Nine Lives by Sharon Sala

and he always knew when she was home.
    He’d run a make on her car and found a report that a car matching the description of hers had been found abandoned on a Fort Worth bypass. It had been stripped of everything, including the tag, but he was running the VIN number he’d gotten from the DMV to see if it matched the one on the wrecked vehicle. It changed nothing other than adding a new supposition to why Marsha Benton wasn’t where she belonged. Maybe the car had quit on her and she’d been abducted, and her troubles with Mark Presley were nothing more than coincidence.
    Still, Bradley wasn’t a man who jumped to easy conclusions just to close a case, and he had taken Cat Dupree’s claim of an affair and pregnancy just as seriously as the discovery of Benton’s car. In his experience, people had killed for less.
    He’d tried to get in touch with Mark Presley at the company, only to be told that Mr. Presley was not at the office and was, in fact, planning to leave the state for the holidays.
    No big deal. If Presley wasn’t available at the office, he would just have to be available at home. He got his notebook, his overcoat, a to-go cup of coffee, and headed for the parking lot. It was time to pay a visit to Mr. Presley.
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    Mark Presley was packing when the maid came to tell him there were detectives from the Dallas police department downstairs.
    Penny came racing out of the bathroom, naked except for a pair of bikini panties. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and her face was covered with a mint facial mask. When she saw the maid was still in the room, she shrieked.
    â€œGet out! Get out!”
    The maid dashed out as Penny turned on Mark and nailed him with a look.
    â€œDetectives! Why would detectives want to talk to you?”
    Mark stifled a curse. Penny had a tendency to scream at the least little thing.
    â€œHoney…I have no idea. Go ahead with your facial. I’ll be right back.”
    â€œBut what if—”
    He walked out before Penny went ballistic.
    His stride was unhurried, his shoulders back, his chin up. He showed no fear because he had no fear. Whatever the police had to say, he was ready for them.
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    Detective Bradley and his partner, Ed Frost, were waiting in the foyer of the Presley mansion. There were empty chairs visible through the door that led into the library, but they hadn’t been invited in any farther than where they were standing. The opulence of the place was obvious. Amber-veined marble formed the newel posts of the winding staircase that led to the upper stories, while matching tiles of the same marble covered the floor in the entryway.
    A massive chandelier hung from a large gilded chain about halfway down from the eighteen foot ceiling. The scent of warm spices wafted through the air, giving visitors the impression that fresh cookies and warm wassail awaited. From where Bradley and Frost were standing, they could see into three large rooms and in each room stood a fully decorated Christmas tree, each with its own theme.
    Ed pointed to the tree in the far corner of the room on their right.
    â€œWould you look at that?” he muttered. “That’s a ten-footer if it’s an inch.”
    Bradley nodded. “Yeah, and look at those gold-colored ornaments.”
    Ed snorted softly. “In this house, they’re most likely real.”
    Bradley eyed them curiously, then elbowed Ed as Presley appeared at the top of the stairs.
    Ed straightened up and resumed his business face, as did Bradley, and waited for Presley to grace them with his presence.
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    Mark Presley had not had his decisions questioned for years, and his demeanor showed it. He descended the stairs with the behavior of a royal. He was a long way from the mechanic’s kid who missed out on his childhood dreams. He’d set new goals for himself and surpassed them a dozen times over, and still it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. And