Cut Throat

by Sharon Sala

  Cat laughed. Hell warmed over. Yes, that was about how she’d felt. But that was then and this was now, and she knew that when she was completely healed, she would be better than before. The rage she’d carried with her for so long was gone.

  “At any rate,” Cat said, “I’m so glad Wilson brought me here. Thank you for all the wonderful food and for sharing your home. Oh, and thank you for teaching me to crochet and for my beautiful gift. I wish I could repay the favors.”

  Carter slid an arm around her shoulders and gave her a gentle hug.

  “You don’t repay something that was willingly given, Missy. Just don’t wait too long to come back and see us, okay?”

  “Okay,” Cat said, and kissed him on the cheek, then kissed Dorothy, as well.

  “Hey,” Wilson said, as he came back into the room. “Save some of that for me.”

  Cat rolled her eyes, which made Carter laugh.

  “What?” Wilson asked, as he reached Cat’s side. “Are you making fun of me?”

  “No way, McKay.”

  Wilson grinned. He would take all kinds of teasing just to see this look of joy on Cat’s face.

  “Everything is loaded,” he said.

  Cat sighed, watching as Wilson said his good-byes to his parents, who followed them onto the porch, then stood and waved as Cat and Wilson got into his car.

  They were still on the porch watching as Cat and Wilson topped the hill above the ranch. Cat thought back to the moment when Wilson had stopped there on their trip down. It had been her first glimpse of where he’d grown up. She’d been so afraid, and it had been for nothing.

  It was, for her, proof that change wasn’t necessarily a guarantee that everything would be ruined. Sometimes change was what saved a person. Maybe it was going to save her.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Cat was home. Her apartment smelled a little musty, like rooms did when they’d been shut up for too long. Mail had piled up in her mailbox to the point that they’d begun putting the overflow into a sack. She recovered it from the apartment manager on her way up and dumped it on the kitchen counter to be looked at later.

  Wilson carried her bags into her bedroom, and took the laundry bag full of her dirty clothes to the small utility room off the kitchen and laid it on top of the washer. From there he made a quick check of her refrigerator.

  “Hey, honey, if you’ll make a grocery list of what you might need for the next few days, I’ll go get it for you.”

  “You don’t need to,” she said. “I’ll get it myself when—” Then she sighed. “Crap. I don’t have a car anymore, do I?”

  She moved to the counter, picked up a pad and pen, and began jotting down the necessities.

  Wilson watched her concentrating, studying the way her eyebrow arched when she was thinking and noticing that she chewed on her lower lip as she wrote—taking notes on the woman who’d stolen his heart.

  When she looked up and caught him staring, she stopped. For a few moments, they said nothing. Then Cat laid down the pen and walked toward him.

  Wilson’s heartbeat stuttered. What was she up to?

  She touched the side of his face, then the earring, then traced the edge of his lower lip with her thumb. She saw his eyes darken and his nostrils flare as her hand moved to the center of his chest. She could feel the rhythm of his pulse against her palm as she looked up.

  “I have something to say to you,” she said.

  Wilson stilled. Please, God, don’t let her tell me it’s over.

  Cat was afraid, as if she was about to lose her sense of self, but she’d learned something this past week. She’d learned that she didn’t want to lose this man. He needed to know that she would do whatever it took to keep him.

  “Ever since we’ve met, I’ve been mean to you. I know it, because I did it deliberately. I didn’t have space inside myself for anything but hate and revenge. I treated you like shit. I didn’t fully appreciate the lengths you went to, to help me, and for that, I am sorry.”

  Wilson cupped her face. “You don’t have to say this.”

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “I need to hear the words coming out of my own mouth, and you need to hear them from me.”

  “Okay…so talk to me, honey.”

  Cat nodded. “I know how you feel about me, because you told me. What I didn’t tell you was how scared that made me feel.”

  Wilson frowned. “Scared? Having someone tell you he loves you scares you?”

  “Like nothing I can describe. What you don’t know is that I’ve never—in my whole life—been in love. To me, that meant giving up what I viewed as…I guess…myself. I’ve had sex, but none too often, and never with the same man twice. Then you dropped into my life. So all the while I was trying to find Marsha’s murderer, and then running to hell and back after Tutuola, I kept thinking of you. Every so often you would pop into my thoughts, and it bothered me. I didn’t know what to call it, but I couldn’t get you out of my head.” She cast a sideways glance at him, then sighed. “Then, after a while, I couldn’t get you out of my heart.”

  Relief swept through Wilson at a rate so fast he felt light-headed. This wasn’t the brush-off after all.

  Cat started to put her arms around his neck, then winced as the sore muscles shifted over her still-healing ribs.

  “Allow me,” Wilson said softly, and pulled her close.

  Cat laid her cheek against his chest, then wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “What I’m trying to say is, don’t quit on me, Wilson. I want your love. I want to be what you want me to be. I just have to figure out how to accept what you’re giving me without being an ass, and more importantly, I have to learn how to give.”

  Wilson lifted her chin until they were locked into each other’s gaze. He wanted—no, needed—to hear her say the words. Just once.

  “Give? Give what, baby?”

  Cat froze. For a moment she was acutely aware of the feel of Wilson’s breath on her cheek, the tick of the kitchen clock hanging on the wall and a faint sound of sirens from somewhere outside the apartment. Through a trick of the light, she saw her own reflection in his eyes, and for a moment she thought that she’d already lost herself.

  Wilson sighed. He’d pushed her too far, too fast. It was time to let her off the hook.

  “It’s okay, Catherine. You’ll say what you want to say when you’re ready to say it, and you know—”

  Cat put a finger across his lips, silencing him.

  “Love, Wilson. I need to be able to give you wholehearted, unabashed, unadulterated love. And for God’s sake, I need to be able to say it without feeling like I’m going to throw up.”

  Wilson chuckled, then kissed the top of her head.

  “Lord, honey…I don’t want to make you sick. I just want to love you. And if you can’t say the words, I don’t care. As long as you’re a willing participant in the process, I’ll be happy.”

  Cat sighed. “Thank you. Thank you for bearing with me. I can only imagine how stupid all this seems to you, but—”

  Wilson’s smile disappeared. This time, he was the one interrupting her.

  “You’re worth whatever it takes, so cut yourself some slack.” Then he lowered his head.

  Their lips touched.

  Wilson groaned.

  Cat sighed.

  Wilson cupped her face with both hands as he deepened the pressure on her lips. Kissing Catherine was one of his favorite things. That she was still alive for him to be doing this was something he would never take for granted again.

  Wilson was the first to stop. “Lady…when your ribs get well…”

  Cat’s lips were still tingling. She was smiling as she looked up at him.

  “I’ll be sure to let you know,” she said.

  Wilson groaned. “Where’s that damned grocery list?”

  Cat handed it to him.

  “I won’t be long,” he said.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “At least not until tomorrow, at whi
ch time I am going shopping for a new car.”

  “For now, why don’t you rest a little? I’ll be back soon.”

  “Maybe I will,” Cat said. “But I want to call Art first. Tell him I’m back.”

  Wilson pointed at her. “But not going back to work until you’ve been cleared medically. Remember that.”

  Cat made a face. “I’m not stupid.”

  “No, but you’re sure hardheaded.”

  “I’ll cop to that. As for the shopping, I don’t have much cash here, so I’ll have to write you a check for the cost when you come back.”

  “It’s just a couple of sacks of groceries,” he said.

  “And I can afford to pay for them.”

  Wilson held up his hands. “Okay. I get the message.” He pointed to her bottle of pain pills. “Take one of those and go lie down…please.”

  Cat nodded. “Yes, I think I will.”

  “I’ll let myself out,” Wilson said, and winked at Cat as he left.

  Cat waited until she heard the front door close, then shook out a pill, downed it with a sip of water and headed for her bedroom. Once inside, she kicked off her shoes, pulled off her pants and sweater, and started to pull back the covers, then turned around and picked up her gift from Dorothy instead. The afghan was soft against her skin as she crawled onto the bed with it. When she pulled it up and over her, the faint scent of lavender from the sachets that Dorothy had put among the folds reminded her of the woman who’d made it. She fell asleep wrapped in the memories and the love with which it had been made.

  * * *

  Jimmy Franks was in jail. He’d been picked up making a meth buy. Houston was so pissed at him, he wouldn’t even come see him in lockup, and Jimmy heard that he’d left town.

  Jimmy knew he’d blown it with his brother, but Houston didn’t understand. When you had a need like he did, you had to feed it, only things hadn’t quite worked out as he’d planned. Not only did he miss the buy, but he was beginning to detox in jail. Things could be worse, but right now, Jimmy couldn’t think how. He was awaiting arraignment, but uncertain if bail would be set. He’d been out on bail when he’d been picked up the second time. He didn’t know what that meant to his future, but it wasn’t looking good, and he blamed Wilson McKay. Wilson had been the reason he’d been arrested the first time, now this.

  “Damn you, McKay,” Jimmy muttered, then slammed his fist against the wall of his cell. Pain shot up his arm to his shoulder, which only added to his fury. “Payback is a bitch.”

  “Hey, shorty…shut the hell up!” someone yelled.

  Jimmy grabbed hold of the bars of his cell and shoved his face up against them.

  “Come over here and make me, honey!” he yelled back, then slammed the flat of his hand against the bars before all but throwing himself onto his cot. All he needed was to get out, and then they would see. By God, they’d all see.

  * * *

  Cat had a new SUV—a gray Chevrolet Trailblazer, complete with a GPS tracking system that included a separate phone and a medical alert program. If she should have a wreck or become disabled in any way, her GPS system would be able to locate her whereabouts within twenty feet and dispatch medical or mechanical help if needed. It was a safeguard that made Wilson as happy as it made her.

  Her stitches were out, and, according to her doctor, her ribs were healing nicely. Within a week or so, she would be able to go back to work. Art was a little nervous about giving his okay, but Cat was itching to become productive again. In the meantime, she had to satisfy herself with waiting, and the fact that Wilson was coming over after he got off work was something worth waiting for.

  She’d promised to feed him. Her culinary skills were next to non-existent, but Joe Bob’s Pit Barbeque was only a mile from her apartment, and tonight Joe Bob was cooking.

  She’d stopped off there less than an hour ago, and was in the act of putting the food in the refrigerator to be reheated upon Wilson’s arrival when her phone rang. She set down a carton of coleslaw and picked up the phone.

  “Hello.”

  “Hey, honey, it’s me.”

  “Me, who?” Cat said.

  Wilson chuckled. The fact that she was able to joke with him was a good sign that she was at ease.

  “The me who’s gonna come over and kiss you senseless,” he said.

  “Oh. That me. So…what’s keeping you?”

  Wilson growled softly into the phone. “You do know that you’re driving me crazy, right?”

  “If I’m driving, then that means I’m in charge, and you know how I like that,” Cat said.

  Wilson laughed out loud, and she grinned. This relationship thing was getting easier by the day. Making Wilson laugh felt good.

  He was still chuckling when he finally remembered why he’d called.

  “I’m going to be getting out of here a little earlier than I thought. Is it okay to come over?”

  “Come whenever,” Cat said. “I’m here.”

  “See you soon, love,” Wilson said, and started to hang up.

  “Hey, Wilson?”

  He put the phone back to his ear. “Yeah, honey?”

  Cat wanted to say it. Love. It was a four-letter word, and God knew she’d used plenty of those in her lifetime. Why this one wouldn’t come out as easily was a mystery to her.

  “Uh…we’re having barbeque.”

  “Sounds good,” he said. “Be there shortly.”

  The dial tone ended whatever else Cat had been trying to get said.

  “Crap,” she muttered, and hung up the receiver. “What the hell is wrong with me? It’s only three words. I love you. I. Love. You. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

  Disgusted with herself, she took the rest of the food from the sacks and stuck them in the fridge. It wasn’t quite four o’clock. Even if Wilson got here before five, there was no way he would want to eat so early.

  She rubbed her midriff, testing for soreness. Her ribs hardly hurt at all, and for the first time in days she was thinking of more than kissing and cuddling.

  * * *

  John Tiger laid the last of his paperwork on LaQueen’s desk, then glanced outside.

  “It’s gonna rain,” he said.

  Wilson looked up from his desk to the gathering clouds outside. “When did that happen?”

  John shrugged as he continued to stare out the window.

  LaQueen was at the courthouse, but her umbrella was hanging on the coat hook behind her desk. John pointed to it.

  “LaQueen is gonna be mad. She doesn’t like her hair to get wet.”

  “No woman wants that,” Wilson muttered, and went back to his paperwork.

  John stood up, then walked to the plate-glass storefront for a closer look.

  “It’s really getting dark.”

  “You already said that,” Wilson said.

  “No. Before, I said it was going to rain. Then I said it was getting dark.”

  Wilson wadded up a piece of paper and threw it at John’s back.

  John was grinning as he turned around. “What?”

  “I have an idea,” Wilson said. “Why don’t you take her umbrella to her down at the courthouse? She walked down there, so she’ll really get wet if it begins to rain before she gets back.”

  John grabbed the umbrella and headed for the back door where he’d parked his truck.

  “You are so whipped,” Wilson said, as John hurried past.

  John paused. “I’m doing exactly what I want to do,” he said. “That makes me one lucky dog, not a whipped one.”

  Before Wilson could comment, they heard the front door rattle, something that always signaled a strong gust of wind.

  “Hey, lucky dog, you better hurry. Wind is getting stronger.”

  John bolted, his long hair flying out behind him as he ran. A few moments later Wilson saw John’s pickup come around the corner and head up the street in the direction of the courthouse, a few blocks away.

  He glanced at the clock and thought of Cat.
As soon as John and LaQueen got back, he was going to leave them to it and go over to her apartment early.

  He sat for a few seconds, sorting through the tasks he needed to do tomorrow, then reached for his coffee cup, only to find it empty. When he got up to refill it, he found the pot empty, as well. He couldn’t complain. John didn’t drink coffee, and LaQueen didn’t drink it after three o’clock, which meant he was probably the one who’d emptied the pot.

  He dumped the used filter and coffee grounds into the trash, put in a new filter and measured out coffee, then took the carafe to the sink to get water. He was filling it when he heard the front door open.

  “Be right with you,” he said, as he poured the water into the coffeemaker, then slid the carafe in place and pushed the start button.

  He turned around, then froze.

  There was a gun pointed straight at him, and the man holding it was unkempt and dirty, fidgeting from one foot to the other. From what Wilson could see, his pupils were blown, and he was nursing a runny nose. Wilson had seen too many junkies not to recognize the symptoms.

  He also recognized the man with the gun. He’d filed charges against him only a few weeks ago.

  Jimmy Franks.

  Suddenly all the vandalism and harassment began to make sense.

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Wilson asked.

  Jimmy giggled and did a little sidestep. “I think I’m gonna shoot your ass.”

  “You’re already in enough trouble, Franks. Just put that gun down, walk out the door and we’ll call it quits.”

  “You’re not in charge here!” Jimmy shouted. “I’m in charge! You messed me up, man! You had my ass thrown in jail for nothing! Nothing, man!”

  “You manhandled my secretary, then threatened her, and we both know it.”

  Jimmy snorted. “Hell, that woman ain’t no secretary. She’s just a nig—”

  “Shut your mouth!” Wilson snapped, unwilling to let the man even utter the word.

  Jimmy flinched, then cursed. “You don’t tell me what to do! I’m the man. I’m the one with the gun. You don’t tell me nothin’!” he yelled.

  Wilson’s hand was still on the counter, his fingers only inches away from the rapidly filling coffeepot. It was obvious that this conversation was only going to go downhill, so he made his move. He grabbed the half-filled pot of hot coffee and flung it toward Jimmy, then made a dive for his desk, where he kept his gun.