Art disconnected.
Wilson did the same, then dropped the phone onto the sofa. For a few moments he couldn’t think. He wanted to scream—to rage at the stupidity she’d exhibited by going off on some wild-goose chase like that without telling a soul where she was going. Then he slammed his fist into the wall, oblivious to the pain in his wrist and the dent he’d put in the drywall. It wasn’t that she hadn’t told anyone where she was going. It was that she hadn’t bothered to tell him. If he needed any further proof that he’d been living in some fantasy world where she was concerned, this would be it.
He sat down with a thump, then leaned back and covered his face with his hands. The shock and pain of what he’d learned was turning into anger. The longer he sat there, the angrier he got. An ambulance raced past his apartment building with sirens screaming on the way to someone else’s disaster, but it felt like the disaster was his.
He kept remembering the first time he’d seen her, coming out of a burning apartment building with a bail jumper over her shoulder. After that, there was the night he’d found her staggering in the police parking lot, sick as a dog from some bug and about to pass out. Then, when Marsha turned up missing, it had been Cat’s persistence that had led the police to Marsha’s body, as well as to her killer, and Wilson had been with her all the way. He’d seen her stand as strong through that hell as any man—maybe even stronger—and all through it, the passion between them had simmered. When they’d finally made love, it had been more than lust for Wilson. He had known, almost from the start, that she was going to be something special to him. But he and Cat had been on separate pages when it came to their futures. He’d made love to a woman who was stealing his heart. She’d just had sex with a willing participant. When he’d “paid” her for their last session of sex, he’d promised himself it would be their last contact.
Now this.
He couldn’t have her in his life and remain sane. He needed his head examined for caring about what she was doing, but what she’d done was dangerous, and, God help him, he couldn’t live with himself if she got herself killed and he did nothing about it.
Suddenly his anger peaked. He grabbed the phone. Art had said she wasn’t answering her cell, so he was leaving his message on her home phone. When he dialed her number this time, it was no mistake. He listened to the rings, then took a breath when he heard her voice on the answering machine. As soon as the message beeped, he started talking.
“You made the news tonight. I’d congratulate you on your heroism, but at the moment I’m too damned pissed at your stupidity. I talked to Art. I know what you’re doing. And, just so you know, I’m not calling to meddle in your damned business. However…going off alone like this to chase a fucking ghost isn’t just stupid, it’s dangerous. You got lucky when you found Marsha’s body. It gave you a chance to bring her back and give her a proper burial. So you brought one killer to justice. Good for you, Dupree. However, if this bastard you’re chasing happens to still be alive, it might do you well to remember that when he killed your father, he also cut your damned throat. You survived him once. You might not be as lucky another time. I don’t know why I care. I wish to hell I didn’t. And just for the record, woman, if it hadn’t been for that piece of film on tonight’s news, I wouldn’t have the slightest notion of where in hell to look for your bones. It’s obvious you don’t give a damn about me, yourself or anyone else. I wish to hell I could return the favor.”
His hands were shaking when he hung up. He sat there for a moment longer while his vision blurred and his belly burned. Then he pushed himself up from the sofa.
The apartment was in complete darkness, lit only by the nightlight in the hall and the faint glow of a security light outside the kitchen window. He stood within the shadowy silence, barely aware of the night sounds from the city beyond. All he could hear was the steady thump of his own heartbeat echoing in his ears.
Cat had opted to spend one last night in Texas and then cross the border in the morning, but when she’d come back from the gas station where she’d gone to make a pit stop and fuel up, what she’d seen on the laptop had changed her mind.
The blip that had been stationary for so long was, once again, on the move, but it had changed directions. It was no longer headed toward the coast but had begun moving in a northwesterly direction. Nuevo Laredo was just across the border, but after that it was mostly small villages and a lot of sand and cactus and mountains in the direction the blip was now moving.
She didn’t think of the dangers she could be putting herself in by driving through the desert at night. The only thing on her mind was catching up with whoever was carrying some of Mark Presley’s property. If it turned out that this trip amounted to nothing, well, she was willing to feel like twelve kinds of a fool just to know the truth.
It was still daylight when she crossed the border, and since bounty hunting was illegal in Mexico, she politely lied about her reasons for entering the country, confident that her weapons were well-concealed under the fake bottom of her console. The fact that she was wearing her tightest sweater and her hair was down and windblown had been distraction enough for the border guards. In fact, they’d even had her exit the car while they did a quick search. Cat had occupied herself with some exaggerated stretches, tightening the sweater across her breasts even more. She knew the guards were watching her, so to add to their interest, she did a couple of deep knee bends, which nicely tightened her blue jeans over her backside.
At that point, one of the guards called out to her.
“Señorita!”
She turned, purposefully arching her back as she looked at him over one shoulder.
“Yes?”
He smiled, then held the door open for her.
“You are free to go. Have a safe trip.”
She flashed him a quick smile as she slid behind the steering wheel.
“Thanks so much,” she said.
“De nada,” he replied.
She was still smiling as she drove into Mexico.
The sun had gone down hours ago. More than once, Cat had thought about pulling off to the side of the road, crawling into the back of her SUV and sleeping until daylight, but she hadn’t done it yet. Part of her reasoning was that, even if she stopped, she wouldn’t be able to sleep. And even though she was driving on a well-defined road, it wasn’t well-kept. The potholes were only slightly less startling than the armadillos and coyotes she kept dodging.
It was sometime after midnight when nature finally called loudly enough that she had to pull over. With nothing remotely resembling a gas station or a diner at which to stop, she chose the nearest cactus. After grabbing a flashlight from the glove box, she aimed the beam all around, making sure there were no snakes nearby before undoing her jeans.
A minute later she was zipping up her jeans and about ready to head back to her car when she heard something that didn’t fit in with the night sounds of a desert. She held her breath, waiting to see if she could hear it again, and when she did, a chill ran up her spine. Unless she was mistaken, she’d just heard a baby crying, which made no sense. According to her maps, the nearest village was about twenty miles south.
Still, she listened, trying to convince herself that it must have been an animal—one that just sounded human.
Then she heard it again, and this time, the wail was accompanied by another sound—the yipping of a pack of coyotes.
The implications of those two sounds together was frightening. Cat grabbed her flashlight, then ran for her car. She started the engine, then swerved off the road on which she’d been traveling and headed slowly out into the desert in the direction from which she’d heard the sound. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be far. She just had to make sure she didn’t drive off into some arroyo and get herself stuck.
As she drove, the rougher ground caused the beams from the headlights to bounce up and down, giving her nothing