Free Bad Penny by Sharon Sala Page B

and I will go get your car.”
     
    Cat thought about going, but she had too many bruises to want to face the world. Instead, she reached for the jelly and put a spoonful onto her toast. She took a bite, and as she did, her stomach rolled. Startled by the unexpected nausea, she swallowed quickly and reached for the coffee. The cup was in her hand when her stomach rolled again.
     
    Wilson and Carter were in the middle of a conversation about where else they needed to go while they were in Austin, and Dorothy was at the sink.
     
    “Uh…excuse me. I just remembered something. I’ll be right back,” Cat said, and headed for her bedroom.
     
    The closer she got, the more certain she was that she was going to throw up. It was too long after the wreck for concussion symptoms, and it couldn’t be food poisoning, because they’d all had the same thing last night and no one else was ill. She hit the door with the flat of her hand and dashed through the room, making it to the bathroom just in time.
     
    She threw up until there was nothing left in her stomach. Finally she flushed the toilet, then staggered to the sink to wash her face and hands. She was brushing her teeth when Wilson came in.
     
    “Honey, are you okay?”
     
    She nodded.
     
    “Why are you brushing your teeth? You didn’t finish your breakfast.” She shrugged, then rinsed and wiped her mouth.
     
    “I just threw up. I think I’ve taken too many pain pills on an empty stomach. I’ll let my tummy rest a bit and then give food a try later.”
     
    Concern was in his voice and in the gentleness of his touch. “Are you sure?” He felt her forehead, thinking she might be coming down with a fever.
     
    “I’m fine,” she said. “In fact, I feel much better already. I told you, it was those pain pills.”
     
    “Maybe. Still, you should take it easy while we’re gone. Mom is going over to Charlie’s for a bit. One of the kids is sick, and she’s going to babysit the others while they go to the doctor.”
     

“Oh, no. Which one of them is sick?”
     
    “I don’t know. I just heard the tail end of Mom and Dad’s conversation. Are you sure you’re going to be all right here while we’re gone?”
     
    “Absolutely. I’ll just go back to bed. I feel a little shaky.” “Want me to tuck you in?” Wilson asked.
     
    Cat grinned. “That is so not what you want to do to me, and we both know it.”
     
    A muscle jumped at the side of his jaw; then he kissed her, hard and quick, his nostrils flaring as he pulled back.
     
    “I’m out of here before I get us both in trouble,” he said softly. Cat crawled into bed.
     
    Wilson stood beside the bedpost, looking down at her—at the wild tangle of long dark hair, and her hollow eyes and dark bruises.
     
    “Even beat all to hell and back, you look sexy.”
     
    “I’m going to sleep now,” she said as she rolled over and tucked her hands beneath her cheek.
     
    Wilson pulled the covers up over her shoulders, then turned off the light as he walked out of the room.
     
    A short while later, Cat heard vehicles leaving, then nothing more as she slept.
     
    Montoya kept one eye on the gas gauge and the other on the clock. He planned on being in Agua Caliente before sunset, to spend the night with an aunt and uncle who lived there. Although they had no phone, and he’d had no way of warning them he was coming, he knew he would be welcomed and that there would be a place for him to sleep.
     
    As he drove, he kept going over the things he knew about Tutuola. The only thing that made sense was that someone killed him for the money, then set fire to the home to try to hide the deed.
     
    He was a good detective and knew enough to trust his instincts. And his instincts were telling him to follow the money. All he had to do was backtrack Tutuola’s trip to Chihuahua and, along the way, locate as many people as he could who’d seen him flashing cash around. Someone would tell. They always did.
     
    The