7 Brides for 7 Bodies (3 page)

She turned her head to see Wick and Green appear around the corner of the building about fifty feet away.

And between them, handcuffed and dressed in a gray jumpsuit, was Randolph.

A lump of emotion sprang to her throat.

“This is total bullshit,” Wes said, oblivious to what was happening.

“Wes.” Her voice vibrated. “Look.”

He looked out the window, then sprang up in his seat. “Dad! It’s Dad!” He scrambled to open the door, which wasn’t possible, of course, because Jack had locked them in.

“You can’t get out,” Jack said. “And he can’t see in. Be quiet and enjoy the moment.”

They did. Carlotta had her nose pressed against the window, drinking in the sight of her father. He was still tall and fit, but not as robust and tan as she remembered. He obviously wasn’t getting in as much golf and tennis as he used to. And his hair had silvered around the temples and sideburns. He appeared to be healthy, though, and sure-footed. As the agents led him to a car, he tilted his face to look up at the sun, as if he might be afraid he’d never see it again.

She glanced back and saw that Wesley had his face and both hands planted against the window, his mouth slightly ajar. “It’s really him,” he whispered. “He really is alive.”

Carlotta smiled, then turned and reached for Jack’s hand to give it a grateful squeeze. He squeezed back.

Randolph glanced all around, as if he were looking for someone...looking for them? His gaze passed over the Jack’s car, and for a few seconds, Carlotta felt as if he was looking directly at her. She held her breath.

Suddenly, Wes had lunged over the front seat between them, his hands aimed for the steering wheel, his feet off the floor. The horn blasted into the air. “We’re here, Dad!” he shouted. “It’s Wes and Carlotta—we’re here!”

Several ear-splitting seconds had passed before Jack could shove Wes back into the seat. “Stay there,” he bellowed.

The agents had both drawn their weapons, and Randolph was riveted to their car, his eyes and body alert. Wick hustled him into the rear seat of their car, and Green barreled toward Jack’s sedan.

“This should be fun,” Jack muttered. He glanced at Wesley. “If you try to draw attention to yourself again, I’ll have to shoot you, and you’ll never get to talk to your dad, got it?”

Carlotta pressed her lips together. Jack was bluffing, of course, but the part about not getting to talk to their dad must’ve hit home, because Wes frowned, but nodded.

Jack stepped out of the car and closed the door.

Carlotta shot Wes a reproving glance over the seat. “Jack was trying to do something nice.”

Wes shrugged. “At least Dad knows we were here.”

“Only if the agents tell him.”

“We can tell him later it was us,” Wes said, undaunted.

Outside, she saw Jack was getting a tongue-lashing from Green, punctuated with lots of air chops. She winced. Jack lifted his hands in a sign of mute surrender and the agent backed up, glaring until he reached his car and swung inside. The car sped away with more gusto than necessary, leaving a swirl of dust in its wake.

Jack climbed back into the car and sighed. “That was a dumb move, Wes.”

Wes grinned. “I’m only nineteen—I do dumb things.”

Jack gave Carlotta an exasperated look. She mouthed, “I’m sorry.”

But Wes was bouncing in the backseat. “Did you see him, Sis? Doesn’t he look great?”

His excitement was infectious and she laughed. “I did, and he does.”

“Oh my freaking God,” Wes said, still bouncing. “This is the best day of my life!”

“Easy on the springs back there,” Jack said sourly as he started the car.

Carlotta laid a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Jack.”

“Don’t mention it—and I mean that. I’m already in enough trouble. Where are you parked?”

She told him the way, her pulse clicking higher as they approached her car. Wes was still talking to no one in particular about how awesome it was to see Randolph, and he couldn’t wait to talk to him.

As soon as the car stopped, Wesley said, “Gotta run, Sis—I’ll call you later.”

“Wait outside for a minute, would you, Wes?” Jack asked. “I need a word.”

Wes frowned. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope.”

He rolled his eyes. “Okay.” Then he banged his way out of the car, and walked toward the bike rack.

Jack turned back to her. “Visiting or calling USP requires some paperwork and protocol. If you run into any snags, give Brooklyn a call.”

Not him, but the lady who kept the Midtown precinct in order. Carlotta could already feel his detachment, and bitterly regretted her earlier words. “Jack...about what I said—”

“You’re right,” he said. “Now that Randolph is in custody, it’s important that we maintain a certain amount of distance.”

She nodded. “Okay. But I’m not happy about this.”

“I’m sure Peter will be.”

She decided not to respond.

“I assume your Vegas trip got postponed?”

“Yes.”

His dark eyebrows climbed. “Well, then I’ve got something to be happy about, too.”

She gave him a light punch in the arm, then sobered. “Jack, did Randolph say anything to you after you arrested him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did he mention...our mother?”

A shadow fell over his eyes. “No. I’m sorry. I tried to draw him out, but he didn’t say a word on the ride to the jail or while he was being booked. He wouldn’t even make eye contact.”

Although she wasn’t surprised, her heart dragged with disappointment. She reached for the door handle. “I should go.”

“So,” he said with a little smile, “I guess I won’t be seeing you around.”

“I guess not,” she said breezily.

His gaze caught hers and unreadable emotions flitted over his face. This man could make her feel so much...but was it because they were always enmeshed in a crisis? Adrenaline could be a powerful aphrodisiac...but would ultimately lead to a plunging crash.

Carlotta moistened her lips. Then before she did something crazy—like vault across the seat and straddle him—she lifted the door handle and escaped.

Plus ten points.

Then she frowned. No, wait—
minus
ten.

Chapter Three

WES UNLOCKED HIS BIKE and expelled a sigh of relief when Carlotta emerged from Jack’s car and retreated to her rental. He got nervous when those two were together—he was always afraid Carlotta was going to...leave.

Or be left.

He didn’t worry as much when she was with Peter—he would do right by her. And so would Coop.

He walked his bike to the curb as Jack climbed out and walked toward him in his action-hero swagger. Wes smirked. Even a love-idiot like him could see that any woman who attached herself to this guy was going to pay for it tenfold in the long run. In his professional life, sure—Jack saved women and babies from burning buildings. But in his personal life, he was a little less noble.

Not that Wes had time to worry about it—he had his own problems. Just when he’d gotten clean from the Oxycontin and things were looking up with his coworker Meg Vincent, he’d gotten a call from Liz Fischer, his attorney and occasional booty call—

Although, come to think of it, maybe he was the booty since Liz did the calling?

Regardless of who or whom, there was a new development: Liz was pregnant.

With a baby.

When she’d told him on the phone, the memory of a busted condom has flashed in his mind and he’d promptly fainted. Mouse had brought him back around with a face full of pink lemonade Icee. And while he’d been trying to deal with that little earthquake, Carlotta had called with the news that had shifted his life another ninety degrees—Randolph was back.

Their dad was back.

He wiped a hand over his inadvertent grin—wow. It was surreal seeing his father again, like seeing a ghost. Sometimes he wondered if he actually remembered his parents, or if he’d simply memorized the photos. He was still pissed he hadn’t gotten to talk to Randolph, to hear his voice and once and for all get his side of the story, but just the knowledge that he was alive and safe was a huge relief.

He took a deep breath. And Randolph’s appearance had given him some clarity on what he needed to do where Liz was concerned.

Jack strode up to him. “That was a bonehead move back there. And you’re welcome.”

Wesley scoffed. “Don’t expect a thank-you from me for that little sight-seeing trip. You’re the one who caused this problem, remember?”

A muscle worked in Jack’s jaw. “Randolph is one who caused this problem. Did it ever occur to you that I arrested him not to keep you and Carlotta away from him, but to make sure he couldn’t take off again?”

“I thought you said you were doing your job?”

“I was. But I also wanted him confined to a place where he’d be forced to sit down and talk to you and your sister.”

“And yet that hasn’t happened.”

Jack scratched his temple. “I didn’t count on the feds to swoop in, at least not so soon.”

“Yeah, well...I need to go.” Wes jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “I have to be somewhere.”

“It can wait a few minutes.” Jack assumed his cop stance. “I want to talk you.”

Wes scowled. “About what?”

“About how your fingerprints wound up on an anonymous note the APD received listing possible names of an unidentified headless corpse in the morgue.”

Wes felt his face blanch—Liz had tipped him off that Jack had called her about it, but he hadn’t had time to think of a cover story. He wasn’t sure, but he suspected his buddy Mouse had offed the man since he’d made Wes pull the teeth out of the decapitated head as a rite of passage before being accepted into The Carver’s loan shark organization. He owed Mouse a debt of thanks for helping him get off Oxy. The man didn’t know he was working undercover for the APD to offset a charge of body tampering from when he—

Wes sighed. It was a long, sad story. And from the sour look on the detective’s face, he wasn’t in the mood to let Wes ruminate.

“If you witnessed something while working for The Carver,” Jack said, “you don’t have to make anonymous tips—just tell me. That’s why I’m your liaison.”

“Are you going to
liase
my body to Carlotta when I’m murdered for being a snitch?”

Jack frowned. “Don’t bring your sister into this.”

A red convertible Jaguar slid to a stop next to them, and Wes’s stomach bottomed out. Liz Fischer, wearing big sunglasses and a scarf tied around her blond hair, smiled up at them. “Why, Jack, you wouldn’t be questioning my client without me being present, would you?”

Jack looked perturbed. “Wouldn’t think of it.”

She lowered her sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes. “Good.”

“What brings you to the city lockup, Liz?” Jack asked. “New client?”

“An old one,” she said, sliding her gaze to Wesley. “I assume you’re here to see Randolph, too?”

Wes nodded. “Didn’t happen though—he was moved this morning.”

She frowned and looked to Jack for clarification.

“Feds had him moved to USP.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “Makes sense, although I’m sure D.A. Lucas is livid.”

“He’ll have to wait his turn,” Jack said. “I guess the feds want a crack at Wren first.”

She checked her watch. “I suppose I’d better head over there and see.”

“Take me with you,” Wes pleaded.

She shook her head. “They won’t let him have visitors without the proper paperwork. They’ll only let me in because they have to.”

Wes swallowed his disappointment. “Will you tell him Carlotta and I tried to see him?”

“Of course,” she said, her voice sounding motherly, which only further unnerved him. He wondered what else Liz and his father would talk about. Would they reminisce about their own affair? Would she tell him she was involved with Wes now? And that she was—his intestines cramped—pregnant?

“I hate to be a killjoy,” Jack said, “but the three of us need to talk about Wesley’s connection to a headless corpse in the morgue.”

Liz waved off his concern. “A misunderstanding, I’m sure. I’ll have my office call you later to set up an appointment for us to sit down and get it all straightened out.”

Jack inclined his head in resignation.

She looked back to Wes. “Our last phone call dropped rather suddenly. Are you okay?”

He swallowed and nodded, not okay at all.

“You haven’t returned my calls.”

Sweat dripped down his back, and he was pretty sure he was about to have a stroke.

Jack cleared his throat. “I’m sure his father’s return has taken precedence over everything else...right, Wes?”

“Uh...yeah.” He managed to sling one leg over his bike. “I have to go see my probation officer.”

“Oh, about that,” Liz said. “I played interference for you. Call me later and let me know how it goes?”

His head bobbed like a Pez dispenser, then he hopped on his bike and pedaled like mad to get away from the situation. For now, anyway.

He glanced back to see Jack and Liz still talking, and hoped it wasn’t about the anonymous note. After going to all the trouble of tracking down the dead man’s possible identity through a tattoo, why hadn’t he been more careful about leaving fingerprints on the paper?

And damn, from one bad situation to another, he thought a few minutes later as the building where his probation officer worked loomed in front of him. Last week he’d been required to submit to a blood test to check for drugs. The “blocker” his friend Chance had given him hid his Oxy use in urine samples. But as he’d watched his polluted blood fill the vial, he’d known he was busted.

But that was before Mouse had tossed him in a warehouse to detox, the hard way. It had been hell, but he’d lived. He prayed his P.O. was in a charitable mood today.

On the other hand, he thought with a laugh as he cooled his heels in the waiting room, if she violated his probation and he went to jail for hacking into the courthouse database, maybe he’d get to see his father in the mess hall or in the rec yard.