Free Nine Lives by Sharon Sala Page B

familiar, but she couldn’t focus enough to see who it was.
    Wilson was nervous. Cat was almost unconscious. That alone was unsettling. When he turned her in his arms, he realized she was hot—far too hot for the winter chill in the air.
    â€œMiss Dupree…Cat! It’s Wilson McKay.”
    Cat moaned and tried to hold on to him, but her fingers seemed disconnected from the rest of her body, and she couldn’t make them grip.
    â€œI need to go home,” she muttered.
    â€œYou’re sick. You need to see a doctor,” he said, and started to pick her up.
    She took a swing at him.
    â€œNo doctor.”
    As sick as she was, the message came loud and clear. He braced her to keep her from falling, then picked her up in his arms.
    â€œDon’t feel good,” she mumbled, and kept pushing him away.
    At that moment a police cruiser drove into the parking lot. The headlights swept over them where they stood. Wilson caught a brief glance of her pale face and the scar at her throat, thought about what Joe had told him and weakened.
    â€œDamn it, Catherine…quit fighting me and I will take you home.”
    Her lips twisted as her hands went to her throat.
    â€œDaddy calls me Catherine.”
    The admission was telling in its simplicity. God only knew what her nightmares were like. As much as he hated to admit it, he was beginning to feel sorry for her.
    Her head fell forward. He could smell the lemon scent of the shampoo she used. It was no fuss, just like her, but from the feel of her in his arms, she was too damned thin.
    â€œHome…I want to go home.”
    He stood her up against her SUV, then took her car keys out of her hand, opened the door and slid her into the passenger seat, carefully buckling her in. He could always take a cab back to the precinct to pick up his car. This way, her vehicle would be at her home when she was well enough to drive.
    â€œHey, McKay, need some help?” someone yelled.
    He turned around. The man who’d called out was a detective going off duty.
    â€œI got it,” he yelled back, then shut the door and ran around to the driver’s side.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with her?” the detective asked, as he stopped on his way to his own car.
    â€œNot sure, but she’s got a heck of a fever. She’s too sick to drive.”
    â€œWant me to follow you and bring you back for your car?”
    Wilson thought about it, then shook his head.
    â€œNo, but thanks. I might need to take her to an E.R., and if I do, I’ll use her car.”
    â€œYeah, okay. See you around,” he said, and walked on.
    Wilson jumped into the car and started it up, quickly turning on the heater and then re-checking her seatbelt. Once he was satisfied that she was as safe as he could make her, he drove out of the parking lot with a mental map of the route to her apartment in his head.
    Twenty minutes later and with only one missed turn, he pulled into the parking lot of her housing complex, found the building her apartment was in and parked.
    Before he got out, he checked her key ring, making sure that her front door key was on it. He saw one that looked right, then slipped the keys into his coat pocket and opened the door. The cold air cut straight to the bone. He buttoned the top button of his coat as he circled the SUV.
    Cat roused up as he lifted her from the seat. A few feet from the apartment building, she knew she was going to be sick.
    â€œThrow up,” she muttered.
    She didn’t have to say it twice. He set her down on her feet and then braced her just as the nausea struck. By the time she was through, she was even weaker than before.
    â€œSorry.”
    Wilson was staggering, trying not to let her fall.
    â€œIt’s okay. Just be still. I’m trying to help you.”
    Even though she was sick out of her mind, Cat wasn’t the kind to give up or give in. Her legs wouldn’t work, but she kept trying to walk and ended up