Authors: Stephanie Bond
access code, but Jack preferred to flash his badge at the
guard. The long black gates opened and he drove the
familiar route through the manicured neighborhood to
Peter’s palatial home.
When Jack pul ed the sedan into the circular driveway in
front of the brick house, Carlotta’s stomach clenched at
the thought of going inside. Peter wasn’t a big fan of
Coop’s primarily because the man had shown a romantic
interest in Carlotta. No doubt Peter would feel vindicated
that the good doctor had been so publicly exposed.
Peter opened the door and waved.
Jack grunted.
Carlotta didn’t want to get out of the sedan, but she didn’t
have a choice. Wesley hadn’t finished installing a security
system in the townhouse, and it wasn’t as if Jack had
offered her a place to stay. She supposed she could get a
hotel room, but that seemed sil y considering Peter had
offered her the run of his mansion. Especially since her
budget didn’t allow for extended hotel stays.
She couldn’t explain it, but she felt as if she lived in two
worlds—in one world was Peter and his home in the
suburbs that offered her shelter from the other world of
Wesley’s problems, Jack’s issues and Coop’s crises. Peter’s
world should be more attractive, but it left her feeling
isolated.
“Looks like Ashford’s waiting for you,” Jack said. “The GBI
wil be in touch. I’m sure they’l want to question you
again.”
“I’m not giving them any ammunition against Coop,” she
said.
His expression hardened. “Do yourself a favor, Carlotta,
and tel the truth. Coop can fend for himself.”
She frowned. “I guess he’l have to fend for himself since
his friends have turned on him.”
Jack didn’t say anything, just stared ahead.
She wondered again if Jack was simply toeing the company
line when it came to fingering Coop as a mass murderer.
Carlotta opened the car door, then looked back. “Jack,
aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“My red panties? The ones you stole and said you’d keep
until The Charmed Kil er was behind bars.”
He was quiet for the longest time, studying her. Then the
smal est of smiles curved one corner of his mouth. “If it’s
all the same to you, darlin’, I think I’l hold on to those
panties for a while.”
She exhaled. “No problem.”
Carlotta climbed out of the sedan and walked toward
Peter’s house, her heart lighter. In a roundabout way, Jack
had just told her that he, too, didn’t believe Coop was The
Charmed Kil er.
Today, that was enough for her.
Tomorrow, she had her work cut out for her. If The
Charmed Kil er—whether it was Michael Lane or someone
else—had involved her in order to frame Coop for the
murders, the criminal had messed with the wrong shopgirl.
2
“Thanks, guys,” Wesley said, waving from the stoop of the
townhouse at the motley crew of loan shark staffers who
had helped him install a security system. Mouse, his
col ections partner now that he was working undercover in
The Carver’s organization, had surprised him by offering
up the group of “security experts” to expedite the job.
He went back inside and surveyed the damage. The walls
were badly pocked and scarred where wires and sensors
had been instal ed. A wireless system would’ve been less
invasive, but he knew how easily those systems could be
hacked into. Mouse had agreed the old security systems
were more reliable, and the man should know. He’d
compromised more than one alarm system in the process
of col ecting on overdue accounts.
Wes sighed. He’d have to patch the walls and paint
everything before he and Carlotta moved back in, but
she’d been wanting to spruce up the place for a while now
anyway. Wesley walked into the kitchen to stare up at the
small black device lodged in the wall above the window
over the sink that had been exposed during the
installation.
A listening device, Mouse had said—a good one.
Professional grade. Configured into the wiring of the house
for ongoing power. And, according to the manufacturer’s
date stamped on the frame, it had been installed about
ten years ago.
About the time his father had left town.
Wesley’s heart thudded at the implication. Had his father
instal ed the device so he could listen to conversations
between his children over the kitchen table? When
Randolph Wren had approached Carlotta at a Florida rest
stop a few weeks ago, he’d indicated that he’d been
keeping tabs on them…was this how?
Wes wasn’t schooled in listening devices, but he knew
enough about basic electronics to understand that most
bugs used a radio transmitter. Meaning the person
listening in had to be within a certain proximity to pick up
sound.
Usually within a few blocks.
Which meant their father could’ve parked nearby,
listening to whatever conversation had been going on in
the Wren kitchen. If that was the case, then Wesley
conceded that Randolph would’ve likely overheard many
arguments. Wes had been a pain in the ass to his older
sister. Looking back, he was surprised she hadn’t given up
on him and shipped him off to foster care. Hel , she’d been
a kid herself when their parents had left town.
A sudden headache exploded under his scalp. He needed a
hit of Oxy. He groaned at the blinding pain, then felt
around the couch until he located his backpack. From a
pocket, he pul ed out an Oxy tablet and considered
swal owing it to al ow for a long, slow bleed of sweetness.
Instead he decided to chew it, breaking the time-release
coating for a blast of euphoria and instant pain relief.
He sat on the couch and leaned his head back, yielding to
the floating sensation. His brain worked more slowly under
the influence of Oxy, but without the headache, at least he
could think.
From Wes’s backpack his cel phone rang, dril ing into his
buzz. It was the ring of his regular phone, not Mouse
calling him about a col ections job. He considered letting it
go, but after several rings, he pul ed out the phone to
check the cal er ID screen.
Atlanta Police Department.
Crap. Suddenly, he thought of the piece of paper he’d
mailed four days ago to the APD with three possible name
variations for the identity of the headless body in the
morgue. He’d sent the note anonymously, not wanting to
be fingered as the guy who’d pul ed the teeth out of the
severed head (at Mouse’s direction). Was it possible
they’d tracked the envelope or its contents back to him?
Then he forced himself to relax. It was probably just Jack
Terry calling to hassle him about the undercover work he
was doing in The Carver’s organization as part of his plea
agreement with the rat bastard D.A., Kelvin Lucas.
He connected the call. “Yeah?”
“Wes?”
Wes frowned at the familiar voice. “Coop?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Did I catch you at a bad time?”
“No.” Other than the fact that he was high as a kite.
“What’s up, man?”
“Uh, nothing good, I’m afraid. I need a favor.”
Wes sat up. He didn’t think he and Coop would ever be
friends again after Wes had stupidly agreed to aid in the
theft of a celebutante’s body they’d been transporting.
“Whatever you need, Coop.”
“I’m in a bit of a jam. I’ve been arrested.”
“For drinking?” He’d smel ed alcohol on Coop once
recently in the morgue lab, and the man’s voice sounded a
little slurred now.
“Uh, no. Actually, for murder.”
Wes’s head went back. “What?”
“They think I’m The Charmed Kil er.”
Wes gave a little laugh. “You’re punking me.”
“Wish I were. They cuffed me in front of your sister a few
minutes ago and hauled me away.”
Wes’s breathing became shallow as he realized Coop was
serious. He swallowed nervously. “So what am I, your one
phone call?”
“Something like that.” Coop sighed. “Looks like I’m going
to need a good lawyer. I thought I might give your
attorney a call.”
Wes frowned. “Liz Fischer?”
“She’s a criminal attorney, isn’t she?”
“Yeah.”
“And she knows the D.A.?”
“Yeah. He digs her, I think.” Liz was a looker with long legs
and big knockers.
“Can you give me her office number?”
Wes grimaced, remembering Liz had left town. “Coop,
man, she’s out of town for a few days.”
“On vacation?”
“I guess.” Actually, when she’d called Wesley, she’d been
kind of vague, saying she needed to get away to think. And
she hadn’t sounded well. “Let me give her a cal on her cell
and see what the deal is.”
“Okay. If she’s interested in taking me on, have her call the
jail.”
Wes wet his lips. “Uh, Coop?”
“Yeah?”
“You didn’t…you’re not…I mean…did you…do it?”
“What do you think?” Coop asked with a laugh, his words
running together. “Tel your sister I’m sorry I embarrassed
her at work.”
Wes frowned. Coop was wild for Carlotta, just like Peter
Ashford, and Jack Terry were—poor saps. “I wil .” When a
dial tone sounded in his ear, Wesley slowly disconnected
the call. He shook his head to clear it, trying to process
what Coop had just told him. The police suspected Coop of
kil ing al those women? Wesley tried the idea on for size,
his mind wandering back over all the crime scenes on
which he’d been a body mover. No, he couldn’t believe it.
Coop would never do something so gruesome. He’d never
hurt anybody, much less a woman.
So why would the police arrest Coop if they didn’t have
evidence of his guilt?
He turned on the broken television and tuned into CNN
Headline News. Sure enough, a “Breaking News” banner
scrol ed across the screen that a suspect in The Charmed
Kil er case had been taken into custody. He watched,
incredulous, at the footage of a handcuffed Coop being led
to a police car. His head was down and the one time he
looked at the camera, Coop looked unfocused and
disheveled.
Wes punched in Liz’s number and paced in an attempt to
walk off some of his buzz, just to cut through the Oxy fog.
After a few rings, Liz answered.
“Hel o?”
Like Pavlov’s dog, his dick jumped. Liz was a great lay. “Liz,
it’s Wes.”
“Hi,” she said, sounding surprised. “I didn’t expect to hear
from you.”
“Are you back in town?”
“I’m driving back now. I’d like to see you.”
Inexplicably, the face of Meg Vincent popped into his
mind, probably because he’d inadvertently shouted his
cock-tease coworker’s name the last time he’d bal ed
Liz…not that Liz had minded. “Uh, sure. Actually, though,
I’m calling for a friend of mine.”
“Oh?”
“Do you remember Cooper Craft?”
“The body mover who used to be Coroner?”
“Yeah. He was just arrested and he needs an attorney. He
called me and asked about you.”
“I don’t handle DUI’s, Wes.”
“Do you handle murder?”
“Murder?”
“This is nuts, but apparently, they think Coop’s The
Charmed Kil er.”
Liz was silent for two heartbeats. “When did this happen?”
“Within the hour, I think.”
“Bye, Wes. I’l be in touch.”
He ended the call and continued watching the news, losing
count of the number of times Coop’s name was
mentioned. Poor Coop. And Carlotta must be going out of
her mind. He picked up the phone and pul ed up her
number, wondering if he should hold off tel ing her about
the bug he’d found.
As he listened to her phone ring, Wes wiped sweat from
his forehead with his sleeve. It would be nice if the Wrens
could winnow things down to just one crisis at a time.
3
“I always had a bad feeling about Craft,” Peter said.
Carlotta looked up at her first love and former fiancé in
dismay. When fugitive Michael Lane had broken into their
townhouse and had been living in their parents’ room
unbeknownst to her and Wesley, Carlotta had grateful y
accepted Peter’s invitation to stay in one of his spare
bedrooms while the police processed the town home as a
crime scene and Wesley installed a security system. But
after only a week and a half, she was starting to rethink
her living arrangements. Peter would be happy, she
realized, if she gave up her friends, and forgot all about
the life and the relationships she’d built after he’d dumped
her.
“Peter, Coop isn’t The Charmed Kil er. He wouldn’t hurt
anyone.”
“Not if he was in his right mind,” Peter said gently. “But
people change under the influence of drugs and alcohol.
Even nice people can do terrible things. The police must
have evidence or they wouldn’t have arrested him.”
“They arrested you for Angela’s murder, and you were
innocent,” she reminded him.
“The police had a reason to arrest me—I confessed,
remember?”
She bit her lip and softened toward him. “Yes.” He’d
confessed to a murder he didn’t commit to prevent his