Twilight on the Road Home

Part Six

by G. Lawrence

Catherine faces her kidnappers for the final time

Recap; Tommy Varoom and his cohorts escaped on the way to death row and are hiding in a Dallas safe house seeking to leave the country. Having been kidnapped, it looks grim for our heroine, but Catherine is no longer the helpless victim they once knew. Now Jim and Captain Kendrick are seeking to rescue her.

Warning: though the violence in this chapter is not of an extreme nature, there is a great deal of it. This is, after all, a crime novel. Sensitive readers are cautioned. This is part six of six. All characters are over 18 years old.

* * * * * *

Chapter Eleven

THE COST OF DOING BUSINESS

"Yearling," Kendrick whispered, finding Jim around the side of the house. "We have company."

"I heard a car. That wasn't you?"

"Varoom's ride showed up. Two of them that we saw. That means there are at least five in the house. Maybe more."

"If Cat's in there, he'll kill her before leaving."

"I'm figuring that, too. You know how to shoot that gun?"

"I've never shot at a person before, but I know how to hit what I aim at."

"Raise your right hand."

"My right hand?"

"Just fucking do it," Kendrick ordered.

Jim raised his hand.

"Do you, James Yearling, solemnly swear that you will bear true allegiance to the State of Texas, and faithfully serve against all her enemies whatsoever?"

"I do."

"Then by my authority as a Captain of the Texas Rangers, I appoint you my deputy. Follow instructions and don't get killed."

"Yes, sir," Jim agreed.

"Where do you think he'll keep her?" Kendrick inquired.

"In the basement. That's where he always keeps them. In an old house like this, we'll find the stairs off a service porch or behind the garage."

"Which garage? I saw three of them."

"Probably the big one attached to the house."

"Let me take the lead. I've got the scatter gun. If we find the door, I'll go after Varoom while you look for the girl."

"Works for me," Jim said.

They went around to the back, finding a weed-covered yard, steel sheds, and a tall stack of cord wood. A screened porch ran the length of the house. They saw two doors.

"What do you think?" Kendrick asked.

"The green door goes into the kitchen. I don't know about the other one. Possibly a workshop. It may lead down to storage rooms."

"See if we can find something to pry those doors open. Maybe we'll get lucky."

"Will a crowbar do?" Jim asked, holding one up.

"Where the fuck did you find that?"

Jim pointed at the wood pile. Stacked against it were rusty shovels, picks, and axes.

"Hand me one of those hatchets," Kendrick said. "If the crowbar doesn't do the job, an axe will."

* * * * * *

"Tucson, glad you made it," Varoom said, shaking his old confederate's hand. He was a squat fellow with a bald head, powerfully built and carrying a 9mm Glock in his shoulder holster. His brother was taller and thinner, somewhat quiet, with a long face and shaggy black hair. There was no slyness in his eyes, only loyalty.

"You've made quite the stink this time, Tommy," Tucson said. "The whole damn country is looking for you. The Governor put a half million-dollar bounty on your head."

"Some friend she turned out to be. And after I contributed to her campaign," Varoom griped.

"Getting you out is going to cost extra," Tucson warned.

"They'll never give the reward money to you, and I'm paying plenty. Have the car ready, we'll be out of here in a few minutes."

"We should be getting out now," Tucson protested.

"Joey and I have old business to settle," Varoom explained, heading for the basement. He was interrupted.

"Tommy! Creepy's gone," Powell shouted, running down the grand staircase out of breath.

"What do you mean?" Varoom asked.

"Bedroom is empty. He might be hiding in a closet, or the attic, but I didn't see him."

"Tucson, Dicky, we need your help," Varoom said. "Creepy is wounded. Probably wandering around the house somewhere. We need to find him."

"That ain't our problem," Tucson said.

"For an extra $2,000?"

"Those are the problems I like," Tucson answered. "What happens when we find him?"

"He can't travel, and he can't be allowed to talk. Joey or I will take care of it," Varoom replied.

"I'll do it for another $10,000," Tucson offered. "Hell, I'll do it for twenty bucks. I never did like the son of a bitch."

"$5,000, if you find him before we do," Varoom compromised.

"You've got a deal," Tucson agreed, waving his brother on.

Tucson followed Powell back up the stairs while Varoom and Dicky searched downstairs. It was a big quirky Victorian house filled with closets and niches.

Farther down in the musty basement, Manners was stumbling toward a rear room, pushing the dungeon door open with his good shoulder. Cat was lying naked on the floor in the corner, hands and ankles cuffed, with a gag in her mouth. She looked startled by Manners' sudden appearance. He knelt over her.

"Some things never change, do they, little girl?" he remarked, pulling the gag from her mouth. Cat didn't respond. She had a few bruises. Able to see everything, Manners realized Varoom hadn't done worse.

"Come on, girl, we're beyond that bullshit. They're going to kill us both. Do you know where the keys are?"

"Hanging on the wall behind the door," Cat said.

Manners grunted as he staggered across the room, found the keys, and fumbled to get the steel cuffs off her ankles.

"The hands, too," Cat said, twisting around.

"I'm not that stupid," Manners replied.

Cat turned back, the deep brown eyes searching. She wasn't desperate. If anything, she looked scarily calm.

"You need a doctor," Cat told him.

"Always thought you were the smart one."

"You want something from me. Whatever it is, you don't get it unless these handcuffs come off."

"You're in no position to make demands," Creepy pointed out.

"You aren't, either. Your shelf life is shrinking faster than mine."

"Joey always said you're tougher than you look."

"It kept me alive for two years."

"Do you know what I can do to you? Right now?" Manners said, holding up the kitchen knife.

"Then do it," Cat defiantly answered, baring her throat.

Manners twisted her around and unlocked the handcuffs. Cat straightened up, rubbing her wrists.

"What's your plan?" she asked.

"When Tommy or Joey comes down here looking for you, jump up and distract them. I'll hide behind the door and gut them like a fish. Once I've got a gun, we'll be on an even playing field."

"Why should I help you if you're going to kill me anyway?"

"Goddamn it, girl, I don't give a fuck what happens to you. I never have. That's Varoom's hang-up. Run or do whatever the hell you want. I'm just trying to get out of this place alive."

"Let me have a shirt," Cat asked, covering her breasts with her hands.

"You're a better distraction as you are," Manners refused.

* * * * * *

Jim pried the side door open while Kendrick watched the house through the kitchen window. When they finally broke the lock, they found a woodshop with two descending staircases.

"One of these probably goes to the basement," Jim said. "The other will be a root cellar."

"You take the left, I'll go right. Be careful," Kendrick warned.

The stairwell Jim took had no lights, forcing him to probe each step with his foot, a hand feeling the wall. He held Kendrick's Baretta in the other hand.

Kendrick had a pale-yellow lightbulb at the bottom of his staircase, just enough to see the corridor was empty. Like many old houses, he knew basements were used for wine cellars, pantries, and storage. Kendrick sensed he'd chosen a promising area, but then he encountered another locked door, cursing as he leveraged the crowbar.

* * * * * *

"Dicky, check the basement," Varoom ordered, waiting for Powell and Tucson to report.

"Where?"

"The basement. Go to the kitchen. The stairs are behind the door off the laundry room."

"What's down there?"

"Mostly moldy antiques. And there's a dungeon in the back."

"It sounds spooky," Dicky objected.

"It's supposed to be. What's the point of having a dungeon if it doesn't scare the shit out of them?"

"Out of whom?"

"Whom? Are you a fucking scholar now?" Tommy mocked.

"Out of who?"

"You know who I mean."

"Have Powell do it," Dicky protested.

"We can't waste that much time. Just make sure Manners isn't down there. Oh, and there's a girl. Don't touch her. She's mine."

"I'm not groping one of your sleazy whores."

"She's not sleazy, and she's not a whore. She's my property."

"Whatever," Dicky said.

He went to the kitchen and found the utility room. Sinks, brooms, and mops. He peeked in the door to his right, discovering a massive garage filled with vintage cars. A Hudson. A Tucker. Several Model-Ts. At least two dozen others. There was even a Duesenberg. Dicky liked old cars, but there wasn't time to explore.

The laundry room Varoom spoke of was in the other direction, and the staircase just beyond. At the bottom, he entered a shadowy basement with endless shelves of dust-covered artifacts. Vacuum cleaners. Typewriters. Sewing machines. Used furniture. A lawn jockey. Rich people, he thought. Always saving the most useless crap.

There was a door at the end of a long gloomy corridor, just like Varoom described. There was no sign of Manners, but he was curious about the girl. He and his brother had been trafficking for years, but they used drugs to keep their women under control. Varoom and his Club were said to be into something far darker.

It was a heavy door, but unlocked. He pushed in, finding a large barren room with stone walls and a cement floor. There was a young woman sitting in the far corner. She was nude. And pretty, with big brown eyes, dark golden hair, and round perky breasts. It looked like she was bound, or handcuffed, but he couldn't be sure. She stood up, her lush body exposed in the generous light.

"Who are you?" Dicky asked, standing in the doorway.

"Please don't hurt me, master. I'll do whatever you want," the woman replied.

Dicky found her tempting despite Varoom's admonition. He wondered how much Varoom wanted for her. She'd be worth every penny. He took a step forward.

"What will you do for me?" he said, loosening his belt.

"I'll send you to hell, you sick fuck," Cat said, raising her arms.

Dicky was grabbed from behind, a knife at his throat. He was cut, feeling the blade slice through his neck, but managed to pull away, stumbling forward into the room. Someone jumped on him. A huge man. Manners!

It was an intense struggle, both men knowing the stakes. Manners plunged the knife down as Dicky sought to fend him off. There were grunts and groans, but no words. Unable to reach his shoulder holster, Dicky pulled a serrated knife from his belt, seeking a way to defend himself.

For a moment, it looked like Dicky might gain the upper hand, but the wound was slowing him down. The fighters twisted and turned, spraying blood as Cat tried to maneuver around them. She wanted to reach the door, but the combatants kept getting in the way.

The harder Dicky fought, the weaker he became. Finally, Manners stuck the kitchen knife under Dicky's chin, cutting through the windpipe. Foam burst from his victim's mouth. Cat heard choking sounds. The fight ended as the tall skinny man collapsed on the floor.

"That was one strong asshole," Manners said, wheezing with exhaustion. He reached into Dicky's jacket, finding a Glock 17 in his shoulder holster. It felt good in his hand.

Manners sat back, catching his breath. He had placed himself between Cat and the door. When she started to leave, he waved her back.

"Sorry, little girl. Can't have you running off," Manners warned.

"But you said ...?"

"Naïve as ever. Some kind of eternal truth there."

"You have no use for me."

"Can't have you tipping Tommy off, either."

"I won't say anything. I promise."

"I'm sorry about this. I never had anything against you personally, other than you being annoying. But this is what it is."

Manners stood up, the pistol in one hand, Dicky's serrated dagger in the other.

"Tommy will hear the gun," Cat warned.

"I have the knife."

"Good luck trying to use it," Cat dared with a frown.

To Manners surprise, she stepped back into the corner, fists up, ready for a fight. The wounded man hesitated, still out of breath from his last brawl.

"I owe Tommy an apology. You're really not bad to look at," Manners remarked.

Those were his final words.

"Drop the gun," a rough voice said.

Manners turned, seeing a burley Texas Ranger in the doorway.

"Don't try it," Kendrick warned. Manners made a quick move, firing the pistol once. An instant before a shotgun blast ripped him apart.

Cat ducked aside as Manners' mangled body toppled to the floor, chest cavity torn open. Part of his chin was missing. His eyes stared vacantly. The spray had drenched her with his blood. Cat rose up on her knees and leaned over, only inches from his face.

"Guess what, you son of a bitch," she whispered with satisfaction. "I got you. It was just like the 4th of July."

Kendrick staggered into the room and fell against the wall. He'd been shot in the right thigh, blood quickly soaking through his pants leg. Cat knelt next to him. She couldn't be sure if the bullet had torn an artery.

"Are you okay? You were awful close," Kendrick asked, seeing nothing but wet hair and big eyes bathed in scarlet drippings. That she was naked didn't matter. Not with life or death on the line.

"Doing great," Cat answered, her eyes bright.

He could see that it was true. The young woman was excited. Bursting with energy.

"You've been hit," Kendrick realized, pointing to her arm.

"Wow," Cat said in surprise, seeing ooze emerging from her right arm above the elbow. Kendrick had her kneel closer, then plucked a pellet from the soft flesh.

"Just a ricochet. You'll be fine," he said, using his red scarf to tie it off.

"How bad is your wound?" Cat asked.

"Get that asshole's belt. I'll make a tourniquet," Kendrick said, shifting to take pressure off the leg. He kept the shotgun cradled in his lap, watching the door.

Cat took Manners' belt, then picked up the serrated knife and the pistol. She'd never fired a gun before but didn't think it would be very hard.

"Are there more Rangers upstairs?" Cat asked as she wrapped the belt above the wound and pulled it tight.

"Not yet. Just your boyfriend."

"My boyfriend?"

"Jim Yearling. I deputized him. He's trying to find you."

"He could get killed," Cat said, her eyes darkening.

"We could all get killed. Now I want you to get behind me and stay low. Blow Fish Lincoln is outside waiting for the SWAT teams. They should be here any minute."

"Jim could get killed," Cat repeated.

"Yeah, we already covered that," Kindrick acknowledged. "Nothing we can do about it at the moment."

Cat saw Kendrick couldn't get up. The wound was bad. Manners' shirt was ripped to shreds. She wasn't sure if she'd be able to pull the trench coat off the other dead body, curled as it was on the floor.

"May I have your jacket?" Cat asked.

"Good God, I'm sorry. I should have been more thoughtful," Kendrick said, wiggling out of his khaki blazer. It was baggy with long sleeves, hanging to her knees, but Cat put it on gratefully. She picked up Dicky Smith's Glock and tucked his knife in the side pocket. After finding her gold cross in a pool of blood, she tied the broken chain around her wrist and stood up.

"Where are you going?" Kendrick asked.

"To find my boyfriend."

"It's too dangerous. There are three armed men upstairs."

"Only three?" Cat said.

* * * * * *

Just minutes before, Jim moved blindly through the dark underground corridor until bumping into a door. It was unlocked. Light shimmered in the next room, coming down from a long staircase. There were supplies for preserving food. Empty jars. Drying racks. Baking ovens. The house above sounded quiet.

He went up the stairs slowly, hearing the steps creak, and dared to look out. It was the pantry. Shelves were filled with glass bottles, tin containers, boxes of sugar and sacks of flour. Beyond the pantry was a large kitchen. He crept forward, stopping just inside the pantry doorway.

He heard voices. Someone was complaining about Creepy being hard to find. There were at least three men.

"Old business," one said. It was Tommy Varoom.

"Got to get the fuck out of here," another replied. Joey Powell?

"Find Dicky. Meet you at the van," the third said. A stranger.

Jim heard footsteps coming in his direction and ducked back. Someone was in the kitchen. They paused for a moment, and then the footsteps faded away.

"No sign of Creepy?" Varoom asked, still in the living room with Powell.

"Can't find him upstairs," Powell said. "This place is like a giant maze."

"Heard something that sounded like a shot from the basement."

"Maybe Dicky got him?"

"He better not be using my property," Varoom grouched.

"So what if he does?"

"No one uses my property without my permission."

"If Dicky is still down there, Tucson will get him. Let's get going."

"I have a score to settle in the dungeon," Varoom said.

"Forget her," Powell impatiently urged.

"I'm not going to do that."

"Goddamn it, Tommy, don't be a fucking idiot. If you'd sold her to Yearling like I said we should, we wouldn't be in this fix. He offered good money."

"My business with her isn't finished," Varoom insisted.

"Make it fast," Powell demanded.

Jim was able to hear pieces of the conversation. He heard Varoom approach, and then veer off in another direction. He wondered where Kendrick was.

* * * * * *

Tucson had no trouble finding the utility room, but wasn't sure which way to go after that, unfamiliar with the old house. One door led into a car museum. Another to a laundry room. He finally found the staircase going down.

"Dicky? Dicky?" he called out.

The poorly lit basement was huge, filled with garbage, but he had no problem seeing the hallway to the rear room. Long, dark and ominous. Suddenly there was a movement. A woman in a baggy jacket, running behind rows of shelving.

"Stop! Stop or I'll shoot!" he shouted. The woman didn't stop, hiding in a dark corner.

Tucson looked back to the far end of the murky corridor. Someone was lying on the floor in the rear room. Two someones. One looked like his brother. Varoom caught up a moment later.

"I have business down here, too," Varoom said.

"The girl?" Tucson asked.

"Yes."

"Then you better hurry. There she goes."

Varoom turned to see Cat rushing up the stairs, barefoot and wearing a loose jacket. He ran to catch her, astonished she had escaped. Tucson went in the other direction.

"Dicky? Dicky?" he said.

There was no response. Was his brother dead? Had that girl killed him? How could that even happen? There was a noise.

He entered the dungeon, kneeling next to his little brother. The wounds were bad, his throat cut. Tucson couldn't tell if Dicky was still alive, but it didn't look likely. Manners lay ten feet away, a bloody mess. Only at the last second did he see the Texas Ranger sitting against the wall holding a shotgun. Tucson considered surrendering, and then reached for his pistol. He'd always been lucky. The shotgun blast was deafening.

Cat was upstairs in the laundry room when she heard the explosion. She hoped Kendrick was okay. She was holding the Glock. It was comforting to be wearing the khaki jacket emblazoned with a gold Texas Ranger star. She wasn't sure how to fire the gun, hoping it was like on TV. She was sorry not to have gotten lessons from Ashley.

The utility room was before her, and then the big kitchen. She moved forward slowly, hearing a man curse. Powell? And then a loud noise, like a firecracker. The wall above her shattered, plaster and wood showering in every direction. She ducked, wiping a sliver of blood from her cheek. Had someone shot at her? Then there was a different noise. Clump, clump, clump. Tommy Varoom was coming up the stairs behind her.

There was a door to her left, and Cat wasted no time, finding herself in a big dirty garage filled with old cars. Three yellowed skylights cast all sorts of weird shadows. She turned to lock the door, but Varoom pounded into it with his shoulder, knocking her down. Varoom fell, too, landing on his hands and knees. They stared at each other for the briefest second. Then Cat jumped up and ran.

The cars were parked in rows, some looking like museum pieces, others covered in dusty sheets. Stacks of spare tires and old engine blocks kept getting in her way. And there were tools on the floor. Jacks, pullies, mallets, and tire irons. She needed to be careful not to trip. Nuts and bolts hurt her feet.

"Where do you think you're going?" Varoom called out.

Cat felt no need to answer. She was looking for a door, or a place to hide.

"Looks like we're finally going to settle this," Varoom called out. In the hazy light, she saw him waving a knife. She ducked behind an old Ford, and then some fancy foreign car with the steering wheel on the wrong side. He kept coming, looking down the aisles. Looking under the vehicles.

"I have a gun," Cat warned.

"Then you better use it," Varoom replied.

Cat was nearing the far wall. Varoom was right underneath a skylight. She held the pistol in both hands and pulled the trigger. The report was loud. The recoil almost knocked her down. She had no idea where the shot went, but it hadn't hit Varoom.

"Only missed by twenty feet," Varoom said. And then he fired back. An oil tub hanging from the rafters burst open, splattering black goop in Cat's hair, on her jacket, and on the gun. She shook it, hoping the weapon would still shoot, and squeezed the trigger. It fired, hitting one of the cars.

"That was worse than the last time, Cat," Varoom laughed. "But you sure slaughtered that Caddy. Hopefully Leafman has insurance for dumb bitches shooting up his cars."

"I'm not the dumb bitch, Tommy. The cops are coming, and you're here chasing me. Doesn't that make you the dumb bitch?"

"I've still got a few minutes, and that's all I need," he answered.

He ran to the top of the aisle as Cat was running the other way. She saw the door back to the utility room, still partially open, and tried for it. Varoom got there first, slamming the door and bolting it. Cat raised the gun and fired. Then fired again. He was only fifteen feet away. Both shots went wild. She retreated toward the far wall, hoping to find another door.

"You can't hit the broadside of a barn, can you?" Varoom taunted. "Just so you know, I can. But I don't figure to use a bullet on you. What fun would that be?"

* * * * * *

A minute before Cat had reached the laundry room, Jim crept from the pantry into the kitchen, not sure where everyone went. He crouched behind the counter, trying to see into the living room, less subtle than he hoped. Varoom and the stranger were gone. Powell was looking out the window, and then suddenly turned.

"What the hell!" Powell shouted, drawing his pistol and firing.

The first shot missed Jim, fracturing the wall above the utility room door. Dust and splinters went everywhere. The second shot knocked him down. Though the bullet hit the Kevlar vest, it felt like his collar bone was broken. Jim caught his breath, then quickly rose up to fire back, striking Powell high on the left arm. Powell continued firing, forcing Jim to duck as tiles burst all around him.

Jim kept low. The wound hurt like the devil. He couldn't see where Powell was. He crawled forward, peering around the end of the counter. The dining room was empty, a chair overturned. Powell stood near the front door, clutching his arm, looking out at the driveway. Powell spotted him.

"Fucking nuisance," Powell said, firing another flurry of shots.

Jim realized he was hit again. Maybe bad. He rolled over, feeling his ribs. Though the Kevlar vest had absorbed the impact, it was hard to breathe. He couldn't let it distract him. He raised the pistol, pointed it in Powell's direction, and returned fire. Powell saw no point in staying, fleeing through the front door. Jim wanted to get up and follow, or look for Cat, but he could barely move. He laid his head on the floor, breathing hard, trying to stay conscious.

Powell was glad to be out of the house and wondered if Tucson had left the keys in the van. If so, he wasn't waiting for anyone anymore. A few hours' drive would take him over the border. There was one problem.

"Hello, there," Jay Lincoln said, standing on the porch.

Surprised, Powell stepped back. Jay grabbed Powell by the collar. When Powell raised his gun, Jay slapped it away.

"Just so you know, Catherine is like family to me," Jay said. "If you've hurt that little girl, I've got friends on the inside who are going to hurt you a lot worse. Every night. For years."

And then he punched Powell in the face.

* * * * * *

Cat scooted between rows of cars trying not to stub her toes on the old tools littering the floor. Varoom kept up a steady pursuit, relentless but not frantic, careful to keep an eye on her. Cat rose up from behind a '57 Chevy to fire again, splattering a paint can.

"Never knew you were such a vandal," Varoom said.

Cat responded by firing several more times, getting a reaction.

"Fuck!" she heard Varoom cry out. "You gave me a haircut with that one, bitch. You're going to be sorry for that."

He chased her down the middle row, up the next row, and then lost her. He knelt low, seeing her lying under a '64 Chrysler. She saw him. There was blood on the side of his face where the bullet had creased his scalp. He reached for her. Cat scooted back, jumped up, and ran for the door again. Varoom got there first.

"You're wearing me out, girl," Varoom said, breathing hard. "But I have enough energy left. How are you doing?"

Cat was breathing hard, too. She'd cut her foot on something, making her limp. Oil mixed with blood streaked her hair and hands.

"What the hell? Is that a Texas Ranger jacket?" Varoom suddenly realized, the smile disappearing. "Where did you get that?"

"It's Captain Kendrick's uniform. He gave it to me after killing Creepy. Blew his brains out with a shotgun. It was glorious. Just like the 4th of July."

They paused, hearing sounds in the distance. Sirens.

"Your time is running out, Tommy," Cat happily said.

Varoom hesitated, evaluating his situation. He realized something had gone terribly wrong. He shrugged.

"They won't be in time to help you," he promised.

* * * * * *

Texas Rangers sped through the iron gate of Leafman's estate, slamming on their brakes in clouds of dust. Then the Dallas police, State Troopers, and the FBI. There was an ambulance, and another. There was even a fire truck.

Jay was on the porch standing over Powell. He held up his hands, showing he had no weapons, knowing how a black man might be perceived in a tense situation.

"Blow Fish Lincoln," he called out. "Deputy to Captain Kendrick."

The cops rushed up, having no doubt who Powell was, and put the stunned man in handcuffs.

"Lots of shooting inside the house," Jay warned.

Half a dozen Rangers rushed past with guns drawn. The living room was empty. Some stormed up the grand staircase, others rushed down the rear hall. Jay found Jim lying on the kitchen floor.

"Need a medic here!" Jay shouted, kneeling next to him.

Paramedics and everyone else were soon filling the house, searching rooms and cubbyholes. Jay saw even more activity outside. He heard helicopters.

"You weren't supposed to get shot," Jay said.

"This cowboy shit is harder than it looks," Jim wheezed. "Have they found Catherine?"

"Not yet. I'm going to look for her," Jay said, making way for the EMTs. "Don't die."

Jay knew where to find the basement, heading toward the utility room. His mother had been a maid. The door to his right was locked. He went the other direction, going down the stairs. A long corridor led to a lit room. It was the dungeon he'd heard so much about. He saw a body. And another. And another. He entered cautiously.

"Captain Kendrick?" Jay said, seeing the wounded Ranger sitting against the wall with a belt acting as a tourniquet. Between Kendrick and the three bodies, there was a lot of blood.

"Blow Fish," Kendrick acknowledged, lowering the shotgun.

"We need a medic down here!" Jay shouted before kneeling next to him.

"What's happening?" Kendrick asked.

"Cops all over the house. We caught that Powell guy. Jim got shot."

"Dead?"

"Medics was working on him. He's conscious."

"Where's Cat?"

"When did you see her?" Jay asked.

"She was here. Five minutes ago. Went out the door."

"I didn't see her upstairs," Jay said.

"Tommy Varoom?"

"Haven't seen him either."

"They can't have gone far. Hurry."

Jay saw the Ranger knew how to take care of himself and backtracked to the basement. There wasn't any noise, and nothing was disturbed. He went up the stairs, pausing in the utility room. There was another door, the one that had been locked. He pushed against it, and then heard something. Crashing sounds. Voices. A gunshot. More gunshots. He began ramming the door with his shoulder while calling for help.

* * * * * *

Varoom was gradually corralling Cat against the back wall. She hid behind an old hippie van painted with flowers and marijuana leaves. When Varoom came around the corner, she shot at him, the bullet shattering a lantern. She fired the gun again. It clicked, but didn't shoot. It clicked again.

"Sorry, little girl, looks like you're out of ammunition," Varoom chuckled.

She dove under the hippie van trying to crawl away, but he grabbed her ankle, dragging her back across the filthy floor. She kicked desperately, seeking to keep him off her. Varoom picked her up, spun her around, and threw her into a stack of tires.

They heard the sirens clearly now. Some right outside the garage door. Cat wanted to scream, but didn't have the breath. And if Varoom was going to kill her, she didn't want to die screaming. She wouldn't give him the gratification.

"You really are a dumb fuck, Tommy," she managed to say.

"How is that?" he asked.

"You had money. Connections. A way out. But instead of being in your fucking dacha in Moscow, you're trapped here with me. A dumb little nothing. You are one fucking idiot."

"At the end of the day, somethings are worth it," he replied.

Varoom moved left, and right, trapping Cat in the corner, and then pounced, pinning her against a pile of tattered seat cushions. They heard noise. Someone was trying to open the utility room door. Pounding on it. Cat heard Blow Fish calling for help.

"Guess it's not looking good for me," Varoom said. "But it's looking worse for you."

He held up the knife. Cat grabbed his arm and bit into his wrist, making him drop it. He howled, punched her, and reached for his gun.

"There they are," Cat said, pointing to the far side of the murky garage. Varoom turned to look, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in his gut. He looked down, seeing Cat pulling a serrated blade out of him, and then plunging the knife in again even harder, giving it a hard twist.

Varoom fell back, landing on his butt, and yanked Dicky's knife from under a rib. She'd gotten him good, and he knew it.

"Not bad, Cat. Now let's see how you do with your brains blown out."

He raised the gun, but Cat kicked it out of his hand, watching it bounce into a pile of grimy rags. He looked surprised, holding the knife that Cat had stuck him with and leaning toward her.

"Tommy, look!" Cat said, lifting her arm. Varoom saw a thin chain dangling from her wrist, a small gold cross reflecting the questionable light.

The moment Varoom was distracted, Cat dove for the gun, got a finger around the trigger, and turned to point the barrel. At eight feet, she didn't plan to miss.

Varoom wasn't done. He picked up a tire iron and hurled it. Cat tried to duck, but it bounced off her forehead, knocking her backward into the seat cushions. When she tried to sit up, she found blood clouding her eyes.

"You were never this much fun before," Varoom groaned, clutching his wounded gut.

He crawled toward her, readying the knife. They heard the battering on the door as it started to give way.

"Not the way I wanted to end this, but it will have to do," he said.

Cat said nothing, trying to wipe the blood out of her eyes with the sleeve of Kendrick's jacket. Everything was spinning around. And then she saw a motion. Varoom was lunging at her. She raised the gun and fired.

* * * * * *

The door burst open, Jay entering first. It was a giant garage filled with old cars. It looked smokey due to churned up dust and the yellow skylights.

"Cat?" Jay called out.

A Texas Ranger and a Dallas police officer followed, guns drawn.

"Cat? If you're here, make a noise. This is Blow Fish. The cops are here."

They went up and down the aisles, looking in storage bins and under the cars.

"Something over this way," the Dallas officer shouted from the back.

Jay ran to the corner buried behind a beat-up van. A man lay crumpled on the floor. Cat was laying back against a pile of moth-eaten cushions, blood pouring down her face. She was covered in thick black and red splotches.

"Medic! Medic! Medic!" Jay yelled, jumping to her side.

"Hey, Blow Fish," Cat whispered. "How are the kids?"

Jay knew she was in a daze. Cat always called him Jay, never Blow Fish. EMTs arrived, not sure where to begin. Then they got to work, calling for extra help.

"You're going to be fine," Jay said, holding her hand.

"Where's Jim?" Cat asked.

"Got a little roughed up. The doctors are checking him out."

"He's not hurt, is he?"

"He's doing okay," Jay replied.

"Hey! This is Tommy Varoom," the Texas Ranger said, turning the body over.

"It was Tommy Varoom," a paramedic corrected. "This guy is dead."

* * * * * *

Chapter Twelve

FAME

Cat opened her eyes, finding herself in a hospital room. She was hooked up to tubes. There were flowers everywhere. Red, white, blue, yellow. More flowers than she'd ever seen outside of a florist shop. They smelled nice. She reached for her head. There was a huge bandage. Brain surgery? Her face felt puffy. Her right elbow was wrapped. Her legs and feet were sore.

A nurse appeared in the doorway, clueless at first, and then saw Cat staring at her. She dropped a pile of towels, her eyebrows raised in surprise and disappeared. There was a loud voice outside, followed by more loud voices. Cat looked around for a place to hide but wasn't sure if she could get out of bed.

"Catherine?" Ashley said, peeking in the door.

"Hopefully," Cat answered.

Ashley stepped inside. Others were trying to crowd their way in, but Ash managed to push them back and shove the door closed.

"Tough mob," Ashley said, a little out of breath.

Then she came to sit on the bed and take her hand, gazing down. Cat saw the strangest expression in Ashley's eyes and didn't know what to make of it.

"Are you okay, honey?" Ashley asked.

"I don't know. I just woke up."

Cat reached for the bandage on her head, part of it nearly covering her eye.

"Was there an operation?" she asked.

"It's just a concussion. A bad one, but the doctors say you're going to be fine."

Cat wiggled, feeling various wraps, bandages, and ointments.

"Any pain?" Ashley said.

"I'm kind of dizzy. And I feel like a mummy," Cat complained. Ashley helped her sit up, fluffing the pillow.

"You got knocked on the head, shot, and all bruised up. You have gashes on your knees, and cuts on your feet. Did they--?"

"No."

"I'm relieved to hear that."

"How did I get here? Where is here?"

"Baylor Medical Center. A private room. You've been here since yesterday."

"What happened yesterday?"

"You don't remember?"

"I remember Captain Kendrick shooting Creepy Manners. But Captain Kendrick got shot, too. Is he okay?"

"He needed surgery, but he's doing great. He has a room down the hall."

Cat fell silent, afraid to ask her next question. Ashley noticed the apprehension.

"Charley and Russ?" Cat finally said.

"Charley is doing well. Russ had a rough time, but he's out of danger now. His parents are here. They want to see you."

"Where's Jim? There were men in the house. With guns. There was shooting."

"Jim was wounded. He has a broken collar bone and a cracked rib, but no internal bleeding so far. He should be up and around in a few days."

Cat let out a relieved breath. Her eyes were watery.

"I heard they killed Martha."

"No, honey, Martha's not dead. She's in the ICU, but the doctors think she'll make a full recovery."

"This was all my fault, wasn't it?"

"My God, no. Why would you say that?"

"There's no escaping from Tommy. I tried, and people I love got hurt."

"Sweetheart, the boys, and Jim, and Captain Kendrick are all okay. They're going to get better. And you'll never need to worry about Tommy Varoom again. Now you need to get better, too."

"What happened to Tommy?"

"You don't remember?"

"I think I shot him."

"Everyone thinks you shot him."

"Is he dead?"

"Yes, honey, he's dead."

Ashley couldn't read Cat's expression. She hardly seemed to react at all.

"What's going to happen next?" Cat asked.

"You're going to be here a week, at least. Patricia and I are taking turns watching over you. Everyone will want to see you, when you have the strength. After you give a statement to the police--"

"Do what?"

"Give your statement to the police."

"Why?"

"Standard procedure. No big deal."

Cat reluctantly nodded.

"You need rest. I don't want to overload you, but so many have been worried. Is there anything I can tell them? Is there anything you need?"

"I'm fine," Cat insisted. Ashley went to a chair in the corner, picking up a red wool blanket. Cat recognized it.

"I brought this from home for you. Your favorite one," Ashley said, draping the blanket over her. Then she took Cat's hands, leaned over, and kissed her on the forehead.

"I want you to know, I am so proud to be your friend. I think you're the bravest girl of all time," Ashley praised.

"Me?"

"You."

* * * * * *

"What a group we make," Charley remarked, sitting on Russ's bed.

Wearing a long blue hospital robe, Charley's face was pocked with purple bruises. One eye was still swollen shut. His left arm was in a cast. Russ had been moved from the ICU to a spacious private room filled with flowers.

"It's nice to finally have visitors," Russ said, attached to a tree of IVs. "They've got me wrapped so tight, I can hardly move."

"I've seen worse," Captain Kendrick said, in a wheelchair with his repaired leg propped up. Jim was in the wheelchair next to him, chest bandaged and his arm in a sling.

The only uninjured adventurer was Jay, who was handing out shots of tequila. When the nurses weren't watching.

"Anything new on the investigation?" Russ asked.

"Not much to investigate. Everyone but Powell is dead, and he's locked up in Huntsville," Kendrick said. "Saw your folks here this morning. How are they taking all this?"

"Mom and Dad don't care much for the publicity," Russ answered. "From what I hear, just getting past the reporters in the lobby can be a battle."

"Do they still want you to marry Catherine?" Kendrick asked with a snicker.

"No. They say she's out of my league," Russ responded. "They're thinking of adopting her."

"Saw Ruth Sparrow roaming the halls, too," Kendrick said. "She spent half a day huddled in Cat's room, then ran off happy as a jaybird."

"We'll be hearing about that," Charley moaned.

"Varoom being killed is a big story. The press can't get enough of it," Jay said. "They ambush me every time I go downstairs."

"You're famous now, too," Jim mentioned. "The hero who caught Joey Powel singlehanded."

"Never asked to be famous," Blow Fish replied.

"What's Cat saying about all this?" Russ asked.

"Not much of anything," Kendrick answered.

"After a few more days, they'll find someone else to annoy," Jim hoped.

"Who's annoying?" Cat asked, entering Russ's room on crutches. She wore a pink robe, silk pajamas, and fluffy slippers. There was a large bandage on her forehead, a black eye, and bruising just about everywhere.

"My God, Cat, should you be on your feet?" Charley asked, rising to steady her.

"It's just for a few minutes," Cat replied. "Lying in bed all day is boring."

"As we've been learning," Kendrick agreed, tapping his cast.

"This was all my fault," Cat said. "If Tommy hadn't come looking for me, none of you would have gotten hurt. Maybe it's time for me to move on?"

"Move on to where?" Russ asked.

"I don't know. I don't know anything," Cat answered.

"You don't know anything?" Jim said, taking her hand.

"No, Mr. Yearling. I don't know anything. And don't be so presumptuous," she responded. Though she didn't pull away. "Do you like that I know that word? Presumptuous? It means impertinent, or something like that."

"I like being presumptuous with you," Jim answered, looking up into her deep brown eyes.

"We'll see," she playfully conceded. "How is everyone doing?"

"You're the one we've been worrying about," Charley said. "You shot Tommy Varoom. Creepy Manners is dead. You got both of the Smith brothers. Joey Powell is crying like a baby on death row. You're like Supergirl. Is there anything you can't do?"

"Yes, sweet bird. My watercoloring is still drippy," she complained.

"You're just a kid, Cat," Kendrick consoled. "Wait until you're twenty-five before giving up hope."

"We should have a party, once we all get out of here," Russ suggested.

"Every day is a party from now on," Charley declared.

"Who gets out of here first?" Cat asked.

"I do," Charley said. "I can go home now, if I want."

"They can roll me out anytime," Kendrick said. "But Cat showed me her new graphic novel this morning, so I'm in no hurry."

"You're writing a graphic novel?" Jim asked.

"It's about a Texas Ranger. And his shotgun," Cat explained. "I'm calling it Reborn on the 4th of July." Kendrick gave Cat an amused frown. She smiled.

"I'll be the last one released," Russ said. "They won't even let me out of bed. What about you, Cat?"

"They say I can go in a few days, if I can keep my balance. But there's nobody home, and there's still blood all over the carpeting. I want Charley to go home first and clean it up."

"After all you've been through, you're afraid of blood?" Charley asked.

"Oh, no. I don't care about that," Cat explained. "I just don't want to clean it up. That's a guy job."

"Will you wash my car?" Russ asked.

"I'll wash your car as a wedding present," Cat answered. "When are you guys getting married?"

"Neither of us has formally proposed," Charley said.

"I don't know what you're waiting for," Cat persisted. "The next time brutal killers break into our home to beat us up and stab us, we might not be so lucky. Carpe diem."

"Latin?" Jim said.

"I read it in a book," Cat proudly replied.

"I guess we could get married at Thanksgiving. Have the families gathered," Russ said. "Maybe in Chicago, where some family members wouldn't have to travel so far."

"We should work on that," Charley agreed.

"Harm? Are they going to give you a medal for killing all those bad guys?" Cat asked. "How many did you shoot? Five? Six?"

"Only four. And yes, I'm getting a medal. How many did you shoot?" Kendrick asked.

"Only one," Cat sadly responded. "Everybody hogged all the rest. But I stabbed Tommy. Stabbed him twice. I should get extra credit for that. How many bad guys did you stab?"

"None," Kendrick replied.

"Then I think we're tied," Cat smugly concluded.

"I suppose so," Kendrick agreed.

"I shot Joey Powell," Jim said, raising his hand.

"But he shot you twice, so it doesn't count," Cat dismissed.

"What do you mean it doesn't count? Of course it counts!" Jim protested.

"He got away, and you just laid there bleeding," Cat insisted, standing over him with her hands on her hips. Her freshly washed hair waved over her shoulders. Her eyes glistened with defiance.

"God you're sexy," Jim whispered.

"You think that's an accident, Mr. Yearling?" she whispered back.

"I broke Joey Powell's nose," Jay said.

"You certainly did," Cat approved. "See, Jim? That's what a real man does. Jay punched his lights out. Are you going back to boxing, Blow Fish? Now that you're a national hero?"

"Thinking of becoming a referee. Not quite so brutal," he replied.

"You can referee my first fight," Cat said, swinging a fist. It made her dizzy, forcing her to sit against Russ's bed.

"Who are you going to be fighting?" Kendrick asked.

"These business guys came to my room this morning, in expensive suits. Italian suits, I think. Really nice guys. They own a casino or something like that. They say I can make big money fighting in a mud pit. Wearing a bikini. Guys would pay money to get in the pit and try to wrestle me down. It sounds like fun. Doesn't it sound like fun?"

The men were speechless, staring in disbelief.

"Cat, you can't be serious?" Charley muttered.

Cat looked at them with a grim stare and then burst into a huge laugh.

"You guys are so gullible. It's like shooting fish in a barrel," she said, clapping her hands.

Russ needed rest. Charley laid down next to him. Jay wheeled Kendrick away. Cat pushed Jim's wheelchair into the hall, hanging on to keep her balance.

"So? You almost got killed rescuing me?" Cat asked.

"No thanks necessary. It was the least I could do."

"I'll say thank you anyway. It was very brave. When you're healthy again, I might find a way to thank you more personally. Or maybe not. I haven't decided."

"Just so you know, Grayson says the district attorney is refiling some of the charges. I'll be taken into custody when I leave the hospital."

"I was hoping they wouldn't. I don't want to testify again."

"I'm thinking of pleading guilty. Grayson thinks he can get the sentence knocked down to two years. That way there won't be a trial."

"Why don't you tell them what really happened?"

"It wouldn't change what I did."

"It would change what they think you did."

"Let's not worry about it. Every day is a gift. Can I see you when I get out?"

"Me? Date a jailbird? I don't know. Now that I'm famous, I need to think of my reputation. Maybe I could just sneak into your house after dark. When no one is watching. We can have wild sex and then I can sneak out before dawn."

"I can't always tell when you're being serious," Jim said with a frown.

"Good," she replied.

* * * * * *

Cat, Ashley, and Ruth Sparrow were waiting backstage at the same downtown hotel where Cat had lived under protective custody. Ashley was dressed conservatively in a blue suit, befitting a lawyer. Ruth was looking dignified in an old-fashioned print dress. Cat wore a loose ruffled blouse with a wide black skirt, her body too sore for a tighter fit. A bandage on her forehead tried to disguise an ugly purple bruise. The chain holding her gold cross had been repaired.

"It's happened," Ashley reported, checking her phone. "They arrested Jim as he was leaving the hospital. Grayson's arranging bail."

"I can afford his bail," Cat said.

"It will look better if his law firm does it," Ashley cautioned. "From what Grayson is saying, Jim's planning on pleading guilty to reduced charges."

"Jim told me," Cat replied with a frown. "I'm not letting him get away with it."

"Get away with what?" Ruth asked, finding the curious conversation fascinating.

"Just know that I need your help," Cat said.

"We're here for you, darlin'," Ruth assured her, adjusting her collar.

"Do I look okay?" Cat asked.

"Everyone will understand," Ashley said, noticing her bruised cheeks and discolored eye.

"It's only been a week, child. You're still weak from the ordeal," Ruth warned. "Don't get too excited. Be firm, but gracious. If I see you getting in trouble, I'll jump in."

Ruth's assistants indicated they were ready. Ruth went through the blue curtain first, followed by Cat and Ashley. The auditorium was filled with reporters, spectators, cameras, and hotel employees. Ruth made sure a group of Cat's fans were there, cheering and waving yellow ribbons. Cat saw Captain Kendrick directing security from his crutches.

"Harm!" Cat shouted. She climbed down from the stage and limped over to hug him, the reporters getting out of her way.

"How are you feeling today?" Kendrick asked.

"I'm a T-rex," Cat boasted.

"Jurassic Park?"

"Different movie. Same idea," Cat answered.

Kendrick sensed she wasn't exaggerating. There was a confident energy about her. A million miles away from the half-slaughtered victim he'd found hanging in a basement almost a year before. He escorted her back to the stage as Ruth moved to the podium.

"Little girl, I am so proud of you," he whispered, lifting her up.

"How many times have you saved me? Three or four?" Cat said. "Thank you for being my best friend. If I ever get married, I hope you'll walk me down the aisle."

Kendrick nodded, finding it hard to speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen, Ruth Sparrow here," Ruth said, raising her hands for attention. "This will be a brief appearance. My friend Catherine Hollinger has a few thoughts to share. I expect everyone to treat her with respect. If you don't, we will have a problem. Are we all communicating?"

"Yes, Mrs. Sparrow," an eager young woman replied from the front row.

Cat stepped up, trying to adjust the microphone. Ashley offered a hand. Then Cat waited for the mob to settle down.

"Everyplace I go, you press guys want to ask me questions," Cat began. "I don't really want to answer them. I'm a survivor, not a lawyer, or politician, or police officer. But I don't wish to be rude. Does someone have a question?"

The room exploded with shouts and jostling. Cat resisted a temptation to step back.

"Is it true you killed Tommy Varoom?" a heavyset reporter asked.

"Why would you ask that?" Cat said.

"You haven't talked about it," the reporter answered.

"I really don't feel a need to," Cat responded. "But if I did kill Tommy Varoom, I wouldn't feel bad about it."

"What Miss Hollinger means to say," Ashley said, stepping forward, "is that the world is better off without Mr. Varoom and his sick clients."

"I like it better the way Catherine said it!" Ruth shouted, getting many to cheer. Cat burst into a smile. It occurred to many they didn't see her smile very often.

"What did Tommy Varoom do to you during this last captivity?" a skinny young beanpole with red hair asked. "We know you were stripped. Did he--"

"Goddamn it, Bobby! Don't ask a question like that!" a senior reporter admonished.

"It's what everyone wants to know," the young beanpole insisted. "Did he--"

"Did Tommy Varoom do terrible things to me?" Cat replied. "Terrible, awful things?"

The beanpole nodded. Cat gave a dramatic pause, as she'd seen Ruth do, letting the audience wait. Then she leaned forward, looking the beanpole in the eye.

"Yes, he did awful, terrible things to me," Cat confirmed. "And you can read all about them in Ruth Sparrow's column, carried nationally and online."

Many reporters groaned, glaring at Ruth with resentment. Ruth was grinning.

"What are your intentions for the reward money?" a reporter asked.

"Reward?" Cat said.

"The governor put a $500,000 bounty on Varoom's head."

Cat looked surprised. She stepped back to speak with Ruth, and then with Ashley. Ashley moved to the microphone.

"Miss Hollinger has no knowledge of a reward," Ashley said. "But she says that if there is a reward, it should go to the families of the law enforcement officers murdered by Thomas Varoom's gang."

There were nods of approval as Cat came forward again.

"What plans do you have for the future?" the young lady journalist asked.

"I hope to improve my health. Getting beat-up a lot isn't fun. Long term? I don't know. Sometimes it's hard to see tomorrow."

"What about your lawsuits?" a gruff man in the back asked.

"What about them?" Cat said.

"If successful, they would total millions. Many millions," the gruff man explained.

"I don't pay much attention," Cat replied.

"Varoom's estate alone would pay--" the reporter pressed.

"Sir, I'm not here to talk about that," Cat interrupted. "I'm here to thank all of the children, and women, and men, who worked so hard to rescue me. Standing on street corners. Exploring old buildings. Searching the internet. Looking for the bad guys. And you caught them. You were wonderful."

She stepped back and clapped her hands. Cat's fan club in the back sent up a cheer, waving yellow ribbons.

"I wish to especially thank the Texas Rangers, and Dallas Police, and the State Troopers for risking so much, and working so hard," Cat continued. "Captain Harmon Kendrick is my special hero. Let's give him a hand."

The crowd applauded, to Kendrick's embarrassment. He tipped his hat.

"My best friends, Charles Tieman and Russell Hartley, were terribly injured while trying to protect me. I can never thank them enough. I love them. And my friend Jay Lincoln, too, who captured Joey Powell. You're a true hero, Blow Fish."

There were cheers as Cat applauded again, glad to see the crowd in a supportive mood. At least, for the moment. She'd learned that lesson, too.

"Another I must thank is Mr. James Yearling, who was seriously wounded by Varoom's gang while seeking to save me. Without any sort of training, Mr. Yearling volunteered to fight alongside the Texas Rangers. His courage is a tribute to the spirit of Texas."

Many in the audience howled their approval.

"I understand my good friend and benefactor, Mr. Grayson Judson, has been able to arrange an appointment for me with Governor Franklin. I'm very excited to meet her. I admire her so much."

There were fewer cheers for that one.

"And finally, I wish to thank my mentor, Ruth Sparrow. She has given me strength when I needed it most. And you, ladies and gentlemen of the press, who have been so kind to me. Most of you."

Cat started to leave the stage, and then suddenly whirled around, catching them all by surprise. She stepped back to the podium.

"There is one lawsuit I can discuss," Cat said. "My attorney says he's managed a settlement for me from one of Tommy Varoom's clients. I'm using the money to throw a big party at Trinity Park on Sunday. To thank the city for their wonderful support. There will be hot dogs, cheeseburgers, a chili cook-off, live music, lemonade, and balloons. The police chief is going to be there, and the mayor, too. You're all invited."

"Miss Hollinger, is it true you were asked to be the grand marshal at the 4th of July celebration this year?" a reporter asked.

"Yes. I was so honored that Mayor Pennington thought of me, but I had to say no. I'll be in New York for an operation," Cat said.

"What sort of operation?" someone asked.

"That's private," Cat answered.

* * * * * *

Cat was escorted into Governor Gloria Franklin's palatial office. Photographers took pictures, aides made a fuss, and finally the two of them were left alone. Franklin sat Cat down on a long leather couch, pouring coffee for both of them.

"You've come a long way, Miss Hollinger," Franklin said, sitting next to her. "Eleven months ago, you were a lost urchin. Now you're more famous than I am."

"Don't worry, I'm not going to run for governor," Cat replied. "Not until I'm thirty."

"How old are you now?"

"I'll be twenty-two in August."

"That gives me some time," Franklin said. "You have quite a speaking schedule coming up."

"Ruth Sparrow is introducing me to an alliance of victim advocacy groups. I'm not qualified to say much, but I can help with their fundraising. They arrange for shelters, counseling centers, and doctors. Many women aren't as lucky as I've been."

"My office is sponsoring a forum at the end of September. Perhaps you can join me on the panel?"

"Of course. I would like that very much."

"Grayson Judson said you needed this meeting for something important."

"I want you to pardon James Yearling," Cat said.

"Yearling? One of those Club guys?"

"Jim wasn't a Club guy."

"Pardoning isn't in the cards, but a deal might be worked out. I'll need to know why."

"Can I talk to you, woman to woman? Instead of governor to unregistered voter?"

"Of course," Franklin said, leaning closer.

"Jim's treatment of me ... his kindness, got me through what happened later. If Manson had been Master #8 instead of Jim, I wouldn't have survived."

"Are you fond of this man?"

"I'm not sure how I feel. My friend Charley made me read a pamphlet about some Swedish disease."

"Charley Tieman? I've seen pictures of you two together. You make a good-looking couple."

"Charley is gay."

"That figures. He mentioned Stockholm Syndrome?"

"Something like that, and maybe it's true. I don't know. But whatever it is, I need to find out for myself. Jim's already given me so much money, it's not like I need to marry him or anything."

"A pardon would be controversial."

"My testimony in a new trial would be worse," Cat hinted. "After my rescue, I watched a lot of cases. If Jim's attorneys had asked better questions, it might have confused the jury."

"You're being very cryptic, young lady."

"The prosecution asked if Jim had sex with me without my consent, and I said yes. He did, at first, even though he didn't know it. I never explained my situation to him. If anyone had asked if I had sex with him with my consent, the answer would have been yes. Many, many times. But no one ever asked me that, and the district attorney told me to never offer extra information."

Franklin leaned back on the long couch, startled. Then she leaned forward, calmly stirring her coffee. "Go on."

"The prosecution asked if I was held prisoner in Jim's house, and I said yes, I had been. There were no follow-up questions. If the defense asked if I could have left Jim's house, I would have said yes. I could have walked out the front door anytime I wanted and Jim wouldn't have stopped me. He even offered to give me money and drive me. I wasn't afraid of Jim, I was afraid of Tommy Varoom. I was terrified of Tommy."

"I've never heard any of this," Franklin said.

"I told it all to Mrs. Pennington. She ordered me not to talk about it with anyone. And I obeyed her. I had to obey her."

"You had to do what?"

"I had to obey her. The police gave her authority over me. She also said that if it was learned I stayed with one master because I wanted to, the other masters could say--"

"That's enough, Catherine," Franklin said, raising her hand. "I understand the situation clearly now. And it will be my pleasure to help you. Why don't we have a brief talk with the press?"

A few minutes later, Governor Franklin appeared in the briefing room, holding hands with her new best friend.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I'm here to make an announcement," Franklin said, looking resolved. "You all know Catherine Hollinger. All of America knows of her courage and fortitude. And her loyalty. She has come to me with a great concern. James Yearling, accused of her assault, was shot while rescuing her from the most vicious of criminals. And Mr. Yearling was a volunteer Texas Ranger at the time, bravely wounded in the line of duty. Grateful for his service to her, and to the State of Texas, Miss Hollinger has requested a pardon for Mr. Yearling, and I will be granting it."

There was stunned silence, and then modest applause. Franklin turned to give Cat a handshake. Cat hugged her.

* * * * * *

August 6th was Cat's twenty-second birthday, a party gathering at the Wilkerson's lake house for food and touch football. The yard was arranged with picnic tables, colorful balloons, and streamers. Barbeques were cooking burgers and ribs. There seemed to be fifty people, all of them familiar. The pine trees, broad green lawns, and blue lake were picturesque.

"This is more elaborate than I expected," Russ said, arriving with Charley.

"Cat deserves a day of sunshine," Charley replied.

The young lawyers found Ashley, Judson, and Jim sitting in folding chairs under an oak tree, drinking margaritas. All were dressed in white shorts for the hot weather.

"Staying out of prison for good this time?" Russ asked, accepting a drink.

"I didn't want to accept the pardon," Jim replied. "I shouldn't be walking away without some responsibility. But Cat said if I could give her a million dollars, she could give me a pardon. I didn't have an answer for that."

"You've actually given her three million dollars," Judson mentioned.

"Don't tell Cat that. I'm in enough trouble already," Jim requested.

"You're a better man than I thought," Russ said, shaking his hand.

"Wait until you fall madly in love with someone who drives you crazy, then we'll see who the better man is," Jim replied.

"What are your plans?" Charley asked.

"I'm selling the estate. I don't want that lifestyle anymore. I'm looking for something in Lake View. Near the harbor," Jim said.

"We'll bring you a housewarming basket," Charley offered.

"I'm hoping to stay warm enough," Jim replied.

They saw Cat emerge from the cabin. She was wearing a yellow sundress, a white bonnet, and red sandals. Vanessa Lincoln approached with her daughters, offering birthday greetings, and then the Wilkerson daughters joined them. Cat smiled, talked with all of them, and accepted a hug from Jay before moving on to greet more guests.

"She's looking great," Judson said. "Recovered from the surgery?"

"Dr. Keeler says the procedure went well. Cat's very happy about it," Ashley reported.

"It's all a front. Her persona," Charley said.

"Her what?" Judson asked.

"Cat's anxious most of the time. She still has nightmares," Charley explained. "But when she's out in public, doing these speeches and meeting with donors, she puts on her persona so people won't see how bad it is. At least she's finally in therapy. That's going to help."

"I wouldn't guess by looking at her," Judson said.

"She's learned to separate different parts of herself," Charley explained. "Fortunately, she's still honest with me."

"Is she honest with us?" Judson asked.

"Just be real with her," Charley recommended.

Cat made her way over, chewing on a pork rib while wiping sauce off her chin.

"Look, it's my lawyers. And my boyfriend," she said, eyes big and bright.

"Am I your boyfriend?" Jim asked.

"You? Heck no. I'm talking about Charley," she said, plopping down on a blanket. "I need a drink. Waiter! Waiter! Bring me a drink!"

"That's not a waiter, honey," Ashley advised. "That's Mike, my brother-in-law."

Mike brought Cat a margarita anyway.

"Is everyone having a good time?" Cat asked. "There's going to be cake later. Marley and Dee made it for me."

"We're having a wonderful time. Perfect weather for the perfect day," Ashley replied, tossing her a napkin. "How are you?"

"I'm fine. I'd like to be more active, but Dr. Keeler says it's too soon."

"The operation went well?" Jim asked.

"Mr. Yearling, you need to take less interest in my reproductive system, even if you did pay the bills."

"I may have a vested interest," Jim said.

"We'll need to see about that," Cat replied.

"So, tell us, Missy, now that the world is your oyster, what are you going to do?" Judson said. "Big plans? Going to college?"

"With a C+ average? Grayson, the only way I get into college with a C+ average is if I learn to play football."

"Then what are you going to do?" Ashley asked.

"I'm opening a small art gallery next to Charley's law office. There's interest in my drawings. I can sell some before my fame expires."

"Your fame?" Jim questioned.

"We all know how that goes," Cat said. "A few months from now, no one will remember my name. At least I can earn a little money first."

"The lawsuits will give you plenty of money," Russ protested.

"See what I mean, Mr. Yearling? You have bad lawyers," Cat criticized.

"How is that, Miss Hollinger?" Judson asked.

"Even I know those client creeps are being sued by dozens of victims. They'll declare bankruptcy. Hide their money overseas. Pull all the tricks that rich people pull. I may get a little money, but not enough to last."

"You'll never need to worry about money. I'll always take care of you," Jim insisted.

"I'm not going to be your overpaid whore. Master," Cat replied.

"You were never that, and I'm not your master," Jim growled.

"Where would I stay? In the basement of your great estate? You dismantled my cage," Cat complained.

"I'm selling the house," he answered. "In a few weeks, I'll be homeless. Do you know a place where I can stay?"

Cat gave him a long look. She seemed very amused. Her eyes sparkled.

"Maybe," she replied. "Even if you are a jailbird."

"You minx!" Jim said, jumping from his chair. Cat squealed as he chased her down to the lake, where they wrestled in the shallow water, laughing and splashing.

"She's totally in love with him, isn't she," Russ realized.

"Stockholm Syndrome," Charley grouched.

"Jim makes her happy," Ashley said. "For now, maybe that's enough."

* * * * * *

Epilogue

CONFESSIONS

It was after midnight when Cat crept into Charley's bedroom. He was still awake, reading a book. Wearing pajamas. She wore a new silk nightgown, a birthday gift from Ashley.

"Russ still in San Antonio?" she asked.

"The depositions are taking longer than expected," he said.

"Good. I have you all to myself," she said, crawling under the bedcovers. "What are you reading?"

"War and Peace. By Leo Tolstoy."

"You're kidding?"

"It's a classic. You should turn it into a graphic novel," Charley suggested. Cat took the book, felt the weight, and gave it back.

"It would be a million pages long."

"You and Yearling were hitting it off at your party," Charley said, not sounding enthusiastic.

"I had fun."

"You shouldn't--"

"I know. Stockholm Syndrome. You know what, sweet bird? I don't care. He makes me feel safe. Do you know how important it is to feel safe?"

"I have an idea," he replied.

"Doesn't Jim love me?"

"He certainly does. I've never doubted that. But lots of people love you."

"I don't need lots of people. Only a few," she said, snuggling closer.

"Did you have another nightmare?"

"Not exactly a nightmare, but disturbing."

"How are your sessions with Dr. Sanders?"

"They've been good. Not as hard as I thought. She knows how to keep me calm."

"That's important. Do you want to talk about this strange dream?"

"You're the only person I can talk to about it."

"You can always confide in Russ. And Ashley. Even Jim, though you're always giving him a hard time."

"None of them are my lawyer."

"What does a nightmare have to do with a lawyer?"

Cat let that hang, and then laughed. Charley finally got the joke.

"Lawyer-client confidentiality?" she asked.

"We're getting awful formal all of a sudden."

"I'm not joking."

"Okay."

"I keep thinking back on my fight with Tommy Varoom. In the garage. Toward the end, he had me cornered."

"It must have been terrifying."

"It should have been. Terror isn't the right word. I tried to shoot him, but the shots kept flying everywhere. He grabbed me when the gun ran out of bullets."

"Ashley should have gotten you out on the gun range."

Cat nodded. "Next time, I'll hit my target."

"Let's hope there is no next time."

"There's always a next time," Cat assured him. "Anyway, I stabbed him really hard, and he got mad. He threw a wrench or something at me, and that was about that. All I saw were stars."

"It was a bad concussion. You still need to be careful."

"He got the knife, but I crawled away and grabbed his gun. He came at me. I managed to fire first."

"And you killed him. It's all in the report."

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean?"

"He ducked and backed away. Both hands were clutched over his gut where I stabbed him. He looked white, but the light wasn't good. We were hearing sirens. Jay was trying to ram down the door."

"I don't remember reading that."

"I may have forgotten to tell the police. Tommy stopped fighting. I had the gun pointed at him, and the cops were about to burst in. He knew it was over."

"Varoom surrendered?" Charley asked.

"I don't know what you mean by surrender. He said they may catch him this time, but that he'd break out again. And when he did, he'd track me down and pick up where Death Addict left off."

"That goddamn motherfucker," Charley cursed.

"I asked him why he hated me so much. He said it was because I came to him as a virgin, that I would have loved him, and taken care of him, and had his babies. He said that's why he hated me. That made no sense, so I shot him."

"While he was just sitting there?"

"I felt bad about shooting him, at first. Now I don't."

"Is this in your dream?"

"It's more of a feeling. I feel bad that I don't feel bad, when I should."

Charley put his book away and slid down next to her, pulling up the covers and giving her a kiss on the forehead.

"Varoom would have died from the stab wounds, anyway. You just put him out of his misery."

"Is that true?" Cat asked.

"It's as true as it needs to be," her friend answered.

* * * * * *

And so, we have reached the end of Catherine's journey, surrounded by loving friends and ready to move forward. The end.