Authors: Stephanie Bond
She considered changing purses to something smaller, but
she’d promised Jack she would keep the stun baton with
her at all times. So she dropped her cel phone into her
shoulder bag and went downstairs. Peter waited at the
bottom, smiling up at her. Her heart squeezed with
affection.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“It was worth the wait,” he said, reaching up to clasp her
hand.
It was a beautiful summer night. Carlotta felt a pang for
the absence of the Porsche convertible, but the sunroof in
Peter’s luxury SUV let in the stars. A few minutes into the
drive, Peter’s cell phone rang.
He picked it up and frowned. “It’s Brody Jones, I have to
take this.”
“Of course,” she murmured, instantly anxious. Brody Jones
was chief legal counsel for Mashburn & Tul y. From the
side of the conversation she could hear, she knew the
topic was the connection between her father and Alicia
Sil s.
When Peter ended the cal , his face was creased. “Brody
wants to go with me when I talk to the GBI tomorrow.”
“Why? You’re not under suspicion.”
“Brody is concerned that the GBI or the D.A.’s office wil
use this as an excuse to look into the company’s records.”
“Look for what?”
He hesitated. “Evidence that your father has been
corresponding with someone in the building over the
years.”
She scoffed. “With Alicia Sil s? That’s ridiculous.”
“Probably,” he conceded. “But Brody is concerned that
even if Randolph has nothing to do with The Charmed
Kil er case, the D.A. wil see this as an opportunity to nose
around for information that might be relevant in your
father’s fraud case.” His mouth flattened. “And after all,
your father did contact me.”
Her pulse jumped. “Have you told anyone?”
“No. But if the company’s phone records are subpoenaed,
I’d have to think they’d be looking closely at mine.”
“Because of our relationship?”
He nodded.
She closed her eyes briefly. “I’m so sorry Randolph got you
involved. If you want to tel the GBI about the phone call
when you talk to them tomorrow, you should.”
“It’s not relevant to the case they’re working on.”
“I know, but I don’t want this to blow up in your face,
Peter. You can’t risk the appearance that you’re aiding and
abetting my father.”
He gave her a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry.”
She smiled back, but anxiety stil gnawed at her as Peter
held open the door for her at the restaurant.
Morsels was tucked into a large former single-family
residence on Juniper Street, one block off Peachtree. True
to its reputation, the place was packed. The inside had
been gutted, with only the beamed ceilings bearing
testament to the original interior design. The lighting was
dim and lively piano music sounded from a far corner.
Their table wasn’t ready yet, so they stepped into the bar
area to order a drink.
“How about champagne?” Peter asked.
Her thoughts immediately went to the charm on her
bracelet of the two flutes touching, overflowing with
bubbly, celebrating…something. “Champagne makes me a
little headachy. Would you mind if we had wine instead?”
“Of course not. Whatever you want.”
She chastised herself for being superstitious. But right
now, she didn’t want to risk doing something that might
rip a hole in the fabric of the universe.
While the piano tinkled in the background, they sipped a
buttery white burgundy wine and made small talk.
“Someone is coming out to repair the fountain Saturday,”
Peter said.
A flush warmed her neck. “Have I apologized today for
demolishing the fountain and your car?”
He winked. “It was an accident. Insurance wil take care of
everything. Just think of it as…a contribution to the
economy.”
She laughed. “When are you getting a new Porsche?”
“Soon,” he said, toying with the stem of his glass. “Or
maybe not.”
“But you loved that car.”
“Yes, but it’s not very practical.”
“That’s not really the point of owning a sports car, is it?”
“No. But I’m at a different point in my life than when I
bought the Porsche. Then it was just me and Angie, and
we didn’t plan to have a family.”
Carlotta nearly choked on her wine.
Peter gave her a little smile. “So I think I’l hold off for
now.”
She was saved from responding by the hostess arriving to
say their table was available. As they were led to their
seats, Carlotta did a double-take when she recognized the
couple seated at an adjacent table—Jack…
And Maria.
And the way their heads were together, they weren’t
discussing blood-spatter patterns.
“Hel o,” Carlotta said, unable to keep the surprise out of
her voice.
They looked up and separated guiltily. “Hi, Carlotta,” Jack
said stiffly. Then he stood and extended his hand to Peter.
“Small world.”
“Yes,” Carlotta murmured in agreement.
Maria hid her reaction by taking a sip from her water glass.
“Peter, you remember Detective Maria Marquez,” Carlotta
said.
“Good to see you again,” Peter said.
“Yes, you look well,” Maria said, referring to the last time
she’d seen him—stretched out on Carlotta’s couch
recovering from an accidental zap from Carlotta’s stun
baton. Maria nodded to Carlotta. “Enjoy your dinner.”
Dismissed, Carlotta moved woodenly to her seat. Peter
held out her chair and murmured in her ear, “Do you want
to get another table?”
“Don’t be sil y,” she whispered back. It wasn’t as if their
tables were close enough to hear each other’s
conversations.
Darn it.
From where she was sitting, she had a perfect view of the
couple, just over Peter’s shoulder. Their server gave them
menus. Carlotta pretended to study the small plate items
while reeling inside—and peeking over the top. Maria
wore a clingy brown sleeveless dress and strappy sandals.
Jack wore tan slacks and a black col arless dress shirt. It
was clear they hadn’t just left the office and dropped in for
a beer before going home.
“What looks good?” Peter asked.
She jerked her gaze back to the menu. “Um…everything.
You pick.”
“Why don’t we start with an olive tray?”
“Uh…sure.” She glanced back to the table next to theirs,
noting the couple seemed to be concentrating on eating.
“Carly.”
She looked back to Peter. “Yes?”
“Are you going to be distracted by Jack and his girlfriend
al evening?”
She frowned. “I’m not distracted. I was looking at what
they ordered.” She turned her head and nodded to a
saucer of colorful food the couple on the other side of
them was sharing. “Is that pael a? It looks good.”
Peter gave her a pointed look, then nodded to her glass.
“Finish your wine.”
She lifted her glass for an obligatory sip. “Do you think I
have time to go to the ladies’ room before they bring the
appetizers?”
“Probably.”
“I’l be right back,” she promised, then shouldered her bag
and walked past Jack and Maria’s table. Once she was out
of Peter’s sight, she stopped a server. “Is there somewhere
I can step outside to smoke?”
The waiter nodded. “There’s a covered stoop through that
door at the end of the hall.”
Carlotta hurried down the hall, then pushed open the door
to step out onto a small concrete pad. Hemmed with a
thin metal railing, the stoop faced a line of trees about ten
yards away. Light from the house on the other side filtered
through the shadows of the thick foliage.
She slid out a cigarette and lit it quickly. The first drag
soothed her frayed nerves a bit, but as she chewed a
thumbnail, the hurt she’d been keeping at bay descended,
swamping her chest. When Jack hadn’t pursued a
relationship with her beyond their few trysts, she’d
assumed he wasn’t looking for a relationship, period. Yet
here he was, on a date with Maria, in a nice restaurant
Carlotta would’ve sworn he wouldn’t be caught dead in.
Obviously he was making exceptions for the new woman
in his life that surpassed simply dressing better.
She took another drag on the cigarette, irritated with
herself that seeing Jack with Maria bothered her so much.
She had Peter. She’d been living in his house for a couple
of weeks now, and was planning to go to Vegas with him
next week. Why should she care who Jack slept with?
She gave a little laugh—that was it. When she’d thought
he was only sleeping with Maria, it wasn’t so bad. But
dating Maria? Taking her to nice places and being seen in
public? That signaled…commitment.
From inside her purse, Carlotta’s phone rang. She removed
it and glanced at the caller ID screen to see Rainie
Stephens’s name appear. Curious, she connected the call.
“Hi, Rainie.”
“Hi, Carlotta. Is this a bad time?”
“It’s fine, but I only have a couple of minutes. Great news
about Coop getting bail, huh?”
“Yeah. That means the D.A. doesn’t have a slam-dunk case
even in the one murder they charged him for, the
Alderman woman.”
“I wasn’t on that scene,” Carlotta said, taking another puff
on the cigarette. “But I remember my brother talking
about it.”
“I was able to get my hands on what kind of DNA was
recovered at the scene. It was a pair of latex gloves with
Coop’s fingerprints on the inside, plus saliva on a paper
cup found in the kitchen trash.”
Carlotta scoffed. “Both of those things could’ve been
planted.”
“I know. I’m just tel ing you what the D.A. has.”
“Were you able to find out anything about Coop’s visit to
the neurologist?”
“Not yet, stil checking. But I did think of something we
could do that might flush out Michael Lane.”
Carlotta took another drag. “What?”
“How do you think he’d react to a story in the paper
announcing that you’d agreed to write an expose on him
for a tabloid? You know, air his dirty laundry?”
“I think he’d be furious. Michael could be flamboyant, but
he didn’t like other people knowing his business.”
“I noticed that on the profile, which is why I suggested it.”
“Profile?”
“Yeah. I got my hands on a report that a profiler with the
APD used to analyze suspects and compare them to the
one created for The Charmed Kil er.”
Carlotta smirked. “Really? Tel me about the profile for The
Charmed Kil er.”
The sound of papers being shuffled sounded in the
background. “UNSUB is male, aged twenty-five to fifty,
probably Caucasian. He probably has a dysfunctional
relationship with his mother. He’s a loner who struggles
with authority. He holds a job that he feels is inferior. Feels
wronged by society. Has above-average intelligence, is
admired by peers and coworkers. Is wel -read and
compel ed to achieve, but tends to misrepresent ability.
Craves approval, but is private and paranoid. Narcissistic,
not a joiner. Could be a physician or someone in the
medical field. Has a credible, non-threatening appearance
to gain trust of victims. Physical y fit. Probable scouting,
military, or police background, or otherwise trained in
kil ing methods.”
“Military?” Carlotta repeated.
“Does that mean something to you?”
Her mind scrol ed back over her interaction with Sergeant
Mitchel Moody. He had exhibited stalking behavior
toward Eva McCoy when she had been engaged to another
man.
“I have to think about it,” she murmured. “The murdered
prostitute’s friends said she was having trouble with a
client she cal ed Doc. If the kil er is a doctor of some kind,
it would help explain why Coop fits some aspects of the
profile. Doctors can be so arrogant.” Inexplicably, her mind
went to Frederick Lowenstein. And when she recalled that
she’d been with him on the nights when two of the
murders had occurred, her heart thudded in her chest.
The night that Tracey and her doctor husband had crashed
her and Peter’s blanket at the Screen on the Green event
in Piedmont Park, she’d left with Wesley for a pickup that
had turned out to be Alicia Sil s, victim number two. The
Chief Medical Examiner later determined she had died not
of a fall from a stepladder, but of blunt force trauma.
Frederick Lowenstein had arrived late to the event with
Tracey, not long before Carlotta had left to move the
body…at an address within a mile of the park.
And the night of the auction at the country club, Freddy
had left early after receiving a page, not long before she
and Hannah had left to join Wes on a body-moving job
that had turned out be Marna Col ins, victim number five,
poisoned with cyanide.
Not far from the country club.
Doctors could get cyanide. And Freddy Lowenstein had
always given her the wil ies…
“Carlotta, are you there?”
“Rainie, wil you do me a favor?”
“If I can.”
She squinted to remember the words that Dr. Lowenstein