Patricia shrugged. “He flies off the handle at small things…and sometimes he makes comments about other women when we’re together.”
Carlotta bristled on the blonde’s behalf. “Patricia, you shouldn’t accept that behavior from someone who’s supposed to care about you.”
“But we’ve only been dating for a little while. Maybe I’m expecting too much.”
“Don’t make excuses for him. This early in your relationship, the man should be using his best manners. If he’s disrespectful now, just think how he might be down the road.”
Patricia averted her gaze, then looked back. “Have you ever been afraid of a man?”
Carlotta closed her locker door. “Never a man I was in a relationship with.”
“Not even Cooper Craft? Rumor has it that you two dated, and he’s a serial killer.”
“We didn’t date,” Carlotta corrected. “But the times I was with Coop, no, I was never afraid of him.”
“So…I could be wrong about Leo, like you were wrong about this Craft man.”
Carlotta shook her head. “I’m not wrong about Coop. I still believe Michael is The Charmed Killer.”
“Then why did they arrest someone else?”
“I don’t know,” Carlotta murmured. “I just know that a woman should almost always trust her instincts.” Admittedly, it was the “almost” part that tripped her up.
“You’re so lucky, Carlotta. You have Peter.” The young woman’s eyes got a dreamy look. “And it’s clear by the way that man looks at you how he feels.”
“Peter is a wonderful man,” she agreed.
Patricia sighed. “Oh, well, off to smell stinky feet all day.” She plastered on a smile that Carlotta recognized—the one that sales associates mastered to deal with cranky customers on an unending day while a migraine needled the back of their head—and left the break room.
Sympathy barbed through Carlotta’s chest. She’d seen lots of women in Patricia’s shoes…and not just in the Shoes department. Dating a man whose actions were just good enough not to break up with him, yet not good enough to sleep well at night, and manic enough to make a woman question her own sanity.
But Patricia was right about Peter, Carlotta thought as she rode the escalator to her department on the second floor. She was lucky to have someone who cared so much about her. Of the three men who’d taken up residence in different corners of her heart recently, only Peter had been there for her throughout. Coop had his own issues, and Jack had to save the world.
She scanned for Herb, the block-shouldered security guy stationed somewhat blatantly in her department, and frowned when she spotted him talking to her boss, Lindy Russell. Herb was studying a sheet of paper that Lindy had presumably given him.
“Hi,” Carlotta said, walking up.
“Hi, Carlotta,” Lindy said. “I was just showing Herb the updated APB on Michael Lane. Apparently, he’s altered his hair color.”
“To blond, yes. Did the police fax it to you?”
“Yes, Detective Marquez, I believe. She left me a voice message saying she’d also sent a copy to mall security, and to the company that manages the valet service.”
“That was nice of her,” Carlotta murmured. But she knew Maria Marquez was only doing her job. No doubt the female detective wanted Michael brought into custody for many reasons, but one of them was probably so she, as a profiler, could pick his brain. So far, Marquez had been wrong about the part where Michael would kill Carlotta if he got the chance. He hadn’t.
Yet.
“Herb, would you excuse us for a moment?” Lindy asked.
Herb skedaddled and Carlotta held her breath, waiting to hear what her boss had to say. It could be so many things, ranging from “You’re fired” to “Your car blew up in the parking lot again” to “Your wages are being garnished by the city for an unpaid water bill.”
Lindy smiled. “Congratulations, your sales are back on top.”
Carlotta exhaled. “That’s great news, thanks.”
Then Lindy’s smile wavered. “Carlotta, as much as I would like to, the company can’t provide a security guard for you indefinitely.”
“I understand. Hopefully Michael will be apprehended soon.”
“Yes. I’ve been authorized to extend the security detail through next Monday. I do, however, have the authority to grant you up to five days of paid leave under extraordinary circumstances, and since inventory starts next Tuesday, I thought it might be a good time to offer it to you.”
Carlotta blinked. “Paid leave? Wow…I mean, yes, thank you.”
“I’ll take care of the paperwork.” Lindy walked away, ever aloof and professional. Carlotta marveled again over how many second chances her boss had given her over the years. Mired in the drama of her day-to-day life, it was easy to overlook all the things she should be grateful for.
Like Peter.
As her shift wore on, Peter weighed on her mind even as she waited on customers. She was eager to talk to him and try to put things right between them again. So when he appeared at her station a couple of hours later wearing jeans and a pale yellow short-sleeve button up shirt, she thought for a minute she’d conjured him up.
She smiled wide. “Peter.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, without preamble.
“I’m sorry, too,” she said. “I don’t want to keep things from you. We’re supposed to be getting to know each other.”
“You’re right,” he said. “And I realize I haven’t made it easy for you to share with me, but I can change.”
Her heart swelled. “Me, too.”
He held up a bag. “I brought you lunch.”
She grinned. “Is this yesterday’s lunch?”
“No, I ate yesterday’s lunch. Today is peanut butter and jelly.”
Delighted, Carlotta reached for it. “My favorite.”
“With fresh strawberries and dry-roasted peanuts.”
“Wow, I can’t wait.” She pressed her lips together. “Thank you so much, Peter. I’ve been thinking about you ever since I left the house.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
Carlotta moistened her lips, conscious of the big step she was taking. “How about this? We make plans to leave for Vegas next Tuesday for five days, and you don’t give me a hard time about looking into The Charmed Killer case between now and then.”
A hopeful smile erupted on Peter’s face. “I think I can live with that.”
15
Carlotta took a deep breath and strode into the lobby of the midtown precinct of the Atlanta Police Department. She’d been in this place so often in the past few months, she knew how many tiles were in the lobby ceiling and that D4 in the vending machine would drop two of whatever snack item happened to be in the slot.
She walked up to the counter and smiled at her friend Brooklyn who dutifully manned the checkin process behind a presumably bulletproof window. “Hi, Brook.”
The woman grinned and leaned. “Well, hi, girl. What brings you here?”
“I have an appointment to speak with GBI agents Wick and Green.”
Brook checked her computer screen. “About your boyfriend?”
“I’m sorry?”
“McHenry over at City Detention called to get the lowdown on you. Said you were engaged to The Charmed Killer?”
“Uh…well, that was a little misunderstanding.”
“Got Jack Terry over there in a hurry, didn’t it?”
Carlotta frowned. “Jack is a busybody.”
Brooklyn laughed. “Yeah. The man’s body has been busy lately, if you know what I mean.”
She bit her tongue to keep from asking, but couldn’t help it. “With Maria Marquez?”
“That’s the rumor.” The woman picked up the phone and punched a couple of buttons. “Carlotta Wren is here.”
Carlotta wasn’t sure why the news bothered her. She’d suspected that Jack and his
new partner would hook up eventually. They were both gorgeous, single people who spent a lot of time together in situations where the adrenaline ran high.
Brook hung up the phone. “Don’t look so long in the face. Only two ways something like that can end, and you and I know Jack Terry ain’t the marrying kind.”
“I’m just nervous about the interview,” Carlotta murmured.
“Why? You didn’t kill all those women.”
“Let’s just say Agent Wick isn’t a fan of mine.”
The woman gave a dismissive wave. “Brother ain’t so bad. Could use some biscuits and gravy to put a little meat on those long bones of his, though.”
Carlotta smiled. “Brooklyn, are you crushing on Agent Wick?”
“Crushin’ is right, if I got on top of him,” Brook said, giving a hearty laugh that sent her generous curves bouncing. She hit a button to unlock the secure door that led to the administrative area. “Go on back.”
Carlotta walked through, surprised to see Jack standing at the coffee station waiting for her. She’d assumed Brook had been talking to one of the GBI agents. Jack looked freshly showered. His collar stood up and his unknotted tie hung around his shoulders. “Hey.”
“Hey, yourself.” She hoped like hell something had happened overnight to make her interview unnecessary. “Give me some good news, Jack.”
He lifted his coffee cup for a sip. “Apple stock is up.”
“Very funny. I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything from Michael?”
He frowned. “No. Uniforms are canvasing every motel and hotel in the city, but nothing so far.”
“He has to be living somewhere.”
“We already know he can break into a house. Maybe he’s living in one of the thousands of empty ones that are up for sale in the metro area.”
She winced. “That narrows it down.”
“Exactly.” Then he winked. “Don’t worry. We’ll get him.”
She stepped up to slide his tie around and fashion a knot. He let her. “Sleeping at the office again?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Rumor has it you’ve been sleeping elsewhere lately.”
His mouth twitched. “Don’t believe everything you hear. How are your sleeping arrangements these days?”
“Separate,” she murmured.
“Really? When you didn’t answer your phone last night, I wondered if Peter had accidentally stumbled into your bedroom instead of the butler’s pantry, looking for Grey Poupon.”
She tightened the knot with a bit more force than necessary.
He grunted, then grinned and flipped down his shirt collar.
“Good morning,” a honeyed voice sounded behind Carlotta.
She turned her head to see the exotic Maria Marquez heading toward them, ducking a tea bag into a mug. She looked amazing in an off-white pantsuit and peach-colored silk blouse.
“Good morning,” Carlotta offered, stifling a stab of envy that the woman was so comfortable in Jack’s world.
“Another meeting with the state guys about The Charmed Killer case?” Maria asked.
“Right,” Carlotta said. “I’m hoping they’ll eventually catch the right guy.”
“I’m sorry, Carlotta, but we have the right guy,” Maria said, then sipped from her mug.
“Because Coop fits your profile?” Carlotta crossed her arms. “I’d like to see this bulletproof profile you came up with, Detective.”
Jack cleared his throat. “That’s not going to happen.” He nodded toward the hallway that led to the interview rooms. “Come on, Carlotta, I’ll take you back.”
Carlotta frowned, but followed him. “Whose side are you on?”
“We’re all on the same side. We all want justice for the victims. Maria, too.”
“I think she wants to make a name for herself.”
“Funny, she says the same thing about you.”
Carlotta glared. “So, what do you think the state guys want to talk to me about?”
“I don’t know. But I will get to listen in this time.”
“They’re letting you work on the case again?”
“I’m growing on them,” Jack said. “At least they’re keeping me more informed. Right now, though, I’m focused on finding Lane and trying to figure out who planted the explosive under your car.”
“Do you still think they’re related?”
“I hope so. It would be nice to kill a flock of birds with one stone.” He stopped in front of an interview room. “Don’t let them rattle you, darlin’. Remember, you can leave anytime you want to.” He rapped on the door and opened it. “Carlotta Wren is here at your request,” he said, then stepped aside to let her walk into the interview room.
GBI Agent Wick, tall and slender, had a grim smile for Carlotta. “Good to see you, Ms. Wren.” His teeth were white against mahogany skin.
She nodded, then turned toward Agent Green, a stocky white guy who seemed to be relegated to the position of stenographer. “Hello, gentlemen.” The last time she’d seen them had been when they’d arrested Coop right in front of her at Neiman’s.
“Have a seat,” Wick offered.
She took the seat across the table from them. They opened one folder, then another, murmuring back and forth between themselves for a few seconds. Finally, Wick looked up.
“How are you, Ms. Wren?”
“Better than the last time you saw me.”
“Yes, well, that was an unfortunate scene, but necessary. I understand you visited our suspect—” He checked his notes. “Friday.”
“That’s right.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Why don’t you listen to the tape?”
He smiled. “Actually, we have. I was just seeing if you would lie to us…again.”
At the reference to her failed polygraph, she shifted in her chair.
Wick gestured to Green, who handed him a printout. “Speaking of which, we have the polygraph examiner’s report right here. Deception indicated on questions six, seven, and nine,” he read, then looked up. “Question six was about having a romantic relationship with Detective Terry.”
She didn’t respond.
“You denied having one.”
“I remember what I said.”
“Would you like to change your answer?”
“No. Detective Terry and I don’t have a romantic relationship.” With Jack, it was all about sex.
The agent frowned. “Okay, moving on. Question seven—when asked if you knew the whereabouts of your father, you said no.”
“Correct.”
“But according to this report, you were lying.”
She shrugged. “I guess I thought of the postcards we’ve received over the years from different states. But I don’t know where Randolph is now. If I did, believe me, I’d drag him back to Atlanta myself.”
Wick’s eyebrows rose. “Still nursing animosity toward your parents for abandoning you and your brother?”
“Yes,” she admitted. In fact, she could feel her blood pressure rising now. When Randolph disappeared, he’d put her in the position of having to defend him, of having to make excuses for him. Wesley had made up outlandish stories of international espionage to explain away their father’s absence, but she hadn’t possessed the imagination and optimism of a nine-year-old. Ten years later, she was still covering for Randolph.
“But you’re still claiming you don’t know where your father is.”
Inside, she kicked and screamed. “That’s right.”
Wick sighed noisily, then looked back to his report. “Question nine was about the identity of the person known as The Charmed Killer. You said you didn’t know who had committed these crimes, but the polygraph indicates that you do.” He dropped the report and looked at her expectantly.
“I believe Michael Lane is responsible,” she said. “But I responded no because I’m not positive.”
Wick leaned toward his partner. “I think she knows her buddy Cooper Craft is responsibl
e.”
Under the table Carlotta clasped her hands. “Coop isn’t a monster.”
“But he’s a drunk.” Wick continued talking to Green, as if they were having a private conversation. “A drunk who put a woman in a body bag while she was still alive.”
Her throat convulsed. “He paid for his mistake.”
“Yeah, he lost everything—his title, his job, and his ability to practice medicine. That would really work on a man, make him crazy…maybe even homicidal.”
She shook her head. “You’re wrong. Coop was happy with his life.”
“He got lonely,” Wick said to Green, ignoring her. “But women aren’t exactly clamoring to go out with a guy who spends more time with dead women than live ones, you know what I mean?”
Green nodded, absorbed in the story.
Carlotta sighed. “Is this going somewhere? I thought I was here to help you get to the bottom of these murders.”
“Hang on, I’m getting to the best part,” Wick said. “So Dr. Craft meets a woman and falls head over heels for her. But, not surprisingly, the woman doesn’t feel the same about him. So, he starts to obsess over her…and he back-slides into the bottle…and then he starts to hate her.”
Green’s eyes grew larger. “And then what?”
Wick frowned at his partner. “And then he decides if he can’t kill her, he’ll kill someone else—another woman…and then another…and then another.”
Wick looked back to Carlotta. “Now what do you think of my story?”
“I think you’ve been spending a lot of time with our resident profiler.”
“So would you be surprised to learn that Craft had a picture of you on his refrigerator?”
She hesitated, realizing how that must look. “I gave him that picture. And I saw it on his fridge when I was at his place. But that doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure he had other pictures of friends around his place.”
Wick shook his head. “Nope. Just the one of you. Did Dr. Craft ever make any romantic overtures toward you?”
Under the table, Carlotta wiped her wet palms on her slacks. “Coop let me know that he was interested in me romantically, yes.”
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