day and her frayed nerves. But as she continued walking, the feeling grew stronger. Fighting panic, she turned into the sunglass shop. From the display case, she picked up a pair of retro Ray Ban aviators and jammed them on her face, then adjusted the mirror to see behind her.
There…a few feet back in the mall stood a man, his torso and face obscured by a newspaper—a cartoonish ruse. She could tell little from the jeans-clad legs other than that he was a big man. Her pulse spiked. One of Wesley’s thugs, following her? Maybe planning to jump her on her way to her car and take her cash?
Fear coalesced into anger. She punched 911 into her cell phone, then whipped off the sunglasses and charged out into the mall and up to the man, wielding the phone like a weapon, her thumb over the Send button. “I’m onto you, mister, and I’m going to call the police.”
The corner of the newspaper came down, revealing Detective Jack Terry wearing a dry smile. “I don’t think that will be necessary, Ms. Wren.”
17
At Detective Terry’s nonchalant declaration, Carlotta’s anger detonated. “How dare you follow me like I’m some kind of criminal!”
He folded the newspaper carefully and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. “I wasn’t following you. I just happened to be out shopping.” He lifted a ratty Dick’s Sporting Goods bag as proof.
“Really? That’s funny, because there’s no Dick’s in this mall.” Then she angled her head. “Of course, if you’re talking about just plain old dicks, I could probably point one out for you.”
“A muscle car and a sense of humor—wow, you’re just full of surprises.”
“And you’re full of crap. What the hell do you want?”
“Like I said, I’m off duty, just doing a little shopping. But since I ran into you, I’d like to talk to you for a few minutes. How about we grab a cup of coffee?”
Instantly wary, she asked, “What do you want to talk about?”
He smiled again. “The weather, the Braves, your parents—there are so many things.”
Through clenched teeth, she said, “I told you, I don’t know where my parents are.”
He held up both hands, Dick’s bag swinging. “I’ve been reading the files, and I just want to clarify a few details, that’s all.” A cajoling smile transformed his big features into almost handsome, dammit. “Come on, let me buy you a cup of coffee for all the trouble I’ve caused you.”
She hesitated.
“Ms. Wren, you’re going to have to talk to me sooner or later. Let’s try to keep this as informal as possible.”
She narrowed her eyes. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Peter Ashford?”
“Should it?”
“No,” she said quickly. “I just thought…after last night…”
“No, I got final word from the coroner’s office this morning. They stand by their accidental-death ruling. Case closed.”
“Oh.” So even the police had put the matter to rest.
“How about that coffee?”
She frowned. “Don’t you have something better to do on a Saturday night?”
“Apparently not. Did I interrupt some kind of sunglass-shopping emergency?”
A flush warmed her cheeks. “I wasn’t looking for sunglasses. I was looking for celebrities.”
“Excuse me?”
She tapped her purse, not caring whether he thought she was silly. “I collect autographs, and this is a great place to spot famous people.”
He pursed his mouth. “Good to know.” Then he gestured toward the food court. “Shall we?”
She nodded curtly, then fell into step with him. He had traded his suit and shoddy tie for Levi’s, a black T-shirt and a pair of black western boots. Ten points for the boots since western wear was back in style, although she suspected that Jack Terry didn’t know or care that he was accidentally in vogue. She became hyperaware of his size as they walked. The man was a mountain, with a thick torso and long legs. More than one woman turned to look at him as they made their way toward a coffee shop. The two of them must look like quite the odd couple, she realized.
Not that they were a couple…or that anyone watching them could mistake them for a couple.
“Is this table okay?” he asked, gesturing to a tiny café table with two chairs.
She nodded and awkwardly lowered herself into the chair he held out for her. With a shove, he scooted her so close to the table she felt as if she were in a high chair.
“I’ll get us some coffee. How do you like yours?”
“I’ll have a double latte with fat-free soy milk and a bottle of Pellegrino.”
He gave her a small smile that told her he had no idea what she’d said. “I’ll be right back.”
She watched him walk up to the counter, obviously out of place at the yuppie establishment. Dread ballooned in her stomach as she pondered the questions he had for her. Just the thought of him reading the files on her father’s case made her tingle in embarrassment—he knew all the family secrets and scandals, and seemed intent on making her relive the part of her life that she most wanted to forget.
Her fingers itched. Christ, why had she stopped smoking?
“Here we go,” the detective said, setting a tray on the table. “Two coffees with cream, a bottle of springwater and two chocolate éclairs.”
She frowned. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He sat down on the diminutive chair and slurped his coffee, then bit into the éclair and chewed heartily. “How’s your brother?”
“Fine. Better, I think. Although I can’t say that I’m crazy about his job choice.”
“There are worse jobs. It might scare him straight, confronting death like that.”
“I noticed last night that you seemed acquainted with his boss.”
“Cooper Craft? Yeah. When I first joined the force, he was the coroner.”
She frowned. “The coroner? As in, a doctor?”
“Yeah, Dr. Cooper was the chief medical examiner.”
“But I thought he worked for his family’s funeral home.”
“He does now. He had some problems with alcohol and there was some kind of blunder with a high-profile case. There was an inquest and he lost his license—and his job. I think he might even have served some jail time.”
Carlotta was astonished. The tall man with the long sideburns
