was right. Or maybe it was the pressure of being back inside the morgue that he had once run. Regardless, Coop seemed a little off his game, and it worried Wes to see him that way.
As Wes turned, he spotted something out of the corner of his eye—the black SUV with tinted windows that had been haunting the curb of the town house on and off for weeks. The occupants had never made themselves known, but with the spectrum of trouble he and Carlotta had been in over the past few months, it could be anyone from a testy loan shark to a vengeful murder suspect to a pissed-off mall customer. The SUV pulled away and although Wes craned to see the plate, the vehicle was too far away and moving too fast to make it out.
But since no one was shooting at him, really, how bad could it be?
He strolled into the police station, flirted with Carlotta’s friend Brooklyn who thought he was cute, then got her to call Jack. She buzzed him through a secure door, and when he walked inside, he spotted Jack getting a Coke out of a vending machine.
Jack waved. “Want one?”
“Nah, thanks. You look like hell, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude.” Jack fed in coins, then retrieved his can and cracked it open. “What’s up?”
Wes held up the red phone that Mouse had given him. “You told me you could have a GPS chip installed in case I got in a jam.” Mouse’s “chore” for him this morning made him nervous about what might be on the horizon. He wanted the security of a panic button.
“Let me get somebody on it,” Jack said, taking the phone. “It’ll take about thirty minutes. Wait here, I need to talk to you.”
Jack disappeared, then returned a couple of minutes later. “Have you talked to Carlotta?”
“Yeah, I know about Michael Lane. That’s some jacked-up shit.”
“Yeah.” Jack’s expression revealed how angry he was that Carlotta had been in danger. Wes couldn’t tell if Jack really liked his sister, or just liked his role of self-appointed protector. “Can you add anything to the story? Do you remember anything strange?”
“Just that little things were getting done around the house. I thought Carlotta was nesting or something.”
Jack frowned. “She said you had some cash in the house that was stolen.”
“Yeah, about ten grand. If you catch the dude, I want it back.”
“Don’t hold your breath. And do I need to remind you that you’re on probation? Gambling is not on the menu.”
“It was just a friendly card game,” Wes said.
“Uh-huh. Listen, about this work you’re doing for The Carver…”
Wesley swallowed past a dry throat, suddenly regretting not taking that Coke. “Yeah?”
“Well, this Charmed Killer case is taking all my time right now, so don’t rush anything. Just network and keep your eyes and ears open, especially when it comes to Hollis Carver’s son, Dillon.”
“Okay, but so far, the only person I’m networking with is Mouse.”
“So chat him up. See what he knows.”
Wesley shifted from foot to foot, not at all sure he wanted to get to know Mouse better. “Did you know that Carlotta moved in with Peter?” he blurted to change the subject.
Jack scowled. “She’s staying with him until this maniac is off the streets.”
Wesley arched an eyebrow. “Is that what she told you?”
A muscle worked in the big man’s jaw. “I’ll go see if your phone is ready.”
5
After several blissful moments of daydreaming, Carlotta pushed herself off the feathery guest bed and unpacked. The few clothes that she’d brought looked pitiful hanging in the expansive closet that also featured a steam-iron press, but it was a treat having so much space. She walked around the suite, exploring every inch.
The room was meticulously clean, but showed signs of having been lived in. Carlotta stepped on something imbedded in the carpet and unearthed a small broken silver pin shaped like a cat, no doubt left behind by a houseguest or perhaps a housekeeper.
She set the pin on the counter in the lavish bathroom and ran her hand along the pale granite flecked with gold. Luxury bath products lined the vanity shelves. Spa-quality towels and a white robe lay folded on the edge of the jet garden tub. She wondered idly if Angela had ever come in here for privacy, sinking up to her neck in bubbles when she had the chance.
And then a realization sunk in—this had been Angela’s room. She and Peter had apparently spent at least some of their marriage sleeping in separate beds. Carlotta felt a pang for the dead woman, sorry that Angela’s life—and death—hadn’t turned out as she’d planned. Carlotta and Angela hadn’t been best friends in high school or afterward when their social paths had diverged, but Carlotta had never wished the woman ill, not even after Angela had married Peter. To be here and uncovering all her secrets…it felt intrusive, almost an insult to the woman’s memory.
The troubling thoughts pushed her out of the room. As she closed the door, she glanced across the hall. While she was appreciative that Peter hadn’t tried to persuade her to share his room, the proximity alone worried her. On top of the nagging sense of betrayal she felt staying in his dead wife’s room, she knew that close quarters had a way of escalating intimacy.
But wasn’t part of her decision to be here with Peter to give them the chance to explore their chemistry?
With her heart and head clicking, Carlotta descended the stairs, once again awestruck over the sheer size of the house. If Michael Lane could live in the town house without her and Wesley knowing about it, a family of five could live hidden in this place without anyone being the wiser.
Through a set of open sliding glass doors leading out onto the pool area, she heard the telltale noises of grill-wrangling. When she stepped outside, she spotted Peter at the far end of the patio, in the outdoor-kitchen area. Mingled scents of chlorine and spices filled the humid air.
He waved her over and, after slipping off her shoes, she made her way across the stone lanai surrounding the breathtaking pool. Crystalline blue water slapped gently against the sides. The memory of Angela lying near the pool’s edge dressed in a black trench coat and boots, her eyes open and staring, rose in Carlotta’s mind. She gave herself a mental shake and walked toward Peter.
She’d forgotten the lavishness of the outside living area—a recent addition, Peter had hinted, that Angela had wanted more than he had. Besides the pool, there was an in-ground hot tub and a waterfall. The landscaping was magnificent, with huge potted trees and urns making it feel like a European villa. And behind the alfresco kitchen that featured commercial-grade appliances and a firebrick oven sat a small building separate from the house—a guest-house-slash-pool house. Allegedly, it’s where Angela had entertained her paying customers.
Carlotta marveled that Peter hadn’t sold the entire property after the whole ordeal, but she rationalized that he must have his own reasons for staying put.
“I forgave her,” he said,
