Six Killer Bodies (2 page)

access code, but Jack preferred to flash his badge at the

guard. The long black gates opened and he drove the

familiar route through the manicured neighborhood to

Peter’s palatial home.

When Jack pul ed the sedan into the circular driveway in

front of the brick house, Carlotta’s stomach clenched at

the thought of going inside. Peter wasn’t a big fan of

Coop’s primarily because the man had shown a romantic

interest in Carlotta. No doubt Peter would feel vindicated

that the good doctor had been so publicly exposed.

Peter opened the door and waved.

Jack grunted.

Carlotta didn’t want to get out of the sedan, but she didn’t

have a choice. Wesley hadn’t finished installing a security

system in the townhouse, and it wasn’t as if Jack had

offered her a place to stay. She supposed she could get a

hotel room, but that seemed sil y considering Peter had

offered her the run of his mansion. Especially since her

budget didn’t allow for extended hotel stays.

She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if she lived in two

worlds—in one world was Peter and his home in the

suburbs that offered her shelter from the other world of

Wesley’s problems, Jack’s issues and Coop’s crises. Peter’s

world should be more attractive, but it left her feeling

isolated.

“Looks like Ashford’s waiting for you,” Jack said. “The GBI

wil be in touch. I’m sure they’l want to question you

again.”

“I’m not giving them any ammunition against Coop,” she

said.

His expression hardened. “Do yourself a favor, Carlotta,

and tel the truth. Coop can fend for himself.”

She frowned. “I guess he’l have to fend for himself since

his friends have turned on him.”

Jack didn’t say anything, just stared ahead.

She wondered again if Jack was simply toeing the company

line when it came to fingering Coop as a mass murderer.

Carlotta opened the car door, then looked back. “Jack,

aren’t you forgetting something?”

“What?”

“My red panties? The ones you stole and said you’d keep

until The Charmed Kil er was behind bars.”

He was quiet for the longest time, studying her. Then the

smal est of smiles curved one corner of his mouth. “If it’s

all the same to you, darlin’, I think I’l hold on to those

panties for a while.”

She exhaled. “No problem.”

Carlotta climbed out of the sedan and walked toward

Peter’s house, her heart lighter. In a roundabout way, Jack

had just told her that he, too, didn’t believe Coop was The

Charmed Kil er.

Today, that was enough for her.

Tomorrow, she had her work cut out for her. If The

Charmed Kil er—whether it was Michael Lane or someone

else—had involved her in order to frame Coop for the

murders, the criminal had messed with the wrong shopgirl.

2

“Thanks, guys,” Wesley said, waving from the stoop of the

townhouse at the motley crew of loan shark staffers who

had helped him install a security system. Mouse, his

col ections partner now that he was working undercover in

The Carver’s organization, had surprised him by offering

up the group of “security experts” to expedite the job.

He went back inside and surveyed the damage. The walls

were badly pocked and scarred where wires and sensors

had been instal ed. A wireless system would’ve been less

invasive, but he knew how easily those systems could be

hacked into. Mouse had agreed the old security systems

were more reliable, and the man should know. He’d

compromised more than one alarm system in the process

of col ecting on overdue accounts.

Wes sighed. He’d have to patch the walls and paint

everything before he and Carlotta moved back in, but

she’d been wanting to spruce up the place for a while now

anyway. Wesley walked into the kitchen to stare up at the

small black device lodged in the wall above the window

over the sink that had been exposed during the

installation.

A listening device, Mouse had said—a good one.

Professional grade. Configured into the wiring of the house

for ongoing power. And, according to the manufacturer’s

date stamped on the frame, it had been installed about

ten years ago.

About the time his father had left town.

Wesley’s heart thudded at the implication. Had his father

instal ed the device so he could listen to conversations

between his children over the kitchen table? When

Randolph Wren had approached Carlotta at a Florida rest

stop a few weeks ago, he’d indicated that he’d been

keeping tabs on them…was this how?

Wes wasn’t schooled in listening devices, but he knew

enough about basic electronics to understand that most

bugs used a radio transmitter. Meaning the person

listening in had to be within a certain proximity to pick up

sound.

Usually within a few blocks.

Which meant their father could’ve parked nearby,

listening to whatever conversation had been going on in

the Wren kitchen. If that was the case, then Wesley

conceded that Randolph would’ve likely overheard many

arguments. Wes had been a pain in the ass to his older

sister. Looking back, he was surprised she hadn’t given up

on him and shipped him off to foster care. Hel , she’d been

a kid herself when their parents had left town.

A sudden headache exploded under his scalp. He needed a

hit of Oxy. He groaned at the blinding pain, then felt

around the couch until he located his backpack. From a

pocket, he pul ed out an Oxy tablet and considered

swal owing it to al ow for a long, slow bleed of sweetness.

Instead he decided to chew it, breaking the time-release

coating for a blast of euphoria and instant pain relief.

He sat on the couch and leaned his head back, yielding to

the floating sensation. His brain worked more slowly under

the influence of Oxy, but without the headache, at least he

could think.

From Wes’s backpack his cel phone rang, dril ing into his

buzz. It was the ring of his regular phone, not Mouse

calling him about a col ections job. He considered letting it

go, but after several rings, he pul ed out the phone to

check the cal er ID screen.

Atlanta Police Department.

Crap. Suddenly, he thought of the piece of paper he’d

mailed four days ago to the APD with three possible name

variations for the identity of the headless body in the

morgue. He’d sent the note anonymously, not wanting to

be fingered as the guy who’d pul ed the teeth out of the

severed head (at Mouse’s direction). Was it possible

they’d tracked the envelope or its contents back to him?

Then he forced himself to relax. It was probably just Jack

Terry calling to hassle him about the undercover work he

was doing in The Carver’s organization as part of his plea

agreement with the rat bastard D.A., Kelvin Lucas.

He connected the call. “Yeah?”

“Wes?”

Wes frowned at the familiar voice. “Coop?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No.” Other than the fact that he was high as a kite.

“What’s up, man?”

“Uh, nothing good, I’m afraid. I need a favor.”

Wes sat up. He didn’t think he and Coop would ever be

friends again after Wes had stupidly agreed to aid in the

theft of a celebutante’s body they’d been transporting.

“Whatever you need, Coop.”

“I’m in a bit of a jam. I’ve been arrested.”

“For drinking?” He’d smel ed alcohol on Coop once

recently in the morgue lab, and the man’s voice sounded a

little slurred now.

“Uh, no. Actually, for murder.”

Wes’s head went back. “What?”

“They think I’m The Charmed Kil er.”

Wes gave a little laugh. “You’re punking me.”

“Wish I were. They cuffed me in front of your sister a few

minutes ago and hauled me away.”

Wes’s breathing became shallow as he realized Coop was

serious. He swallowed nervously. “So what am I, your one

phone call?”

“Something like that.” Coop sighed. “Looks like I’m going

to need a good lawyer. I thought I might give your

attorney a call.”

Wes frowned. “Liz Fischer?”

“She’s a criminal attorney, isn’t she?”

“Yeah.”

“And she knows the D.A.?”

“Yeah. He digs her, I think.” Liz was a looker with long legs

and big knockers.

“Can you give me her office number?”

Wes grimaced, remembering Liz had left town. “Coop,

man, she’s out of town for a few days.”

“On vacation?”

“I guess.” Actually, when she’d called Wesley, she’d been

kind of vague, saying she needed to get away to think. And

she hadn’t sounded well. “Let me give her a cal on her cell

and see what the deal is.”

“Okay. If she’s interested in taking me on, have her call the

jail.”

Wes wet his lips. “Uh, Coop?”

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t…you’re not…I mean…did you…do it?”

“What do you think?” Coop asked with a laugh, his words

running together. “Tel your sister I’m sorry I embarrassed

her at work.”

Wes frowned. Coop was wild for Carlotta, just like Peter

Ashford, and Jack Terry were—poor saps. “I wil .” When a

dial tone sounded in his ear, Wesley slowly disconnected

the call. He shook his head to clear it, trying to process

what Coop had just told him. The police suspected Coop of

kil ing al those women? Wesley tried the idea on for size,

his mind wandering back over all the crime scenes on

which he’d been a body mover. No, he couldn’t believe it.

Coop would never do something so gruesome. He’d never

hurt anybody, much less a woman.

So why would the police arrest Coop if they didn’t have

evidence of his guilt?

He turned on the broken television and tuned into CNN

Headline News. Sure enough, a “Breaking News” banner

scrol ed across the screen that a suspect in The Charmed

Kil er case had been taken into custody. He watched,

incredulous, at the footage of a handcuffed Coop being led

to a police car. His head was down and the one time he

looked at the camera, Coop looked unfocused and

disheveled.

Wes punched in Liz’s number and paced in an attempt to

walk off some of his buzz, just to cut through the Oxy fog.

After a few rings, Liz answered.

“Hel o?”

Like Pavlov’s dog, his dick jumped. Liz was a great lay. “Liz,

it’s Wes.”

“Hi,” she said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t expect to hear

from you.”

“Are you back in town?”

“I’m driving back now. I’d like to see you.”

Inexplicably, the face of Meg Vincent popped into his

mind, probably because he’d inadvertently shouted his

cock-tease coworker’s name the last time he’d bal ed

Liz…not that Liz had minded. “Uh, sure. Actually, though,

I’m calling for a friend of mine.”

“Oh?”

“Do you remember Cooper Craft?”

“The body mover who used to be Coroner?”

“Yeah. He was just arrested and he needs an attorney. He

called me and asked about you.”

“I don’t handle DUI’s, Wes.”

“Do you handle murder?”

“Murder?”

“This is nuts, but apparently, they think Coop’s The

Charmed Kil er.”

Liz was silent for two heartbeats. “When did this happen?”

“Within the hour, I think.”

“Bye, Wes. I’l be in touch.”

He ended the call and continued watching the news, losing

count of the number of times Coop’s name was

mentioned. Poor Coop. And Carlotta must be going out of

her mind. He picked up the phone and pul ed up her

number, wondering if he should hold off tel ing her about

the bug he’d found.

As he listened to her phone ring, Wes wiped sweat from

his forehead with his sleeve. It would be nice if the Wrens

could winnow things down to just one crisis at a time.

3

“I always had a bad feeling about Craft,” Peter said.

Carlotta looked up at her first love and former fiancé in

dismay. When fugitive Michael Lane had broken into their

townhouse and had been living in their parents’ room

unbeknownst to her and Wesley, Carlotta had grateful y

accepted Peter’s invitation to stay in one of his spare

bedrooms while the police processed the town home as a

crime scene and Wesley installed a security system. But

after only a week and a half, she was starting to rethink

her living arrangements. Peter would be happy, she

realized, if she gave up her friends, and forgot all about

the life and the relationships she’d built after he’d dumped

her.

“Peter, Coop isn’t The Charmed Kil er. He wouldn’t hurt

anyone.”

“Not if he was in his right mind,” Peter said gently. “But

people change under the influence of drugs and alcohol.

Even nice people can do terrible things. The police must

have evidence or they wouldn’t have arrested him.”

“They arrested you for Angela’s murder, and you were

innocent,” she reminded him.

“The police had a reason to arrest me—I confessed,

remember?”

She bit her lip and softened toward him. “Yes.” He’d

confessed to a murder he didn’t commit to prevent his