7 Brides for 7 Bodies Page 3

  Jack scratched his temple. “I didn’t count on the feds to swoop in, at least not so soon.”

  “Yeah, well...I need to go.” Wes jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I have to be somewhere.”

  “It can wait a few minutes.” Jack assumed his cop stance. “I want to talk you.”

  Wes scowled. “About what?”

  “About how your fingerprints wound up on an anonymous note the APD received listing possible names of an unidentified headless corpse in the morgue.”

  Wes felt his face blanch—Liz had tipped him off that Jack had called her about it, but he hadn’t had time to think of a cover story. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected his buddy Mouse had offed the man since he’d made Wes pull the teeth out of the decapitated head as a rite of passage before being accepted into The Carver’s loan shark organization. He owed Mouse a debt of thanks for helping him get off Oxy. The man didn’t know he was working undercover for the APD to offset a charge of body tampering from when he—

  Wes sighed. It was a long, sad story. And from the sour look on the detective’s face, he wasn’t in the mood to let Wes ruminate.

  “If you witnessed something while working for The Carver,” Jack said, “you don’t have to make anonymous tips—just tell me. That’s why I’m your liaison.”

  “Are you going to liase my body to Carlotta when I’m murdered for being a snitch?”

  Jack frowned. “Don’t bring your sister into this.”

  A red convertible Jaguar slid to a stop next to them, and Wes’s stomach bottomed out. Liz Fischer, wearing big sunglasses and a scarf tied around her blond hair, smiled up at them. “Why, Jack, you wouldn’t be questioning my client without me being present, would you?”

  Jack looked perturbed. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

  She lowered her sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes. “Good.”

  “What brings you to the city lockup, Liz?” Jack asked. “New client?”

  “An old one,” she said, sliding her gaze to Wesley. “I assume you’re here to see Randolph, too?”

  Wes nodded. “Didn’t happen though—he was moved this morning.”

  She frowned and looked to Jack for clarification.

  “Feds had him moved to USP.”

  She made a thoughtful noise. “Makes sense, although I’m sure D.A. Lucas is livid.”

  “He’ll have to wait his turn,” Jack said. “I guess the feds want a crack at Wren first.”

  She checked her watch. “I suppose I’d better head over there and see.”

  “Take me with you,” Wes pleaded.

  She shook her head. “They won’t let him have visitors without the proper paperwork. They’ll only let me in because they have to.”

  Wes swallowed his disappointment. “Will you tell him Carlotta and I tried to see him?”

  “Of course,” she said, her voice sounding motherly, which only further unnerved him. He wondered what else Liz and his father would talk about. Would they reminisce about their own affair? Would she tell him she was involved with Wes now? And that she was—his intestines cramped—pregnant?

  “I hate to be a killjoy,” Jack said, “but the three of us need to talk about Wesley’s connection to a headless corpse in the morgue.”

  Liz waved off his concern. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure. I’ll have my office call you later to set up an appointment for us to sit down and get it all straightened out.”

  Jack inclined his head in resignation.

  She looked back to Wes. “Our last phone call dropped rather suddenly. Are you okay?”

  He swallowed and nodded, not okay at all.

  “You haven’t returned my calls.”

  Sweat dripped down his back, and he was pretty sure he was about to have a stroke.

  Jack cleared his throat. “I’m sure his father’s return has taken precedence over everything else...right, Wes?”

  “Uh...yeah.” He managed to sling one leg over his bike. “I have to go see my probation officer.”

  “Oh, about that,” Liz said. “I played interference for you. Call me later and let me know how it goes?”

  His head bobbed like a Pez dispenser, then he hopped on his bike and pedaled like mad to get away from the situation. For now, anyway.

  He glanced back to see Jack and Liz still talking, and hoped it wasn’t about the anonymous note. After going to all the trouble of tracking down the dead man’s possible identity through a tattoo, why hadn’t he been more careful about leaving fingerprints on the paper?

  And damn, from one bad situation to another, he thought a few minutes later as the building where his probation officer worked loomed in front of him. Last week he’d been required to submit to a blood test to check for drugs. The “blocker” his friend Chance had given him hid his Oxy use in urine samples. But as he’d watched his polluted blood fill the vial, he’d known he was busted.

  But that was before Mouse had tossed him in a warehouse to detox, the hard way. It had been hell, but he’d lived. He prayed his P.O. was in a charitable mood today.

  On the other hand, he thought with a laugh as he cooled his heels in the waiting room, if she violated his probation and he went to jail for hacking into the courthouse database, maybe he’d get to see his father in the mess hall or in the rec yard.

  “Something funny, Wren?” the lady at the window barked.

  He shook his head. “Nope...not a thing.”

  “You’re up.”

  He pushed to his feet and made his way to E. Jones’s office. He was glad he’d worn a jacket—hopefully it made him look more mature. He certainly felt more mature than a mere week ago. In that time he’d gone through rehab, found out he was going to be a father, and discovered his own long-lost father had returned.

  It had been an epic few days.

  He rapped on the closed door and waited, straightening his collar.

  “Come in,” a woman’s voice called.

  He walked in and his spirits lifted involuntarily at the sight of E. Jones seated at her desk, her pretty head bent over a file in a way that had her dark red hair falling forward. She looked up and the light in her green eyes faded.

  Uh-oh.

  “Hello, Wesley.”

  “Hi.”

  “Sit down.”

  He did. “I—”

  “Don’t speak.”

  He swallowed his words.

  She studied him, her hands steepled over the open file. “You’ve put me in a heck of a spot here.”

  He pressed his lips together.

  “You know, of course, that you failed last week’s drug test.”

  He nodded miserably.

  “Your attorney called and told me you got clean over the weekend?”

  Another nod.

  “How do you kick an Oxycontin habit in three days?”

  He wet his lips. “Am I allowed to speak now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Cold turkey.”

  “Cold turkey, huh? So you think you’ve kicked your addiction just because it’s out of your system. Have you dealt with what caused it in the first place?”

  “I guess so. I starting taking it for pain, and the pain is gone.”

  “What kind of pain?”

  He shrugged out of his jacket, then rolled up his shirt sleeve to reveal the crude red scars on his arms. “You asked me last time what caused these marks.”

  She gave him a wry smile. “As I recall, you told me they were paper cuts.”

  “I lied. A loan shark known as The Carver started cutting his name into my arm.” He traced the puckered skin. “He got as far as ‘C-A-R.’”

  From her wide-eyed look of horror, he’d gotten her attention. “Because you owed him money?”

  That wasn’t the full story, but he nodded. “We got behind on our bills at home, and I borrowed the money to catch us up.” Also a stretch of the truth, but his freedom was on the line.

  “And you couldn’t pay it back?”

  “Right. I thought by char
ging friends for fixing speeding tickets in the courthouse database, I could buy my way out of trouble.”

  “But instead, you were arrested.”

  He splayed his hands. “And here I am.”

  She lifted one winged eyebrow. “It didn’t occur to you to get an actual job?”

  “In this economy? Where could I get a job making the kind of money I needed?”

  She sighed. “Wes, there are people everywhere who are behind on their bills, but they don’t break the law to get the money they need.”

  “I know, and if I had to do it over again, I would do things differently.” He wiped at his eye and poked it to whip up a few tears. “All I’m asking is to have my blood drawn again and tested. And you can take it every week from now on if you want. But I can’t go to jail, not now.”

  She took the bait. “Why not now?”

  “You haven’t heard? My father is back.”

  “Your fugitive father? Hasn’t he been gone for—”

  “Over ten years, yeah. But my sister was being attacked by The Charmed Killer, and he saved her.”

  She pursed her mouth. “Carlotta was being attacked by a serial killer, and your dad just happened to appear and save her?”

  “Yep.”

  She studied him, then sighed. “If I didn’t know your history and your sister’s penchant for trouble, I’d swear you were making this up.”

  “Call Detective Jack Terry at the Midtown precinct. He’ll back me up.”

  “I will—later. Meanwhile, have you spoken to your father?”

  “No. I tried to this morning, but the feds had him moved to another facility.”

  “USP?”

  “That’s it.” Then he grinned. “But I did get to see him when they walked him out.”

  She smiled. “That had to be a nice moment for you.”

  “You have no idea.” He conjured up a contrite expression. “So you see, I can’t go to jail now. E., please give me another chance.”

  She narrowed her eyes, but he could tell she was wavering. He held her gaze and didn’t blink to allow the moisture to build up in his eyes.

  Finally, she sighed. “Well, since you already have your sleeve rolled up...”

  He beamed.

  She punched in a number on her desk phone. “Don’t make me regret this.”

  Wes shook his head, then noticed the engagement ring on her left finger. She hadn’t been wearing it last week and had seemed upset. But apparently, she and her fiancé Leonard were back together. Which meant she still didn’t know Leonard was a drug runner. He itched to tell E., but then he’d have to say how he knew, and that would get his buddy Chance in trouble.

  Plus Leonard had threatened to put him in a coma if he told, so mum was the word. He had enough problems without borrowing more.

  After the blood was drawn, E. asked her normal battery of questions.

  “How is your community service job?”

  “Fine,” he said. Except Meg was on vacation and had taken the sunshine with her. He felt sick when he thought of what she would think of him when she found out he’d gotten his attorney pregnant.

  “And your courier job?”

  His cover for working in The Carver’s organization as a collections agent with Mouse. “Great. It’s helping me pay down my debt.” That part, at least, was true.

  “And you’re not gambling?”

  “Absolutely not.” Not today anyway. So far.

  “And how do you think your life will change now that your father is home?”

  He blinked. “I...don’t know. I guess I still don’t have my head wrapped around it.”

  “That’s understandable. Call me if there’s anything I can do.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  She closed the file folder. “And assuming your blood test comes back clean, I’ll see you next week.”

  Wes made his getaway, feeling marginally better than when he arrived, yet knowing the week ahead was going to be a rollercoaster. Hopefully he’d get to see his dad soon. But Meg would be back from vacation Monday, and he dreaded that conversation.

  He was massaging his sore arm in the parking lot when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his backpack and stared at the screen. Meg Vincent. His heart squeezed. He wanted to hear her voice, wanted to tell her the news about his dad, wanted to know if she missed him as much as he missed her.

  Instead he hit “decline” and stuffed the phone to the bottom of his bag.

  Chapter Four

  CARLOTTA FOUGHT TEARS of frustration on the long drive back to the townhouse. This morning when she’d opened her eyes, she’d had such high hopes for the day. Finally, she and Wesley would have answers to the questions that had undermined every move they made, every day. Instead, now Randolph was right under their noses...and totally out of reach.

  From the console, her phone vibrated. She picked it up and smiled when she saw Hannah’s name on the screen. In last night’s travel dream, Hannah hadn’t known her—at first. But soon they had been fast friends again, and partners in crime-solving. Their friendship was meant to be.

  Carlotta connected the call. “Hiya.”

  “How the hell is dear old Dad?” Hannah asked, her voice brimming with excitement.

  Carlotta sighed. “We didn’t get to talk to him. Two agents came and moved him to the U.S. Penitentiary.”

  “You’re shitting me.”

  “Nope. The universe is conspiring against me having a conversation with my own father.”

  “How did Wes take it?”

  “Not well. But we did at least get to see Randolph when he was taken from the building, so Wes got to set eyes on him.”

  “God, I’m sorry. What now?”

  “Jack said communicating with Randolph at USP will require some paperwork, so I’ll look into it as soon as I get home.”

  “Does your father still have an attorney?”

  Carlotta thought of Liz and winced. “I suppose...but I kind of hate her.”

  “Still, she should be able to help.”

  Carlotta groaned. “You’re right. I’ll call her.” The thought of dealing with the woman who had seduced both Wren men made her sick to her stomach.

  “How’s your shoulder?”

  “Hurting...but healing.”

  “Chance told me to ask if you need some meds.”

  She frowned, still getting used to the idea of Hannah sleeping with Wes’s best friend Chance Hollander, a fat trust-fund brat who dabbled in illegal contraband. “Uh, I’m good, thanks.”

  “Okay—let me know if you change your mind. You’re not going into work today, are you?”

  “Officially, I’m still on vacation. I’m supposed to be in Vegas, remember?”

  “Right—with Richie Rich. Count yourself lucky that a serial killer attack got you out of that one.”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’m working a banquet at the East Lake Golf Club tonight—want to crash? It might take your mind off things.”

  “I don’t think so,” Carlotta said. “I didn’t get much sleep last night, so I’ll probably turn in early. But thanks.”

  “Sure. Have you heard from Coop?”

  Carlotta smiled. Hannah’s crush on Dr. Cooper Craft preceded knocking boots with Chance Hollander. “He left me a voice message, said he was sorry about Bruce Abrams.” Also, Coop had said he thought it best if he kept a “friendly” distance for a while.

  “It wasn’t Coop’s fault that the man was so threatened by him that he went bat-shit crazy and started killing people.”

  “I know. He’s just sorry I got caught in the middle.”

  “Do you think Coop will get his job back at the morgue?”

  Carlotta flashed back to meeting Coop in the “other place”—there he had been the chief medical examiner, but seemingly on the same self-destructive path he’d followed in this world. “I don’t know if that’s possible...or if he’d even want the job.”

  “So he’ll go back to body-moving?” Hannah s
ounded hopeful.

  “I’ll try to find out if I talk to him,” she promised. She didn’t add that it could be a while.

  “Okay. Well, keep me posted on everything. And let me know when you’re ready to get out.”

  “Thanks, Hannah.”

  She disconnected the call just as she pulled into the driveway. When she saw Peter’s SUV sitting in front of the garage, that familiar unsettled feeling pooled in her stomach. She was grateful to Peter for being there for her lately, but she knew he had an underlying motive, and at times, she felt smothered.

  On the other hand, Peter worked at Mashburn & Tully, the investment firm where Randolph had once been a partner. Randolph had once reached out to Peter in a phone call, and had advised Carlotta to stay close to Peter. So even if her heart wasn’t yet recommitted to him, her life was still bound up in his.

  And he’d been nice enough to allow her to live at his big house in Buckhead while The Charmed Killer had been on the loose. And nice enough to overlook the fact that she’d totaled his Porsche. And nice enough to offer Wes refuge as he recovered after going off drugs cold turkey.

  Peter Ashford was a very...nice man.

  He was out of his vehicle before she brought her rental car to a stop. He was dressed for the office in an impeccable dark suit, but considering the time of day, he either hadn’t gone in yet or was taking a very early lunch. Peter offered her a comforting smile, but his tall body was ramrod stiff, as if to say he wasn’t going to be blown off again.

  Fair enough.

  She took a deep breath and alighted from the car, lifting her face to extend a smile and a light kiss to his mouth. “Hi.”

  He seemed to relax. “Hi. I was worried when you weren’t answering your phone.”

  And since he’d given her the phone and was paying for the service, there was an implied entitlement to her availability. “I’m sorry. Everyone wants a piece of me today. I had to turn off the ringer.”

  He looked hurt. “So I’m ‘everyone’?”

  “No,” she murmured, tamping down her irritation. “I was going to call you as soon as I settled in.” She touched her pinging shoulder. “I need to take another pain pill...and I didn’t get much rest last night. And—” To her horror, she burst into tears.