Six Killer Bodies (28 page)

deference to her commitment to the city and to its people.

Tears fil ed Carlotta’s eyes. Life wasn’t fair. People weren’t

supposed to be cut down in the prime of their lives.

Like the women Michael Lane had murdered. And all the

victims of The Charmed Kil er, whoever he was.

Coop, where are you?

She drew deeply on both cigarettes, sighing in relief as

nicotine sped through her system, taking the edge off her

anxiety. Pacing along the edge of the veranda, she

watched Peter as he used a long-handled net to skim

leaves off the surface of the pool. Her heart welled with

affection—to think that he’d handed over all that money

to save Wesley’s life. The fact that he hadn’t told her

endeared her to him even more.

The sound of a car pul ing into the front circular driveway

caught her attention. She walked to the other side of the

veranda and looked down. Jack climbed out of the driver’s

side of his dark sedan, then walked around to the trunk

and removed a bike—Wesley’s bike. Her heart skipped a

beat.

After setting aside the bike, he walked back to the rear

passenger door, opened it, and helped Wesley out. Her

spirits buoyed, but even from this distance she could see

her brother was in bad shape—he looked dazed and was

having trouble walking. She raced back into her bedroom,

snubbed out the cigarettes, and hurried downstairs to

throw open the front door.

Jack, stil in his dress uniform, had his arm around Wesley’s

shoulders. Wes looked pale and gaunt, his eyes bloodshot

and unfocused. His hair stuck up at all angles, and his jaw

was scruffy with beard growth. His clothes were

disheveled and filthy, and he smel ed of urine and vomit.

She was ready to crumble when she met Jack’s gaze over

Wes’s head. His look telegraphed that she needed to be

strong—and useful.

“Grab his bag,” he said.

She dashed to the car and pul ed the backpack from the

floorboard. “Bring him inside.”

“He needs a bed.”

Thinking it would be easier to get him downstairs than up,

she said, “Take him to the bedroom in the basement.”

She walked in front of them, opening doors and turning on

lights. The basement of Peter’s house held a wine cel ar, a

home theater, and a bedroom suite with high-end

furnishings that rivaled any room in the main part of the

house. Jack helped Wes sit on the bed. When Wes lay

down, his eyes instantly closed and he rol ed into a fetal

position with a groan.

Carlotta started to go to him, but Jack pul ed her back into

the hall and closed the door.

“What’s going on?” she demanded.

“He’s going through detox.”

“What? Where did you find him?”

His mouth flattened. “Don’t ask.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m asking, Jack. Where did you

find him?”

He considered her silently, then seemed to relent. “With a

man who works for Hol is Carver.”

“I’m confused.”

“Apparently this guy was helping Wes detox from Oxy. He

had him in a place where he could take care of him. Did

you know Wes was hooked?”

She closed her eyes and nodded. “I gave him an ultimatum

earlier this week about getting clean. But who is this guy

and why would he care?”

Jack averted his gaze.

“Wait a minute. How did you know where to find Wes?”

After much foot shuffling, he looked back to her. “As part

of his plea agreement for the body-snatching incident,

Wes agreed to snoop around in The Carver’s

organization.”

Her eyes widened. “He’s spying on a loan shark?”

“Relax. He’s just riding along on col ections and keeping his

eyes open. He’s on the payrol , so he’s working down his

debt, too. It was a good deal for Wes, all the way around.”

He sighed. “But to be on the safe side, I had a GPS chip

installed in the phone they gave him. I tracked it to his

backpack in a car sitting outside a building, and I found

them inside.”

Her mind whirled. “So…Wes isn’t working for a courier?”

“Only in the loosest interpretation.”

“So he’s been lying to me.”

“He had to,” Jack said. “That was part of the deal with the

D.A.—no one could know except Liz and me. You can’t say

anything, Carlotta. I know that’s like tel ing a cut not to

bleed, but I’m tel ing you anyway.”

“But it’s dangerous.”

“So is jail,” he snapped. “Your brother got a break here.

And the guy he works with obviously gives a damn about

him to take this on. Detox is not pretty. You should be

grateful.”

Al the fight drained out of her and she nodded. “You’re

right. And I am grateful. What can I do?”

“Apparently he’s through the worst of it.” Jack dug in his

pocket. “Here—the guy who was taking care of him wrote

down a few things. He’s say right now, Wes feels like he

has the worst imaginable case of the flu.”

She glanced at the list written in a masculine scribble.

Valium to sleep

Hot baths for muscle aches

Imodium for the runs

Strong mineral supplement

B6 vitamins

Gradual exercise

Soft, bland food

He should be fine in 24 hours.

Her heart squeezed in appreciation for the person who

had the knowledge and the patience to help Wes through

what must have been an awful ordeal. “I can take it from

here,” she said, then put her hand on Jack’s arm. “Thank

you for finding him and bringing him to me.”

His expression softened. “You’re welcome.”

She stared into his gold-colored eyes, wishing she knew

what made him tick.

“I should go,” he said, turning to head toward the steps.

She fol owed him upstairs and as they walked into the

kitchen, the sliding glass door to the pool area opened.

Peter stepped in and blinked when he saw Jack.

“Jack brought Wesley home,” Carlotta explained. “I put

him downstairs.”

“Is he okay?”

She nodded. “I’l walk Jack out, then I’l fil you in.”

She fol owed Jack to his car, brimming with emotion. “This

has been a terrible day for you, Jack, and here you are

taking time out to do something for me.”

“I need to stay busy,” he said, then tried to smile. “Luckily

with you around, that’s not a problem.”

She stepped forward and hugged him, pressing her face

against his blue coat. “I’m so sorry about Maria.” She

choked on the woman’s name.

“I know. Me, too.” He put his arms around her waist and

pul ed her closer.

After a long, warm moment, she stepped back and wiped

the corners of her eyes.

Jack cleared his throat, obviously struggling to maintain

control. “Try to stay out of trouble,” he said gruffly, then

climbed into this car and drove off.

Carlotta went back into the house and relayed to Peter

what had happened. “Is it okay if Wes stays here for a

couple of days?”

“He’s welcome to stay as long as he wants,” Peter said.

“What can I do to help?”

She smiled up at him, thinking how lucky she was to have

him. “Can you loan him some clothes?”

“Let’s go pick out a few things,” Peter said and they jogged

up the stairs together. Carlotta ducked back into her room

to turn off the television, but stopped when she saw a

picture of an attractive blond woman flash on the screen.

Something about her seemed familiar.

She turned up the volume in time to hear the newscaster

say, “Breaking news just in from the Fulton County

Morgue in Atlanta. A positive ID has been made on the

only unidentified victim of The Charmed Kil er that was

burned beyond recognition. The victim’s name is Casey

Renee Sutcliffe from Jonesboro, Georgia. Twenty-seven-

year-old Sutcliffe had not been reported missing—her

family said she was between jobs, and she lived alone.

They believed her to be fine until they received the cal

today from Chief Medical Examiner Bruce Abrams. Very

sad news indeed.”

Carlotta stared at the woman’s smiling face, and then

recognition hit her hard, stealing her breath.

One of the last times she’d seen Coop was at Moody’s

Cigar Bar. He’d been drinking and behaving out of

character, with a slinky woman draped over him.

Casey Renee Sutcliffe.

26

Wes opened his eyes and groaned, then waited for the

pain to barrel through his head. When it didn’t, he

wondered if he was dead.

If so, hel had a pretty comfy mattress.

He turned his head, but didn’t recognize the dark room.

Yel ow light peeked in around the edges of a curtain. He

pushed himself up gingerly and sucked in a breath at the

overall soreness of his body. He felt as if he’d been turned

inside out, and his memory was like Swiss cheese. He

limped to the window and pul ed aside the curtain. The

sunlight blinded him. When he finally blinked the scene

into focus, he was stil confused. The window was level

with the ground and he was looking out onto what

appeared to be a side yard.

He turned back to the room and searched for a light. He

was in the basement of a house, but whose?

The light revealed a nice, if boring, room that he’d never

seen. He was wearing gray sweats and a T-shirt he didn’t

recognize, and he was barefoot. His glasses were on a

table next to the bed. He jammed them on to check the

clock—9:37. In the morning, apparently.

He went to the bathroom and found his backpack sitting in

a corner. Both of his phones were dead, so he plugged in

the charger and connected his main cel . When it powered

up, the message on the screen said he’d missed twenty-

seven cal s.

Christ, what day was it?

His throat was parched and his eyeballs felt dry. He fil ed a

glass on the vanity with water from the sink and downed

it, then washed his face. He found mouthwash and a comb

in the medicine cabinet. He was so weak, he leaned into

the vanity as he attempted to tame his hair that had dried

sticking up.

The water gurgled in his empty stomach. Damn, he was

raw as hel . He had a faint recol ection of violently

expel ing fluid from both ends. He felt utterly purged. And

while the idea of popping an Oxy was mildly entertaining,

his body wasn’t screaming for it.

He stil wasn’t sure what had transpired, but he felt better

than he’d felt in weeks.

After taking a whiz, he poked around the other rooms—a

wine cel ar and a home entertainment theater—and

suddenly realized he was at Peter’s.

He winced. That meant Carlotta was around somewhere,

waiting with a sermon. He had no recol ection of coming

here, so this should be interesting.

With the help of the handrail, he climbed the stairs and

pushed open the door at the top, trying to piece together

the fragments of his memory. He remembered Mouse

taking him to The Carver’s warehouse and locking him in

the bathroom. After that, things were sketchy. He recal ed

pain and convulsions…and being stabbed. He rubbed his

arm under the T-shirt sleeve, noting no new gashes, but

the muscle under one red spot was tender—as if he’d

received a shot…or more than one.

The kitchen was big and luxurious and empty. He listened

for signs of life, but heard only the sound of distant

pounding—like hammer meeting rock. He walked through

the kitchen and into a combination sitting room/eating

area. “Sis? Peter?” His throat was scratchy.

The sliding glass door opened and Carlotta stepped inside.

His heart thudded in his chest—she must hate him.

When she saw him, though, her face lit up. “Hi. Nice to see

you up and around.”

He exhaled in abject relief that she wasn’t angry. “I’m stil

a little foggy. What day is it?”

“Saturday.”

His last recol ection was of Wednesday. “What happened

exactly?”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

“Sit and we’l talk.”

While she scrambled eggs and made toast, she told him

the story that she’d cobbled together. Wes fil ed in the

blanks silently with mounting incredulity. Apparently

Mouse had taken him to the warehouse not to fil et him,

but to get him off the Oxy.

“I’m glad you’re clean,” she said, “but I wish you’d told

someone you were going to detox. We were al worried

sick about you.”

“It was a last-minute decision,” he mumbled.

“Your friend even gave Jack notes so we could take care of

you,” she said, pushing a piece of paper in his direction.

He glanced at the list. His memory of being strapped to a

chair and stabbed was probably Mouse shooting him up

with enough Valium to knock him out. He’d stripped him

no doubt to make the puking and the diarrhea easier to

deal with. And instead of holding him under water to

drown him, he’d forced him into hot baths to alleviate the

muscle cramps.

The man was a fucking saint.

“Sounds like I grossed everyone out,” Wes offered.

“Obviously the worst of it was over by the time Jack

brought you here yesterday. Peter got you in a hot shower