Nine Lives. Sharon Sala

when he arrived.

      “Hey, lady, do you—?”

      Cat’s hand flew beneath her coat, shoving it back as she reached for her handgun.

      “Back off,” she said.

      Wilson stopped, his eyes narrowing as he caught a glimpse of her weapon, as well as some kind of badge fastened to her belt. He held up his hands in a gesture of submission.

      “Easy…”

      “I’m never easy,” she snapped.

      Wilson stifled a smile. He would have bet money on that.

      It was all he could do not to stare, but she was truly a sight. There were sooty streaks on her cheeks, her eyes were red-rimmed; and from the number of times she was blinking, they were probably burning. But her legs were long, her hips almost boy-slim, and she looked ready to fight. Black hair hung way below her shoulders, and there was a small drop of blood on the curve of her lower lip. If it wasn’t for the muscles she quite obviously had, and the impressive size of her breasts, he would have called her skinny.

      “Was it you who called out to me on the stairs?” he asked.

      “I yelled at somebody,” she said. “Sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

      He grinned. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” he said, then reached out and wiped away the blood drop with the pad of his thumb.

      Cat swatted at his hand. “I’m fine,” she snapped, then swiped the back of her hand across her mouth, as if to wipe away his touch.

      Wilson stifled a second smile. Pure hellcat. He eyed the handcuffs on Brownlee’s wrists, then pointed.

      “What happened…lost the key in the middle of your game?”

      Cat’s eyes narrowed angrily. He was accusing her of sex games with the piece of shit in the back seat of her car. She kept telling herself to ignore him all the while she was opening her mouth.

      “He’s a bail jumper,” she said. “I’m taking him in. You want to make something of it?”

      Wilson eyed her closer. The only female skip tracer he knew of in Texas was Cat Dupree, but he’d never met her.

      “Okay, okay, lady. Don’t get all hot and bothered. It looks like we’re in the same business.” He pulled out a badge and ID.

      “My name is Wilson McKay.”

      “Of McKay’s Bail Bonds,” Cat said, well aware of her boss’s competition. “Good for you,” she said, then heard noise in the back seat of her car and realized Brownlee was beginning to come to.

      Nelson opened his eyes, felt the cold steel around his wrists and kicked. The car door hit Cat on the backside before she could turn and sent her flying forward, right into Wilson McKay’s arms.

      It was an automatic reaction that made Wilson grab her to keep her from falling, but he turned her loose on purpose when she came up swinging and lit into the man in the back seat of her car.

      “You sorry bastard! I should have let you fry,” she growled, then tasered Brownlee as he was trying to get out.

      He screamed with pain as he fell backward in the back seat.

      “No more! No more!” he begged.

      Cat was still glaring as she yanked him upright and shoved his legs inside the car. She fastened his seat belt and then slammed the door shut so hard that it rattled the glass. Before she got inside the SUV, she pulled a baton from beneath her seat and whacked it on the top of the seat about six inches from where Nelson was sitting.

      “Do you see this, Brownlee?”

      “Yes, oh God, yes, I see it, I see it. Just don’t hit me no more.”

      “Then stay where you’re put,” she snapped. “I’m not the one who robbed a Quick Stop, and I’m not the one who jumped bail, so being mad at me isn’t going to solve your damn problem. You screwed up and walked out on a man who did you a favor. He bonded you out, and this is how you repay him?”

      Brownlee shuddered as he rode the wave of electric shock continuing to ripple through his body.

      “I know. I know. I didn’t mean to hurt you none. I just woke up disoriented and all. I’d never—”

      “Shut up, Nelson. You’re lying, and we both know it. You already tried to cold-cock me. Now sit back and relax. We’re going for a ride.”

      Cat got into her car, locked the door and buckled up without giving Wilson McKay a second look.

      But Wilson was looking. He knew his suspicions had been right. He’d just met the infamous Cat Dupree. This was the first time he’d seen her up close and personal, and he was surprised by how truly beautiful she was. He was, however, more than a little bit put out that she hadn’t even given him a second look.

      It took him a few moments to realize that the fine spray of water from the fire hoses was drifting down on him, and that it was freezing to the outer surface of his leather coat.

      “Well, damn,” he muttered, and started to walk away when he saw something glittering in a growing puddle.

      He bent down and picked it up, then realized it was a small silver charm in the shape of a cat. He glanced back up at Cat Dupree’s disappearing vehicle and grinned as he dropped the charm in his pocket. Now he had an excuse to see her again.

      He shivered, watching the firemen as they continued to spray water into the building and thinking how close they’d all come to dying. Finally he stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed down the street to where he’d parked his car the night before. As much as he wanted to go home, take a hot shower and crawl into bed, good manners meant he should go to the hospital and make sure Wanelle was okay.

      Cat’s lungs were still burning when she turned Brownlee over to the authorities.

      The ride from Fort Worth to Dallas had given him plenty of time to consider what had just happened. Granted, Cat Dupree had tracked him down to take him in. That had been inevitable. But she’d also saved his life. How was he supposed to stay pissed when she’d gone and done something like that? He went back to lockup without comment, unwilling to look Cat in the face.

      Cat couldn’t have cared less what life-changing behaviors Brownlee might be considering. He’d been nothing but a job to her, and now it was over. She just wanted a bath and about twelve straight hours of sleep.

      The traffic from police headquarters to her apartment was worse than usual, thanks to the freezing rain that had started to fall. By the time she unlocked the door, her hands were shaking and her stomach was doing somersaults, reminding her that she had yet to eat a decent meal today.

      She tossed her car keys in a bowl on the hall table and started to hang her coat up in the closet, then wrinkled her nose when she realized it smelled of smoke. She tossed it on the floor near the door as a reminder to take it to the cleaners when she next went out, then began undressing on her way to the bath. She stopped in the kitchen to get a bottle of water and noticed that the message light was blinking on her answering machine. She took a big drink of water and put off the task of checking the messages in favor of a hot shower.

      She was standing in front of the mirror over the sink when she realized something was missing. The tiny links on the silver chain around her neck were familiar enough, but the small cat charm that had been on it was gone.

      “Oh no,” Cat said, and then quickly traced the length of the chain, praying that the charm had somehow shifted to the back of her neck. It was the only thing she had left from her life before Social Services, and now it was gone. She thought back over the past few hours. The stakeout, the fire, the altercation with Nelson Brownlee. Even if she could retrace her steps, a good portion of them had gone up in smoke. She had to accept that the charm was gone.

      A hard, burning knot filled the back of her throat as she swiftly turned away from the mirror.