Authors: Stephanie Bond
“Absolutely. We don’t know who, but at least now we
have a place to start. In light of Garza’s confession and this
new evidence, the D.A. is reviewing the charges against
Coop.”
She squealed with delight.
“That doesn’t mean you should let your guard down,” he
warned. “Lane is stil out there. I have some leads, but
nothing definite. And now we have to find Coop, too, and
convince him to turn himself in so we can get this al
straightened out.” He smiled. “But since the state boys
created this mess, I’m going to let them handle it.”
She considered tel ing Jack about Coop’s call, but decided
that once Coop called Liz, it would all get sorted out.
Jack returned the chip to his pocket and grinned. “Aren’t
you going to say I told you so?”
She shook her head. “No. Thank you for believing me,
Jack.”
He reached forward and picked up a lock of her hair, his
pet gesture when he wanted to say something. He
fingered the strand, rubbing it between forefinger and
thumb. “You are something, you know that?”
She didn’t respond, just soaked up his words and basked in
the happiness of knowing that she’d helped Coop…and
Maria.
He dropped his hand and cleared his throat. “So…are you
all packed for Vegas?”
“Almost,” she said. “But I’m running low on underwear.”
“Wow, it’s a good thing you work in a department store,”
he said with a little smile. “If I don’t see you again…have a
safe trip.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Jack.”
He turned and walked away.
He was always walking away, she realized.
But she refused to be the least bit sad about anything. She
finished her shift, said goodbye to Herb, and stopped to
pick up the rest of the dry cleaning for her trip. Then she
drove home listening to the radio as news broke that split
The Charmed Kil er case wide open and sent reporters
scrambling.
When she got home, she pul ed the dry cleaning from her
car. One of the bags contained the bathing suit that
Hannah had worn in the hot tub. Carlotta decided to write
Hannah’s name on the garment bag so she’d always have a
suit when she came over.
And just like that, Carlotta realized that she was planning
on staying at Peter’s home for a while.
When she walked into the house, she grabbed the key to
the pool house and kept going, out onto the patio, past
the pool, sorting through her mail that had been
forwarded to Peter’s address. Bil s, bil s, bil s.
She sighed, juggled envelopes and the garment bag as she
unlocked the door to the pool house. She walked in and
went directly to the changing room, where she hung the
suit in the armoire. When she turned around, she stopped
and frowned. Something was out of place.
Her gaze landed on a picture propped up on the vanity. A
picture of her, taken by Michael at an employee party. It
was the same photo that he’d swiped from the bul etin
board in her bedroom when he’d hidden in the townhouse
under their noses.
And he’d been hiding right under her nose again, here in
the pool house. Terror seized her. She should’ve given in
to the urge to check the closet the other day for Angela’s
lingerie and props. Although, if she had, Hannah might
have gotten hurt.
She turned to run, but Michael Lane stood in the doorway,
newly blond, dressed in chinos and a dress shirt, as if he
were going to work. Strangely, though, his pants pockets
bulged—perhaps with coins? In his hand he held what
looked like a surgical knife, probably the same one he’d
escaped with from the mental ward of the hospital.
She screamed and backed up to the wal .
Michael looked confused. “Why would you scream? No
one can hear you.”
Carlotta found her voice. “You startled me, Michael, that’s
al .”
He laughed. “You should see the look on your face. You
look like al those other women.”
He was completely mad. His eyes were vacant, darting.
“Wh-what other women?”
“All those women whose pictures are on TV,” he said. “I’m
really sorry about that,” he said, then grimaced. “I’m really
sorry about a lot of things. I wasn’t a very good friend to
you, Carlotta.”
“It’s okay,” she soothed. “We can work this out. Why don’t
you let me call someone?” She reached into her purse.
“No!” he shouted, holding the knife blade toward her. “It’s
too late for that. They’re looking for me, did you know?”
“They want you to get help, Michael.”
“No, they want to kil me in a dozen different ways.”
Carlotta wet her lips. “Is that what you were doing,
Michael? Kil ing women in a dozen different ways?”
He looked up and squinted. “I was always smarter than
people gave me credit for, Carlotta. And charming. I was
so charming, wasn’t I?”
Her throat convulsed. “Yes, Michael…you’ve always been
charming. And helpful.” She shifted to shove her hand
deeper into her purse. “I didn’t get to thank you for all the
things you did around the townhouse to help out.”
He looked confused, then he nodded. “What did I do?”
“You know—laundry, running the dishwasher, that kind of
thing.”
“Oh…right. I thought it was the least I could do since you
al owed me to live there.”
“And you got rid of the fire ants in our yard,” she said,
curling her fingers around the baton.
He frowned. “No. I don’t like ants.” Then he pointed the
knife at her. “Hey, stop talking. You’re trying to mess with
me. You’re trying to get me sent to prison for the rest of
my life.”
“No, I’m not, Michael.”
“Yes, you are!” he shouted. “You were going to testify
against me, say that I tried to hurt you.”
“You did hurt me, Michael. Remember, you threw me over
the balcony of the Fox Theater?”
“That was self-defense. What else was I supposed to do?”
He stepped closer, holding the blade. “You can fix things.
You can tel the police I didn’t mean to kil those women,
but I had to.”
She nodded. “Okay, I’l tel them whatever you want,
Michael. Just put down the knife.”
He looked at the weapon, then up at her again. “You’re
trying to trick me.” He lunged toward her and she pul ed
out the baton. She groped for the button, and was able to
make contact with a zzzzt just as he stabbed at her. His
body stiffened and the knife fel . Then he dropped to the
floor.
As he lay there twitching, Carlotta dissolved in sobs. She
reached for the phone and fumbled with the buttons until
Jack’s number popped up. She pushed Send, and he
answered on the second ring.
“Did you decide to gloat after all?” he asked.
Her teeth chattered. “J-Jack…J-Jack…”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, instantly serious. “Where are
you?”
“P-Peter’s p-pool house. It’s Michael…it was Michael…”
“Stay on the phone. I’m coming.”
30
If they had any questions about Michael’s guilt, it was put
to rest by the contents of his pockets—handfuls of charms
of al kinds.
Carlotta stood inside the house, looking out the sliding
glass door, watching Michael being hauled away on a
gurney. He was handcuffed and shackled—the authorities
weren’t taking any chances this time. Rainie Stephens
stood nearby, directing a photographer to get the photos
needed for the exclusive Carlotta had promised her.
“Are you sure you’re up to giving a statement?” Jack
asked.
Carlotta turned and nodded. “I want to get this over with.”
She retraced her story and her steps for Jack as he took
notes. When she was finished, he put away the notebook.
“When you get back from your trip, we might have a few
more questions for you.”
“Of course. But you’ve got enough to hold him, don’t
you?”
“Yes. And I finally picked up a lead on one of the parts for
the explosive that was planted under your car. If it tracks
back to Lane, we’l have more federal charges to file. If the
man is sane, I’d say he’s looking at the needle for sure.”
“He didn’t seem sane to me. He was confused, as if he
couldn’t tel the difference between what was real, and
what was happening on television.”
Jack grunted. “Then he’l probably be institutionalized for
the rest of his life.”
“But why would Michael want to frame Coop? It doesn’t
make sense.”
“I don’t know. If Maria were here, I’m sure she could help
us understand.”
Carlotta stepped back to the sliding glass door and looked
out on the pool house. A CSI team was processing the
building. She couldn’t help feeling that something wasn’t
right, but she reasoned that everything would be
explained as Michael relayed details of the crimes. It
would stil be a long time before the city felt normal again.
Jack came to stand behind her. “What a day, huh?”
She hugged herself. “Yeah, what a day.”
He reached up and pul ed her hair over one shoulder.
“Carlotta, about your trip…”
She looked back at him. “What, Jack?”
He moved up behind her and wrapped one arm around
her. “Don’t go,” he whispered hoarsely.
She closed her eyes as emotions coursed through her. She
swallowed hard. “Don’t go…or stay here with you, Jack?
It’s two different things.”
He pul ed back and she could sense his emotional retreat.
It would always be that way with Jack, hot and cold. Down
the hall, the sound of the front door bursting open broke
the silence.
“Carly?” came Peter’s frantic voice.
She and Jack moved in opposite directions as Peter strode
into the room and pul ed her into his arms.
“Are you okay?” He leaned back and cupped her face. “I
can’t believe I almost lost you. I love you so much.” He
held her tight and rocked her back and forth, murmuring
little contented sounds.
This was the man she could count on, she realized, the
man who wanted her so much, he wasn’t afraid to let the
world know. “I love you, too,” she said.
When she opened her eyes, she caught a flash of
resignation of Jack’s face just before he turned to go.
31
Wes sighed and stared at the clock on the wall. Was the
damn thing even working? It had been five minutes til
noon for what seemed like over an hour now. Christ, with
Meg gone on vacation, his time at ASS did seem like a
sentence.
“When does Meg get back?” Jeff Spooner asked.
Ravi Chopra paused in his keyboarding. “Yeah. Do you
know, Wes?”
Wes looked at the guys who shared the workstation, equal
parts sorry for them and irritated with them. He wanted to
say, “She’s mine, losers, back off.” But he understood
where they were coming from. Meg had them al tied up in
knots.
“It’s only been two days, guys. She’l be back next
Monday.” He was reassuring himself as much as them.
Wes pushed to his feet and grabbed his backpack. “I’m
outta here.”
As he exited the building, his cel phone rang. He reached
for it, hoping it was Meg. Instead, Liz Fischer’s name came
up on the screen. He winced, but he had to answer it.
They’d been playing phone tag because she’d been so
busy taking care of Coop’s case since it had blown up in
the D.A.’s toady face.
“Hey, Liz.”
“Hi, Wes. Is this a good time to talk?”
“Sure,” he said, walking toward the bike rack. Mouse
would be there soon to pick him up. “How’s Coop?”
“Good,” she said. “The initial charges have been dropped,
and I’m pretty sure I can get the fugitive charges dropped,
too. It’s going to take a while to get everything sorted out,
but Coop seems to have a champion on the staff of the
AJC. We have interview requests from al the networks.
Everyone’s backpedaling, trying to repair the damage to
Coop’s reputation. I think he’s going to come out of this on
top.”
Wes grinned. “That’s great news.” Carlotta had been right
about Coop all along…and right about Wes getting clean.
“Uh, Liz…I need a favor.”
“Shoot.”
He told her about the blood test taken the previous week
at his probation meeting. “I’m not going to lie to you—I
know it tested positive for Oxy. But I went through detox
over the weekend, and I’m clean. I was hoping you could
talk to my probation officer and arrange for me to take
another blood test when I go in tomorrow.”
“Ah, so that’s why I have three messages from your
probation officer. Don’t worry. I’l take care of it.”
His shoulders fell. “Thanks, Liz, you’re the best.”
“Wes, there are a couple of other things I need to talk to
you about.”
“Okay.” The black Town Car pul ed up and Mouse threw
up his hand in a wave. Wes waved back and held up a
finger to indicate he’d be a minute. He was stil amazed at
what the big man had done for him.
“I got a call from Jack Terry this morning,” Liz said. “He
wants to know why your fingerprints are on an anonymous
note the APD received listing possible names identifying a
headless corpse in the county morgue.”