5 Bodies to Die For Page 21

  Department of Neurological Disorders and Diseases.

  Wesley’s throat convulsed as he remembered all the validated parking receipts for Piedmont Hospital that he’d spotted in Coop’s van. Carlotta had been worried about Coop, had said he was acting strange and was convinced something was wrong, something he wouldn’t share. Carlotta was right.

  Coop was sick.

  25

  Carlotta sighed, wondering what all the poor people were doing while she floated on a chaise lounge in an aquamarine pool on a perfect sunny day sipping a frozen pink drink.

  With a little umbrella and everything.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  Carlotta lifted her head and shielded her eyes from the late-afternoon sun to watch Peter swim up. He stopped to hang on to the edge of the chaise, grinning up at her.

  Her breath caught in her chest. With his hair slicked back from his face, his skin glowing with sun and health, and his dark blue eyes dancing, he was the handsome teenager she’d fallen in love with. A pang of desire struck low in her abdomen.

  “I…I was thinking about you,” she said. “About us, actually.”

  He looked surprised. “Is that good?”

  “I think so,” she murmured, reaching out to stroke his tanned forearm. Since her decision last night to take their relationship to the next level, she’d thought of little else.

  From the patio came a yowling sound, the cat expressing her displeasure at being ignored. The Persian slunk around the pool, eyeing her and Peter warily, but staying well away from the edge.

  “Your girlfriend is jealous,” Carlotta teased, nodding at the cat.

  He shook his head. “I have no idea why that cat has taken to me. I’ve never liked cats.”

  “Then you’d better hope that someone claims her.”

  “I noticed this morning when I went out to get bagels that the flyers are still up.”

  “Maybe her owner is on vacation,” Carlotta mused. “Or got tired of buying salmon and sardines to feed her.”

  Peter laughed. “One thing’s for sure, the cat’s not sleeping in my room anymore. I couldn’t keep her out of my bed and I got no sleep last night.”

  At the mention of his bed, their gazes locked and her thighs tingled.

  “You don’t like having your sleep disturbed?” she asked.

  “I don’t mind losing sleep,” he said with a sexy smile, “as long as it’s for a good reason.”

  Her breasts tightened. “I agree.”

  Hope sparked in his eyes. Knowing that he wanted her so badly was a powerful aphrodisiac.

  “Peter, I appreciate you giving me time and space to sort things out in my head.”

  He reached up to curl his warm hand around her leg. “I know I hurt you, Carly. The least I can do is let you set the pace for where our relationship might go from here.” He wet his lips. “But I have to admit that having you here and keeping my distance has taken a lot of willpower…and a lot of cold showers.”

  She laughed, her body responding to his touch. And to his devotion. And to both of them being half-naked in the sun.

  In that moment, being with Peter seemed so right.

  Carlotta leaned over to kiss him, a slow exploratory kiss full of apologies and possibilities. He pulled her off the chaise into the water with him, sliding her against his lean, muscled body. The frozen drink was forgotten, spilling into the water as hands were freed for roaming.

  She ran her fingers over his shoulder blades and down his spine. He slid his hands down to her rear and pulled her sex against the bulge in his trunks, all while kicking to keep them afloat. He groaned into her mouth and deepened the kiss, his desire for her obvious in every fevered movement. But she didn’t want their reunion sex to be in the pool, especially when Sissy Talmadge might have her binoculars trained on them this very moment.

  Carlotta lifted her head. “Let’s go inside.”

  He didn’t argue, just used one hand to swim them to the ladder. She climbed out, feeling sexy and uninhibited as water sluiced off her turquoise bikini. Peter pushed himself up on the pool ledge and climbed out next to her. He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward the sliding glass door leading to the house.

  “But we’re dripping,” she protested. “We’ll get water everywhere.”

  “Who cares?” he said, pulling her along.

  She laughed and gave in to his enthusiasm. They hurried into the house, through the great room, then up the stairs to his bedroom. Peter flung the doors open, then practically launched them onto his bed.

  Happy their first time together again would be fun and spontaneous, Carlotta wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him hard, pulling him on top of her. His body was more muscular than it had been when he was young, more mature, the mat of light hair on his chest thicker. But she knew this body and this body knew hers.

  He broke the kiss to nuzzle her neck and untie the string holding up her bikini top. When her breasts fell into his hands, his eyes grew hooded and he sighed against her skin. “You’re so beautiful, Carly. I’ve never wanted a woman the way I’ve always wanted you.”

  He licked circles around her stiff nipples, then suckled her, sending shards of pleasure coursing through her body. She urged him on, arching into his mouth. He was like a starved man, making little hungry noises as he slid his hands into her bikini bottoms and pushed them down over her wet legs. She lifted her hips to help him while rolling his trunks down to free his powerful erection.

  His urgency to be with her seemed to border on desperation. She felt the same way, impatient to right a wrong, keen for things to return to the way they’d been before all the ugliness in her life had unfolded. Peter was the first man she’d ever loved. This was how things should’ve been…how things should be.

  Carlotta reached down to grasp his thick cock, eager to have him inside her. Suddenly Peter’s eyes flew open and he stiffened, emitting a strangled little cry. Mortification bled over his face, then he looked away.

  “What’s wrong?” Carlotta said, then became aware of a sticky wetness on her stomach. She looked down to see a pool of white liquid, and realized what had happened. “Peter…it’s okay,” she rushed to reassure him.

  He rolled over on his back, a stricken expression on his face. “No, it’s not okay. I wanted things to be perfect, not…premature. I’m so sorry.”

  Her mind raced, trying to remember if this kind of thing had ever happened when they were younger, but she didn’t think so. “Peter, it’s probably just nerves. I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

  He was quiet, his arm over his eyes.

  She stroked his chest. “We have plenty of time to get back in sync.”

  Finally he looked over at her and released an anguished sigh. “I suppose you’re right.” Then a little smile curved his mouth. “Meanwhile, there’s some unfinished business.”

  He reached for a box of tissues to mop up her stomach, then he shifted lower on the bed and kissed her thighs. She sighed and undulated toward his mouth. He crawled between her legs and lowered his head to her sex. When his tongue stroked her core, she remembered in an instant the way he used to play her body like an instrument. Honeyed pleasure flowed over her, weakening her limbs. She cried out and sank her hands into his hair. This was paradise.

  Meow.

  Her eyes flew open just as Peter’s head came up. The Persian had jumped onto his back and was staring at Carlotta over his shoulder.

  Carlotta frowned and tried to cover herself, even though she knew her reaction was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if the cat knew what was happening, or what she was looking at. “How did she get in here?”

  Peter made a frustrated noise, then reached around to grasp the cat while he moved off the bed. “I must’ve left the door open.”

  He carried the squirming feline to the hall and set her down, but she darted back into the bedroom before he could close the door. Carlotta sighed and laid her head back on the pillow while a melee ensued. The cat le
d Peter on a merry chase around the room while Carlotta’s frustration mounted and her libido ebbed. After several minutes, Peter finally nabbed the Persian, deposited her in the hallway and successfully shut her out of the bedroom.

  He turned back to the bed with an apologetic smile. “Now…where was I? Oh, I remember,” he said, crawling on the bed between her knees. He licked his way back to the nest of wet, dark curls between her thighs.

  She closed her eyes in an effort to recapture the earlier passion, concentrating on the delicious trail of his tongue up and down her folds.

  Frantic scratching sounded at the bedroom door. Meow, meow, meow.

  “Ignore her,” he murmured against her intimate parts. “She’ll go away.”

  But the cat was persistent, its protests growing louder and louder, the scratching more frenzied. The more Carlotta tried to tune it out, the more distracted she became.

  “Enough,” Carlotta said, sitting up.

  Peter lifted his head. “You don’t like?”

  She sighed. “I love what you’re doing. But fate is conspiring against us. Why don’t we take a break and regroup later.”

  Outside the door, the cat emitted a long mournful howl that sounded as if something large and heavy was sitting on its tail.

  “After we drown the cat,” Carlotta added wryly.

  Peter laughed, then pulled his hand down his face. “So much for best-laid plans. Who knew a cat could be so loud. Do you think she’s hungry?”

  “Something like that,” Carlotta agreed, although she really believed the cat couldn’t bear to be away from Peter. “Why don’t you feed her? I think I’ll take a shower.”

  “Okay. I’ll get out the chops and start dinner.” He pulled a pair of boxers and shorts from his bureau. After he dressed, he leaned over to kiss her, then gave her a bittersweet smile. “Promise me we’ll try this again.”

  She smiled. “I promise.”

  But after he left the room, Carlotta pressed her lips together. That emotion plucking at her, just behind the frustration tightening her chest…It couldn’t be relief, could it?

  She pushed to her feet, retrieved her wet bikini and smoothed the bedspread. She crossed the hall to her own bedroom, noting the cat had followed Peter downstairs. Carlotta turned on the shower and the stereo. Susan Tedeschi was singing “Alone,” and Carlotta knew the words by heart. While she waited for the water to warm, she pulled on a robe and checked her cell phone for messages.

  Carlotta frowned—Wesley had called twice and left messages for her to call him.

  She punched in his number, wondering if The Charmed Killer had struck again. Wesley answered on the first ring. “Hi, sis.”

  “Hi. I got your messages to call. What’s up?”

  “Uh…are you alone?”

  “Yes. Why do you ask?”

  “Because I’ve got some news about Coop and I think it might be best if you hear it in private.”

  Her heart began to thud. “What about Coop?”

  Wesley told her about the validated parking receipts from Piedmont Hospital he’d seen in Coop’s van, and about seeing Coop yesterday at the hospital.

  “What were you doing at the hospital?” she interjected.

  “Visiting a friend,” he said vaguely. “The point is, Coop didn’t see me. I was curious, so I followed him to the office of a neurologist.”

  She frowned. “Doesn’t a neurologist treat spinal cord problems?”

  “And brain tumors.”

  Carlotta reached for the bed and sat down. “Are you saying that Coop has a brain tumor?”

  “I don’t know what he has, but it makes sense. You were the one who said he was acting strange, not like himself. A tumor would certainly cause a change in personality. And it would explain why he’s drinking again.”

  Trying to process the horrific possibilities, Carlotta massaged her temple. “How do you know that Coop is drinking?”

  “Because I smelled it on his breath the other day in the morgue lab. If he’s terminal, maybe he figures he might as well drink. Or maybe he’s drinking to deal with the pain.”

  Carlotta grimaced, her eyes filling with tears. Was that the reason Coop had stopped by her house the night Jack had been guarding her? He’d been on the verge of telling her something—that he was dying?

  “Sis, are you there?”

  She sniffled. “I’m here.”

  “I knew you’d be upset, but I thought you should know.”

  “I’m glad you told me,” she said, then took a deep breath. “But we shouldn’t jump to conclusions. There might be a perfectly logical reason for Coop to be seeing a neurologist.”

  But it was evident in the resounding silence that followed that neither of them could think of one.

  “Are you going to call him?” Wesley asked.

  “I don’t believe he’d welcome a call from me right now,” she said, thinking of their encounter last night at Moody’s.

  “Maybe you should go see him.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she promised. “And I’ll let you know if I talk to him.”

  “Okay, meanwhile, I won’t say anything to him about it.”

  “I think that’s best for now.” She sighed. “How’s everything else going?”

  “Fine. I’m going back to finish installing the security system at the town house later this week.”

  “Sounds good. How’s Meg?” she teased.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he chirped.

  Carlotta smiled. Something was afoot, otherwise the mere mention of the girl’s name wouldn’t push Wesley’s buttons. “Have you seen Hannah?”

  “Uh…no. What makes you think I would’ve seen Hannah?”

  She frowned at the strange tone in his voice. “Wesley, are you lying? Is Hannah avoiding me?”

  “Why would she be avoiding you?” he squeaked. “I gotta go. Call you later.”

  When dead air sounded, Carlotta disconnected the phone slowly. Something was definitely up with Hannah, but her friend’s moodiness paled in comparison to what Coop might be facing.

  At the thought of Coop being seriously ill, grief engulfed Carlotta, squeezing the air out of her lungs. The thought of him suffering…of not being in their lives—in her life—was unbearable. She ached to reach out to him, but she knew he wouldn’t want her sympathy.

  She wrapped her arms around her middle and tucked into herself, rocking. The overwhelming pain was savagely familiar, reminiscent of the helplessness she’d felt when her parents had abandoned her.

  A knock on the door sounded. She wiped at her eyes hastily and straightened. “Come in.”

  Peter stuck his head inside. “How about risotto with our pork chops?” Then he frowned. “Are you okay?”

  She touched her forehead. “A sudden migraine. I’m sorry, Peter. Is it okay if I skip dinner?”

  He nodded, but from his disappointed expression she knew he realized that skipping dinner also meant skipping sex. “Get some rest,” he said. “I won’t bother you.”

  When the door closed, guilt swamped her. Peter didn’t deserve her waffling. But she couldn’t ignore how the thought of losing Coop had affected her. She needed more time to think.

  Miserable and confused, Carlotta pushed to her feet and headed toward the shower for a good cry.

  26

  Hope you are feeling better. Love, Peter

  Carlotta ran her finger over the note he’d left for her on the kitchen counter. Unfortunately, she wasn’t feeling better. After a night of tossing and turning over what might be wrong with Coop, she had, as her mother used to say, “worked herself into a state.” Add to that the fact that Hannah wasn’t returning her calls, Michael Lane was still missing and she was still wrestling with whether or not to let the police know that her father might’ve had a romantic relationship with one of the victims of The Charmed Killer. She’d come to the conclusion that she might never sleep again.

  Still wearing cotton pajamas and house shoes, she stretched, yawning.
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  Peter’s concern only made her feel worse because while he’d offered her nothing but love and support, all the things weighing on her mind were a wedge between her heart and Peter’s.

  She winced every time she thought about their sabotaged attempt at lovemaking yesterday. The episode had certainly fallen short of the earth-shattering reunion that both of them had hoped for.

  The Persian paraded into the room, acting as if she owned the place.

  Carlotta frowned down at the cat. “Proud of yourself, aren’t you? You’ve been nothing but trouble since I got here.” She sighed. “Did Angela send you to make my life miserable?”

  The cat lifted her head and meowed.

  Carlotta shrank back, then she stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. She was officially losing her mind if she thought the blond, green-eyed Persian was channeling blond, green-eyed Angela.

  Feeling flushed and overwhelmed she reached across the counter to flip on the switch for the ceiling fan. Patricia Alexander had once offered to share her antianxiety meds, but maybe she should consider getting some of her own.

  She poured a glass of orange juice and carried it to the table, along with the notebook in which she was keeping details about The Charmed Killer case. She had a couple of hours before she had to be at work, and she wanted to record the info about the incident in the ladies’ room at Moody’s before it faded from her memory. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure the unidentified person had been Michael. He’d always made it a point to dress—and smell—as expensive as possible. Even if he couldn’t afford to.

  Jack had been skeptical, but promised to research recent purchases of the cologne citywide.

  Carlotta sipped the orange juice and considered Jack. She hadn’t answered his phone call last night because she hadn’t decided whether to share Wesley’s suspicions about Coop’s recent uncharacteristic behavior. Besides, she was half-afraid Jack would be able to tell from her voice that she and Peter had…petered out.

  If she kept this up, she was going to have to keep a list of the secrets she was keeping.