Authors: Stephanie Bond
Wes’s stomach dropped to his knees. “Uh…I don’t know
what you’re talking about.”
“Okay, wel , Jack wants to meet with us as soon as possible
to get this all straightened out.”
Holy crap. Anything he said now would incriminate
Mouse…and how could he do that after what the man had
done for him? He glanced up and Mouse nodded. Wes
stiffly nodded back, offering a weak smile.
“And…there is one more thing,” Liz said. “I was hoping I
wouldn’t have to tel you this over the phone, but here
goes. I’m pregnant.”
Wes’s stomach, stil dangling at his knees, fel to his ankles.
Bright spots obscured his vision. Too bad the starbursts
couldn’t erase the memory of standing in Liz’s bathroom
after they’d had sex a few weeks ago, staring down at a
busted condom.
Wes opened his mouth to say something…anything.
Instead, he fainted.
32
Carlotta walked up the stairs, holding her cel phone to
one ear. “Peter, I’l just put your suitcase in my rental car.
That way you won’t have to come by the house before
going to the airport.”
“If you don’t mind getting it from my bedroom, that would
save me a trip,” Peter admitted. “I didn’t expect this
meeting to run so long.”
“We stil have plenty of time,” she said. “I’l check our bags
curbside under my ticket, then I’l turn in the rental car,
and meet you at the gate.”
“Sounds good. Are you leaving now?”
“In a few minutes. I want to stop by the townhouse and
get a few things I didn’t bring with me.”
“Sounds intriguing,” he murmured. “I can’t wait to get you
alone in Vegas.”
She smiled into the phone. “We’re going to have fun. See
you in a bit.”
Carlotta ended the call and at the top of the stairs, she
turned toward the double doors leading to Peter’s
bedroom. She walked in, always impressed by the
opulence of this room, a master suite in every sense of the
word, with custom furniture, inlaid wood floors, and every
amenity imaginable, from the flat-screen TV on one wal to
the heated massage chaise in the spa-quality bathroom.
Peter’s suitcase was lying open on the bench at the foot of
the massive bed. His luggage, like everything else in his
life—with the exception of her—was top quality. Inside,
his clothes were packed in little winged mesh containers
designed to keep everything compact and wrinkle-free. It
was all very organized and orderly, just like Peter.
She lifted one side of the suitcase to fold it over, but the
containers dumped out. With a sigh, she started to restack
them, then froze.
In the corner of the suitcase was a familiar red Cartier ring
box…the ring Peter had first given her when she was
eighteen years old. She picked up the box and opened it to
reveal the spectacular redesigned ring. Peter had located
the original solitaire she’d pawned, magnificent in its own
right, and added large diamonds on either side of the
center stone. He told her it represented their past, their
present and their future, and that he would hold it for her
until she was ready.
Obviously, Peter meant to use their Vegas getaway as an
opportunity to propose.
What would she say?
She remembered what the white-haired jeweler had told
her. An engagement ring is just something nice to wear
while you make up your mind.
Carlotta removed the ring from the box and slid it onto her
left ring finger. After more than ten years, the original
band was snug, but the dazzling trio of diamonds took her
breath away.
The doorbel sounded, reverberating through the big,
empty house. She tugged on the ring, but it was stubborn
and would have to be loosened with soap. She jogged
down the stairs, thinking there must be a delivery, or
maybe the housekeeper had misplaced her keys.
When she checked the window next to the front door, her
heart vaulted.
Coop.
She flung open the door and soaked in the sight of him—
he wore dress jeans, a black T-shirt and low-heeled boots.
His longish hair and sideburns were trimmed, and the
color had returned to his cheeks. More than that—behind
the funky heavy-rimmed glasses he wore, the life was back
in his bright brown eyes. He grinned. “Hi.”
She launched herself at him and he caught her in a hug.
“I can’t believe it’s you,” she said, laughing and crying and
hanging on for dear life. “It’s so good to see you, Coop.
Real y.”
He set her gently on her feet, but his hands lingered on her
waist. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“Please, come in,” she said, pul ing him toward the door.
“I can’t,” he said with regret. “I heard through the
grapevine that you’re taking off for a few days, and I just
wanted to come by to thank you before you leave.”
She smiled. “You’re welcome, Coop, to anything I’ve
done.”
He pressed his lips together. “Jack told me you believed in
me…when no one else did.”
Carlotta winked. “Maybe I know you better than everyone
else.”
“I think you do,” he agreed quietly.
“Coop, what was it you had to do for Sarah Edlow that was
so important?”
He wiped his hand over the back of his neck. “I wouldn’t
want this to go any farther.”
“It won’t.”
He sighed and nodded. “After the…accident, I kept up with
Sarah. We got to be friends. When her tumor was
diagnosed, she asked me to help her select a surgeon. I
even went with her to appointments sometimes, to talk to
the doctors. When it became clear she was terminal, Sarah
revealed that she had put a son up for adoption when she
was a teenager. Her family didn’t know. She had managed
to locate him, but she didn’t want to meet him when she
was on death’s door. So Sarah put together a box of things
she wanted her son to have. She asked me to take it to
him and explain to him and his adoptive family why she
couldn’t be there herself.”
Coop stopped and his expression became haunted. “I gave
her my word. When it looked like I was going to be in jail
indefinitely, I panicked. After I was granted bail, I knew it
would probably be my only chance to keep my promise to
Sarah.” He shrugged. “After what I’d taken from her, it
seemed like a very smal request.”
Carlotta blinked back tears. “That sounds just like you.”
He looked down and picked up her left hand. “Wow, that’s
a much nicer engagement ring than the one I gave you,”
he teased in reference to the butterfly band she’d used to
convince the officer at the City Detention Center to let her
see her “fiancée.”
Carlotta blushed and she shook her head. “It’s not an
engagement ring. I mean—it’s an engagement ring, but I
haven’t accepted it.”
“You’re just wearing it?” he asked in an amused voice.
“Actually, I was just trying it on,” she said, feeling like a
complete idiot. “Um…it’s complicated.”
He grinned. “With you, I wouldn’t expect anything else.”
Then he nodded toward his white Corvette convertible
sitting in the driveway. “I should go and let you get ready
for your trip.”
“I’l call you when I get back,” she said. “Maybe we can
have coffee and catch up.”
“I’d like that,” he said. Then he leaned forward and gave
her a brief kiss on the mouth.
Her lips remembered his, sending a little shudder of
happiness through her chest. She was ecstatic to see him
free…sober…back to his old self. It was especial y sweet
because a few days ago she couldn’t have imagined things
ending so wel .
She waved until he was gone, then walked back into the
house feeling strangely…let down. It was the lul , she
decided, after what seemed like a constant rush of
adrenaline over the past few weeks. Her step was lighter,
though, going back upstairs to retrieve their suitcases
because now she could go on her trip knowing that
everything was okay.
Michael was in a maximum-security mental institution.
Wes was drug-free and seemed to be head over heels for
his Meg.
Coop had been vindicated.
Peter was making plans for their future.
Jack was…Jack.
And she…
Carlotta frowned. What was her next step? Marriage?
Maybe a new career? Col ege? She toyed with the charms
on her bracelet—a puzzle piece, an aloha charm, three
hearts, two champagne glasses, and a woman whose arms
were crossed over her chest.
Maybe the charms didn’t have prophetic power…but it
was fun to think of all the possibilities.
She loosened the Cartier ring with soap and returned it to
the box, then repacked Peter’s bag and zipped it. His
suitcase was light because he hadn’t packed much. Hers
was light because she stil wanted to add things to it, so
she had no trouble getting them into her rental car.
On the drive to the townhouse, she called Hannah.
Her friend answered on the second ring. “Hey, what’s up?”
“I’m on my way to the airport. I just called to say
goodbye.”
“Try to enjoy yourself,” Hannah said dryly.
“Now, now,” Carlotta chided. “I intend to forget about
everything else for a while and just let go.” She frowned at
what sounded like intimate noises in the background. “Did
I call at a bad time?”
“Nah, this is fine,” said Hannah. “I told you, Fat Boy can
give head for hours. I just paid all my bil s and gave myself
a manicure.”
“Eww. I’m hanging up.”
“Are you sure? This might be as close to an orgasm as
you’re going to get for a while.”
“Goodbye, Hannah. I’l call you when I get back.” Carlotta
ended the call, shaking her head, unable to suppress a
laugh at her bawdy friend.
When Carlotta got to the townhouse, she grabbed her
suitcase and practically ran across the yard and up the
steps to avoid Mrs. Winningham. Luckily, she managed to
unlock the door and get inside with no interruptions.
She dashed in, wincing at the warm, stale air of the closed-
up house, and opened the suitcase on her bed. She went
through her closet and quickly picked the dresses, shoes,
and evening bags she wanted, plus a few pieces of lingerie
she hoped would help to get her and Peter over their
hump.
And hump, already.
When she zipped her suitcase a few minutes later, she was
getting a headache from not eating and too much
excitement. She carried the suitcase into the living room
and set it down, then went to the kitchen in search of
aspirin and a bottle of water.
Carlotta was tossing back the aspirin when she was struck
from behind. She went reeling sideways and careened into
the breakfast bar, bashing her head on the counter. She
gasped for air and choked on the bitter pil s. When her
vision cleared, she saw the flash of a knife.
The only thing worse than getting aspirin stuck in one’s
throat, Carlotta decided, was getting aspirin stuck in one’s
throat, and then having one’s throat slit.
33
Carlotta lifted her gaze from the knife, to the hand holding
the knife, to the arm holding up the hand holding the
knife, to the shoulder supporting the arm that held the
hand holding the knife, to the neck connected to the
shoulder supporting the arm that held the hand holding
the knife, to the head supported by the neck connected to
the shoulder supporting the arm that held the hand
holding the knife.
Dr. Bruce Abrams.
She screamed as if her hair was on fire.
He winced. “Stop it. No one can hear you. Your nosy
neighbor is sleeping off a little chloroform coma…she
won’t be calling the police anytime soon.”
“It was you,” Carlotta murmured, marveling how a knock
on the noggin could make one see things in a different
way. “You set up Coop. You sent him to retrieve the bodies
of the women you kil ed. You wanted him out of the way.”
The doctor glared at her with beady eyes. “Out of my
morgue, yes. He’s a drunken body hauler, but he stil acts
like he owns the place. My people go to him behind my
back. It’s a disgrace.”
A train was moving through her head. “Why? Why kil
those women? They were innocent.”
He shrugged. “Why not them? Everyone dies. They were
the lucky ones—they were allowed to die famously.
Victims of The Charmed Kil er.” He smiled, seemingly
proud of his handiwork.
“Why the charms?” she asked, stalling. She was on the
verge of passing out, but she had to keep talking. Keep him
talking.
Abrams laughed. “Shawna Whitt gave me the idea. I saw
her in the bookstore, flirting with other men, especial y
Coop. He never noticed her, but I did. I noticed she wore a
charm bracelet and when I saw that chicken charm, it was
like she’d handed me my answer. She chose me to kil her
to set up Coop, don’t you see?”
Carlotta saw that he was completely insane.
He sneered. “And everything was fine until you got
involved. I knew you were going to be trouble. I tried to