Body Movers (34 page)

Scram.”

“Is she married?” Carlotta pressed.

He pul ed his hand down his face, then sighed. “Widowed,

about a year ago.”

“Who found her?”

“A neighbor walking her dog noticed the front door was

open, knocked to see if anyone was home and then called

the police when no one came to the door.”

“Do you have any suspects?”

He leaned in, looking as if his head might explode. “Am I

going to have to forcibly remove you from the scene?”

She picked up the end of his orange-and-blue-paisley tie

and made a face before dropping it. “I was just leaving,”

she said, then turned to make her way back downstairs.

“I got a call from Liz Fischer.”

She turned back and gave him a bland smile. “Was it good

for you?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. “Let me do my job, Carlotta.

The last thing I need is to have to worry about what

trouble you’re getting into.”

“Worry about me?” She angled her head up at him.

“Watch out, Detective, I might start to think that you

care.”

He shifted his big body and looked as if he had developed

a bad taste in his mouth.

“By the way,” she said casually, “Dennis Lagerfeld, one of

the persons who bought the cigar that I found in the jacket

that Angela returned, lives in this neighborhood.”

She made her way to the bottom of the stairs, then

glanced up to find the detective leaning on the handrail of

the catwalk, studying her, his mouth pursed. She locked

gazes with him, wondering if they were destined to butt

heads on every front. Given their differences and all the

unresolved issues in her life, it seemed likely. She dragged

her gaze away from his and walked out the door.

She couldn’t get home fast enough. It was one thing to

hear about a murder on the eleven o’clock news or to read

about it in the Metro section of the AJC, but to actually see

the room where a woman had had the life squeezed out of

her and to see how her body had been abandoned for a

passerby to find…It took a gruesome person to treat a life

so carelessly.

Visions of the woman’s body twisted in the sheets plagued

her. Had the kil er been on top of her when he’d strangled

her? She touched the skin on her throat, remembering

when Angela had attacked her and what it had felt like to

have her airway cut off. The woman would have been

flailing, fighting for her life.

And judging by the way she was dressed, Lisa Bolton had

known the person who had kil ed her…unless the woman

lounged around the house in black French lingerie and

Manolos.

Which, she conceded, she had done herself once…okay,

twice, while Wesley was at band camp.

Then she recalled other details that hadn’t registered at

the time—a bottle of champagne next to the bed, a tray of

some kind of food—chocolates, maybe? Lisa Bolton had

been expecting company, but not expecting a violent end.

Her cel phone rang and she glanced at the screen—L.

Fischer.

Great.

But she’d asked for the woman’s help, hadn’t she? She

sighed and pressed the call button. “Hel o?”

“Carlotta. Hi, it’s Liz.”

“Hi…Liz.”

“Just wanted to let you know that I made a few inquiries

about Judge D’Angelo. I don’t know if he knew your friend,

but he didn’t kil her. He’s been in San Francisco for three

weeks at a technology-law conference.”

At least that was one name to cross off the list. “Thanks

for checking, Liz.”

“Oh, no problem. Actually, it gave me a good reason to

reconnect with an old friend.”

She smirked into the phone. “Detective Terry said that

you’d called.”

Liz’s lubricated laugh slid over the line. “I hope that’s al he

told you, that devil.”

Carlotta rol ed her eyes, then held the phone away from

her mouth. “I’m losing you, Liz…ack…ola…meng.” Then she

disconnected the cal .

She sighed. Two murders in ten days, both beautiful young

women in their prime. Such a waste…and terrifyingly

casual. The arrogance of someone just to snuff out

someone’s life. The person had to be a sociopath.

And stil out there somewhere.

By the time Carlotta arrived at the town house, her nerves

were unraveling. When she stepped out of her car, the air

was cold and the wind brisk, bending branches and

sending fingers of black shadows over the ground between

the garage and the front door. She ignored the prickle on

her neck, telling herself that she was stil spooked from the

crime scene. She’d made the quick dash countless times in

the dark, and not once had a serial kil er jumped out of the

bushes to grab her.

She hugged herself and put her head down, leaning into

the wind as she ran across the front yard and up the

sidewalk. Just before her foot hit the bottom step, a large

body stopped hers and a sweaty hand covered her mouth.

There was, Carlotta realized with dismay, a first time for

everything.

27

Carlotta’s mind whirled with panic to feel the bulky body

behind her. Why hadn’t she listened when Detective Terry

had given that little talk at the mall on safety and self-

defense?

Reacting out of instinct, she bit down on the meaty fingers

covering her mouth and was rewarded with a howl and

the relaxing of his grip on her. Then she brought her heel

down hard on the man’s instep. Another howl sounded,

this one twice as loud. Carlotta lunged forward to get

away, but the man grabbed her from behind, spun her

around and held her jaw in the vise of his big hand. His

face was fleshy and pockmarked, his eyes small and mean.

“Stop fighting me, bitch. Where’s your deadbeat brother?”

She gasped for air. “Who…are…you?”

“I work for The Carver. Wesley owes him a bunch of green,

and he’s way late on his payments. My boss is pissed

because he knows Wesley’s been paying Father Thom and

not him, so he sent me to col ect an installment, if you

know what I mean.”

“W-Wesley’s not here.”

The man gave her a rough shake, gouging his big fingers

into her face. “Money wil do.”

“I don’t have any money,” she said as well as she could

with her jaw being held shut.

The man licked his lips. “Then maybe we can work out a

little trade, sis. Just how much do you care about your

little brother?” He squeezed harder and she cried out,

terrified. She was no match for his strength. The man

could do anything he wanted to her and she would be

powerless to stop him.

He started walking her toward the house when suddenly a

heavy thunk sounded and the man grunted, staggering

back and releasing her.

She spun around, surprised and weak with relief to see

Peter standing there, holding a hefty tree branch like a

baseball bat. Before the man stopped reeling from the first

whack, Peter lifted the branch and swung again, this time

landing a blow on the side of the man’s head, drawing

blood. The thug went down on his knees, wincing and

holding his head. He wore a long, dark coat and nice

clothes that betrayed him as more than a run of the mil

criminal.

“Reach for a gun,” Peter said, standing over the man with

the club in swing position, “and I’ll end you.”

The fury in his voice left no doubt that he meant what he

said. Carlotta blinked at a side of Peter that she’d never

seen before. Physical, yes, but violent?

The man shook his head and lifted his hands to indicate he

had no intention of fighting back.

“Why are you bothering Carlotta?” Peter demanded.

“Her kid brother…owes money…to my boss…The Carver.”

Peter looked at Carlotta, and after a humiliating hesitation,

she nodded. Peter’s mouth tightened, then he looked back

to the man. “How much?”

“Ten grand,” the guy panted, touching the gash on his

head. “But a payment…wil do.”

To Carlotta’s mortification, Peter reached into his back

pocket and withdrew his wallet.

“Peter, don’t,” she implored.

Peter handed her the makeshift club, then opened his

wal et and withdrew al the cash inside. “Here’s a little

over a grand. Now get the hel out of here.”

The man pushed to his feet, took the money and lumbered

off.

The light on the stoop next door came on and Mrs.

Winningham emerged, wearing a nightcap and wielding a

broom. “What’s going on out here?”

“Nothing, Mrs. Winningham,” Carlotta cal ed. “Sorry we

woke you.”

“I heard a big commotion,” the woman insisted.

“Good night, Mrs. Winningham,” she said as Peter touched

her arm.

“Let’s get you inside,” he said, staring in the direction the

man had gone.

Scrambling toward the front door, she half expected a

gunshot to ring out from the shadows, but apparently the

man was satisfied with the money.

She fumbled to unlock the door, her hands trembling.

Final y, Peter took the key from her and within a couple of

seconds, the door opened. Carlotta practically fel inside.

Peter dead-bolted the door behind them, then walked to

the window. “Don’t turn on any lights yet.” She watched

him part the curtain, then peer out, scanning the yard. “He

drove off,” Peter said. “Al clear.”

She sighed in relief and turned on a corner lamp, bathing

the small living room in warm light. Realizing how the

incident might have ended if Peter hadn’t shown up when

he did, she started to shiver uncontrol ably.

“Are you okay?” He came up behind her, then rubbed her

arms up and down. “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” She turned around and, at the sight of his handsome

face drawn in concern, her heart expanded with love and

gratitude. “Thanks to you.”

He put his finger under her chin. “Has this kind of thing

happened before?”

“Nothing this…serious.”

His eyebrows converged into a frown. “What kind of

trouble is Wesley in? Drugs?”

“No, thank God. He gambles—which is bad enough.”

“And he borrowed money off some thug named The

Carver?”

She nodded. “The name alone should’ve been a tip-off,

huh? And he’s in debt to another guy named Father

Thom—he’s the one who usually sends a…col ections

agent.”

“Usually?” His face darkened. “You mean these thugs have

been harassing you on a regular basis?”

The angry concern in his voice made her feel warm

and…protected. And it made her mourn even more all the

years they’d been apart. How many times had she yearned

for him for this very reason, because he had always looked

out for her?

“Have you ever cal ed the police?” he asked.

“It would only make things worse, and Wesley is already in

enough trouble with the law.”

Peter looked sympathetic. “I read about the computer-

hacking charges in the paper.”

Her cheeks burned with humiliation to have all the sordid

details of their lives revealed to Peter. “He received

probation and has been doing…better.” If she didn’t count

his gambling lapse over the weekend. “He has a job,

contracting with the morgue for…wel , you know,” she

said, her voice trailing off.

He nodded. “I saw him the other night. He’s all grown up.”

“Yeah, with grown-up problems.” She swallowed. “I’m

sorry about the money, Peter. You didn’t have to do that.

I’l pay you back.”

He gave a dismissive wave, as if a thousand dol ars was

pocket change—and for Peter, she realized, it was. “I don’t

want you to pay me back, Carly. And I can send you more

if it wil help. It’s the least I can do.”

After abandoning you. The unsaid words plucked at her.

Was Peter trying to buy his way back into her good graces?

“No,” she said hurriedly, “that won’t be necessary. I

appreciate your offer, but Wesley and I wil work it out.”

Then she clasped her hands together. “But thank you for

taking care of that guy. I didn’t realize…you had such a

temper.”

“Threaten someone I care about,” he said, his nostrils

flaring, “and I turn into a dangerous man.”

She swallowed hard as a rogue thought slid into her head:

Had Angela told Peter that she’d confronted Carlotta at

the store? He’d acted as if he’d known nothing about it,

but what if he had and the incident had triggered his

anger?

“I’m just glad I was there,” he said fiercely, running his

finger along her tender jaw.

“Peter,” she said, then wet her dry lips, “why were you

here?”

He hesitated, his expression contrite. “I’ve been sitting out

there in my car for over an hour, waiting for the chance to

see you. I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for what

happened in the parking garage the other night.”

She managed a little smile, despite the sensations buzzing

through her body at his touch. “It was both of us.”

“When I look at you,” he said earnestly, “I can’t help

myself. I just want to touch you, to feel your skin against

mine. I’ve fantasized about you so much over the years,

when I see you and you’re so real and beautiful—more