Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (8 page)

know it’s a shit storm…yes, sir, I know this is our

jurisdiction and I don’t like the state badges here any more

than you do…yes, sir, I won’t let you down.” He

disconnected the call and rubbed his neck in fatigue.

Carlotta walked up to him and took over the impromptu

massage, kneading the muscles in the top of his shoulders

through his shirt.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” he said.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Some.”

“Jack, you’re no good to anyone if you fall asleep behind

the wheel and kil yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he said, straightening and turning around. He

glanced over her outfit—gray miniskirt, a bone-colored

jacket and lime-green blouse—his gaze lingering on her

legs that ended in five-inch Chloe pumps. “Is your strategy

to distract the state guys with that lame excuse for a

skirt?”

She smiled. “Think it’ll work?”

He groaned. “Only if they’re not blind.”

Carlotta laughed. “Any more leads on the case?”

“As if I could discuss them with you.”

“But no more bodies?”

“No, thank God…At least none that we know of.”

“Have you found Michael Lane?”

“No. He hasn’t contacted you, has he?”

“You know I would’ve told you.”

“Right.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go? I’l fol ow

you to the station.”

“I’m ready, I need to set the security alarm. What did you

do with the cat?”

“I put her outside and she ran away, so maybe she’l find

her way back home.”

Carlotta nursed a stab of remorse. “I hope so. Where is the

broken glass?”

He gestured toward a utility closet. “I swept it up.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Pretty domestic of you, Jack.”

“Just trying to keep you safe. I’d hate to see you hobbled,

just in case you have to outrun our kil er.” He arched an

eyebrow. “Or Ashford.”

“Peter is being a perfect gentleman.”

“Are you sure he isn’t gay?” Jack asked. “If you were in my

house, you wouldn’t be sleeping across the hall.”

Carlotta angled her head. “Do you have a house, Jack?”

“We’re going to be late,” he said, easily changing the

subject. “Believe it or not, my job consists of more than

watching your sweet ass, as entertaining as that might

be.”

“Where’s your partner?” Carlotta asked. “Getting her

beauty sleep?”

“Marquez is with the Gibbies, going over the profile for

The Charmed Kil er.”

Carlotta harrumphed. “I thought she had decided it was

someone with the last name Wren.”

“She never suspected you.”

“Right. She only suspected that I was planting those

charms on the bodies after the fact.”

“She’s just doing her job.” Jack gave her a pointed look.

“We al are.”

“Meaning you haven’t ruled out my father as the maniac

who’s going around murdering women?”

“Personally, I think Michael Lane is a more likely suspect.”

She frowned. “I got the impression that you didn’t think it

was Michael.”

He averted his gaze. “We’re stil working out the time

line.”

“I suppose that’s better for Randolph,” she mused.

He tapped his watch. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Right.”

Carlotta turned off the lights, then grabbed her purse and

careful y reset the alarm before stepping into the garage.

Jack fol owed and pul ed the door closed behind him,

sweeping his gaze over the structure that was finished

with details nicer than most home interiors. Carlotta

depressed the button for the garage-door opener. As the

door rose, it ushered in morning light that bounced off the

mirror finish of the sleek little two-seater sports car.

Jack caught her eye and grinned. “I could take the Porsche

if you’d feel safer driving the sedan.”

“Nice try. Just don’t rear-end me.”

“Gee, you didn’t mind the other day,” he said, waggling his

eyebrows.

Carlotta glared at him, then opened the door and swung

into the Porsche, admittedly nervous. As she adjusted the

seat to accommodate her shorter legs, her pulse tripped

higher. What if she did do something to Peter’s car?

She put her hands on the steering wheel and forced

herself to relax. As long as she was careful and drove

slowly, what could go wrong? She was allowing the luxury

of the car—of Peter’s life—to intimidate her. Which was

ironic, considering that if she’d married him, she’d

probably have a fleet of luxury vehicles to choose from on

any given day. Feeling more confident, she pressed the

button to lower the convertible top, determined to enjoy

the car to its fullest.

She turned over the engine and held her breath as she

slowly backed out of the garage into the circular driveway.

Beautiful y shaped pavers surrounded a tall concrete

fountain that dropped sheets of crystal-clear water into a

tulip-shaped basin. She glanced in the rearview mirror at

Jack sitting in his sedan, waiting to pul out behind her. He

gave her a wry little wave. She exhaled and shifted into

Drive. So far so good. The engine purred around her like a

vibrator set on low speed. The distinctive hood sloped

down and away from her. She felt sexy and powerful,

wrapped in leather, a light breeze lifting her ponytail. She

lowered her sunglasses and sighed. She was meant for this

life. Carlotta pressed the gas pedal and the car surged

forward as if it had been let out of its cage. She knew how

it felt.

Suddenly a screeching noise sounded and a blob of

scratching, snarling fur landed in her lap. Terrified, she

yanked the wheel and tried to hit the brake, but wound up

hitting the gas instead. The car lurched forward.

Into something hard enough to stop it cold.

The cat, meanwhile, acted as if it was possessed and

climbed her shoulder, emitting humanlike screams.

Carlotta flailed at it with her hands, but it sunk its claws

into her scalp. She shrieked as pain shot through her head.

Then suddenly, the attack ceased. She glanced up to see

that Jack had removed the deranged cat.

“Scat! Get out of here!” he shouted. “Carlotta, are you

okay?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and was struck with

horror—she had plowed the left side of the Porsche into

the fountain. She nodded, then burst into tears. “Peter’s

going to kil me.”

Jack sighed. “He’s not going to kil you. It’s just a scratch

down the side. Come on, let’s get you out of there.”

He reached in to help her slide to the passenger side, then

she heard him curse and felt herself being ripped out of

the seat. A horrific crash sounded, fol owed by the

splintering of glass.

When Jack set her on her feet, she turned around. The top

of the concrete fountain had fallen through the windshield

of the Porsche and was now resting in the driver’s seat

among torn metal and leather, exactly where she’d been

sitting. Water from the broken fountain gushed into the

open convertible.

Jack made a rueful noise. “Okay, now Peter’s going to kil

you.”

7

Carlotta waved as Peter drove away in his SUV.

“Ashford took it better than I would have,” Jack admitted

as he held open the door for her at the midtown APD

precinct.

“It’s just a car,” Carlotta muttered, feeling like a naughty

child.

“Right. It’s a good thing you’re wearing that belt you call a

skirt.”

“Peter’s a reasonable man. He knows it was an accident.

Besides, like he said—his insurance wil pay for the car.”

“True. Now he can get next year’s model,” Jack said drily.

“See? Al is wel .”

“Meanwhile, what are you going to do for

transportation?”

She sighed. “Peter said he could get me a rental, but for

now I think I’d feel less destructive riding the train.”

“Since we stil don’t know who planted that bomb under

your Monte Carlo, I have to agree. But last time I checked,

MARTA doesn’t run past Ashford’s subdivision.”

“I’l figure out something,” she murmured.

He stopped to check Carlotta in at the front desk. She said

hel o to her friend Brooklyn and fol owed Jack through a

secured door into the bul -pen area that housed

workstations, cubicles and offices. The area hummed with

voices, printers and the ringing of telephones.

Her grip on her purse was slippery and her pulse ratcheted

higher. “I’m nervous about the interview.”

Jack scoffed. “You already wrecked a Porsche this

morning, what else can you do? The way I see it, the day

has nowhere to go but up.”

“Very funny. You’l be in there with me, won’t you, Jack?”

His mouth flattened into a line. “I’l be watching. Just

remember that you’re here of your own volition. You can

stop the interview if you feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re late,” chided a female voice.

Carlotta turned to see Detective Maria Marquez

approaching. The woman managed to look fresh yet

threatening in a pale blue pantsuit and shoulder holster.

Her demeanor toward Jack was territorial, but Carlotta

wondered if Jack even noticed.

“There was a mishap,” Jack said, pouring a cup of coffee.

Maria eyed Carlotta knowingly. “Right. Wel , the state guys

are getting restless.”

“How did your session go?” Jack asked, taking a drink from

the steaming cup.

Maria shrugged. “They asked questions, I answered.” Her

glance cut to Carlotta, then back. “We can talk about it

later.”

Carlotta pursed her mouth. The woman was purposely

excluding her, while letting her know that she and Jack had

plenty of private time.

“Did they offer up the state lab to process our evidence?”

Jack asked.

“When we get some.”

Jack swallowed coffee and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“They’re waiting for Carlotta in interview room two,”

Maria offered, then walked away.

Jack topped off his coffee and looked at Carlotta. “Ready?”

“I guess so.”

He led her down a hallway to a closed door. “I’ll be right

on the other side of the glass. Just be truthful. Everyone’s

after the same thing here—to get you cleared.”

“And my father,” she added. But at the sight of the muscle

jumping in Jack’s jaw, she frowned. “And my father, right,

Jack?”

“Carlotta, this is about you. Let your father take care of

himself. From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty good at it.”

He rapped his knuckles on the door, then opened it. Two

suited men sat adjacent to each other at a rectangular

table that was piled high with files. She assumed that one

of them was Randolph’s, one was Wesley’s and one was

hers. Her pulse kicked up a notch. The men stood and

adjusted their waistbands as Carlotta and Jack walked in.

“Agents Wick and Green,” Jack said, nodding to the slim

black man and the stocky white guy, respectively, “this is

Carlotta Wren.”

The men said hel o and she responded in kind.

“Ms. Wren has agreed to voluntarily answer whatever

questions you have about The Charmed Kil er case. She’s

eager to help, aren’t you, Carlotta?”

She nodded, suddenly realizing that both men’s eyes were

locked on her legs. Jack cleared his throat, and the men

were suddenly al business.

“Have a seat, Ms. Wren.”

“Can we get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she said, lowering herself into the empty

chair.

Both agents looked at Jack expectantly.

“I’l be outside,” he said unnecessarily. After making eye

contact with Carlotta, he backed out of the room.

Once the door was closed, Agent Wick gave Carlotta a

friendly smile and eased out of his jacket. “I’m original y

from Buffalo and I haven’t acclimated to the Southern heat

yet.”

“I told him he’l get used to it,” Agent Green said to her, as

if he and she were on the same team and Wick was the

outsider. Translation: Green—good cop, Wick—bad cop.

They both sat down and made a great show of getting

settled, adjusting ties, sipping coffee and scooting chairs

closer to the table.

Carlotta smiled. “I don’t mean to be rude, gentlemen, but I

have to be at work soon, so…what can I do for you?”

Wick pursed his mouth. “Okay, let’s do this.” He took a

folder that Green passed to him and opened it. “What do

you do for a living, Ms. Wren?”

She glanced at the glass behind Wick and imagined Jack’s

comforting presence behind it. “I’m a sales associate at

Neiman Marcus at the Lenox Square Mall.”

Green jotted down her answer. Apparently, he was the

note-taker.

“That’s where Michael Lane worked,” Wick said.

Carlotta nodded. “Yes, that’s where I met Michael.”

“You were friends?”

“Yes. Good friends, actually.”

“What changed that?”

She shifted in her chair. “The night I realized he was

behind an identity-theft ring and was responsible for the

deaths of two women.”

“You confronted him?”

“That’s right. We were in the Fox Theater at the time, and

he tried to kil me.”

Wick took another sip of coffee. “How?”

“By pushing me over a balcony.”