Free Nine Lives by Sharon Sala Page A

mingled odors were appalling. She could feel her stomach starting to roll.
    The desk sergeant was asking her something about Charity Kingman. She could see his mouth moving, but his words were all running together. When she looked away, the wall behind the desk started to melt. That was when she knew something was wrong.
    â€œI don’t feel so good,” Cat muttered, and slipped her arms into the sleeves of her coat. “If you have any more questions, call Art’s Bail Bonds. She’s one of his.”
    She walked away without looking back, telling herself that she would feel better once she got some fresh air. But it didn’t work. The cold blast of air just made her shiver.
    She started across the parking lot toward her car, thinking that if she just got inside, she would be okay. But the more she walked, the farther it appeared to be. There was a part of her that knew she shouldn’t drive, but she wanted to go home—needed to go home. There might be word about Mimi. There had to be word. You couldn’t just “lose” a friend like you lost a wallet. She had to be somewhere.
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    Wilson’s day had been just as productive as Cat’s. He had turned in a bail jumper over an hour ago and was walking through the parking lot to his truck when Joe Flannery hailed him.
    â€œHey, Wilson. Heard anything more from your girlfriend?”
    Wilson frowned. “She’s not my girlfriend, and you know it. At the moment, she’s as pissed off at me as she is at you.”
    â€œShe didn’t turn in a missing person’s report,” Joe said.
    â€œAre you waiting for me to say, ‘I told you so’? Fine, I told you so,” Wilson said.
    â€œYeah, I figure her friend showed up and she’s too embarrassed to let us know.”
    Wilson thought about it a minute, then shook his head.
    â€œThat doesn’t sound like something she would do. She appears pretty forthright to me.”
    Joe grinned.
    â€œShe’s pretty, all right.”
    But Wilson couldn’t play easy about what he felt for her. He didn’t even know why he kept thinking about her, other than he had that damned charm. Maybe when he got rid of it he would be rid of her, too.
    â€œShe’s tough as hell,” Joe said. “’Course, she had to be, to survive what she did.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” Wilson asked.
    â€œYou saw that scar on her neck?”
    Wilson nodded.
    â€œThe man who killed her dad, some tattooed guy, also cut her throat. She was just a kid, but his death put her in the system. Eventually she aged out. Word is, she’s in this business because she’s always looking for the killer.”
    Wilson felt a little sick to his stomach, imagining what a trauma like that would do to a child.
    â€œJesus…they never caught him?” he asked
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhat about her mother?”
    â€œShe and Cat were in a car wreck when Cat was six. The mother died. Cat didn’t.”
    It was suddenly becoming clearer to Wilson why Cat Dupree kept an impenetrable wall between her and the world. It was too damned painful when she didn’t.
    â€œSo…you going home for Christmas?” Joe asked.
    â€œProbably,” Wilson said. “I always do.”
    â€œTell your folks I said hello.”
    â€œYeah, sure,” Wilson said, and then Joe’s cell phone rang, and they parted company.
    Wilson was on his way to his truck when he caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired woman staggering through the parking lot. Almost immediately, he recognized Cat, and when he saw her stumble, he began to run.
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    Cat was going to fall, and she knew it. She could see the dark wet surface of the parking lot coming at her and tried to brace herself, but her reactions were too slow.
    Then, just as suddenly as she was falling, the motion stopped. There were hands on her arms, then around her torso. She could hear a voice that sounded vaguely