“Uh, sure,” he said, surprised that Liz wasn’t having something stronger.
She filled another glass and handed it to him. The heavy musk of her perfume irritated his overstimulated olfactory nerve.
“I’d planned for us to eat in the dining room,” she said, “but that seemed so formal. So I set the kitchen table.”
Wesley swung his head in the direction she nodded and did a double-take at the two place settings, complete with standing, pleated napkins. “Uh…what’s going on?”
She smiled. “I made us dinner.”
He felt his eyes grow wide. “Dinner? I thought we were going to—” He swallowed the last word.
“Later,” Liz promised. “First, I thought we’d talk.”
His balls sagged. “Talk?”
“Yes. Do you like filet?”
“Uh…sure. But I hadn’t planned to eat…steak.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to be somewhere in less than an hour.”
“You have time to eat. Besides, I wanted to chat with you about my newest client.”
“Coop?”
“Have a seat and I’ll plate the food.”
He did as he was told, lowering himself awkwardly onto an elegant chair that was covered in a fancy striped fabric. “Did you ever work in a restaurant?”
She looked back. “I waitressed my way through law school. Why do you ask?”
“You said ‘plate the food.’ That’s a foodie term.”
Liz smiled. “And you’re a foodie?”
“I watch the Food Network occasionally,” he admitted sheepishly.
“You cook?”
“Some. Carlotta is a disaster in the kitchen, so I took over the meals a few years ago.”
Liz carried their plates to the table. “I hope my meager skills suffice.”
The filet was undercooked, and the mixed vegetables were overcooked, but he appreciated the effort and complimented her. She smiled her thanks, but picked at the food on her plate. Liz seemed nervous, which was so uncharacteristic, it made him nervous.
“Is Coop okay?” he asked.
“It’s hard to tell,” she said. “He’s so…self-deprecating. It’s clear to me that he feels like he deserves to be punished for something.”
Wes wet his lips. “Do you think Coop is The Charmed Killer?”
She lifted her shoulders in a slow shrug. “I don’t know. He doesn’t behave like a man who’s been wrongly accused. He’s not angry, he’s not defensive. I have to pull information out of him.”
“He’s probably going through withdrawal. He’s a recovering alcoholic, but Carlotta and I both noticed he’d started drinking again lately.”
“I could tell he was coming down from something. I requested that he be kept under observation in the infirmary. Maybe when his health improves, his head will clear.”
But she didn’t sound optimistic. With a rueful noise, she pushed away her barely touched plate. “So what do you think, Wes? Is this guy a serial killer?”
Wes swallowed a chunk of bloody meat. “No.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That’s not exactly a resounding endorsement.”
He wiped his mouth with the white napkin. “From what I know of Coop, he wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“From what you know,” she repeated. “Meaning you don’t know him very well?”
“He doesn’t talk about his background much. You know the circumstances of him losing his job as Chief M.E.?”
She nodded. “He told me what happened, said it was all his fault, that he’d gotten off easy compared to the woman who was hurt.” Liz sighed. “I hope I don’t have a client who’s willing to take the fall for murder because he thinks he wasn’t punished enough for something he did before.”
“Is he going to plead not guilty?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Carlotta mentioned something about DNA evidence?”
Liz nodded slowly. “I can’t talk specifics, but it doesn’t look good.”
“But Coop was on the scene of some of those murders as a body mover. My DNA was probably there, as well.”
“I know, and if a trial goes forward, his defense attorney will argue just that.”
“So you plan to only handle the arraignment.”
“As of now, yes. I don’t have the litigation experience to try a case like this. I wouldn’t mind sitting second chair if my schedule allows. But the hope is there won’t be a trial.”
“Have you talked to the D.A. yet?”
Liz’s mouth thinned. “Numerous times.”
“He’s out for blood, isn’t he?”
“Kelvin Lucas and I aren’t exactly friends, but I’d expect him to pull out all the stops on this case since one of his A.D.A.’s was murdered. I don’t mind representing a guilty man—everyone deserves counsel. But I don’t want a client who’s using the legal system to do himself in.”
Wes checked his watch. If he didn’t leave now, he’d be late. He cut another piece of steak and stuffed it in his mouth. “Carlotta and I are trying to find the real murderer.”
Liz frowned. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. You should leave it up to the GBI.”
“But we’ve got a lot of first-hand information since we were on the scenes. And Carlotta still thinks that psycho Michael Lane is to blame.”
Liz leaned forward and crossed her arms. The movement pushed up her boobs, giving him an inadvertent eyeful through the opening in her shirt. Wow, they looked even bigger than usual.
“I hope she’s right. The man can’t hide forever.”
Wes swallowed the half-chewed steak and caught her eye. “Some men can.”
She smiled and gave a nod of concession. “Speaking of Randolph, I read in the paper that his name had come up as a suspect in this case.”
Wes nodded, remembering what Carlotta had told him about his father’s involvement with one of the victims. “They’re grasping at straws.”
“Have you or Carlotta heard from your dad since he talked to her at the rest area in Florida?”
“No.”
“Would you tell me if you had?”
“Probably,” he said. “Would you tell me if he’d contacted you?”
“Touché. But he hasn’t.” She drank more water, then pushed a strand of hair over her ear with a hand that shook slightly.
“Are you okay, Liz? I mean, you didn’t sound so good before you left town.”
“I wasn’t,” she said. “I just needed a break from everything, some time to think.”
Wes’s stomach clenched. In his experience, it was never good when women took time to think.
“What are your plans, Wes?”
He stuffed another bite of steak in his mouth and chewed with purpose. “A friend invited me to a party tonight.”
She gave a little laugh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, what are your plans for…your life?”
He blinked. “My life?”
“Are you thinking about going to college, getting a job?”
“I have a job…more than one, remember?”
“I know. But what about when your community service is finished, and the undercover job is over? What do you want to do with your life?”
The caring look in her eyes sent a tremor of fear through his chest. “Why are you asking?”
She wet her lips. “No reason. You’re just so smart, I’d like to see you make something of yourself.”
But her body language made him apprehensive. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Liz was hinting that the two of them…No, that was crazy.
She reached forward to stroke his hand. “Are you meeting Meg at this party, the girl whose name you called out when we were together?”
Wes squirmed. “Uh, no. I have to meet up with a guy. It’s business for The Carver.”
“Well, if it’s business, then why don’t you come back here afterward? You could spend the night.”
At the prospect of an entire night’s access to her enormous tits and open thigh
s, Wesley’s body screamed yes. But at the same time his mind sent up warning flags to counter his hardening dick. Spend the night? Since when was Liz willing to risk a neighbor seeing him slip out at an odd hour of the morning? Spending the night was an indication that their relationship had moved beyond the illicit quickie in the guest house. It meant morning breath and awkward exits and…obligation.
His throat convulsed. “Uh…”
She traced little circles on the back of his hand, sending sensations arrowing to all parts of his body. “I’ve been thinking that maybe we should start spending more time together, go out once in a while.”
His eyebrows practically flew off his head. “Out? In public?”
She gave a little laugh. “I know I’m older than you, but you’re very mature for your age, Wes.”
“You mean us…as a couple?” He choked on the last word.
Liz pouted. “You make it sound like a sentence. We could have a great time, Wes.” She reached forward to touch his chest. “We could travel, and I’d pay for you to go to college. I’ll bet you could get into Emory without even studying for the entrance exam.”
That made him pause. Graduating from Emory University would be cool.
“And we already know the sex is great.” She almost looked…pleading. But she must have smelled his panic because her expression softened. “You don’t have to answer right away. Give it some thought. Meanwhile, stay with me tonight.”
“Uh…I’ll think about it,” he hedged.
“Good. I’ll leave the light on.”
He wiped his mouth and stood abruptly. “Gotta run. Thanks for dinner,” he added, even though his stomach was already rolling from the too-rare meat and the unpalatable texture of the vegetables.
Liz rubbed herself against him in a full-body goodbye kiss. He pulled back before his cock won the arm-wrestling match raging in his brain. Then with Liz’s offer clanging in his head, Wes fled as if the hounds of hell were chasing him.
12
It was around seven-thirty in the evening when Carlotta left the Perimeter Mall, miraculously, with no shopping bags. And regretfully, with no proof that the silver charms The Charmed Killer had thrust upon his victims had been purchased at any of the stores there.
In the parking lot she looked all around, keeping an eye out for Michael and her hand on her stun baton while unlocking the rental car at a safe distance. She called Peter to arrange to meet him for dinner in an hour and found herself looking forward to it. Then, monitoring her side mirror, she steered the rental car toward Moody’s Cigar Bar.
Moody’s was a great little slice of old Atlanta, well-situated in a two-story building that retained the architectural charm of the 1920s. A bell tinkled when she walked in, and she was instantly met with the fragrances of tobacco—plum, cherry, and oak. The first floor of the shop was dominated by a black horseshoe-shaped bar that serviced customers buying cigars and accoutrements from glass-fronted cabinets lining the walls. The art-deco fixtures and the piano music wafting over speakers cinched the mood. The shop was crowded with connoisseurs and the merely curious. Carlotta scanned for the owner, June Moody, but she didn’t see her.
A stairway in the back led upstairs to a martini bar, with a comfy lounging area for smokers and guests. Carlotta ascended the stairs and waved hello through the crowd to Nathan, the bartender. June, a well-preserved blonde in her fifties, was walking toward her with a tray of empty glasses and full ashtrays. She smiled, then set the tray on the bar and hugged Carlotta.
“I’m so sorry about Coop,” Carlotta murmured.
“How could this happen?” June asked, her brow furrowed.
“Jack says jail is the best place for Coop right now,” Carlotta said, sidestepping the question. “He’ll get sober in a safe place, where he can’t harm himself or anyone else.”
“That’s a good thing,” June agreed. “And if that monster, The Charmed Killer, strikes again, everyone will know it wasn’t Coop.”
“Right.”
June squeezed Carlotta’s arm. “I feel better knowing you’re on Coop’s side.”
Carlotta hoped her smile wasn’t as shaky as it felt. “June, did you know the last two victims, the coeds who were found dead in their car? I’m asking because I know the car was parked not far from here.”
“Two blocks away,” June supplied, then sighed. “No, I didn’t know them, but Nathan turned them away from the bar.”
Carlotta’s pulse jumped. “That same night?”
“No, not that night, but he thought they’d been in here before with fake IDs. I told the police.” Her expression clouded. “I might have made things worse for Coop because the police asked about him coming here, too.”
“Don’t you worry about it. Coop assured me that everything’s going to work out.”
June looked past Carlotta’s shoulder and smiled at someone approaching. “Mitch.”
Carlotta turned to see June’s son, Mitchell Moody, a career Army man, striding up to them. He was a big guy, tall and nice-looking, with a shaved head and shrewd, intense eyes. “Hi, Carlotta.”
She smiled and dipped her chin. “Sergeant Moody.”
“No need to be so formal,” he said with a deadly grin.
“Did you get your leave extended?”
“By a few more days. I still have some unfinished business here before I head back to Hawaii.”
June averted her gaze, and Carlotta wondered if Mitch was still trying to talk his mother into giving up the bar.
Carlotta glanced around. “Is Eva here?” Mitch had struck up a romance with Olympic runner Eva McCoy after she’d recovered from her ordeal of having her world-famous lucky charm bracelet stolen.
“Not at the moment,” he said easily. “I’m going to catch up with her later. Mom, can I have a word with you?”
Something akin to dread passed over June’s face, confirming to Carlotta that Mitchell was still pressing her about her “unsuitable” occupation.
“I’ll let you two talk,” Carlotta said, giving June an encouraging wink before walking back to the bar. She waited until a spot opened, then slid onto a bar stool and smiled at Nathan. “How are you?”
“Good,” he said, wiping the counter. “Can I get you something, Carlotta?”
Mindful of the martinis she and Rainie had tossed back at lunch she said, “Just a diet soda.”
“Coming up.”
“So…June told me you knew the two coeds who were found dead in their car.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t know them. I just remember them coming in a few nights before, trying to pass off a couple of fake IDs.” He sighed noisily, then slid a fountain soda toward her. “If I’d called the police about the IDs, they might be alive.”
“You can’t think like that. Were they with anyone that night?”
“Nah, they were making the rounds, talking to everyone, probably trying to find someone to buy them a drink.”
She pulled a picture of Michael from her bag. “Have you ever seen this guy?”
“Yeah,” Nathan said, his voice full of surprise. “Different hair, though. He’s blond now.”
Her heart thumped in her chest. “Where did you see him?”
“Right here. Last weekend, maybe.”
“Last Saturday? When I was here?”
He nodded. “Yeah…maybe. I noticed him because he was so…pristine. Looked a little out of place for this joint. And he was alone.”
When she was here a week ago, someone had followed her into the ladies’ room. The person hadn’t spoken, but she’d noticed the scent of a distinctive, high-end cologne that Michael had liked.
So it had been him. Why hadn’t he talked to her?
Carlotta swallowed. Or tried to kill her?
“I have to go,” she said, glancing at her watch. “If you see this guy again, call the police. His name is Michael Lane, and he’s a fugitive.”
“The guy who did a swan dive into the Hooch?” he asked, eyes wide. “Yeah, sure, I�
�ll call.”
“Don’t let him know that you recognize him,” she warned. “Michael is…a very dangerous man.”
She took a few more sips from the soda, looking all around, expecting to see Michael in every face. Her pulse clicked higher and her palms were moist against the glass. While she hoped Michael would appear and end this torment, she was terrified at the prospect of seeing him again face-to-face. She took advantage of the environment to smoke a cigarette, then another, but she was ever watchful of the crowd reflected by the mirror behind the bar.
After a half hour had passed uneventfully, Carlotta waved to Nathan and climbed off the stool. She walked downstairs to say goodbye to June, who was waiting on customers, but without her usual plucky smile. Carlotta relayed the information about Michael, and showed June his picture.
“We’ll keep our eyes open,” June said gravely. “Keep me posted on Coop.”
“I will. Take care.”
Carlotta hurried through the parking lot, partly because of the dim lighting, partly because she was running late to meet Peter for dinner. In her haste, she was almost to the car when she remembered that she should be using the keyless remote at a safe distance. She reached into her purse and backed up.
Into a solid body.
Panic seized her. Michael must have followed her after all. A man’s arm reached around her, and she screamed, groping in her purse for the stun baton Jack had given her. Suddenly the man’s grip loosened, and the body moved away from hers.
She spun around, stun baton held high. And found Mitchell Moody standing there in the semi-darkness, his hands up.
“Whoa. I didn’t mean to startle you, Carlotta, but I think you backed into me.”
Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath. “Sorry…I thought you were someone else.”
“Can’t be too careful,” he agreed. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah.”
He waved. “Catch you later.”
Mitch veered off toward an SUV with a rental license plate. Feeling silly, Carlotta returned the stun baton to her bag, then unlocked her car with the remote. Still wobbly, she climbed in and locked the doors. On the drive to meet Peter, she called Jack to tell him that the bartender had positively identified Michael—as a blonde.
“You’ve been sleuthing,” he chided.
6 Killer Bodies Page 9
