Nine Lives (3 page)

Marsha didn't answer, but she didn't have to. Cat could see the truth in her eyes.

“It is, isn't it? It's that damned snake Mark Presley.”

Marsha covered her face with her hands.

Cat stifled another curse and lowered her voice even more.

“Mimi…I'm sorry. Talk to me, honey.”

Marsha dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, trying not to smear her makeup as she considered what to say, even though she knew she could never keep secrets from Cat.

“Oh, Cat, just let it—”

“No. I'm not letting it go. Talk. Now.”

Marsha leaned back, took a sip of her iced tea, then shoved it aside. “He fed me a big line that I fell for. There's nothing else I can say.”

“Did the line have anything to do with, ‘I'm getting a divorce and I love you madly'?”

Marsha's expression crumpled.

“Pretty much.”

Cat slumped. She couldn't believe Marsha had fallen for that. Then it occurred to her that there was a reason why Marsha would even give that line consideration.

“Oh, Mimi…you were already in love with him, weren't you?”

Marsha's chin trembled. “Yes.”

“The pig. So he got in your pants. How's he treating you now?”

“Like I've stolen the company secrets and he's looking for a reason to fire me.”

Cat's eyes narrowed angrily. “He can't do that.”

“Well, yes, he can,” Marsha countered. “He owns the company, so he can do whatever he pleases.”

Cat's instincts to protect were on point.

“Let me talk to him,” she said. “I'll make sure he sees the light.”

Marsha's eyes widened in panic. “No. No. No way are you getting in the middle of this. He didn't hold a knife to my throat. I slept with him, and it's too late to change what—”

Suddenly Marsha stopped talking, and the look on her face was no longer just sad. She looked scared.

Cat's frown deepened. “There's more to this mess than you've told me, isn't there?”

Marsha nodded nervously, as she chewed on her bottom lip.

Cat grabbed Marsha's wrist, her fingers curling into the flesh.

“Mimi…it's me. We don't lie to each other. Ever. Remember?”

“I'm pregnant.”

Cat reeled backwards as if she'd been slapped.

“Oh man. Does he know?”

“Yes.”

“Don't tell me. Let me guess. He's pissed, right?”

“He wants me to get rid of it.”

“What did you tell him?” Cat asked.

Marsha rolled her eyes. “What do you think? You know how we grew up. I told him no.”

“And that made him mad?”

Marsha tried to smile, but it didn't quite work.

“That's an understatement. He thinks I'm trying to work some kind of scam. I tried to assure him that I didn't want anything from him except my job, which I already had, but he doesn't believe me. And…he's been making threats.”

Now Cat was really on alert. “What kind of threats?”

“The kind that leave you six feet under,” Marsha said, then pressed her fingers against her lips, as if she couldn't believe those words had come out of her mouth.

“That does it,” Cat said, and would have gotten up, but Marsha stopped her.

“You can't get involved in this,” Marsha said. “You don't know what he's like. Please. As a favor to me. Stay out of it.”

Cat's face was flushed with anger as she tried to make Marsha see sense.

“But, Mimi, you—”

Marsha's expression darkened. Even though there were still tears in her eyes, her chin jutted stubbornly.

“I'm telling you…stay out of it!”

Cat straightened, staring at her friend in disbelief.

Marsha persisted, unwilling to quit until Cat had given her promise.

“I'm waiting,” Marsha said.

Finally Cat could do nothing but agree.

“All right,” she said reluctantly. “But I'm telling you, if he so much as puts a bruise on your body, he's mine.”

Marsha hesitated for a moment, then nodded.

“Deal.”

“Deal,” Cat echoed, then grabbed her margarita and downed it like medicine. “Crap,” she muttered, as she sat the empty glass back on the table.

Marsha laughed through her pain, and for a moment Cat laughed with her.

But later, as their food came and they ate, talking about everything except the problem at hand, Cat felt a sense of impending doom. She didn't know what was going to happen, but none of it could be good.

 

The next morning dawned cold, gray and wet, adding a wind chill factor to the miserable day. Cat hadn't slept well, and what sleep she'd had, had been filled with nightmares about Marsha. She winced as her bare feet hit the cold floor, and stepped into slippers as she went about her morning routine. As she moved through the hall, she turned up the thermostat. She strode into the kitchen and turned on the coffee maker, waiting impatiently for the first cup of coffee to brew.

She downed the caffeine, hoping it would settle her rumbling stomach, and checked her machine for messages. There were none. In a way, she was glad. Her bank account was healthy enough to get her through a dry spell. Christmas was only a couple of weeks away, and she had yet to go shopping for gifts. That was what she needed to do, and it wouldn't take long. A good bottle of whiskey for Art and a gift for Mimi. After that, she might drop by the gym. It had been more than a week since she'd had time to work out, and after the conversation she'd had with Mimi about Mark Presley, she felt the need to set something on fire. It might as well be her muscles.

 

Wilson was on his way to the gym when he began to hear sirens. He pulled over to the side of the street just in time to let a trio of police cars go racing past. The thought that someone was in trouble crossed his mind, followed by selfish gratitude that it wasn't him.

As traffic resumed, he drove to the next stoplight, then turned right. He had a membership at Body Builders, Inc., but his visits were sporadic. Most of the time he was either on a job or home trying to catch up on lost sleep. When he'd awakened to the cold, overcast day, a hard workout had seemed like a good way to pass some time.

Then, less than four blocks away from his destination, he ran into a roadblock and recognized the three police cars that had passed him earlier. Besides those, there were close to a dozen more. Spying a cop he knew, he rolled down the window.

“Hey, Daughtry, what's up?”

The officer turned, recognized him and moved closer. “Bank robbery with hostages involved,” he said.

“Which bank?” Wilson asked.

“First Federal Credit Union,” Daughtry said.

Wilson frowned. That was right across from his gym, which meant his workout wasn't happening—at least not there.

“Good luck, buddy, and watch your back,” Wilson said, and waved goodbye as he turned right at the blocked off intersection. There were a couple of other gyms in the area that didn't require memberships to work out. He would try one of them.

A short while later he was at Bab's Abs, stripped down to his gym clothes and on a stationary bike, working up a good sweat, when Cat Dupree walked in. She was wearing a pair of bright red sweat pants and some well-worn tennis shoes. When she shed her coat and began twisting her hair up into a ponytail, her breasts tightened the fabric of her old gray T-shirt.

Wilson was a man who believed that lives were dictated by fate, and he was giving his good luck a mental thank-you when she strode past him without looking.

He started to speak, but the jut of her chin seemed more like a warning than a welcome, so he remained silent as she walked by. She moved to a Stair Master and began to warm up before stepping on board. Within seconds, she was in motion.

It took Wilson a few seconds to realize he was staring, so he shook off his moment of lust and resumed his workout. He pedaled for another fifteen minutes without looking up, telling himself that if it was meant to be, she would see him and speak. If it wasn't, then he would keep to himself. He didn't understand what he was doing, playing mental games with himself about her, but there was a part of him that believed no matter what he asked, she would say no. And, being a man who didn't like to be thwarted in any way, he was thinking that the best way not to be turned down was not to ask in the first place.

When he finished his bike time and looked up, he saw that she'd moved on to free weights and was impressed by the amount she was lifting. This time he watched with guilt, admiring her form and strength.

About the time he'd decided to call it a morning, he realized she was in trouble. She was lifting without a spotter and had pushed herself about two lifts too far. On her last lift, she'd barely gotten the bar up and locked her elbows, but it was obvious that she didn't have enough strength to lower the weights safely to the rests. He knew that when she let go, she was going to drop the bar right across her chest.

Six long strides from one side of the gym to the other and he had the bar in hand and was easing it onto the rests. Once it was safely in place, he looked down. She was still flat on her back on the weight bench, looking up at him.

Cat knew she'd pushed herself too far, too fast, but she'd taken her worry and anger at Mark Presley out on the weights. By the time she realized she was in trouble, she was too focused on not killing herself to shout for help. Then, when the weights were miraculously taken from her hands, she groaned with relief. When she looked up to see who'd come to her aid, she was looking at him upside down. It wasn't until she sat up and turned around that she realized who'd come to her rescue.

“You,” Cat muttered.

Wilson's face was expressionless. “You're welcome,” he said briefly, and then turned his back on her and walked away.

For whatever reason, Wilson had to face the fact that he did not ring her bells. It was something of a disappointment to accept that, since she was the first woman since he'd turned sixteen who was obviously not interested in him.

The moment he walked away, Cat realized how rude she'd been. She dismounted the weight bench and hurried after him, catching him midway across the floor.

“Hey! Wait! I didn't mean to take my mood out on you. Thank you for saving my butt back there.”

Wilson felt a surge of pleasure. So she wasn't as cold and standoffish as she appeared.

“Yeah…sure, and you're welcome.”

Cat eyed his cropped haircut as well as the tiny gold hoop in his ear and told herself he wasn't all that. But she was lying.

“Thanks again.”

“Next time, take it easy on the weights.”

“Definitely.”

Then Wilson remembered the charm.

“Say…you didn't happen to lose something the day of the fire, did you?”

Cat's heart skipped a beat.

“Yes, actually I did.”

“Like what?” Wilson asked.

“A charm. It was a small silver cat. The only thing I had left of my childhood before…” She hesitated, then shrugged. “It was sentimental. Please tell me you found it.”

“I found it.”

Cat's eyes rounded in disbelief.

“Oh my God…you're serious, aren't you?”

Wilson was surprised by her sudden burst of emotion. It was, after all, just a charm. A small grin tilted the left corner of his mouth.

“Yes, ma'am, serious as a heart attack.”

Cat threw her arms around his neck, and kissed him hard and fast.

Before he could react, she'd pulled away and high fived him so vigorously that the palm of his hand actually burned.

“I can't believe it,” Cat kept saying. “I was so certain it was gone forever. Thank you! You don't know what it means to me.”

“I'm beginning to get an idea,” He said, rubbing his burning hand on the backside of his gym shorts.

She glanced at her watch, then back at him.

“Where do you live? I'll come get it. Or, if you'd rather, you can drop it off at my place. Here…I'll give you my address.”

She tore a piece of paper from a little notebook in her gym bag and quickly wrote out her address.

“That's my phone number, too,” she said.

Wilson stifled a grin. It wouldn't do to let her know that he was as excited about the number and address as she was about the charm. He was still holding her address when Cat's cell phone rang.

She reached into her gym bag, saw the caller ID, recognized Marsha's number and frowned.

“Look. I'm sorry, but I need to take this. Call me. We'll set up a time to meet later.”