Peter’s suitcase was lying open on the bench at the foot of the massive bed. His luggage, like everything else in his life—with the exception of her—was top quality. Inside, his clothes were packed in little winged mesh containers designed to keep everything compact and wrinkle-free. It was all very organized and orderly, just like Peter.
She lifted one side of the suitcase to fold it over, but the containers dumped out. With a sigh, she started to restack them, then froze.
In the corner of the suitcase was a familiar red Cartier ring box…the ring Peter had first given her when she was eighteen years old. She picked up the box and opened it to reveal the spectacular redesigned ring. Peter had located the original solitaire she’d pawned, magnificent in its own right, and added large diamonds on either side of the center stone. He told her it represented their past, their present and their future, and that he would hold it for her until she was ready.
Obviously, Peter meant to use their Vegas getaway as an opportunity to propose.
What would she say?
She remembered what the white-haired jeweler had told her. An engagement ring is just something nice to wear while you make up your mind.
Carlotta removed the ring from the box and slid it onto her left ring finger. After more than ten years, the original band was snug, but the dazzling trio of diamonds took her breath away.
The doorbell sounded, reverberating through the big, empty house. She tugged on the ring, but it was stubborn and would have to be loosened with soap. She jogged down the stairs, thinking there must be a delivery, or maybe the housekeeper had misplaced her keys.
When she checked the window next to the front door, her heart vaulted.
Coop.
She flung open the door and soaked in the sight of him—he wore dress jeans, a black T-shirt and low-heeled boots. His longish hair and sideburns were trimmed, and the color had returned to his cheeks. More than that—behind the funky heavy-rimmed glasses he wore, the life was back in his bright brown eyes. He grinned. “Hi.”
She launched herself at him and he caught her in a hug.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, laughing and crying and hanging on for dear life. “It’s so good to see you, Coop. Really.”
He set her gently on her feet, but his hands lingered on her waist. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“Please, come in,” she said, pulling him toward the door.
“I can’t,” he said with regret. “I heard through the grapevine that you’re taking off for a few days, and I just wanted to come by to thank you before you leave.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome, Coop, to anything I’ve done.”
He pressed his lips together. “Jack told me you believed in me…when no one else did.”
Carlotta winked. “Maybe I know you better than everyone else.”
“I think you do,” he agreed quietly.
“Coop, what was it you had to do for Sarah Edlow that was so important?”
He wiped his hand over the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t want this to go any farther.”
“It won’t.”
He sighed and nodded. “After the…accident, I kept up with Sarah. We got to be friends. When her tumor was diagnosed, she asked me to help her select a surgeon. I even went with her to appointments sometimes, to talk to the doctors. When it became clear she was terminal, Sarah revealed that she had put a son up for adoption when she was a teenager. Her family didn’t know. She had managed to locate him, but she didn’t want to meet him when she was on death’s door. So Sarah put together a box of things she wanted her son to have. She asked me to take it to him and explain to him and his adoptive family why she couldn’t be there herself.”
Coop stopped and his expression became haunted. “I gave her my word. When it looked like I was going to be in jail indefinitely, I panicked. After I was granted bail, I knew it would probably be my only chance to keep my promise to Sarah.” He shrugged. “After what I’d taken from her, it seemed like a very small request.”
Carlotta blinked back tears. “That sounds just like you.”
He looked down and picked up her left hand. “Wow, that’s a much nicer engagement ring than the one I gave you,” he teased in reference to the butterfly band she’d used to convince the officer at the City Detention Center to let her see her “fiancée.”
Carlotta blushed and she shook her head. “It’s not an engagement ring. I mean—it’s an engagement ring, but I haven’t accepted it.”
“You’re just wearing it?” he asked in an amused voice.
“Actually, I was just trying it on,” she said, feeling like a complete idiot. “Um…it’s complicated.”
He grinned. “With you, I wouldn’t expect anything else.” Then he nodded toward his white Corvette convertible sitting in the driveway. “I should go and let you get ready for your trip.”
“I’ll call you when I get back,” she said. “Maybe we can have coffee and catch up.”
“I’d like that,” he said. Then he leaned forward and gave her a brief kiss on the mouth.
Her lips remembered his, sending a little shudder of happiness through her chest. She was ecstatic to see him free…sober…back to his old self. It was especially sweet because a few days ago she couldn’t have imagined things ending so well.
She waved until he was gone, then walked back into the house feeling strangely…let down. It was the lull, she decided, after what seemed like a constant rush of adrenaline over the past few weeks. Her step was lighter, though, going back upstairs to retrieve their suitcases because now she could go on her trip knowing that everything was okay.
Michael was in a maximum-security mental institution.
Wes was drug-free and seemed to be head over heels for his Meg.
Coop had been vindicated.
Peter was making plans for their future.
Jack was…Jack.
And she…
Carlotta frowned. What was her next step? Marriage? Maybe a new career? College? She toyed with the charms on her bracelet—a puzzle piece, an aloha charm, three hearts, two champagne glasses, and a woman whose arms were crossed over her chest.
Maybe the charms didn’t have prophetic power…but it was fun to think of all the possibilities.
She loosened the Cartier ring with soap and returned it to the box, then repacked Peter’s bag and zipped it. His suitcase was light because he hadn’t packed much. Hers was light because she still wanted to add things to it, so she had no trouble getting them into her rental car.
On the drive to the townhouse, she called Hannah.
Her friend answered on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m on my way to the airport. I just called to say goodbye.”
“Try to enjoy yourself,” Hannah said dryly.
“Now, now,” Carlotta chided. “I intend to forget about everything else for a while and just let go.” She frowned at what sounded like intimate noises in the background. “Did I call at a bad time?”
“Nah, this is fine,” said Hannah. “I told you, Fat Boy can give head for hours. I just paid all my bills and gave myself a manicure.”
“Eww. I’m hanging up.”
“Are you sure? This might be as close to an orgasm as you’re going to get for a while.”
“Goodbye, Hannah. I’ll call you when I get back.” Carlotta ended the call, shaking her head, unable to suppress a laugh at her bawdy friend.
When Carlotta got to the townhouse, she grabbed her suitcase and practically ran across the yard and up the steps to avoid Mrs. Winningham. Luckily, she managed to unlock the door and get inside with no interruptions.
She dashed in, wincing at the warm, stale air of the closed-up house, and opened the suitcase on her bed. She went through her closet and quickly picked the dresses, shoes, and evening bags she wanted, plus a few pieces of lingerie she hoped would help to get her and Peter over their hump.
And hump, already.
When she zipped
her suitcase a few minutes later, she was getting a headache from not eating and too much excitement. She carried the suitcase into the living room and set it down, then went to the kitchen in search of aspirin and a bottle of water.
Carlotta was tossing back the aspirin when she was struck from behind. She went reeling sideways and careened into the breakfast bar, bashing her head on the counter. She gasped for air and choked on the bitter pills. When her vision cleared, she saw the flash of a knife.
The only thing worse than getting aspirin stuck in one’s throat, Carlotta decided, was getting aspirin stuck in one’s throat, and then having one’s throat slit.
33
Carlotta lifted her gaze from the knife, to the hand holding the knife, to the arm holding up the hand holding the knife, to the shoulder supporting the arm that held the hand holding the knife, to the neck connected to the shoulder supporting the arm that held the hand holding the knife, to the head supported by the neck connected to the shoulder supporting the arm that held the hand holding the knife.
Dr. Bruce Abrams.
She screamed as if her hair was on fire.
He winced. “Stop it. No one can hear you. Your nosy neighbor is sleeping off a little chloroform coma…she won’t be calling the police anytime soon.”
“It was you,” Carlotta murmured, marveling how a knock on the noggin could make one see things in a different way. “You set up Coop. You sent him to retrieve the bodies of the women you killed. You wanted him out of the way.”
The doctor glared at her with beady eyes. “Out of my morgue, yes. He’s a drunken body hauler, but he still acts like he owns the place. My people go to him behind my back. It’s a disgrace.”
A train was moving through her head. “Why? Why kill those women? They were innocent.”
He shrugged. “Why not them? Everyone dies. They were the lucky ones—they were allowed to die famously. Victims of The Charmed Killer.” He smiled, seemingly proud of his handiwork.
“Why the charms?” she asked, stalling. She was on the verge of passing out, but she had to keep talking. Keep him talking.
Abrams laughed. “Shawna Whitt gave me the idea. I saw her in the bookstore, flirting with other men, especially Coop. He never noticed her, but I did. I noticed she wore a charm bracelet and when I saw that chicken charm, it was like she’d handed me my answer. She chose me to kill her to set up Coop, don’t you see?”
Carlotta saw that he was completely insane.
He sneered. “And everything was fine until you got involved. I knew you were going to be trouble. I tried to get rid of you early on, but you’re like a damn cat with nine lives.”
She tried to calculate which life she was on, then gave up in lieu of screaming again. “Help me! Help me, he has a knife! He’s going to kill me!”
“You’re right,” he said, then glanced at his watch. “I have to be back to the morgue soon. I’m thinking about calling Coop to pick up your body, what do you think? Or maybe your brother.”
She lunged for the doorway, but he body-slammed her against the wall and held the knife to her throat.
“I’ll even do your autopsy myself,” he whispered. “I’ll get to touch every inch of your body, and cut you up, inside and out, any way I want to.”
Tears slid down her cheeks. “Don’t…please…let me go.”
“Nope. You’re going to be the random victim of a random crime in a questionable neighborhood. Your death probably won’t even make the newspaper. Goodbye, Carlotta.”
Suddenly the front door burst open and a man barreled inside, startling Abrams enough that he loosened his grip on her. Carlotta tore away, but felt a stinging slice to her shoulder. A shot rang out, and she heard the thud of a body fall. When she swung around, Abrams lay on the floor, clutching his bloody groin.
“Ja—” Carlotta looked up, but stopped short when she saw the shooter wasn’t Jack.
She blinked, not trusting her eyes, still disoriented from the blow. But when the man didn’t disappear or morph into anyone else, she tested the word on her tongue. “Daddy?”
34
Still tall and still handsome, Randolph Wren gave her a shaky smile. “Hi, Sweetheart.”
“Where…how…?” She couldn’t find the words.
“I told you I was keeping tabs on you and Wesley. I tried to do little things to help…like taking care of those fire ants.”
“The listening device?”
He gestured to her shoulder and walked closer. “You’re bleeding.” He shoved his gun down in the waistband of his jeans and walked to the kitchen. He came back with a towel and pressed it gently against the wound. “Can you hold it?”
She nodded, drinking in the sight of him. She scanned his face, every feature, again and again, half thrilled, half terrified. It was surreal, having him close enough to touch.
“You should sit down,” he said, leading her to a chair.
“Freeze.”
Carlotta looked up to see Jack’s broad shoulders silhouetted in the open door. He had a gun trained on Randolph. “Place your hands on your head and get on your knees.”
“Jack—” she protested.
“Do it!” he shouted.
Randolph obeyed.
“Slowly, place the weapon on the floor,” Jack said.
Randolph did, wordlessly.
Jack pulled out his radio and gave the address. “I need a bus, and I need backup.” He replaced the radio. “Carlotta, are you okay?”
“She’s bleeding,” Randolph said. “That man stabbed her.”
“Shut up,” Jack said. “Carlotta?”
“I’m bleeding, but I don’t think it’s serious.” She looked down at Abrams, who was either dead or had passed out. “He framed Coop, Jack. He admitted everything to me.”
Jack nodded as the sound of sirens rent the air. “I know. I traced the bomb parts to Abrams, too.”
So that’s what Abrams had meant when he said he’d tried to get rid of her. “How did you know I was here?”
“Peter told me you were stopping by on the way to the airport. I took a chance.”
He took a chance…“Dr. Abrams killed all those women,” she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“We’ll sort it out later, darlin’,” Jack soothed. He pulled handcuffs from his belt. “Get on your feet,” he said to Randolph. “And turn around.”
Randolph did as he was ordered, but with a little smile. “Do you know who I am?”
Jack holstered his weapon. “I should, you son of a bitch. I’ve looked at your photo enough in the criminal file that I’ve memorized.” Jack snapped on the handcuffs. “Randolph Wren, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law in which I will be in the front row. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Do you understand these rights?”
“Yes,” Randolph said, darting a look to Carlotta as Jack led him toward the door.
She lunged to her feet, but she was light-headed and had to lean into the wall for support. “Jack, he saved my life.”
“He’s still a criminal.”
“Don’t take him yet,” she pleaded.
“I have to,” Jack said, leveling his gaze on her. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Carlotta stumbled to the door and caught herself to keep from fainting. She watched Jack lead Randolph to the police car and realized that her life had been leading up to this moment all along. She’d always known that Jack would be the one taking her father into custody.
“Daddy!” she yelled, feeling as if her heart was being wrenched out of her body.
Randolph turned and gave her a bittersweet smile. “Come and see me, Sweetheart. We have a lot to talk about.”
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3387-8
6 KILLER BODIES
Copyright © 2009 by Stephanie Bond, Inc.
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