She sighed in his direction. “You’re high.”
He licked his dry lips. “I wish.” His voice reverberated like a jackhammer in his head.
Meg twirled a mechanical pencil between her fingers. “What’s stopping you? I’m sure you have a stash of pills in your backpack.”
He did, inside a hollow ink pen to thwart a search in case he was shaken down. “Have you told McCormick about the test data?”
“Not yet. If I told him, he’d fire you, you know.”
He nodded, even though it hurt like hell. “And my probation would be revoked.”
“You’d go back to jail?”
“Yeah.”
Ravi and Jeff walked up, arguing good-naturedly about an episode of Star Wars: The Clone Wars. Ravi was of Far Eastern descent. Jeff, on the other hand, was from a galaxy far, far away. The guys stopped and looked back and forth between Wes and Meg.
“Somebody die?” Jeff asked.
“You,” Meg warned, “unless you give us a few minutes of privacy.”
“Uh, sure,” Jeff said nervously. The sloppy geek was head over heels in love with Meg. “We’ll get some breakfast out of the vending machine. Come on, Ravi.”
Ravi was a germ-a-phobe who wouldn’t touch the buttons on the vending machines without wearing his latex gloves. Ravi looked panicked, but he, too, did pretty much everything Meg told him to do. The two of them headed down the hall in the opposite direction. Meg waited until they were out of earshot before turning back to Wes.
“So what’s the deal with your parents?”
He swallowed. Talking about his parents always made him nervous and defensive. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, did they just up and abandon you and your sister?”
“They left me in my sister’s care,” he corrected, “because my dad had to leave town.”
“Because it was either leave town or stand trial?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled, trying to tamp down his irritation that she was judging Randolph without knowing what had happened. “But he’s innocent of the accusations.”
“So why not stay and defend himself?”
The sixty-four thousand dollar question. The question that his sister had asked so often over the years. The question that niggled the back of his own mind. “I guess he had his reasons.”
Her mouth flattened. “And your mom? She had her reasons for leaving her kids?”
Wes had met Meg’s mother at the reception that he’d ducked out of. Mrs. Vincent had been a warm, caring person who obviously adored her daughter and husband. Wesley had blushed under the woman’s welcome, and had fought the urge to stay and soak up her attention. It was apparent Dr. Vincent hadn’t shared Wesley’s shady background with Mrs. Vincent. Just as it was apparent Meg couldn’t comprehend her mother leaving her.
“She knew my sister would take good care of me,” Wes said.
“How old were you?”
He squinted. “Nine, I think.”
Sympathy clouded her eyes. Normally her reaction would’ve irked him, but at the moment, he needed her on his side.
“That must’ve been tough on you and your sister,” she offered.
He shrugged. “I’m sure it’s been tough on my parents, too.”
“So you haven’t seen them since they left?”
He shook his head, unleashing an earthquake. He sucked air through his teeth against the sharp pain.
“And the charges against your father still stand?”
He nodded with as little movement as possible.
“So they’re fugitives?”
“You could say that,” he conceded. “But I think they’ll come home soon.”
She frowned. “Why would you think that?”
His mind slogged away. He debated telling her that his father had been in touch with Carlotta recently. But he’d already told his attorney Liz, and regretted it.
“I don’t want to get you involved,” he said, trying to sound as mysterious as possible.
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re protecting me?”
“Yeah. The less you know, the better.”
She sat back and crossed her arms. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell McCormick that you’re here simply to dig into your dad’s case.”
He shrugged. “It’s more interesting if I’m around?”
She made a face. “More dangerous maybe.”
Even though the muscles in his face ached, he grinned. “Same thing.”
As he waited for her reaction, sweat dripped down his back. He couldn’t read Meg at all. She was smarter than anyone his age he’d ever met, let alone a girl. Top that with the fact that she had a killer body and was as cool as hell, and he was pretty damn fascinated by her. She’d once announced that he could be her boyfriend if only he’d “straighten up,” which left him feeling alternately irritated and turned on.
Meg held up the AJC, which heralded THE CHARMED KILLER CAPTURED? “Isn’t this Cooper Craft the guy you worked for?”
He set his jaw. “Yeah.”
One eyebrow arched. “You were apprenticing with The Charmed Killer?”
“He’s innocent. No way Coop did those things.”
“Really. And you think your dad is innocent, too?”
“That’s right.”
She dropped the newspaper and studied him. “You’re either the most brilliant guy in the room or the worst judge of character ever.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.”
“What about your sister?”
“She doesn’t believe Coop is guilty, either.”
“No, I mean, what does she think about your father?”
“She’s willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.”
Meg drummed her fingers on the desk, and the rhythmic movement sent thunder rolling through his head. Just when he was on the verge of screaming, she stopped.
“And you think the records in the courthouse database might shed some light on your father’s case?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought it was worth a try to find out.”
“Isn’t the police record public?”
“Just the arrest report. I’m hoping to find the transcript of the grand jury.”
She began drumming her fingers again.
He reached across and covered her hand with his. “Please don’t do that.”
Beneath his hand, her fingers were cool and baby soft. The Oxy magnified the sensation of her skin against his—it was electric and left him with images of her touching him elsewhere.
Meg yanked her hand out from under his as if he’d burned her. She looked flustered, then her gaze hardened. “Let me get this straight. You hacked into the city computer system and risked going to jail to help the man who abandoned you?”
It occurred to him that she might be wired—not out of the question since her father had hired a P.I. to follow him—so he decided not to say anything. Instead he nodded.
She chewed the side of her mouth and was quiet for so long, he was sure she was going to turn him over to McCormick. “I’ll make you a deal,” she said finally.
Warning flags rose in his mind. “What kind of deal?”
“I won’t turn you in…if you’ll let me help you sift through your father’s records.”
Wes squinted. “Why would you do that?”
Her expression was haughty. “You’re not really in a position to ask, are you?”
“No,” he mumbled in agreement, relieved, but still wary. Because of all positions he’d imagined himself in with Meg, this wasn’t even in the top five.
5
“I’d like to see Cooper Craft, please.” Carlotta’s grip on her shoulder bag was slippery—she was a nervous wreck at the prospect of facing Coop, but she’d barely slept last night from worrying over him. She desperately needed to make sure he was okay.
The lady officer behind the counter at the Atlanta City Detention Center leaned forward and eyed her suspiciously, as if she might be hiding a metal file
in her slingbacks. “Are you his attorney?”
While the idea of impersonating Liz Fischer gave her a little thrill, she decided it would be too easy to check. “No.”
“Reporter?”
“Definitely not.”
“If you’re some kind of serial-killer groupie, you’re wasting your time.” The officer’s eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard about kooks like you.”
“I’m not a groupie. My name is Carlotta Wren. Brooklyn at the midtown precinct can vouch for me.”
“Yeah, I know Brook,” the woman conceded with a wary nod. “But that ain’t gonna get you a free pass into my jail.”
Carlotta realized she would have to change tactics to get past the cranky gatekeeper. She glanced at the officer’s name badge and offered her a sad smile. “Officer McHenry, is it?”
“Uh-hm.”
“Officer McHenry, surely there must be some way for me to see Coop.”
“No can do. In case you haven’t read the papers, sweetie, this is a high-profile case. Technically, he’s not supposed to see anyone except his lawyer and immediate family. So unless you’re his sister, you ain’t getting in.”
Carlotta angled her head. “What if I’m his girlfriend?”
“Uh-uh.”
“Fiancée?” she asked hopefully.
The woman’s eyes widened. “You’re engaged to this guy?”
Beneath the ledge of the counter Carlotta discreetly moved a costume jewelry butterfly band to her left ring finger, then lifted her hand in reply. “I just need fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t think—”
“Ten minutes?” She worked up some tears to seal the deal. It wasn’t hard because she was starting to feel panicky about not seeing Coop. She couldn’t bear him thinking that she’d set him up to be arrested. “Just long enough to break it off. Surely you can understand.”
The woman crossed her arms and nodded. “Girl, you gotta get out of that mess, for sure.”
Carlotta sagged in relief. “I knew you’d understand.”
“Course, he’ll have to agree to see you,” Officer McHenry said, picking up the phone. “Give me your name again.”
She told the woman, then chewed on a ragged thumbnail. Would Coop blow her cover and refuse to see her?
The woman talked to someone in low tones and was on hold for several long minutes. Finally, she replaced the receiver and tapped on a keyboard before pushing it toward Carlotta.
“Sign the computer log,” she said. “I’ll need your purse, and I have to search you.”
The officer had typed Coop’s name in the Inmate column. In the Visitor column, Carlotta typed in her own. Under “Relationship to Inmate” she hesitated, but with Officer McHenry watching, she slowly typed in F-I-A-N-C-É-E. If Peter knew she was pretending to be engaged to Coop, he’d have a stroke.
The officer waved Carlotta around to a door that she held open. When Carlotta walked through, the woman said, “I have to warn you—your man’s in a bad way.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?”
McHenry took her purse and set it aside, then began to methodically pat her down. “He’s a drinker, right?”
“He’s had some issues with alcohol,” Carlotta hedged.
“Well, there’s no alcohol here,” the cop said pointedly. “Take off your shoes.”
She stepped out of the slingbacks. So Coop was going through withdrawal. Jack had commented that at least in jail Coop could dry out.
“Nice shoes,” the officer said, setting them back down for Carlotta to step into.
“Thanks. I work at Neiman’s at Lenox. Come by sometime and I’ll give you my friends-and-family discount.”
McHenry brightened. “Oh, you’re the one who hooked Brooklyn up with a coupon.”
Carlotta smiled. “That’s me.”
The officer, now in a better humor, handed Carlotta off to another uniform, and as she was led through a series of doors and hallways, she was passed to a pair of guards. Her pulse ratcheted higher as her heels clacked, echoing on the tile floor. They delivered her to a small room with four partitioned booths that faced a glass wall. Carlotta had to suppress her dismay. She’d expected to be in the same room with Coop when she talked to him.
Another visitor—an older woman—was talking to an inmate on the other side of the glass.
“You can take the booth on the far end,” a guard said, nodding.
Carlotta swallowed hard and moved woodenly to a metal folding chair in front of a grubby wooden ledge scarred with letters and names. She lowered herself to the cold, hard surface of the chair. The guard stepped out of the room and the steel door closed with a clang. The scene was surreal, like something in a movie. At the sight of Coop dressed in a gray jumpsuit and being led in shackles and handcuffs to a chair on the other side of the glass, she grew light-headed. Starbursts flashed behind her eyes as she blinked back tears.
He looked pale and gaunt, his eyes behind his glasses dark and sunken. He seemed lethargic as he held up his hands for a guard to unlock the cuffs, but he managed a small smile when he turned toward her and sat down. He gave her a small wave, then reached for the phone with a shaky hand.
Moving in slow motion, she did the same, wracked with anguish over what he must be going through.
“Hi,” he said into the phone.
It was strange to watch someone talk and hear it through the earpiece. “Hi,” she returned with a croak. “How are you?”
A light came into his eyes. “Engaged, apparently.”
She smiled sheepishly, her cheeks warming. “I had to fib or they wouldn’t let me see you.”
“I don’t mind,” he murmured, then nodded to the butterfly ring on her left hand. “But that’s a pretty sad engagement ring I bought you.”
“I had to improvise.”
“I’m just glad Peter hasn’t convinced you to wear his ring.”
Carlotta bit her lip. “You have bigger things to worry about, Coop.”
He sighed and averted his glance. “So it seems.”
“I’m so sorry.”
He frowned. “About what?”
“Jack told me you were M.I.A. So when you called and said you were coming by the store with Wesley’s drug test results, I called Jack to let him know you weren’t missing after all. I didn’t mean to set you up.”
He looked at her with quiet, hooded eyes. She could tell he didn’t know whether to believe her. “What’s done is done.”
“Coop,” she said earnestly, “where is your fight?”
“I’m tired,” he said quietly.
“You’re sick. You’re going through withdrawal from the alcohol. You’ll feel better soon.”
He nodded, but without conviction.
Fear squeezed her heart. “Coop, you’d tell me if something else was wrong, something more…serious?”
“There’s no need to worry, Carlotta.”
She wet her lips. “Coop, Wesley saw you at the hospital and he followed you—”
“Stop,” he cut in, his jaw hardening. “Don’t say another word. Whatever Wesley saw or thought he saw, it has nothing to do with this, understand?”
She nodded, aware that she had hit a nerve. Afraid that Coop would abruptly end their conversation, she changed tack. “Your arraignment is Monday?”
“That’s what my lawyer tells me.”
“I hear Liz Fischer is representing you.”
“At least in the arraignment. Then we’ll see.”
She didn’t even want to think about the case going to trial. “Liz will take care of you,” she said, trying not to let her disapproval of the woman show. “Besides, anything could happen over the weekend. Michael Lane might be taken into custody. Or—” She sighed. “I hate to say this, but The Charmed Killer could strike again and at least everyone will know you’re innocent.”
He blinked slowly. “I’m prepared for things to run their course.”
Carlotta bit her cheek in frustration. Even though she kne
w in her heart that Coop wasn’t The Charmed Killer, she ached for his reassurance. Then there was the matter of what he’d said to her just before he was arrested. He said he’d done something terrible, that he’d killed someone. But he’d been drinking, and at the time when she’d pressed him, he’d brushed it off as a bad joke.
She held her tongue now only because she worried their conversation might not be private, and that Coop was still too foggy to express himself clearly. She didn’t want to be responsible for him saying something to further incriminate himself.
“How are you?” he asked.
“Worried sick about you.”
His mouth twitched. “Still living with Peter?”
“Staying with him, yes.”
“I’m glad you’re safe. Did you talk to Wesley about the drug test results?”
“Not yet. I’m waiting for the right time.”
“Don’t put it off too long.”
“I won’t.” Carlotta wet her lips, then put her hand on the window. “Coop, I’m afraid for you.”
He lifted his large hand to mirror hers against the glass. “Don’t be. Everything will work out, you’ll see.”
She felt the heat from his skin through the cool glass. Memories of their weekend in Florida came flooding back to her. They had been the victims of bad timing and if she could go back…
Tears clogged her throat. “We want to help, me and Hannah and Wes. Tell me what we can do.”
He gave her a wry smile. “Water my plants?”
“I’m serious, Coop.”
“You can’t help me, Carlotta. This was bound to happen, one way or another.”
Her mouth parted in confusion, but before she could ask him to explain, the door opened and a guard stepped into the room. “Time’s up.”
Carlotta’s throat convulsed. “I probably won’t be able to talk my way in again. I told the woman at the front desk I had to see you so I could break our engagement.”
He gave a little laugh. “Well, it was fun while it lasted.”
A tear slid down her cheek. “Coop, I…” She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t in a position to make promises, and she was acutely aware of how the situation might distort emotions.
“Hey, how about a smile before you leave to get me through?” Coop asked.
6 Killer Bodies Page 3