Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05

STEPHANIE BOND

5 BODIES TO DIE FOR

1

Carlotta Wren shoved her head in the freezer, closing her

eyes and allowing the frosty blast to cool the flush on her

face and neck as she tried to absorb everything that had

happened over the past few days.

A serial kil er was on the loose in Atlanta. Dubbed The

Charmed Kil er by the press for his signature of leaving a

charm in the mouth of his victims, the unknown assailant

was racking up bodies at an astonishing rate—four women

dead in a week, culminating in the murder of an assistant

district attorney. According to Detective Jack Terry, the

Georgia Bureau of Investigation was joining the high-

profile case.

And the Wren family was firmly in the middle of the fray.

She and her brother, Wesley, had been the body movers

on the first two cases, and had been called in on the third,

although Carlotta had had to step aside when she’d

realized she had once crossed paths with the victim.

Wesley had met the fourth victim, the deceased A.D.A.,

while settling his most recent legal trouble. And their

father, Randolph “The Bird” Wren, a fugitive now for more

than ten years for a white-col ar crime, had been named a

possible suspect. First, because one of the charms left

behind had been a bird, and second, because one of the

victims had worked in the same office building where he

had once worked. Carlotta was sure she hadn’t helped

matters by handing over the charm bracelet her father had

given her when she was a teenager to the police, but she

was hoping it would help to clear Randolph.

Meanwhile, Jack had warned her she might have to take a

polygraph to clear herself, due to her proximity to the

bodies.

Minus ten points.

A moan from the living room roused Carlotta from her

churning thoughts. She reached for an ice tray to fil an ice

bag, but the trays were empty, of freaking course. When

her gaze landed on a bag of frozen peas, she grabbed it,

closed the freezer door and walked back to the living

room.

Peter Ashford lay on the couch recovering from the stun-

baton zap she’d inadvertently administered when she’d

mistaken Peter for an intruder. After discovering that

someone had been living in their guest bedroom

unbeknownst to her and her brother, she’d been skittish.

Carlotta leaned over to brush aside Peter’s blond hair with

her fingers and place the bag of frozen peas on his

forehead. “This is the best I can do. Feeling better?”

He was stil pale, but his deep blue eyes seemed more

alert. He nodded and reached for her hand. “It was stupid

of me to come in the house unannounced. But the door

was unlocked and I thought I’d surprise you.”

She smiled. “You did.”

“That’l teach me.”

“And that’l teach me for leaving the door unlocked.” She

sighed. “I have to learn to be more careful.”

“I’m so glad you’ve agreed to move in with me.”

She bit her lip. It had been a decision she’d made once she

ful y understood that she wasn’t safe in the town house,

not with uninvited houseguests coming and going, and a

mysterious black SUV stalking the curb.

Oh, and there was the matter of her Monte Carlo

exploding in the mall parking lot two days ago when she

was supposed to have been in it.

“I’m not moving in,” she murmured. “I’m just staying with

you until things settle down.” But she could tel from the

light in Peter’s eyes that he hoped having Carlotta in his

house would help her to fall in love with him, and with the

lifestyle she might’ve had if Peter hadn’t ended their

engagement when her father had been indicted all those

years ago. She was open to the idea of growing closer to

Peter, but for now, al she wanted to do was feel safe.

She left his side to pick up her phone and dial Wesley—

again. Again, he didn’t answer, and again, she left him a

message to call her right away. He was probably out

working his new job as a bike courier and couldn’t hear his

phone. When Wesley learned that fugitive Michael Lane

had stolen the money that Wesley had won in a card game

and had stowed in his sock drawer for repairs around the

house, he’d be furious.

Peter tried to sit up, then winced and laid back.

“Take it easy,” she admonished.

“What if that psycho comes back?”

“There’s a cop in the driveway. Jack sent him over to keep

an eye on things until he gets here.”

“Did you see this Lane guy?”

“No,” she said, gesturing toward the hallway. “I went into

my parents’ room and found the scrubs Michael had been

wearing when he jumped over the side of the bridge.” She

swallowed hard, reliving the fear. “It looks like Michael

was living here al the time we thought he was…dead.”

Michael Lane was a former coworker of Carlotta’s at

Neiman Marcus. He’d headed up an identity-theft ring that

had resulted in two women losing their lives…and when

Carlotta had figured out what he’d been up to, he’d tried

to kil her, too. He’d been cooling his heels in the psych

ward at Northside Hospital until deemed fit to stand trial,

but Michael had escaped and after a televised foot chase,

he’d chosen to jump over the side of a bridge into the

Chattahoochee River instead of surrendering to police.

But it appeared the presumed-dead fugitive had gotten

the last laugh.

Peter made an angry noise in his throat. “I can’t believe

that madman was here while you slept. He could’ve

murdered you in your bed.”

“But he didn’t,” she said, trying to sound soothing.

It was true that she thought she’d dreamed someone was

watching her at night, but decided it was best not to

mention to Peter that Detective Jack Terry had

inadvertently protected her one of those nights—by

sharing her bed. Besides, she and Jack had both agreed

that it would be their last…lapse. Jack wasn’t looking for a

relationship, and she needed someone with more stability.

Like Peter.

“Has the feeling returned to your fingers?” she asked him.

He made a weak fist. “Getting there.”

When she’d called Jack after realizing she’d zapped Peter

by mistake, he’d said Peter would be fine in a few minutes.

But what if he had a heart ailment or other condition?

“Maybe I should take you to the emergency room after

al .”

“No, really. I’m already feeling much better.” Then he gave

her a wry smile. “Please don’t make me tell total strangers

that my girlfriend used a Taser on me.”

She laughed rueful y and decided not to correct him on the

“girlfriend” part. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’l let you make it up to me.”

A knock sounded at the front door. When Carlotta went to

check, she was relieved to see Detective Jack Terry

standing on the stoop, large and competent. Not stopping

to analyze the rush of emotion that his presence triggered,

she opened the door, her mood dimming at the sight of

Jack’s new partner, Detective Maria Marquez, standing

behind him.

“Hey,” Jack said, his rocky face solemn. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, come on in.” She stepped aside and nodded to

Maria as the woman walked by. Scant hours ago, she’d

seen both of them at the memorial service for A.D.A.

Cheryl Meriwether. When she’d first called Jack after she’d

found Michael’s clothes, he’d told her he was busy, but

would be there soon. In the background, she thought

she’d heard Maria and other noises that made her wonder

if Jack had already found a new project for his tool.

The woman was stunning, to be sure, with honey-colored

hair, almond-shaped eyes and curves all up and down the

highway. Worse, the woman was smart—a profiler who

had recently relocated from Chicago. She was single and,

based on a phone call that Carlotta had overheard while

Maria had once babysat her, the woman had left an

unhappy situation. She was ripe for the picking, and Jack

had good hands.

The two of them made a spectacular-looking couple,

Carlotta conceded as she closed the door behind them.

From the couch, Peter awkwardly pushed himself into a

sitting position. The bag of frozen peas slid off his head

and landed on the floor with a smack. Jack leaned over to

pick them up and handed them back to Peter with a little

smile.

“I heard that Carlotta lit you up with her stun baton.”

Peter looked up at him, but the movement made him

grimace. “She has good reflexes.”

Jack looked back to her and smiled. “Yes, she does.”

Carlotta gave him a warning glance.

“We need to take a look in your parents’ room,” he said,

suddenly all business.

“Go for it,” Carlotta said, leading them down the hall. Jack

and Maria stopped at the closed door to pul on gloves and

slip paper booties over their shoes.

Jack turned the knob and pushed open the door. “What

made you come in here? Did you hear a noise?”

“No.” She hung back in the doorway while they proceeded

into the room that was pretty much the way her parents

had left it, aside from being searched by the police after

the couple had disappeared. Carlotta’s gaze went to the

box of dried-up cigars on her father’s nightstand. One of

the charms left in the mouth of a victim was a miniature

cigar, and in light of the other suspicions leveled against

her father, she had simply wanted to check out his

stash…and maybe get rid of it, so the police didn’t have

any other circumstantial evidence against Randolph.

Jack fol owed her line of sight to the cigar box and nodded

in mute understanding. In a shared glance, he telegraphed

that Marquez didn’t have to know…for now.

“When I walked in,” Carlotta continued, “the room felt

different—cleaner, for one thing. I could smel antiseptic.

Then I noticed the scrubs and recognized them as the ones

Michael had been wearing when he jumped off the

bridge.”

Maria looked incredulous. “How could someone have

been living in here and you not know it?”

Carlotta bristled. Maria had accused her of being a little

clueless in other areas of her life before—like when it

came to knowing things about her best friend, Hannah

Kizer, for example. The woman must be convinced that

Carlotta was oblivious to everything going on around her,

and at the moment it was hard to argue the point. “I dust

in here occasionally, but normally the room is closed off.

There’s real y no reason for me or Wesley to come in

here.”

Jack walked over to inspect the door leading out to the

deck. “This is how Lane got in and out?”

“Probably. We keep that door dead-bolted, and it was

unlocked when I came in.”

“Are there signs that he was in other parts of the house?”

Carlotta squirmed. “Uh, yeah. He did…chores.”

Maria arched a beautiful eyebrow. “You mean, like

washing dishes?”

“And…laundry. And running the vacuum and…I think he

might have mopped the kitchen floor.”

Maria laughed. “He was doing housework, and you didn’t

notice?”

Carlotta gritted her teeth. “That’s right. Are you annoyed,

Detective, that this doesn’t fit the profile you worked up