Nine Lives (13 page)

He grabbed a clean washcloth and some shaving cream, took a new disposable razor out of the packet and set it on the sink. He wasn't going to think about the fire, or the water they were taking out of the rock quarry, or of Penny. Not right now. She was pissed, but she would get over it, and the rest would take care of itself.

 

It was late in the afternoon when Cat woke up again. This time, Wilson was the one still asleep. She watched him for a few moments, remembering the pleasure they'd shared. But remembering also made her feel out of control, and that was a luxury she couldn't afford.

She rolled out of bed, grabbed her sweats and dressed in the hallway before moving into the kitchen, anxious to get back to her investigation. They'd been in the midst of discovering their first real clue as to where Presley might have taken Mimi when lust had gotten the best of them.

Cat had to call it lust, because the only other name for what they'd just done had rules and consequences tied to the act, and Cat wasn't into all that.

She poured out the coffee that had gone cold and made a fresh pot, then rifled through the kitchen for something sweet. Not wanting a replay of the peaches they'd had for Christmas dinner, she finally settled on a jar of peanut butter and some honey on the verge of turning to sugar. She took a spoon from a drawer, set the peanut butter and honey on the table, then reached for the lists. Before she started, she opened the peanut butter, dipped the spoon into the thick, nutty spread, pulled it out, swirled it through the sugared honey once, and popped it in her mouth, leaving the spoon sticking out from between her lips like a lollipop stick. Within a few minutes she was deeply engrossed in compiling facts that might fit her murder theory.

And that was how Wilson found her.

She looked up at him as he walked into the kitchen. Even though there was a part of her that remembered she wasn't alone, she was still a little startled by the sight of the half-naked man.

He smiled at her—a slow, secretive smile that sent shivers up her spine. Then she watched as he moved to the cabinet and poured himself a cup of coffee. He started toward the table, then paused, eyed the peanut butter, backtracked to the cabinet and got himself a spoon, then sat down at the table across from her.

Without comment, he dug into the peanut butter and popped it into his mouth.

“There's honey,” she said, pointing to the jar.

“No thanks,” he said. “I'm a purist.”

She filed the information away for future reference and handed him her list.

“This might be where he dumped Marsha, and this is why I think it.”

Wilson scanned the page quickly; then his eyes widened. He took a deep breath and started at the top of the list again, this time going slower—much slower.

Seven hundred acres of East Texas land, densely forested, with fourteen active well sites.

A
cash
receipt for the meal at the barbeque joint in Tyler, which was near the leases, from the evening of the same day Marsha disappeared.

One phone call to Marsha on the day she disappeared.

One phone call from Marsha's phone during the time Cat hadn't been able to contact her.

The knowledge that the last call from Marsha's phone had been from the inside of a helicopter.

The fact that Presley owned a helicopter, as well as a couple of small planes.

The knowledge that he had a pilot's license.

Then there were motel bills, receipts for personal gifts sent to his office, rather than his home, which meant that Marsha, not his wife, would have been the recipient.

The lists went on and on, giving proof to the personal connection between Mark and his secretary.

Wilson finished reading her findings, then looked up.

“So what do you think?” Cat asked.

“I think you'd make one hell of a detective,” he said.

She sat up a little straighter. “Really? You think I'm on the right track?”

“Yes.”

“Enough to put Mark Presley behind bars?”

“Not without a body,” Wilson said.

“If I could only find out which obstetrician Mimi was going to, then we could confirm the motive.”

Wilson leaned back in his chair. “No, you couldn't. The doctor isn't going to tell you squat about his patient, remember? And even if he did tell you she was pregnant, it doesn't prove it was Presley's child. You need DNA for that, and you're not getting that without her.”

Cat slapped the table with the flat of her hand. “Damn it! This is making me crazy. It's like being caught on a merry-go-round that never stops.”

She jumped up from her chair and strode out of the room.

Wilson sighed, then got up and followed her.

Cat was standing at the windows overlooking the parking lot. He walked up behind her, slid his arms around her and pulled her close against his chest, then rested his chin on the top of her head.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

She shrugged but didn't pull away. It wasn't enough, but it was all he was going to get.

They stood there without talking, each lost in their own set of thoughts.

“Have you listened to the weather today?” Cat finally asked.

“Not since this morning. They said it was supposed to warm up.”

“Good.”

He chose not to take that personally as he added, “They're saying this front should move out around midnight. After that, it's anyone's guess. Why? Already trying to get rid of me?”

“No, I just can't stand waiting like this without doing anything.”

“Okay. Because I'm beginning to like it here.”

Cat tensed when he pulled her into his arms. A few seconds later, when he lifted her hair away from her neck and kissed her there, she flinched. She didn't think of the scar on her neck often unless someone was giving her one of those looks, or touching it, and he was definitely doing more than touching.

“Easy,” Wilson said softly. “It's just me, remember?”

Cat tried to laugh it off, but she still felt the need to get back into her own space as she stepped out of his arms.

Wilson sighed. “I'm sorry,” he said. “I didn't mean to overstep my bounds.”

Cat looked at him, then looked away. This was Wilson. She knew he wasn't going to hurt her, and yet the moment he'd lifted her hair and touched her neck, it had flashed her back to the night of her father's death.

“Just bad memories,” she said, and ran a finger lightly along the length of the scar.

Wilson wanted to hold her, but it was obvious he'd already done too much touching.

“Yeah. I understand. Sorry,” he said, and then purposefully put some space between them by sitting down on the sofa.

Cat frowned. She knew she sounded whiney and ungrateful, and hated herself for feeling both.

“Stop apologizing,” she said. “I'm the one with the hangup.”

He shook his head. “I wouldn't call having my throat cut a hangup.”

Cat shuddered in spite of herself.

Wilson leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched her sit down in the chair opposite him. Her hands were trembling as she touched the scar once more, then waved them in the air as if trying to throw away the scar with the memory.

“It happened a long time ago. I shouldn't be so touchy,” she said. “You know the story. A man broke into our house when I was thirteen, cut my throat and killed my father.”

“And they never caught him, right?”

“Right.”

“Did you see him?”

“I had a glimpse.” She frowned. “It was weird. He had a lot of tattoos.”

“Yeah, I saw the mug shots earlier, remember?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“I heard that you got into this business as a way of looking for him. Is that true?” Wilson asked.

“Maybe. To this day, every time I hear of a perp with geometric tattoos on his arms and face, I make a point of checking him out.”

To Wilson, this was something new. “Geometric?”

She nodded. “They were all over him in an odd, decorative pattern, like designs rather than pictures. His skin was dark, but they were darker.”

Wilson frowned. “Black tattoos in a geometric pattern?”

“Yeah, weird, huh?”

Wilson's frown deepened. “Do you know what Maori warriors looked like?”

“Who?”

“Maori…once a very war-like race of people that inhabited New Zealand, I think. They've given up the warrior part of their lives, but I've read that some still adhere to the ceremonial scarring and tattooing.”

Cat's heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

He nodded. “It might be worth your time to get someone to run that info through the system. See what turns up.”

“I will, but you have to remember that I didn't see much of his face, and every third perp I've picked up has been tattooed to one degree or another.”

“Yeah, I guess, but the ethnicity is a facet you might want to check up on.”

“Right now, what happened to me is immaterial,” she said. “I need to find Mimi. One way or another, I have a promise to keep.”

“I know. I'll help all I can.”

“You've already done enough,” Cat said.

Wilson felt as if he were being dismissed, which made him a little nervous. He knew Cat well enough now to know that she was by no means going to sit back and wait for someone else to find her friend.

“What are you planning to do?” he asked.

She hesitated, then shrugged, unwilling to give herself away.

“I'm not sure.”

“You're going to check out that oil lease in East Texas, aren't you?”

Cat lifted her chin. “Wouldn't you?”

He didn't answer, only challenged her with another question. “You think you can drive onto seven hundred acres and find a body…just like that?”

“No. I don't think it's going to be easy, and I'm not even certain that's where he dumped her. But she's missing, she called me from a chopper, he took a chopper to his oil leases on the day she disappeared—and it's a place to start.”

“You could give your info to Missing Persons.”

“They're doing their own investigation. This is mine.”

“How are you going to get there?”

“Drive, I guess.”

“If you're following the theory that he took her somewhere in a chopper, then you need to look at it from the same view.”

“What do you mean?” Cat asked.

“Say he flew Marsha's body out of Dallas and dumped it somewhere on that seven hundred acres.”

“Okay, for argument's sake, say he did.”

“All right,” Wilson said. “Then if it was me, I'd be flying over that seven hundred acres just like you're theorizing Presley did. You've got to search from that perspective, and the view from a car is a far different sight than from in the air.”

Cat's eyes widened. “Oh. Yes. I see what you mean. Like I need to be looking at places large enough to land a chopper…stuff like that.”

Wilson nodded.

“All right. That can be dealt with,” she said. “Anything else?”

“Wait until I can go with you?”

“Don't ask me that,” Cat said.

Wilson frowned. That was exactly what he
had
asked. Obviously, her answer was no.

T
he thaw began around midnight, although neither Cat or Wilson knew it at the time. But what they saw when they woke up ended their self-imposed isolation.

“I have to go in to work today,” Wilson said, as he stepped out of the shower. “There was a call on my cell phone. Had a pusher that was a no-show. I'm out twenty-thousand unless I bring him back, and Brickman isn't up to the chase.”

Cat knew who Red Brickman was. Art played poker with him every Saturday. She didn't stop to think what a small world it was that the man who employed her was best friends with the man who'd first owned Wilson McKay's business.

Instead, she nodded in understanding as she spat toothpaste into the sink, then rinsed her mouth before turning around. She felt his fingers tracing the pink butterfly on her hip, but by the time she looked up, all she saw was his bare backside.

He strode past her into the bedroom to get dressed. Cat made a face at herself. If he was ready to get back to business, then she was, too.

She'd gone over and over the lists that she'd made until she'd convinced herself that Presley's trip to East Texas and Mimi's disappearance on the same day were connected. Now she had to either prove, or disprove it, in case she had to move on to another location, but to do that, she needed to get to Presley's lease. Seven hundred acres of dense forest would be a dandy place to get rid of a body without being seen.

However, if she took Wilson's suggestion to view it from the air as Presley had done on that day, she had to charter a chopper.

She began brushing her hair in long, steady strokes and tried not to think of the available hunk in the adjoining room, or the fact that she'd selfishly indulged herself when Mimi was lying dead somewhere. It didn't occur to her that she might be wrong about Mimi's fate. She knew what she knew.

As she glanced up in the mirror, she caught Wilson looking at her from the other room. His expression was a cross between worry and want. She didn't like the possessive look on his face. She wasn't available unless she said so—and for now, the answer was no. She'd taken care of herself without anyone's help for far too long to suddenly go all feminine and helpless. Wilson McKay was a great person to have sex with, but no one told her what to do or how to do it.

She dropped her gaze, tossed the hairbrush aside, and grabbed a band and fastened her hair at the nape of her neck. Today she'd chosen a blue turtleneck sweater to go with her jeans and boots, and, as usual, was opting out of wearing makeup. It wasn't part of the uniform she needed.

“You look beautiful,” Wilson said, as she came out of the bathroom.

She eyed his half-naked state and then grinned wryly.

“So do you.”

He laughed again, just like he'd laughed when she'd asked for a repeat of their marathon lovemaking session, only this time it didn't embarrass her. She just stood there, letting the look on his face wash over her.

A half hour later he was gone. She'd promised to let him know how the day went. That much she could do. It didn't interfere with any of her independence. It was, after all, only a phone call.

 

She'd chartered the chopper in Dallas. It was definitely an easier, quicker, more efficient use of daylight. With an aerial map of East Texas and the coordinates to the seven hundred acres that belonged to Mark Presley, Cat was on the move. Fifteen minutes after ten in the morning, and she was already half-way there.

The pilot, a man who called himself Skippy, had been given instructions as to the area over which they would be flying. He'd given her a wild-eyed look when she'd told him she was looking for someone, at which point he had tried to explain to her that, because of the dense vegetation, it was highly unlikely anyone would be found from the air. When she didn't counter that remark, he moved on to the next and fairly obvious question. If someone was lost, then why weren't the police in on this?

Cat had listened politely, ignored his question about the cops and waited for him to get in the chopper.

“Okay, fine. It's your dollar,” Skippy finally said.

“Yes, it is,” she said shortly.

But he wouldn't let it go. “You won't find a lost camper from the air…not in that part of the country. Besides, I can't imagine why anyone with a brain would go camping at this time of year.”

Cat poked her finger against his chest.

“Listen, Skippy, we're not looking for a lost camper, so quit worrying. All you have to do is fly that chopper and follow my orders.”

Skippy shifted his weight from one foot to the other as he pointed back at her. “Now here's where you and me might be partin' company. I will fly this bird, but when I'm in the air, I'm in charge.”

Cat's eyes narrowed and her voice lowered. “Listen, mister, someone murdered my friend Mimi and hid her body. You are going to help me find her.”

Skippy's mouth dropped. “Uh…you didn't say anything about—”

“Maybe this was a mistake,” Cat said, and started back into the office.

“Wait! Wait! Where are you going?” Skippy yelled.

“To get my money back.”

The little man huffed and then puffed and then spat.

“Well, there's no call to go and do all that,” he muttered.

“Are we on the same page?” Cat asked.

“Hell, yeah. Get in.”

“Thank you,” she said, and climbed into the chopper. “By the way, what's your name?” she asked.

“Skippy. You been using it just fine for the past half hour.”

Cat arched an eyebrow as she gave the short, stocky man a long look. “No one is named Skippy. What's your name?”

He sighed. “Melvin.”

Cat nodded. “That's better.”

Neither one of them spoke again for the entire trip. It wasn't until Melvin began to circle that Cat realized they'd reached their destination.

“Is this it?” she asked.

He pointed to the map and nodded, then pointed to a large, blackened area far to the east of them.

“Something been goin' on down there. Big burn area…see it?”

Cat leaned forward. “Yes, I see it. What do you think it means?”

“Something caught on fire, that's all.”

“Well, that's obvious,” Cat muttered.

Melvin leaned toward her. “What did you say?” he yelled.

“Nothing,” she said, and then pointed to the map. “Can we start at the outer circle of the area and then work our way in?”

“Sure.”

“How low can you fly this thing?” she asked.

Melvin glanced at her, then pushed the stick forward. The chopper dipped drastically.

Cat's stomach rolled. She grabbed the edge of her seat with both hands and willed herself not to throw up. The sensation passed once they leveled off, but she glared at the little man just the same.

He grinned.

She glared again, then moved her coat aside just enough for him to see the gun and shoulder holster she was wearing.

The grin slid off his face faster than cold butter on a hot plate.

“Hellfire, woman! You wanted to fly low, didn't you?”

“I'm looking for clearings large enough for a chopper to land in that do not have access to roads.”

The way she figured it, if the location could be reached by car, Presley wouldn't have used a chopper.

Melvin swallowed nervously, then nodded his understanding.

And so the search began.

They flew into the sun, then headed north in a counter-clockwise motion, circling the area in a contracting spiral. The roads that had been cut through the timber led straight to pump jacks, some of which were still pumping, some of which were not. The ones that were inactive were overgrown, and it was easy to see that they were unfit for land travel and that no one had been there in ages.

As they neared the charred area, they soon realized that what had burned here had been a well. She didn't know when it had happened, but it could explain why Presley had flown up here. If that was the case, then it didn't help her cause.

“What do you think?” Melvin asked, as he eyed the fuel gauge against the slant of sun sliding toward the western horizon.

“I don't know what to think,” Cat said.

“If you don't have any more ideas, I'm for headin' back.”

Cat turned on him. “That's too damned bad, because we aren't going back. That's quitting. I don't quit.”

Melvin's face turned red, but he put a clamp on his comments.

Cat was so mad she was shaking. Her hands were doubled into fists, and her stomach was rolling. This was a bad dream that kept getting worse. Her entire adult life had been dedicated to finding bail jumpers, and she was damned good at it. But she would never have imagined she would be looking for Mimi—not like this.

She buried her face in her hands, trying to regain some composure, but the rage kept pushing its way out. She lifted her head abruptly, unaware of the tears streaming down her face, and began hitting her knees with her fists.

“Damn it, Mimi…I can't do this. I can't fucking do this.”

Melvin was startled by Cat's outburst, but when he saw that she was crying, he groaned. All his life he'd been a sucker for a crying woman. Didn't matter why they were crying, he just couldn't stand to see it.

“Now, now,” he said, and patted her roughly on the shoulder. “Don't give up yet. I tell you what we're gonna do. We're fixin' to unwind this flight pattern we've been on. We might see somethin' different then.”

Cat inhaled on a sob, then swiped her hands across her face with angry jerks.

“What do you mean?”

Melvin pointed to the map in Cat's lap. “We flew from outside to in. Now we're gonna fly the other way, from inside to out. We'll be lookin' at the same stuff, but from a different angle.”

Cat nodded slowly. “You know what, Melvin? You're all right.”

He beamed.

“So let's see what we can see. Tighten that seat belt. We're gonna do a little tree skating.”

Cat thought it was a figure of speech until the little man pushed the stick forward again. By the time he leveled off, they were only yards above the trees.

“Lord,” Cat murmured, as she saw a deer burst out of the trees and dash across a small clearing.

“We're fine,” Melvin said. “I've never lost a bird or a passenger.”

Cat tried to smile, but she was too rattled to do anything but hang on.

Soon the shock of being so low passed, and she realized she was able to see far more than they'd seen on their first sweep across. They'd been flying for fifteen minutes when Melvin suddenly swerved and did what Cat could only call a U turn.

“What is it?” she asked, as she leaned over, trying to see what had caught his eye.

“On your right!” he yelled, and pointed down. “Someone set a whirlybird down in there.”

Cat stared but couldn't see it. She could see a break in the trees, but it seemed so small.

“Are you sure?” she yelled back.

He made a circular motion with his hand.

“Look at them trees. The limbs have been clipped some. See the bare ends of those branches?”

Cat's heart skipped a beat. “Yes!” she cried. “I do see.”

“Reckon you wanna set down and look the place over some?”

“I need to, but can we do it?”

Melvin puffed out his chest. “Trust me, woman. If another man did it, then so can I.”

“Oh Lord,” Cat said, as Melvin turned back to the east, then began to set the chopper down.

The treetops were so close she could have reached out and touched them, and when they began their descent, she resisted the urge to close her eyes. The lower they went, the more real the sensation became of being swallowed up by the trees.

Tiny bits of leaves began to fly through the air like green confetti, along with small bits of wood from the limbs. The debris flew in every direction, some pieces even ricocheting against the body of the chopper. Just when she thought they would surely crash, the sensation of movement ceased, and she realized they were down. The rotors slowed, then finally stopped.

Cat opened the door and all but fell out. She steadied herself, then eyed the pilot.

“Way to go, Melvin,” she said slowly, then gave him a thumbs up. Shivering from the cold, she pulled the collar of her coat a little closer around her neck as he came around the front of the chopper.

“I'll just run a little check on the bird while you look around. If this doesn't feel right, we'll take her right back up and look some more, okay?”

“Okay,” Cat said, and took her gloves out of her pockets as she walked away.