Authors: Stephanie Bond
Maria asked me out.”
“You don’t have to explain anything to me, Jack. I was
there on a date, you were there on a date. It’s what adults
do.”
“Uh, yeah. I guess.”
“Your evening ended early,” she ventured, bemused that
he wasn’t sleeping over at Maria’s.
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled thickly.
She frowned. “Are you eating?”
“Yeah, sorry. The portions at that restaurant wouldn’t
keep a damn cricket alive. I swung by The Varsity to get a
sack of burgers.”
She smiled. So the restaurant wasn’t his kind of place after
all. “Jack, I need to throw something out there regarding
the case. Mind you, I’m just thinking out loud.”
He sighed. “What now?”
“June Moody’s son, Mitchel , fits the profile Maria
created.”
He made an exasperated noise. “How do you know about
Marquez’s profile?”
“Never mind. Mitchel Moody is a career army man. He
arrived in town on leave from Hawaii just before the
murders began, and he’s stil here.”
“Is that all? He was in Atlanta when the kil ings began?
Because so were six mil ion other people.”
“He doesn’t have a good relationship with his mother,
which also matches the profile. And although he’s seeing
the Olympian Eva McCoy now, before she was available, I
saw footage of him on TV standing vigil in front of her
house with the paparazzi. Plus he’s been hanging out at
Moody’s, and two of the victims were found near there.”
She decided not to add that the “aloha” charm on her
bracelet inexplicably heightened her suspicion, as if a
cosmic finger was pointing to the man.
“But Michael Lane was at the cigar bar, too. And we know
he’s kil ed before. Have you changed your mind about
Lane being The Charmed Kil er?”
“No…I’ve just been thinking of other people…around
me…who give me the creeps.”
“There are others?”
“Dr. Frederick Lowenstein, he’s an OB/GYN at Piedmont. I
saw him at events on the same nights two of the victims
were kil ed—Alicia Sil s and Marna Col ins. And both
events were in close proximity to the crime scenes. He was
late arriving at one event, and the other one he left early.”
“He delivers babies, Carlotta. His schedule is probably
pretty frantic.”
“Humor me, Jack. Run a background check on him and
Mitchel Moody. What would it hurt?”
“Okay,” he mumbled between chewing. “Anything else
you need to tel me?”
Her pulse blipped. Had Rainie called Jack to tel him about
the fabricated piece in the paper meant to incite Michael
Lane? “Uh…not that I can think of. Thanks for offering to
help Peter out with the GBI.”
“Glad to help.” He cleared his throat. “I’m sure you know
that Coop is getting out of jail tomorrow.”
“Yes, that’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Don’t read too much into it. Just because the D.A. doesn’t
have a truckload of evidence doesn’t mean Coop is
innocent.”
“Jack, how many times do I have to tel you? Coop didn’t
do this.”
He was quiet for a few seconds. “I’l say one thing. If I were
in trouble, I’d want you on my side.”
Warmth infused her chest. “I can’t imagine you being in
trouble, Jack.”
He grunted. “Just don’t go getting any ideas about trying
to see Coop, do you understand? It could make things
worse for him, especial y if the GBI is stil trying to prove
that he did these things because he’s hung up on you.”
“I’m just happy that he’l be free on bail.”
“Coop won’t be free on bail,” Jack corrected. “He’l be
under house arrest—big difference. He can’t leave his
home, his cal s wil be monitored, and with that GPS
bracelet on his ankle, the GBI wil know when he goes to
the john.”
“But he’l be home.”
“And if he has a stash of liquor on hand, he’l be able to
drink himself into oblivion.”
“But he’l be home,” she insisted.
“Yeah,” he said with a tired sigh. “Home sounds good right
now.”
She guessed that meant he was sleeping at the station
again. “Home sounds good to me, too,” she murmured,
suddenly missing her childish white bed and the sound of
Wesley whistling as he made breakfast in their cramped
kitchen.
“Hang in there, darlin’. I’m stil on the job.”
“I know. And I know deep down, Jack, you believe The
Charmed Kil er is stil out there. Otherwise, you’d have
given back my red panties,” she added lightly.
“You don’t think I’d give them back before you go to
Vegas, do you?”
“You’d rather I go without?”
A strangled noise sounded over the line. “I gotta go. My
burgers are getting cold.”
“Good night, Jack.”
20
Double vision, Wesley decided, wasn’t so bad if he could
look at Meg all the time. She sat on one foot at their
grubby shared workstation, bobbing her head to the music
on her iPod. The tip of her ponytail swung in the air as she
looked back and forth between her monitor and the
printouts on her desk. His blurred vision exaggerated her
movements and the bright colors she wore. He wanted to
frame her.
Meg lifted her head from her work, looked at him and
removed her earbuds. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You’re staring at me.”
“Maybe I like staring at you.”
She rol ed her eyes. “Maybe you’re stoned.”
“I’m getting clean.” And he felt like living hel . He’d been
tasked to read a manual on database design, reading that
would’ve blinded him on a good day, but was impossible
with the sludge in his brain. As the hour approached noon,
his body screamed for Oxy.
Meg gave him a wry smile. “Wel , talk to me when you get
clean.”
“Go out with me tonight,” he said impulsively. He wouldn’t
be in top form, but he couldn’t get her off his mind. And
he was afraid if he sat on his hands much longer, Mark the
Metrosexual would plant his flag.
Meg frowned. “You’re seeing someone else—who reeks of
bad perfume, by the way.”
A headache landed between his eyes like an axe. He
grimaced, but forced himself to talk through the pain.
“I’m…not…seeing…anyone. I stopped to see my attorney
before I came to the party.”
“On a Saturday?”
“It’s complicated. She was my father’s attorney, so she’s
more like a…friend of the family.”
“Liz Fischer. I remember her name from the court records
data we went over.”
“Right. She asked me to come by because she’s
representing my buddy Cooper Craft.”
“You mean, The Charmed Kil er?”
He couldn’t bring himself to think about what Coop had
done. “Whatever. Anyway, she wanted to ask me some
questions about him. That’s why I was late.”
Meg angled her head. “So how did her perfume get on
you?”
“She hugged me before I left. Like I said, Liz is a friend of
the family.”
“Why didn’t you say so the night of the party?”
“Because I already had to explain about my probation
officer. I was afraid you’d find it kind of…seedy. I know
your father already doesn’t like me.”
She pursed her mouth and conceded his remark with a
nod. “Lucky for you, I’m not my father.”
His heart lifted with hope, but she narrowed her eyes.
“If you think you’re getting laid, Wren, you’re not. If I
decide to give you another chance, it’ll be starting over
with a first date, seeing as how you abandoned me at my
father’s reception, and the frat party was a bust.”
“Right,” he agreed, nodding like a trained dog.
“So about going out tonight—were you planning to pick
me up on your bicycle?”
He flushed and pushed up his glasses. “Uh, I guess I didn’t
think it through.”
“It’s okay,” she said with a sigh, then leveled her gaze on
him. “I’m going to see an Italian film tonight at Landmark
Theater, seven-thirty. If you can handle subtitles, I’l meet
you there.”
He blinked. “Yeah, I’l be there.”
Meg glanced at her watch then stood and grabbed her
purse. She leaned over as she walked by and murmured,
“Bring a kiss.”
Her words lit him up like a bulb. He wanted to fol ow her
out, but he wasn’t sure how his legs would perform once
he stood. So he waited until the sound of her footsteps
faded, then gingerly pushed to his feet and picked up his
backpack. The effort had him sweating profusely, and his
vision was stil blurred. No way would he make it to his
probation meeting with E. without driving his bike into the
path of something much bigger and much faster.
He pul ed out the empty ink pen where he stored his stash
of Oxy. His hands shook so badly, he dropped the pil s on
the floor and had to scramble to recover them, losing one
down the hole of an outlet. He was so rattled, he
impulsively chewed an entire tablet, effectively blowing
the tapering program he’d had himself on for the past two
days. Carlotta’s threat reverberated in his head. His sister
had been a lenient guardian for the most part, but he
knew when she meant business.
He would start tapering again after his probation meeting,
he promised himself, but gave thanks as the sweet, sweet
drug zapped his headache instantly and stil ed his
trembling hands. He double-checked to make sure he had
a packet of urine screen to dump into a sample if E. asked
for one at the meeting, and by the time he exited the
building and unlocked his bike, he was feeling good.
Amazing, even. And the promise of seeing Meg that night
had him humming dopey rock ballads on the ride to the
probation office.
He didn’t even mind the sourpuss at the check-in desk, or
the stale odor of the waiting room. He laid his head back
and smiled to himself. Oxy was a panacea. The drug gave
everything a rosy hue…made him feel as if everything in
his life would work out. He’d get to be with Meg, someday
play in the World Series of Poker, and his parents would
come home. Coop would beat his murder rap, get his job
back, and someday marry Carlotta.
It could happen.
“Wren!” the woman at the desk crowed. “You’re up.”
He sauntered back to E. Jones’s office, then rapped on her
door.
“Come in,” she cal ed.
When he walked in, E. was standing at a file cabinet. She
flashed a quick smile over her shoulder. “Have a seat, Wes.
I’l be right with you.”
He swung into a chair, then straightened, reminding
himself that E. had an eagle eye, so he needed to be on his
best behavior.
She closed the file drawer and sat down at her desk. Her
red hair was pul ed back into a tight bun. E.’s movements
were jerky and her eyes were red-rimmed. With a start, he
also noticed her left hand was bare. Had she given
Leonard’s ring back?
“How are you?” she asked with forced cheer.
“Good.”
“How’s your job?”
“My community service job? It’s fine.”
She looked up from the form she was writing on. “I meant
your courier job.”
His cover for the work he was doing for the D.A. in The
Carver’s organization—even E. didn’t know about it, which
was all the better since the lughead she was engaged to
also worked for the loan shark. “Oh…the courier job is fine,
too.”
She looked over the papers in front of her. “I stil need a
note from your employer to put in your file. Can you bring
it next Wednesday, please?”
He nodded, thinking Jack Terry could probably forge
something that looked believable. “I noticed you’re not
wearing your engagement ring.”
E. glanced at her finger, then moved her hand to her lap.
“It’s being cleaned. So, I hear that your former boss, Dr.
Craft, is getting out on bail?”
He nodded. “He was supposed to be released this
morning, last I heard.”
E. set down her pen. “How has al this affected you, Wes?
Someone you looked up to being charged with such
terrible crimes.”
“I…don’t like it. I thought I knew Coop, but I guess I was
wrong.”
She looked sympathetic. “We can all be wrong about
people.” Then she angled her head and her eyes
narrowed. “Wes, are you…on something?”
“No,” he blurted.
“Take off your glasses.”
“Why?” he asked, stalling.
Her gazed was locked on him, her jaw firm. “Because I said
so.”
He shifted in the chair, then took off his glasses.
“Look at me,” she demanded.
He lifted his gaze to hers. “I can pee in a cup if you want.”
She gave him a flat smile. “That won’t be necessary.”
He exhaled in relief.
E. picked up the phone on her desk and punched a couple
of buttons. “Kathleen, I need you in my office with a kit.
Thanks.”
Wesley started to get a bad vibe. “What was that all
about?”
“Just sit tight,” she said, making more notes on his file.
“Did you and Leonard have an argument?”
E. didn’t look up, but her mouth tightened. “This isn’t a
two-way street, Wesley. My personal life is none of your
business.”
The door opened and a thin older woman wearing a scrub