Get a job and start taking responsibility for your debt, or—” Her throat constricted. “Or get out.”
Wesley reeled as if she’d slapped him. He blinked rapidly as she picked up her purse and walked past him and out the front door. He heard the dull hum of the garage door going up, and the growl of her car starting. When the garage door came back down, he exhaled.
Maybe it would be better if he slept on Chance’s couch for a while. Maybe Carlotta would be better off without him. And maybe it would give him the space he needed to look into his dad’s case.
He returned to his room and tossed a few things into a duffel bag. Chance wouldn’t mind him crashing there for a while—his friend was stoned most of the time anyway. Einstein would be fine for a few days. Outside on the stoop, he locked the door and was heading down the sidewalk toward the Marta train station when a black Cadillac pulled up to the curb and the passenger-side window zoomed down. A man’s face came into view, and Wesley’s knees weakened.
“Hey, Wesley, where you going?”
Wesley shouldered his duffel bag higher. “Nowhere, Mouse.”
“Really? Looks to me like you’re trying to skip town.”
“Nah, Mouse, I was just going to visit a friend.”
“You missed your last payment,” the man said pleasantly.
“I know. I ran into some trouble with the police.”
“I read the papers,” Mouse said. “Thought I’d give you a chance to get square with The Carver before you go to jail.”
It occurred to Wesley that it was probably The Carver’s guy who’d jumped him in the courthouse john. “I got probation,” he said, trying to sound upbeat.
“Good for you,” Mouse said. “So you’re going to make your next payment on time?”
“Sure thing.”
“Terrific,” Mouse said, nodding amiably. “Because I wouldn’t want to report back that you got the money to pay that crook Father Thom and not us.”
Wesley considered lying but decided to remain silent.
“Don’t be a stranger.” Mouse nodded toward the town house. “We know where you live.”
The car window buzzed up and the car pulled away from the curb. Panic curdled in Wesley’s stomach as he stood watching the taillights, weighing his options. Stay and continue to expose Carlotta to the dangerous men he’d gotten himself involved with…or go and leave her at home alone where she might be even more vulnerable.
8
“Thanks for shopping with us,” Carlotta said, forcing a smile for the guy who had made countless innuendos while selecting a skimpy red teddy.
He took the shopping bag and grinned, still leaning on the checkout counter. “I’d like to call you sometime.”
She swallowed her distaste and nodded toward the bag. “I assumed this was a gift for your girlfriend.”
“No, my mother.”
“You bought your mother a red teddy?”
He laughed but didn’t have the decency to look sheepish. “You got me there. Okay, it’s for my girlfriend…but it’s a breakup gift.”
“Ah. Well, thanks anyway, but I’m not available.”
He stared at her chest and made a rueful noise. “Too bad.”
“Yes, well, have a nice day.”
He took his time peeling away from the counter, looking back as if he just knew she was going to change her mind. Carlotta averted her gaze and busied herself straightening the counter. What an oaf. Were there any good men left in the world? She smirked, thinking of her friends’ comments about her aversion to men. Would she recognize a good man if he crossed her path?
Then she sighed. Even if a great guy dropped into her life, who would want to sign up to share her problems? Fugitive parents, a delinquent brother, a mountain of debt—it didn’t exactly make her the most eligible woman in Atlanta, not unless the guy had a laundry list of his own problems.
Take Detective Jack Terry, for instance. The man wasn’t bad-looking if one could look past his ghastly taste in clothes. But even dressed in a Paul Smith suit, Jack Terry would still be a swaggering, arrogant, annoying pain in the ass. Oh, sure, he’d tried to help Wesley yesterday in the men’s room, but now she knew it was only because her father’s case had been reopened and he was trying to cozy up to them for information.
In her pocket, her cell phone vibrated. Since there weren’t any unattended customers in sight, she pulled out the phone, hoping it was Wesley. She felt horrible about yelling at him this morning. Resentment toward her parents had never been stronger. She waffled between hoping the detective found them so she could tell them all the hateful things she’d been saving up for ten years, and hoping he didn’t find them because their return would wreak so much havoc on Wesley. Better that he romanticize their plight than to know with certainty what she knew: that their parents didn’t give a fig what happened to them.
But the caller ID read Hannah Kizer. Carlotta smiled and punched the call button. “Hi, are you back?”
“Yeah, I’m back. How did things go yesterday in court?”
“He got a fine, community service and probation.”
“Wow, no jail time? His attorney must have been good.”
Carlotta thought of Liz Fischer, frowned and changed the subject. “You’ll be proud of me—I told Wesley he had to get a job.”
“About damn time. Maybe now he’ll be too busy to get into trouble. Have any of his thugs been around?”
Carlotta glanced around to make sure no one could hear her. “A guy forced his way into the house this morning, demanding money.”
“You’re kidding. What did you do?”
“Wesley had a little cash, and I’d gotten an advance on my credit card, so we had enough to pacify him.”
“You should have called the police.”
“Considering my family’s history with the police, I didn’t think that was such a good idea. Besides, the police would only make things worse.”
Hannah sighed. “You’re probably right. But you need something to protect yourself.”
Carlotta pursed her mouth. “You mean a gun or something?”
The sound of someone clearing their throat made Carlotta turn her head. Her general manager stood there, frowning.
Carlotta’s pulse spiked. “Gotta go.”
“No, wait—I called you about a cocktail party tonight at the Four Seasons. Want to crash?”
Lindy was walking
