Nine Lives

She tried to scream, but when she inhaled, she choked.

Her father fell lifelessly to the floor as the assailantjumped over him and ran to the front door. Catherine watched him disappear into the night as she waited to die.

Over and over, she struggled to breathe, then finally, blessedly, everything went dark.

Cat sat straight up in bed, choking and coughing and grabbing her throat, certain that her hands would come away covered in blood. Instead, all she felt was the hard ridge of scar, followed by the certainty that, although she was in her bedroom, she was not alone.

She rolled toward the bedside table, pulling a handgun from the drawer as she turned on the lamp.

Wilson had been dozing in a small, overstuffed chair, but the sudden brightness, coupled with the fact that he was now staring down the barrel of a gun, was better than any alarm clock he’d ever owned.

“Don’t shoot,” he said quickly. “It’s me, Wilson McKay.”

Cat was breathing hard and shaking as she leaned back against the headboard and let the gun fall in her lap.

“What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in?”

He frowned as he eyed the gun lying in her lap.

“Put that thing away,” he muttered, waiting for her to do as he’d asked. When the gun was back in the drawer, he answered. “You nearly passed out in the parking lot of the police department. Good Samaritan that I am, I brought you home, then held you in the parking lot while you threw up on my shoes.”

“Oh Lord,” Cat muttered, but Wilson seemed bothered that she’d pulled a gun on him and wouldn’t stop talking. If he only knew how badly her head was pounding, he would shut the hell up. Trouble was, she couldn’t focus enough to tell him.

“Your neighbors in 6E helped me get you inside the apartment. I put you to bed and gave you some pills—which have obviously broken your fever, because you’re back to your normal bitchy self.”

Cat fell back against the pillows, staring at him in disbelief.

Wilson’s tirade ended as quickly as it had begun. He took a deep breath then stood, walked to the bed and felt her forehead. It was damp, but cooler. The fever was gone.

“Do you need anything?” he asked. “Water? Something for pain?”

She shook her head no, then groaned when the motion made her feel as if the bed was spinning.

“Are you going to be sick to your stomach again?”

“No.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Water?” Her voice sounded weak.

“Not a problem,” he said and took the glass from the table and filled it with cool, fresh water, then carried it back to her bed.

He steadied her as she sipped it, then watched her give in to weakness as she fell back onto the pillow with a thump.

“I feel like shit. What happened?”

Wilson eyed the dark circles beneath her eyes and then laid the back of his hand against her forehead just to make sure the fever had abated.

“I’d guess you picked up some kind of flu bug.”

Cat closed her eyes.

“Not a bug. Nothing that small could possibly be causing this much agony.”

Wilson grinned. Her sense of humor was unexpected. He watched her hand go to her throat, then trace the scar on her neck. His grin died as he remembered how abruptly she’d awakened.

“Did you have a bad dream?” he asked.

He heard her snort. At least it sounded like a snort, but he’d never heard a woman really snort before. It was somewhat surprising, as was most everything else about Catherine Dupree.

“Are there any other kinds?” she asked.

He frowned.

She scrubbed her hands across her face in an effort to wipe away the memory. When she lowered her hands, he realized she was staring straight at him.

“Sorry about the gun. Sometimes my dreams get mixed up with reality.”

“Remind me never to sleep with you,” he said, and when her mouth dropped open, he realized what he’d said. “Well…that’s not exactly what I meant. I just meant that I need to be the one sleeping on this side of the bed, so that when you go for the gun, you have to crawl over me to do it.”

Cat’s cheeks burned.

“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered.

He grinned again, then winked.

“I think you’re well enough to be left on your own now.” He stood up, then dug in his pants pocket and pulled out the little silver charm. “Hold out your hand,”

Cat did so, palm upward. When she saw the glint of silver as he dropped the charm into her hand, her vision blurred.