by Sharon Sala
She reloaded as she ran and met Wilson coming out. He staggered straight into her arms, and when he realized who he was holding, began shaking with relief.
“Get in the car!” he shouted. “We’ve got to get out of here.”
But Cat didn’t move. She kept looking over his shoulder into the smoke.
“The other one! Where is he?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe dead in the fire. We were shooting the hell out of the place, and when we got into the second room, everything went up. I don’t know what was in that barrel, but when a bullet hit it, it blew.”
He grabbed Cat by the arm and started dragging her toward the car.
“Wait!” she begged, and pulled free from his grasp, only to have him catch her again before she could get away. “I can’t let him go. I have to know. Don’t you understand? Damn it, Wilson, I have to know for sure that he’s dead.”
“Like hell,” he muttered, then grabbed Cat off her feet, threw her over his shoulder and started to run.
He threw her into the passenger seat, then slammed the door in her face. She was screaming his name and arguing with him as he slid behind the wheel. She reached for the door latch as Wilson started the car. Before she could open the door, he grabbed her by the arm and slammed the SUV into reverse. She was yelling and screaming as he began backing out of the yard. They were halfway down the drive when the second explosion occurred, shattering what was left of the sprawling hacienda and sending a shower of burning refuse up into the air.
“Get down!” Wilson yelled, and swerved as a ball of fire dropped right beside the front wheel of her car.
They were already past it before Cat realized it was what was left of a burning sofa. She was shaking so hard that she couldn’t catch her breath. The last glimpse she had of the inferno was in the side-view mirror on the outside of the car.
She tried to focus. She needed to give Wilson what for because he’d taken away her choices, but for the life of her, she couldn’t find the words to berate him when she knew that he’d just saved their lives.
There was nothing left to do now but get Mark Presley into the hands of the Texas law. She knew what they did to killers in her state, and she intended to watch every last second of his life, right up to the moment when they executed his ass.
When they finally returned to the place where Wilson had left his own truck, he pulled the SUV over and stopped.
“Are you all right?” he asked, as he ran his fingers all over her body, checking her arms and torso for signs of gunshot wounds.
“Yes. Presley wasn’t armed.”
Wilson’s eyes widened. Suddenly he turned around and looked over the seats to the back. He could just see the top of a man’s shoulder.
“You got him?”
Cat nodded.
“Way to go!” he said, and reached for her, but he felt her tense and stopped.
“You know I couldn’t let you go back in that house,” he said after a long moment.
“I needed to know he was dead.”
“Yeah, well, I needed to know you weren’t.”
She wouldn’t be swayed, and he couldn’t change what he’d done. Finally he shook his head.
“I’m beginning to understand how you tick,” he muttered, and then reached for her phone. “In the meantime, we need to call Detective Flannery.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t think we’re going to be able to get this sorry bastard across the border without some help. I don’t want to take the chance of having the Mexican police take him away from us, do you?”
“Make the call.”
The sandwich shop where Joe Flannery was having lunch was at maximum capacity. All the booths and tables were packed, as were the six stools at the counter. It was standing room only as customers waited in line to pick up their to-go orders. The sounds of so many people talking all at once was somewhat muted by the piped-in music, but the din inside was just below a dull roar, making it impossible to understand the person seated next to you. This was definitely not the place for a social lunch.
There were two other detectives at the table with him. One had gotten up to refill his drink at the self-help bar, while the other was smearing mustard on the top of his roast beef sandwich. Flannery was eyeing his buddy’s roast beef and wishing he’d chosen the same instead of the pastrami on rye. For some reason, it just didn’t suit his taste buds today. Still, he’d been raised by one of those “clean your plate” mothers, and habit ran deep. So he was chewing and swallowing his food without thought.
Then his cell phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and frowned. “Flannery.”
“Detective…this is Wilson McKay. Catherine Dupree and I have a situation we need help with.”
Flannery frowned, not bothering to hide the frustration he was feeling. “What now?”
“Cat caught Mark Presley.”
The entire Dallas Police Department—Joe Flannery included—had still been operating on the theory that Mark Presley was dead, so when Flannery heard that, he almost dropped his phone.
“The hell you say. Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I’m looking at his sorry-ass self right now, tied up like a pig for roasting in the back seat of her car. Trouble is, we’re in Mexico and not so sure we can get him across the border without your help.”
“Hang on,” Flannery said, and dropped his sandwich on the table while motioning for the other two detectives to join him outside. They scrambled for last bites and one more swallow of their drinks as Flannery walked out ahead of them. Once he was out on the street, it was easier to hear.
“Sorry about that,” he said. “Now…tell me again. You two crossed the border and—”
“No. Cat followed Presley and a hired gun across the border. I met up with her just outside Nuevo Laredo. She knew where they were hiding. We went in after them together. They started shooting. The place went up in flames.”
“Hell of a lot of things catching fire around this Presley character,” Flannery muttered.
“Yes, well, at any rate, Presley went one direction and his hired gun another. Cat caught Presley, and we think the hired gun burned with the house, although at this point, we can’t be sure. However, it’s Presley she was after, and she got him.”
“And you say he’s with you right now?”
“Yeah. Tied up and unconscious in the back of her SUV.”
Flannery whistled softly beneath his breath. This changed everything. Once the hospital fire had been put out, the firemen had found what was left of a body in Presley’s room. First assumptions had been that it was Presley, but if he was in Mexico, then who had died in his room? Now they had an unexplained death to lay at Presley’s feet, as well as several patients who’d succumbed to smoke and flames.
“Exactly where did you cross the border?”
“Laredo. We’re about fifteen miles outside of Nuevo Laredo now. We need to get Presley back across the border, but neither one of us has any authority here.”
“You don’t make this easy,” Flannery muttered.
“On the contrary, Detective. Cat Dupree made this easy as hell for you. Presley is the one who’s been leaving bodies in his wake. She’s been doing clean-up for you all the way.”
Flannery winced. The police department had been a little hard on Cat Dupree, and yet, despite her far-fetched story, it appeared that she’d been right.
“Yeah, yeah, I read you,” he said. “Here’s what I want you to do. Give me about fifteen minutes to make some calls, then head back to the border crossing. I’ll have police on the US side waiting to take Presley into custody. Whatever the hangups might be with red tape, we’ll handle.”
“All right,” Wilson said.
“When you get back to Dallas, I would appreciate it if you and Miss Dupree came in and gave us a full report.”
Wilson glanced at Cat, who appeared to be operating on little else but sheer will and determination.
“After she gets so
me rest.”
“Yeah, all right,” Flannery said, and then added, “Hey…McKay.”
“What?”
“Tell her she did a damn good job.”
Wilson eyed the tic at the side of Cat’s mouth and frowned. “I will.”
“See you soon,” Flannery said, and disconnected.
Wilson laid the phone back on the console. “Flannery said to tell you that you did a damn good job.”
Cat shuddered. The adrenaline rush that had carried her from one end of the state to the other was crashing and taking her with it. She felt as if she could sleep for a week.
“I did it for Mimi,” she said, then exhaled slowly.
“What did Flannery say?” she asked.
“We get to the border. They’ll take it from there.”
“Fine,” she said, as she glanced back at Presley, who was still unconscious. “I hate to think I would have to ride all the way back home with that piece of shit in the back of my car.”
Wilson tilted her chin up just as he leaned toward her.
“Come here, Catherine. You might not need this, but I damn sure do.”
He kissed her. Once because he just needed to feel her breath against his face, then again because he’d been so afraid he wouldn’t get there in time to find her alive.
“I’ll have to drive my truck back to the border. Are you okay to drive on your own?”
Cat frowned. “Of course I’m all right. You can’t believe I’d wimp out at this point?”
He grinned. “On the contrary, Miss Dupree. I don’t think you know the meaning of the word, okay?”
Wilson kissed her once more for good luck, then got out of her car and headed for his own.
“I’ll follow you,” he called.
She watched, waiting until he was inside and turning around, then she drove north. She’d gone several miles and was just coming up on the outskirts of Nuevo Laredo when she saw what she could only call a parade of Mexican police cars awaiting them at the edge of town. She didn’t stop, and they didn’t try to stop her, but by the time she got to the border, it was evident that Flannery’s phone calls had been fruitful. Not only were the Mexican police behind them, but others were awaiting them at the gates. Besides them, she saw officers from the Laredo Police Department, as well as a Texas Ranger who’d just pulled up on the U.S. side of the gates. Wilson parked beside her and was heading toward the lawmen as she walked to the back of her car and opened the hatch.
Presley was awake. “Get out!” she said sharply.
He moaned. “My head hurts, these cuffs are too tight, and my feet are still tied.”
Cat grabbed him, cutting the rope as she pulled. Presley came halfway out, then tried to sit up, at which point he bumped his forehead on the hatch.
“Ooww. Damn it, woman. What are you trying to do? Kill me?”
It was a poor choice of words.
Cat leaned forward, grabbed him by the collar and whispered, “If that was an invitation, I would be happy to oblige.”
Presley paled but went mute as she dragged him the rest of the way out. He started to complain when she took him by the back of his belt.
“Walk, damn it,” Cat said. “Walk, or I’ll end your misery right where you stand and let someone else worry about feeding your sorry ass to the worms.”
Presley’s belly rolled. This woman was scary—almost as scary as that crazy Tutuola.
“Answer me one thing,” he said, as they walked toward the waiting officers.
“Like what?” Cat asked.
“Who are you?”
“Catherine Dupree.”
“I never heard of you.”
Her eyes narrowed as she yanked at his handcuffs.
“I would have thought you were a smart enough man to know your enemies.”
Presley paused, then looked over his shoulder, staring at her in frustration.
“But how did you become my enemy? I would swear I’ve never met you.”
“You lied to my friend, got her pregnant, fired her, then killed her and your child. You’re lucky I wasn’t alone today. If I had been, I would have shot you dead right there on the patio and left you to roast in that fire.”
“Marsha Benson? This is all because of her?”
“Yeah, smart man. It’s all because of her.”
At that point she looked around for Wilson. When he motioned her over, she shoved Presley in the small of the back.
“Move,” she said.
He did.
Epilogue
Wilson rolled over in the bed and became aware of the empty space within his arms. He felt for Cat, then pulled her close against his chest before settling back into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Cat sighed as she spooned against Wilson’s warmth and strength, and then, once more, let herself relax.
For the time being, she’d quit fighting herself about Wilson. He’d gotten her through the last three days of coping with the police reports while living with the satisfaction that Mark Presley was no longer a free man. Despite her fears that he would find a way to get out of this, given his power and money, she’d been proven wrong.
She’d heard through the courthouse grapevine that Presley’s lawyer was trying to make a deal that would keep his client off death row. Personally, Cat wanted to see him executed, but she knew it would be years before that ever came about. She was at the point of accepting that making a man like Mark Presley live out a long life behind bars just might be a worse punishment than a swift death.
At least he was in prison, which was the justice she’d wanted for Mimi all along.
From time to time, she couldn’t help but think of the tattooed man who’d burned up in that fire. There was a part of her that wished she’d been given the chance to watch him die, just as she’d had to watch her father die. Obviously it wasn’t meant to be.
She settled into the warmth of Wilson’s chest and started to go back to sleep. There was plenty of time to call Art and let him know she was available again. For now, she felt as if she could sleep for a week.
Pete Yokum was fiddling with one of his laptops and realized it was the one that had the duplicate tracking program on it.
He had just finished booting it up when the screen suddenly came alive with a map of Northern Mexico and a slow-moving blip on a westward track.
He frowned, trying to figure out what was happening. He knew all about Cat’s big capture. It had been in all the papers and all over the news for the past three days. He also knew that Presley was safely behind bars.
But that didn’t explain the activity on the map.
He glanced at the clock. It was fifteen after three in the morning. Too early to call Cat. He figured she would have an explanation and decided to leave it until later. He would call her right before he went to bed for the day.
Having made up his mind, he got up and made himself a sandwich, then settled down to watch a rerun of an old John Wayne movie. The way he figured it, nobody beat The Duke when it came to a story with lots of action.
“I’ve got to go by my apartment,” Wilson said, as he paused at the front door to kiss Cat goodbye. “There was a message from my receptionist, wanting to know why the hell I don’t answer my phone anymore.”
“Did you tell her it was because you were in bed with a witch.”
He frowned.
“I only called you that once, and it was in self-defense.”
Their sexual sparring was uncomfortable for Cat. It smacked of intimacy, of a relationship—which, as far as she was concerned, wasn’t about to happen.
“I’ll probably check in with Art myself,” she said.
He swept her hair away from her face with both hands, then ran a thumb along the curve of her cheek.
“Ease back into it slowly. This took a lot out of you.”
Every time Cat looked in the mirror, she knew the truth of his words.
“I’ll call you,” Wilson said.
She ignored the slight leap of her hear
tbeat.
“Leave a message if I’m not around.”
Wilson frowned. She wasn’t going to let him get under her skin. Damn it.
“Later,” he said.
“Yeah,” Cat said, and then locked the door after he left.
She was standing at the window, watching for him to emerge from the building and drive away, when her telephone rang. Reluctant to give up her spot, she let it ring a couple more times; then the answering machine came on. It wasn’t until she heard Pete Yokum’s voice that she ran to answer.
“Hello,” she said breathlessly.
“Hello yourself,” he said.
“You sound sleepy. I can’t believe you’re still up,” Cat said.
Pete yawned. “I won’t be long. Just had a quick question to ask you.”
“Ask away,” Cat said.
“You know that program on that computer I gave you…the tracking one?”
Cat frowned. “Yes. What about it?”
“Have you looked at it lately?”
Cat suddenly shivered, almost afraid to ask.
“No. Why?”
“Well, last night I was fooling with one of my laptops and forgot that I had a duplicate program on it.”
“So?”
“So can you tell my why the tracking system would still be active? In Mexico?”
Cat felt as if all the air had been kicked out of her lungs.
She leaned against the wall and then slowly slid downward until she was sitting on the floor with her knees beneath her chin.
“What are you talking about?”
“You know…I bugged a lot of Presley’s property. I just wondered what you might have left behind down in Mexico that would be on the move. Maybe someone found his clothes or is wearing a pair of his shoes, something like that.”
Cat was starting to shake. She thought of all the stuff that was supposed to have burned up in the fire.
“You said Mexico?”
“Yep.”
“Are you sure?”
