8 Bodies is Enough--for Amazon

by Stephanie Bond

  Mouse smiled. “I knew you wouldn’t run out on your baby, not after what your daddy did to you.”

  Wes chewed on his lip, then grunted. “Turns out, the baby’s not mine.”

  “No shit? Aw. Is that good?”

  “Mostly,” Wes admitted.

  “Bet Meg is happy about that.”

  Meg Vincent and her sweet strawberry mouth were done with him. “Actually, she couldn’t care less. Go to the south terminal.”

  Mouse took the turn. “So you don’t have a reason to stay here.”

  Wes looked over. “My sister is here, and my dad, remember? The feds are still holding him in the pen.”

  “No offense, but I got the feeling your dad doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

  Hurt and anger fused in Wes’s chest. It was true Randolph hadn’t initiated the paperwork necessary to allow Carlotta and Wes to visit him. And when someone Mouse knew inside the pen had tried to communicate with Randolph on Wes’s behalf, his father had refused.

  Wes waved toward the ticketing entrance. “You can let me out here.” He was opening the door before the car came to a stop. “Thanks, man.”

  “Wes?”

  Reluctantly, Wes turned back. “Yeah?”

  Mouse splayed one big hand. “I guess this is goodbye. If your debt’s paid, you don’t need to do collections anymore.”

  He hadn’t thought about that. “I guess you’re right.” He reached into his backpack and pulled out the cell phone Mouse had given him for exclusive communication between them. “I won’t be needing this.”

  Mouse shrugged. “Keep it. I might call you sometime to say hello.”

  That was crap, but it was a nice gesture. “Okay.”

  “Good luck, Little Man.”

  “Thanks. You, too, Mouse.”

  He closed the car door and stepped back, then with mixed emotions, watched the Town Car pull away. Mouse had been like a mentor to him, had helped him get clean and given him advice. He would miss the big lug. Some.

  Wes turned and strode into the airport, whistling under his breath to feign composure as he approached security. He ran a hand over the back of his moist neck. In hindsight, it might not have been the best idea to sew twenty-five grand into the lining of a jacket when the temps were still warm. But it was too late to change plans now.

  It wasn’t illegal to carry a chunk of cash on a domestic flight, but if it was discovered, he’d probably have to answer some questions. Being on probation and using a suspended driver’s license as a picture ID might be enough to have him detained. He’d read online the x-rays could detect a stack of organic matter, i.e., paper money, so he’d spread it out. If he was lucky, he’d look like the average college student traveling to Vegas for a little fun and breeze right through.

  “Hello, Wesley.”

  Wes looked up to see Jack Terry standing nearby with a duffel bag. He swallowed a foul word. “Hey, Detective. Didn’t take you for a jet-setter.”

  “Yeah, well, duty calls. Where are you headed?”

  “Vegas.”

  Jack gave a little laugh. “Me, too. Carlotta didn’t mention you were coming out.”

  Wes squinted. “You know she’s out there with Peter, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “You two planning to roll the dice to see who gets Carlotta?”

  Jack’s mouth tightened. “No. A dead man turned up in her hotel room.”

  “Ah. The two of you figured out a way to off Peter altogether?”

  Jack wasn’t amused. “I guess you haven’t talked to your sister?”

  “Not since she left. I was trying to give the lovebirds some privacy.” He enjoyed seeing the vein bulge in Jack’s neck.

  “Carlotta opened her room safe and a guy rolled out.”

  Wes might’ve been surprised except they were talking about Carlotta. “Bummer. And Vegas doesn’t have police officers?”

  “The dead guy is the man who was renting the house next to yours.”

  Wes felt his jaw go slack. “The photographer?”

  “Yeah, he said his name was Johnson?”

  “I only met him once.” Wes’s neck burned as he remembered convincing himself their parents had been hiding out next door all these years. He’d dragged Carlotta over there to ring the doorbell and instead of their mother answering the door, some half-dressed Abercrombie-looking guy said they’d gotten him out of bed.

  “Carlotta seemed spooked by the guy,” Jack said. “She made me listen to their conversation once when he came to the door.”

  “What did he want?”

  “To return a vase…and he asked her out.”

  Wes snorted. “Just another lovesick guy obsessed with Carlotta, following her around and trying to get in her pants.”

  “Mind if I join this party?”

  Wes turned his head to see Cooper Craft walking up wearing a fedora and a black messenger bag. “And here’s another one.”

  Coop looked confused. “Come again?”

  “So Carlotta crooks her finger from the other side of the country and you two come running?”

  Coop smiled. “Personally, I’m going to Vegas for the buffets.”

  “Uh-huh,” Wes said.

  “Hey, thanks for this,” Jack said to Coop and extended his hand for a shake.

  “Glad to help, Jack. And it’s a good time to squeeze in a little hiking. Things are slow at the morgue.”

  “That’s because Carlotta is out of town,” Jack said with a grin. Coop gave a hearty laugh.

  Wes shook his head. “Both of you are pathetic.”

  Coop clapped him on the back. “Come on—we’d better get in the security line if we’re going to make this flight.”

  Wes flinched, wondering if Coop could feel the layers of money.

  “Expecting it to be cold in Vegas?” Coop asked, patting the jacket.

  “Air conditioning,” Wes said, wiping at a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. The movement produced the sound of rustling paper. “I heard they keep it cranked up in the casinos.”

  Coop surveyed him quizzically, goosing Wes’s anxiety. He glanced toward the exit and wondered if he should make a run for it.

  “You heard right,” Coop said. “But you’re not old enough to go near the gambling tables, so you should be fine to lose the jacket once we get there.” He let his hand drop. “There are plenty of things to do in Vegas besides gamble.

  “Yeah, I heard the Hoover Dam is nice,” Wes offered in a blatant attempt to suck up.

  “That sounds safe,” Coop agreed, giving him a pointed look.

  Jack moved forward, and Coop fell in step next to the detective. The two men found the end of the security line, talking between themselves. Wes brought up the rear. Great—he was already worried about getting through security with the money undetected, and now he had an audience. He was tempted to wait for Chance, but his buddy hadn’t texted back his whereabouts and for all he knew, Chance could be sitting at the boarding gate.

  “Laptops, shoes and jackets in a bin,” a TSA guard announced to the crowd. “Belts, too, and empty your pockets.”

  Wes gingerly removed the jacket, wondering if everyone—including Coop, who was right in front of him removing belt, hat, and shoes—could hear the crackle of paper. He folded the heavy, inflexible jacket and put it in the gray bin, then untied and slipped off his tennis shoes and set them on top. After he emptied his pockets of coins and keys, he waited, feeling vulnerable and guilty standing in his sock feet.

  Now he couldn’t even run if he needed to.

  The line moved quickly and as Coop walked into the body scanner, it was Wes’s turn to put his bin and backpack on the conveyor belt.

  Even without the jacket, Wes was sweating profusely. He watched his bin go into the luggage scanner, then he stepped into the body scanner and assumed the jumping jack position. He was waved through the scanner. He stepped to the other side and exhaled when he saw his bin come out of the luggage scanner.

  Th
en the conveyor belt stopped and went in reverse, sucking the bin holding his jacket and shoes back inside.

  Wes swallowed hard. He calmed himself by reasoning the TSA couldn’t confiscate the money—he had a right to have it in his possession. But at this point, trying to explain it to Coop and Jack would be the pisser.

  Ahead of him, the two men were putting their belts and shoes back on. Coop looked up and nodded at Wes. Wes nodded back.

  His heart was thumping like a bass speaker. He glanced at the agent standing nearby and tried to act casual—and innocent. “Hey,” he offered with a little smile.

  But the agent remained stony faced.

  At the luggage scanner, the agent had waved over two helpers to look at something on the screen. They looked up and one of the agents walked toward him. “Sir, are these your items?”

  Shit. “Yeah.”

  “Do you mind if we take a closer look?”

  He debated saying no—he could do that, couldn’t he? But probably not without causing a national incident.

  “No problem,” he said, but his voice came out sounding like he was going through puberty.

  The agent grabbed his backpack in one hand and his bin in the other and walked to a table. Coop and Jack had noticed the commotion and were watching—and waiting. Coop narrowed his eyes at Wes. Wes returned a watery smile.

  The agent unzipped his backpack and rummaged through it. Wes got a new panic attack wondering if in addition to the cash he was smuggling through, was it possible he’d left something illegal in his backpack? Considering the collections visits he’d made with Mouse, he might’ve overlooked a shank or a knife blade or a lock pick kit or an ice pick or brass knuckles or…

  His stomach bottomed out. What if Chance had put pills or weed in his bag?

  He clawed at his itchy, sweaty neck. Coop and Jack knew something was amiss, and were making their way back to him.

  Just as the agent found something.

  Shit, shit, shit.

  The man pulled his hand out of the backpack and held up his contraband.

  A can of deodorant body spray.

  “Sir, you’re not supposed to have aerosol cans in your carry-on. If you want to keep this, you’ll have to check your bag.”

  Wes had to catch himself to keep from falling on the floor in relief. “Nah, you can keep it.”

  The agent tossed the can into a receptacle full of odd and sundry items, then handed the backpack and the bin to Wes. “Have a good flight, sir.”

  “Thanks.” He carried his stuff to a nearby bench to re-dress, breathing deeply to help the adrenaline subside.

  “Everything okay?” Coop asked.

  “You seemed worried back there,” Jack added suspiciously.

  “Yeah, I was worried,” Wes said. “Now I’m going to stink.”

  “What else is new?” Coop said.

  “Nice hat,” Wes jabbed back.

  Coop touched the brim, unfazed. “Thanks.”

  “Let’s go,” Jack said. “The plane boards in ten minutes.”

  Wes laced up his shoes and shrugged into the money-jacket, then grabbed his backpack and jogged after the men. They took the indoor shuttle to their concourse and made it to the gate at the end of boarding. Wes didn’t see Chance and hoped his buddy was already seated on the plane. But when he boarded and slowly made his way to his assigned seat, the one next to his was empty.

  Wes sagged. With twenty-five grand to bet, Vegas would be fun, but it would be more fun with Chance along. But Chance was so head over heels for Hannah, he probably couldn’t stand the thought of leaving her for few days.

  He couldn’t be angry. If Meg would give him the time of day, he might not have come either.

  He pulled out his phone and texted Chance. Dude where RU Plane is leaving

  A few seconds later, a text came back. Auuuuuuuuuuuukkkkkk

  Which in Chance’s case, could mean anything—he could be on the commode, having a stroke, or jerking off.

  “Ladies and gentleman, we’re ready to close the door and push back, please turn off all electronic devices and fasten your seatbelt.”

  Wes sighed. Maybe Chance could catch a later flight.

  “Wait!”

  A passenger bounded through the door and if Wes hadn’t recognized the voice, he would’ve recognized the thud of his buddy’s big body coming to a wheezing halt.

  “Made it!” Chance crowed triumphantly, and a few passengers cheered.

  “Because I pulled you on my suitcase,” said his exasperated companion. Pierced and tatted Hannah Kizer was barely winded.

  That explained the erratic text. Wes grinned when his buddy made it back to his seat. “That was close, dude.”

  “Hannah decided to come!”

  “He sees me,” Hannah snapped. “My seat is back here—wait, is that Coop?”

  “You and Chance can sit here, and I’ll take your seat,” Wes offered to Hannah.

  “No way,” Hannah said, already moving down the aisle. “I’ll see you two bozos on the other side.”

  Wes glanced at Chance to see if his feelings were hurt, but Chance was glowingly oblivious to Hannah’s dis.

  “This is going to be a fucking blast,” Chance said, settling back in his seat. “You’re going to love Vegas, man—anything can happen there.”

  Wes nodded. Maybe it was the money he was wearing next to his skin, but he definitely felt as if he was on the brink of something big happening.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a flight attendant announced, “we’re ready to depart. Travel time from Atlanta, Georgia, to Las Vegas, Nevada, is approximately four hours, thirty minutes. We should arrive around 12:00 noon, local time. Please sit back and enjoy the flight.”

  Chapter 4

  CARLOTTA SNAPPED the pink beaded bracelet against her wrist. Thank goodness it was waterproof—but ouch, it hurt more when the elastic was wet.

  She lathered her skin, trying to ignore the sensations triggered by the warm, soapy water and the massaging pulse of the shower head. On top of her and Peter’s romantic efforts being interrupted last night, talking to Jack had resurrected so many wrong, no-good thoughts. And she was keenly aware how inappropriate her erotic urges were in the wake of finding Dead Johnson in her safe…but she couldn’t turn them off.

  Releasing a pent-up groan, she turned the temperature lever deep into blue territory for an icy blast that took her breath away.

  A knock on the door sounded. “Everything okay in there?” Peter asked.

  She turned off the shower. “Yes. I ran out of hot water.”

  “Well, you’ve been in there a long time.”

  She closed her eyes briefly. Peter was being understandably overprotective after a “stalker” had followed her to Vegas and presumably broken into her room to lie in wait and suffocated for his trouble. With Jack’s blessing, she hadn’t told Peter or the police she suspected Dead Johnson had moved in next door to her and Wes—and subsequently followed her to Vegas—for a reason other than a perceived romantic attachment. If she were a betting woman, she’d put her money on it having something to do with Randolph’s reappearance.

  But she needed for Peter to believe the danger was past.

  “I was just taking advantage of this amazing bathroom,” she called.

  After last night’s “regrettable mishap,” they’d been upgraded from a huge suite to a monstrous suite. She stepped out of the glass shower that would easily accommodate fifty people and glanced around the glittery spa-worthy room, taking in the gilded tub in the center of the room, the gold-leaf mosaic in the tile around the room, the wall of beveled-glass mirrors, and the enormous crystal chandelier that reigned over it all.

  And this was her bathroom. Peter had his own equally posh lavatory on the other side.

  “Wes just called our room—I told him to come up.”

  “Oh, good. I’ll be right out.”

  She was missing her little brother more than she thought she would. In truth, she missed Atlanta and
everyone in her familiar world. She’d been in Vegas for less than twenty-four hours and she was feeling unwelcome, as if the city didn’t want her here and would devour her if she stayed too long. She’d hoped to start looking for her mother today, but it would have to wait until tomorrow when Peter would be occupied with clients.

  If Wes was here, Jack was probably in town, too, or would be soon. He’d told her he’d check in after he talked to the Vegas police. Just knowing Jack was close by made her feel—

  She gave the bracelet a snap.

  The matter at hand was putting up a good front for Wes. She’d planned to talk to him about what had led her to Vegas, but if Johnson had followed her hoping she’d lead him to Valerie and/or Randolph’s former hiding place, whoever had sent him would probably send a replacement. She couldn’t count on Wes to be smart under pressure.

  And she couldn’t count on Jack not to give her up.

  And she couldn’t count on Peter not to make her go home.

  Damn. In hindsight, she would’ve been better off to come to Vegas alone…or to bring Hannah.

  Then she chided herself—this was supposed to be a chance for her and Peter to have a fresh start. Okay, so the quick marriage proposal had caught her off guard, but it almost felt as if there was no middle ground for her and Peter. Dating on and off had gotten them nowhere, and she suspected Peter needed proof of her forgiveness before he could get back to a confident place, sexually speaking.

  Then she sighed—not that they’d gotten there yet. Between the incident, then answering questions from the police, then being moved to another room and the time difference, they’d both been comatose by the time they crawled into bed.

  Although Jack wouldn’t have let—snap!

  Carlotta winced, then wrapped her hair in a towel, turban-style, and pulled on a spa robe. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway, walking toward her dressing room. When she heard voices, though, she decided to give Wes a hug before getting dressed.

  She had padded into the main room several feet before she realized it wasn’t Wes who’d arrived—it was Jack…and Coop. She hadn’t expected Coop to come, too, but it made sense Jack would bring someone to examine the body whom he could trust. Carlotta stopped, and they all looked her way.