2 Bodies for the Price of 1 (19 page)

She started awake, breathless and perspiring. The clock displayed a few minutes past midnight. The house was completely quiet, no fan drone, no television, no air conditioning hum. Carlotta lay in the dark, listening to her thudding heart, the vestiges of the bad dream remaining in the corners of her mind.

She felt so fragmented and out of control—and utterly alone. Throwing back her sheet, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and turned her head in the direction of the living room.

Jack was awake, she could feel his body calling hers.

She pressed her lips together, wavering. But if faking her own death had taught her anything, it was that she needed to live in the moment. And there was at least one aspect of her life over which she still had control.

Carlotta went into the bathroom and rummaged in the cabinet below the sink, way in the back, until she found what she was looking for. She blew the dust off a box of condoms and removed one. Then she shrugged and grabbed a couple more.

She straightened and pulled purposeful air into her lungs, then marched in the direction of the living-room couch.

24

B
y the time Carlotta had padded into the living room, she had lost her nerve. The low light from a table lamp revealed Jack sprawled on the couch wearing a white T-shirt and boxers. Her stomach clenched at the sight of his big body and the reality of what she’d been planning now seemed ludicrous.

Humiliation zinged through her—some seductress she was.

But before she could retreat, he turned his head and sat up. “Carlotta?”

She put the condoms behind her back. “Sorry to wake you. I was just going to get a glass of water.”

“Oh.”

But she couldn’t bring herself to move. Even in the dim light, she could feel the power of his gaze.

Beneath her cotton camisole, her nipples budded. Sexual energy bounced around the room, looking for an outlet. He couldn’t come to her, she knew, because his job forbade it. If this was going to happen, she had to go to him.

She wet her lips. “Jack.”

He stood and she could sense his restraint. She walked to him, stopping within arm’s reach. The sexual vibes rolling off his body brought dormant desire to the surface in a rush of blood that had her heart galloping. She looped her arms around his neck and held her breath in anticipation.

“Carlotta, are you sure you want this?” he demanded, even as his massive arms hauled her to him.

“Yes, Jack. Make me feel alive.”

He did. His kiss was a hungry assault on her senses, the stubble of his beard grazing her face, his lips hard and firm on hers, his tongue thrashing into her mouth, a promise of what was to come.

They undressed each other in fervent tugs, their clothes tossed to the floor with impatience. The shock of his warm muscular body against hers caused a warning light to go off in Carlotta’s head, but when his hands closed over her bare breasts, her brain pushed aside rational thought in favor of the incredible sensations coursing through her body.

Her moan of pleasure seemed to stoke Jack’s own fire higher. His raging erection was in proportion to the rest of his big body and felt formidable against her stomach. She kneaded the wall of muscle that was his back, reveling in the firm contours, then clasped his thick cock, stroking him with a sense of urgency. It was as if they both understood that they needed to do this quickly—sexual blitzkrieg.

He guided her to the floor and dropped kisses on her neck and shoulders while coaxing her knees apart.

When his fingers found her feminine heat, she gasped and clung to his neck. “I want you now, Jack.”

He fumbled for one of the condoms that had landed on the floor and sheathed himself. As hurried as his movements were, when he levered his body above hers, he hesitated a split second, his gaze locked with hers, before thrusting his rigid length into her.

Carlotta cried out and rocked her hips against his, overcome with the deluge to her senses. They found a frantic rhythm and the friction instantly began to coax a long overdue orgasm from the depths of her body. His male scent, his powerful body, his fierce lovemaking heightened her every sense. She could almost feel each strand of carpet that ground into her skin as he plunged into her, deeper, harder.

When she climaxed, her body contracted around his like a spring. She shrieked and sank her teeth into his shoulder as the spasms grew in intensity and spread through her body in one of the most satisfying orgasms she could recall. He pumped into her furiously, then his body convulsed with his own release. He groaned against her neck and twined his fingers in her hair as they both pulsed with latent tremors.

Neither one of them spoke for several long seconds. Only the sound of their recovering lungs filled the air. Carlotta closed her eyes, waiting for the remorse to set in. But it didn’t. She felt good—satisfied.

Jack rolled over, but pulled her with him until she lay on his chest. After another minute of silence, he expelled a noisy breath. “Want to talk about this?”

“No,” she murmured.

“Good,” he said in his deep baritone and simply stroked her arm. They lay like that for a while, then he sat up and pushed to his feet and removed the spent condom. She thought he was going to get dressed and told herself not to be disappointed, but instead he extended his hand.

“Let’s take a shower and try that again.”

25

W
esley opened the door of Chance’s BMW and swung out. “Thanks for the ride, man.”

“Don’t mention it. Uh, dude, about your sister’s funeral today…that’s not really my scene, you know?”

“Yeah, I understand. No problem.”

“Hey, I just thought of something. Do you think it’s possible your parents might show up?”

No one had ever accused Chance of being quick-minded. “Anything’s possible, I guess.”

“Well, don’t sweat it. Now that you’re alone, we’re going to make that poker dream of yours happen, man. I mean, not to speak ill of the dead, but your sister was a bit of a drag, always riding you about playing cards.”

“Yeah. See ya.” As Wesley turned toward the house, anger sparked anew in his stomach. Carlotta was always telling him what and what not to do, but when their father had called, she’d told Hannah instead of him. She’d probably told the cop too and the D.A. Maybe that’s why they’d cooked up this trap for his dad.

He’d spent all night on his computer equipment at Chance’s tapping into Carlotta’s cell phone records—with the right equipment and a little cash, anyone’s records were available. She’d told him her phone had broken Sunday. The last call had come from one of those Internet calling cards—impossible to trace.

Their father calling explained why she’d been in a funk for the past few days—the reason he’d been willing to believe that she’d killed herself—but it didn’t excuse her from telling him about the call or siding with the D.A. against her own family.

And taking up with that jerk cop.

Remembering the detective’s warning that he might be approached when coming in or out of the house, Wesley glanced around for any signs of persons loitering or sitting in cars. Their little portion of the neighborhood was quiet and nothing seemed out of place. But he turned at a noise behind him.

“Wesley, there you are,” Mrs. Winningham said, walking toward him on her side of the fence, holding a casserole dish.

“Hello, Mrs. Winningham.”

“I heard the tragic news about your sister. I’m so sorry.”

“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Winningham.”

The woman tsked-tsked. “I always thought she was a troubled young woman, and she kept such odd company. The girl with the belts and chains attached that horrid black wreath to the door.”

Wesley tried not to roll his eyes. What a waste of taxpayers’ money to have Jack Terry doing surveillance, when Mrs. Winningham did it for free.

“Do you think your parents will come back, dear?”

“I don’t know.” He hoped not…hoped they could smell a trap…hoped his dad would follow him and approach him when he was alone to find out what was going on.

“Have you thought about selling the house?” his neighbor asked hopefully.

“No ma’am, I haven’t.”

“Well, you should consider it.”

When he didn’t respond, she lifted the casserole dish over the fence. “I made you this nice chicken casserole.”

Southerners grieved with mayonnaise and cream of mushroom soup. “Thank you.”

“I’ll need my dish back.”

“I’ll make sure you get it.” He waved goodbye, then climbed the steps, unlocked the front door and pushed it open.

The first thing he noticed was the makeshift bed on the couch, but his relief that maybe the cop had done the right thing was erased when he saw the clothes strewn everywhere, and the condom wrappers. Fury pulsed through his body. While he stood there, shaking, Carlotta’s bedroom door opened and Jack Terry emerged, freshly showered and pulling on his suit jacket. When he spotted Wesley, he pulled the door closed behind him. “Morning, Wesley. I didn’t know you were here.”

“Yeah, so much for your
surveillance,
Detective.”

“I’m not going to discuss this with you, Wesley.”

“Creep. I should report you.”

“That would hurt Carlotta too. And I didn’t force her, Wesley.”

“Shut up.”

“You have to realize sooner or later that your sister can’t spend the rest of her life taking care of you. She needs a life of her own.”

“Oh and you’re going to give her that life?” Wesley sneered. “Are you going to tell me that you’re in love with my sister?”

Jack’s mouth tightened.

“I didn’t think so.” Wesley headed toward the kitchen where he shoved the casserole into the refrigerator.

He slammed the fridge door and leaned into the sink, wishing he were big enough to pummel Jack Terry.

He heard the man enter the kitchen, and spoke through gritted teeth. “Is my sister dressed?”

“Yes.”

Wesley wheeled around and strode to Carlotta’s room where he knocked loudly. “I need to talk to you.”

“Come in,” she said.

She was dressed in jeans and a tank top, making her bed, an image that made him nauseous as he closed the door behind him. But when she straightened and turned to him, his anger dropped a notch. The expression on her face—she looked… happy. The worry lines in her forehead were gone, and she appeared younger. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes sparkled. She’d been sad and stressed for so long, he’d almost forgotten how beautiful she could be—as beautiful as their mother.

“Why haven’t you called?” she asked and just like that, the little pinched look reappeared between her eyebrows. Worry lines over him. “Never mind, I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Why? From the looks of the living room, you and Jack Terry seemed to enjoy being alone.”

She straightened a pillow sham. “I’m sorry about the mess, but you said you weren’t coming back.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

She smacked the pillow. “Wesley, I’m not going to discuss my personal life with you.”

“Carlotta, he’s using you! He’s cozying up to you to bring in Dad!”

“This was the D.A.’s idea. Jack is only doing his job.”

Wesley guffawed. “Right. So did you tell him that Dad called you?”

She jerked her head up, her mouth open. “How did you know about that?”

“Hannah. She thinks you’re dead, remember? She thought I should know.”

Carlotta sat down on the bed and heaved a sigh. “No, I didn’t tell Jack. And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I got the call on my cell phone while I was at work Sunday. When he told me who he was, I dropped my phone and broke it. I had convinced myself it wasn’t him and then…”

“Then?”

“Peter showed up before I ended my shift. Dad had called him, too.”

Wesley gaped and dropped onto the bed next to her. “Why would he call Peter?”

She lifted her hands. “I guess he knew that Peter would get the message to me. And he asked Peter to help him.”

“Help him, how? Where are they? Are they okay?”

She told him everything she could remember that Peter had told her about the call.

“I knew it!” Wesley whooped. “I knew he was innocent!”

“Wesley,” she admonished, “just because Dad says he’s innocent doesn’t make it so. If you haven’t noticed, he’s not the most honorable man.”

Wesley frowned. “Don’t say that. Has he called Peter back?”

“Not that I know of.”

“And you haven’t told any of this to the cop?”

She shook her head.

Wesley grinned. “I think I like you again.”

Carlotta gave a little laugh. “What a pair we are. So, do you think Mom and Dad will put in an appearance at my funeral?”

“Do you?”

“I have no idea. I try not to think too far into the future these days.” She clapped her hand on his knee.

“You’d better get ready if you’re going to play the bereaved brother.”

“I guess I have to, don’t I?”

She nodded. “I gave my word to the D.A. that we’d go along with this. I expect you to keep up your end of the bargain.”

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

“I’m going too—in disguise.”

“No kidding?”

“How many chances does a person have to watch their own funeral?”

Wesley smiled, feeling excited about the prospect of his family being reunited someday. And from knowing that, despite what Carlotta said, if she truly believed their father was guilty, she would’ve told the cop she was sleeping with about the calls.

At the door he turned. “Carlotta?”

“Hmm?”

He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I don’t like him, but I figure you must have your reasons, so for now I won’t thrash him.”

“Thank you, Wesley.”

26

C
arlotta walked into the living room, gratified when Wesley and Jack both stared at her in disbelief.

“Wow, sis, that’s the best makeup job you’ve ever done.”

She smiled behind the small glasses and patted her gray wig. “I thought so.”

Jack shook his head. “What happened to the space between your teeth?”

“Retainer with a bridge,” she said, tapping her tongue to the contraption that disguised her telltale smile.