. “LaQueen, we’ll be out for a couple of hours. Call if you need me for anything. As soon as John gets trained, we’ll alternate pickups so you won’t be alone in here.”
LaQueen sat up even straighter than she’d been sitting and glared at Wilson.
“I have been taking care of myself in here for years now, Wilson McKay. I am not needing a babysitter. I did not know you were hiring just because of me. I thought it was because you wanted help!”
“It’s not babysitting, honey. It’s simply a matter of taking care of business. I won’t have you in danger.”
John eyed the flash in her eyes and the tilt of her chin, then spoke. His voice was soft, but it carried easily across the room to where LaQueen was sitting.
“Just so you know…there’s no danger of anyone mistaking you for a baby. You’re one fine-looking lady, and it will be my honor to learn the ropes from you.”
LaQueen didn’t know whether to bristle or beam. Wilson had never seen her so distracted.
“So…John…put on this bulletproof vest and clip these handcuffs to the back of your jeans. The can of Mace can go in your coat pocket, and then we’re good to go. We’ll see about getting you certified as a bounty hunter, as well as a license to carry weapons, later. Right now you’re an observer, unless I say different.”
“Got it,” John said.
Within moments, they were gone.
LaQueen sat in the office, staring blankly into space. It wasn’t until the phone rang that she pulled herself together and went back to work.
* * *
It was thirty minutes after midnight and there was no moon.
Cat took that as a positive sign as she parked at the foot of the hill leading up to Tutuola’s property. She sat for a moment, making sure there was no one around to see her, then got out, locking the car behind her. The last thing she needed was to have her only means of escape stolen.
The night was cold, the wind sharp and unusually strong, but the dark clothing she was wearing broke the chill. She pulled on her latex gloves, patted the shoulder holster under her jacket, checked the batteries in her flashlight again, then lifted her head and started walking. There were no trees to hide behind, no shrubbery in which to shelter. She was out in the open, wi
th only the curtain of night to hide her presence. The steepness of the road made her trek somewhat slower than she’d planned, but it didn’t really matter. This might be the last appointment she’d ever keep, but she felt a sense of inevitability. This day had been a long time coming. She was ready to get it over with.
By the time she reached the house, she was breathing rapidly and sweating underneath her clothes. She paused near a corner of the house until her breathing had a chance to even out. Once she had settled, she started searching for a way to get in. She had no way of knowing if the place had security, but if she set off an alarm, then so be it. She intended to introduce herself anyway, before she sent him to hell.
CHAPTER TEN
Solomon was flat on his back in a dreamless sleep when he awakened abruptly. He lay for a moment, listening, wondering what it was his subconscious had heard that had set off his inner alarm. Several long silent moments passed. He’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined it, when he heard what sounded like a squeaky hinge.
He opened the drawer in the night table and pulled out a gun. Naked as the day he was born, he left his bedroom and started down the hallway. He moved slowly, taking care to stay in the shadows, and stilled his breathing to a whisper.
* * *
Cat was inside.
Just the knowledge that she was within shouting distance of this man set her teeth on edge. She stood against the wall near the window she’d crawled through, careful not to step on the broken glass. She’d broken the glass on purpose, knowing the sound would wake him, which was what she’d planned. This time, when they met, he would be the one who was being invaded. This time, she would be the stranger waiting in the shadows.
She stood motionless, listening for a sign that he was up and moving. She didn’t have long to wait. A slight creak from a floorboard down a darkened hallway to her left set her nerves on edge. She held her breath, tightened her hold on her gun and slipped farther into the shadows.
Within seconds, she saw what looked like a wraith separate itself from the darkness and move into the living room. From the size of it, she sensed, rather than saw, that it was Tutuola. Her fingers tightened around her handgun, waiting.
* * *
Someone was here. He could smell them.
“Who’s there?” he called out.
Silence.
He moved a few steps further into the living room, then paused, his finger curled around the trigger.
“I know you’re here,” he said softly, then chuckled. “I can smell you.”
“You smell nothing but yourself,” Cat whispered, then went down on her hands and knees only seconds before a bullet whizzed past her head.
Solomon had been so rattled by the sound of a woman’s voice that he’d fired off the shot before he thought. When he’d heard nothing that indicated his shot had hit a target, he began backing up, wanting to put something besides space between him and the intruder. When he felt the wall at his back, he froze.
“Who are you? What do you want?” he called out, then silently cursed when he heard the uncertainty in his voice. It wasn’t like him to be rattled by anything or anyone.
“I came to watch you die,” Cat said, and then dropped flat on her belly and crawled six feet back to the right as Solomon fired a second shot at the place where she’d been.
Solomon fired off another shot in the same direction, then grabbed a crystal vase and threw it. The sound of shattering glass was followed by long moments of silence. He started to shoot again, then realized he’d be wasting his bullets. He started to reach for the light switch, and when he did, a gun went off. The bullet hit the wall right beside his hand. He yanked it back in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. No one got the best of him. No one.
“Who are you? Show yourself, you coward bitch! I will tear you apart with my hands.”
Cat rolled over onto her belly, smiling tightly when she realized she could see the entire outline of Tutuola’s body against the white stuccoed walls. Without hesitation, she took aim at his shoulder and squeezed off a shot. He screamed when he was hit, in shock and rage and pain, and started firing in wild abandon. He fired until his gun was empty, then threw it across the room, cursing with every breath.
At that point, Cat stood up and reached for a light switch.
When the room was suddenly flooded with light, the man Cat saw looked like something from hell. Half of his face and head appeared to have been melted. Everything was sagging and scarred. But the expression of his face was the same. Pure evil.
Solomon gasped. For the first time in his life he was truly defenseless—naked, unarmed, covered in blood from the gushing wound in his shoulder and facing an intruder in his own home. It took a few moments for his eyesight to adjust, and when it did, he realized that he knew the woman—or at least, he’d seen her before.
“You!” he roared, and started toward her.
Cat fired again, this time hitting him in the chest.
When the bullet struck, it spun him completely around. He went to his knees. At that point he leaned forward, bracing himself with his hands, then shook his head like a dog shedding water. To Cat’s disbelief, he pushed himself up, staggering as he stood to face her.
Cat flinched. What the hell was it going to take to keep him down?
Tutuola’s fingers clenched and unclenched into fists as he stared across the room at the tall, dark-haired woman with the husky voice. When she stepped out from behind his sofa, he shuddered. She was holding a gun aimed straight at his face. No one had ever looked at him without flinching. No one.
Until her.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Cat Dupree.”
He splayed a hand across the gunshot wound to his chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. Then he shuddered again. Was this how he died? It didn’t seem possible that a total stranger—and a woman, at that—would turn out to be the one who took him down.
“I don’t know you,” he muttered.
“Oh…we’ve met. Twice before. You know what they say, third time’s a charm.”
“I saw you at the hacienda…outside Nuevo Laredo. Did you come for the money?”
“Hell no,” she said softly.
The bitterness in her voice was unsettling. He couldn’t help but remember the curse that Paloma had put on him. Was this woman part of the witch’s curse?
“Then why?”
“Payback,” Cat said.
He frowned. “Payback for what? You are nothing to me.”
“Do you remember a man named Justin Dupree?”
Solomon frowned. “You’ve got the wrong man. I never knew anyone by that name.”
Cat moved a quick step to the right and took aim at his knee.
“That makes it even worse,” she said softly.
“Why? Why are you doing this?”
“He was my father, and you killed him.”
Solomon couldn’t believe this was happening. For the first time in his life, he had money. He had property. He had everything he’d ever wanted. He couldn’t die now.
“No. No. It wasn’t me,” he said.
“Yes, it was you,” Cat said, and raised her gun. “I saw you do it.”
Solomon shook his head. “Now I know you’re lying, because I never left a witness to anything I did.”
Cat reached up and yanked down the neck of her sweater, revealing the thick pink curl of scar tissue.
“You left one,” she said. “Me. You cut my throat, then left me to watch as you stabbed my father to death. You left me to die. Instead, I have come to kill you.”
Solomon realized that his only chance of survival hinged on getting that gun out of her hands before she could fire another shot. There was a piece of Mayan pottery sitting on a pedestal just to his right. Ignoring the pain in his body, he grabbed it by the handle and threw it just as she fired off another shot.
The shot went wild as Cat instinctively ducked. By the time she looked up, he was on her. He knocked the
gun from her hand, then began punching her in the face. She fought him hard, kicking and scratching and trying to get her fingers in his eyes. He grabbed her by the throat with both hands and began squeezing.
The pain was immediate. The chance that her hyoid bone was about to be crushed was imminent. Figuring she had about two seconds before he killed her, she drew her knee up sharply, jamming it into his testicles as hard as she could. His scream of pain and rage was deafening, but it worked. He turned her loose. She rolled out from under him, and then, before he could react, kicked him square in the jaw as he leaned over her.
Solomon dropped like a felled ox.
Cat scanned the room frantically, looking for her gun. Suddenly her gaze focused on the sofa. The butt of her gun was visible between two of the cushions. She lunged for it just as Solomon came to and made a dive for her. For a few seconds the gun was in her grasp, and then Solomon landed on her with all his weight.
Every ounce of breath was knocked from her body. He turned her over, then rose up just enough to give himself room to swing a fist.
The first blow landed just below her breastbone. She heard ribs snapping. Pain ripped through her body in shockwaves, but she only grunted as he drew back for the next blow.
Cat was fighting for her life. She scratched at his face, digging her fingers into his skin, and then, finally, pushing her thumbs against his eyeballs.
Again the pain was so sharp that Solomon was forced to turn her loose. He rose up with a roar as she blinded him, then swung wildly, connecting with the side of her jaw. Cat flew backwards, landing flat on her back. Her head bounced against the hard, tiled floor and, for a few seconds, everything went black. It was an inborn sense of self-preservation that made her move even before she was able to breathe.
She shook her head frantically, trying to clear her vision, as she staggered back to the sofa and grabbed her gun. Blood was pouring out of her nose, she couldn’t feel her lips, and one eye was swollen shut. But she was still breathing. When she spun, Solomon was within five feet of her.
