“Books?” Carlotta supplied.
“That’s right—books,” Valerie said, then she angled her head at Carlotta. “Do I know you?”
“Yes. We’ve met before. My name is Carlotta.”
“Oh, my daughter’s name is Carlotta.” Valerie looked at Priscilla. “Carlotta, say hello to this nice young woman. Her name is also…” She looked back to Carlotta and her eyes dimmed, then she took another bite of cake. “Randolph and I are thinking about having another baby, and if it’s a boy, we’ll name him Wesley.”
“Wesley is a wonderful name,” Carlotta agreed. She swung her gaze up to Jack. His expression was unreadable.
“Jack, do you want a piece of cake?” Priscilla asked.
“Not this time, Prissy. Next time, I promise.”
“Mom,” Priscilla said, “I’m going to marry Jack.”
Valerie laughed merrily. “Oh, Carlotta, you’re not going to marry Jack. You’re going to marry…” She stopped, then shrugged. “Someone else.”
Carlotta pressed her lips together. How true.
“I’m going to let you all enjoy your cake,” Jack said. “Bye, everyone.”
“I’ll walk you out,” Carlotta said.
When they got to the door, he made an anguished noise. “I’m so sorry about your mother. You finally find her, and now…”
“I know. But it also explains a lot.”
“Priscilla is your sister, I assume?”
She nodded. “I’m guessing Valerie was pregnant when they left.”
“Wow.”
“What are you going to do, Jack?”
“What are you going to do?”
“Wait to see if Randolph recovers…or not. If he doesn’t recover, then I can bring Mom out of hiding. If he does, then I hope the D.A. and all the victims recognize she doesn’t pose a threat to anyone.”
Jack pulled on his chin. “But if Randolph is in custody, why would someone be trying to get to your mom?”
“Randolph told me he had evidence that would exonerate him. I think someone else knows what that evidence is, and they believe my mother knows, too, and that she might be keeping it safe for him.”
Jack frowned. “Wait—when did you talk to your father?”
She winced. “Hannah and I sort of broke into the prison, and I got to talk to him for, like, a minute.”
His mouth opened, but no sound came out for a full ten seconds. “You and Hannah broke into the federal penitentiary?”
“‘Broke into’ is probably the wrong phrase. More like, smuggled ourselves in.”
A vein bulged in his neck. “Really? You’re debating semantics?” He pressed his palms into his eyes and made a strangled noise. “I can’t know about this, any of this.”
“What are you saying, Jack?”
“I’m saying I was never here.”
She smiled. “Thanks, Jack.”
“Don’t—” His mouth tightened, then he opened the door and walked out.
Carlotta closed the door, smiled to herself, then backtracked to the kitchen to have a piece of cake.
“Was that Randolph at the door?” Valerie asked.
“No, Mom. He’s away,” Carlotta said.
“Oh, that’s right.”
“Before he left, did Dad give you anything to keep for him?” she asked, thinking this time, Valerie might remember more.
“Oh, just those paper things,” Valerie said. “He’s always bringing home those paper things.”
“Right,” Carlotta said. “Books.” She ate another bite of cake and glanced around the room. “Does the door lead to a backyard?”
“A small one,” Birch said. “But we have to keep the door deadbolted to prevent Melanie from…traveling.”
Carlotta nodded. Good to know for the future. She gestured to the doggie door. “You have a dog?”
“No,” Priscilla said glumly, then her eyes lit up. “But I’d like one.”
Hm—also good to know for the future.
“The previous owners must’ve had a dog,” Birch said. “But we’ve got our hands full around here, already, don’t we, Prissy?”
Priscilla nodded, and Carlotta felt another pang for the girl’s missed childhood. Still, overall, she seemed well-adjusted and bright. She chatted about the views from the Eiffel Tower Experience, and the bride and groom on the observation deck.
“Then we saw a man get run over by a bus,” Priscilla said.
Birch sent a worried look to Carlotta.
“There was an accident—a man ran out in the road. But thank goodness we were far enough away that we didn’t see anything bad.”
“Is he dead?” Valerie asked.
“I don’t think this is table conversation,” Birch said gently.
“Why?” Valerie asked. “People die all the time. Good people, bad people. They were going to kill us, you know…that’s why we had to leave town.” She choked. “That’s why we had to leave our children.”
Carlotta reached for her mother’s hand. “Who were you afraid of, Mom? Who was going to hurt you?”
“Those bad men. You know.”
“Tell me their names.”
Valerie sat there shaking her head, rocking forward and backward.
Carlotta stroked her hand to calm her. “It’s okay, Mom. The bad men aren’t here.”
Valerie turned to her and smiled. “Do I know you?”
Carlotta smiled back. “Yes, we’ve met. My name is Carlotta.”
“Such a pretty name,” her mother said. “My daughter’s name is Carlotta.”
“Look, Mom.” Priscilla held up the picture of her and Carlotta together, flashing identical gapped grins.
Valerie gasped. “You two look so much alike, you could be sisters.”
They were quiet for a few seconds, then they all burst out laughing.
But later when she walked into the empty hotel room, Carlotta felt raw and drained. The scene of Leonard stepping in front of the bus kept replaying in her head.
When she assisted Coop on body-moving runs, they dealt with bodies after the violent end. The mechanics of death neutralized dying, made it seem more peaceful than it was. But to see a man alive one second, and dead the next had been a shock to her system. And made her feel lucky to be alive.
When she stepped into the palatial shower, it seemed as if every sense was heightened—the fall of the water on her skin, the scent of the luxurious vanilla soap, the sound of the splash against the porcelain tiles.
When she heard a noise, she turned around, startled to see a figure moving slowly toward her. Then she realized it was Peter, fully dressed, his tie loose and shoulders slumped, as if he’d had a day similar to hers.
He opened the door of the shower and leaned on the frame, unabashedly watching her. He’d seen her naked many times. He’d been her first lover when she was a teenager. And since they’d reunited, they’d attempted to make love a few times. But she’d never seen this look of raw hunger before.
She liked it.
She went to him and looped her arms around his neck, raising her mouth for a kiss. He slanted his lips over hers with an unfamiliar intensity. He pulled her wet body against the coarse fabric of his suit, running his hands down her back and cupping her to him. She arched into him, feeling loose and languid against his hardness.
With a groan he picked her up and carried her to the bed, splashing a trail behind them. When the cool air hit her wet body, her breasts and shoulders and thighs came alive. Peter shed his jacket and unfastened his pants, then climbed on top of her.
“I want you, Carly,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you so much.”
“I want you, too, Peter. Take me.”
She opened her knees to him, and he thrust into her with a force that shook her. He found a feverish rhythm, driving deeper each stroke, until she clawed at his back and gasped her release. With a fierce plunge, he took his own guttural release, as if he were pouring everything he had left into her.
The sex left her
utterly satiated, but with a sense of foreboding that things between her and Peter had reached some sort of pinnacle they would never be able to replicate.
Chapter 22
“WREN, YOU GOT A VISITOR.”
Wes looked up from the game of solitaire he was playing on his cot. “Who is it?”
“Do I look like your personal secretary?”
“Man, woman?”
“Says she’s one of your sisters.”
“I only have one sister.”
“Also says she’s not going to feed your pet snake unless you talk to her.”
Wes grimaced. He’d forgotten about Einstein. The black and gray spotted axanthic ball python rarely ate—he suspected it was vegetarian. But if this jail spa retreat of his lasted longer than a couple of weeks, it would need some nourishment.
“Uncle,” he muttered and trudged to the visitation room.
Carlotta sat at a table staring at something in her hand. When she saw him, she jumped up to hug him.
“No contact,” the guard said.
She sighed, but refrained and sat back down. “Hi, Wes.”
“Hi, yourself. How’s Dad?”
“Improving, slowly.”
“That’s good to hear. I guess.”
“Why have you been avoiding me?”
Because he didn’t want to see how disappointed she was in him. Again. “I didn’t want you to get involved. I messed up. This is all on me.”
“Where did you get the counterfeit money, Wes?”
“At a poker club in Atlanta. It was a pot I won.”
“I’m told that’s probably not true.”
He chewed on his lower lip. “What if I said I found it?”
“I’d ask where.”
He nodded to the piece of paper she had curled in her hand. “What’s that?”
“Something I found, actually.”
“What?”
She handed him a picture of a woman with graying hair. Something about her…
His head came up. “Mom?”
She nodded, smiling.
His pulse skyrocketed. “Really? How? Have you seen her? Did she come looking for Dad?”
“I found her. She’s here in Vegas. And we have a baby sister, she’s nine.”
Wonder flooded his chest. “How did you find them?”
“It’s a long story, but basically, I found out where Randolph was monitoring the listening device from. You were right about it being a house—it was our old house in Buckhead.”
“Seriously?”
She nodded. “He bought the house under a different name a few months ago. I went inside and found a receipt for a post office box here in Vegas, and I suspected Mom was here.”
“That’s why you wanted to come to Vegas?”
“Other reasons, too.”
“Yeah, Liz told me Jack is her baby-daddy. Sorry. I know you like that asshole.”
“It’s good,” she said. “We’re good, Jack and I.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about our old house and finding the receipt?”
“I didn’t have anything concrete, and I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”
“I could’ve helped.”
Carlotta gave him a pointed look. “It would’ve helped if you hadn’t gotten arrested.”
He wiped his hand over his mouth. “So you find the house where Mom is living, and you just walk up and ring the doorbell?”
“Pretty much. Our sister’s name is Priscilla.”
She pulled another picture from her pocket. It was half a strip of black and white photos from one of those booths. “She looks just like you. Is she a cool kid?”
“Yeah. Super smart, a little mature for her years.”
“So tell me about Mom,” he said. “Did she tell you why they left? Did they miss us?”
Tears pooled in Carlotta’s eyes, setting off warning flags in his brain.
“What? Tell me.”
“She has…memory problems.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has dementia, Wes.”
“You mean, like, Alzheimer’s?”
She nodded, wiping at her eyes.
He didn’t know he could feel anger and sadness and fear at the same time. “Does she remember us?”
“She does, but she gets the timelines confused. Sometimes she thinks I’m in high school, sometimes she thinks Priscilla is me.”
“Does she know about Dad?”
“She thinks he’s on a trip. And there are…some other things you should know.”
“Like what?”
“Dad says he has evidence stashed that will exonerate him from the charges against him.”
“What kind of evidence?”
“He didn’t say. And if Valerie knows anything about it, she isn’t saying, or can’t recall.”
Wes set back in his chair. “Stashed…like in a wall?”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“The counterfeit money—I found it inside a wall in the townhouse when I was doing repairs. I didn’t tell anyone because I thought Dad had put it there for his use—and ours. I didn’t know it was fake.”
Carlotta gaped. “You found twenty-five thousand dollars in the wall and you didn’t tell me?”
“It’s more like, a half million.”
Her eyes bugged. “What?”
“I was going to tell you.”
“After you had a little fun?”
He shrugged. “It wasn’t all fun. I paid off some bills.”
“What bills?”
“My debts.”
“You mean your loan shark?” Her hand flew to her mouth. “You paid off The Carver with counterfeit money?”
“Keep your voice down. I’m in deep shit. That’s why I didn’t want to get you involved. The Carver put a hit out on me.”
“A hit?”
“Yeah, he sent a lughead named Leonard who works for his son Dillon to come here and take me out. That’s why I can’t leave.”
“Leonard is dead.”
Chance drew back. “Dead? How did that happen?”
“He walked out in front of a bus.”
“No shit?”
“I saw it. I recognized him. I thought he was following me, that he was one of the bad guys trying to find Mom.”
“Maybe since Leonard came to such a bad end, The Carver won’t send someone else to take me out.” Maybe they’d just wait until he got back to Atlanta and shoot him in the head then.
“I don’t get it—can’t you just tell The Carver you didn’t know the money was fake and go back to owing him? Don’t you work for him anyway?’
Wes frowned. “How do you know about that?”
Carlotta blanched. “That slipped out.”
“Jack has a big mouth.”
“So why can’t you just go back to owing him?”
Wes had to find a nail to chew on to think about Chance’s exact words the day he’d visited. “Actually, now that think about it, Chance said it wasn’t The Carver who was pissed at me, it was his son Dillon…he said I’d gotten him in a lot of trouble when I paid his dad with the counterfeit money.”
“How would that get him in trouble with his father?”
The answer exploded into his head. “Because Dillon printed it? The Carver isn’t a nice guy, but his business is on the up and up—if he thought Dillon was counterfeiting, he’d be furious.”
“Because it would expose The Carver’s entire operation to federal scrutiny.”
Wes nodded.
Carlotta shook her head. “But why would money Dillon counterfeited be in the wall of the townhome?”
Wes’s first thought was the time Mouse and his guys had come to install the security alarm—but the bag was in a part of the wall they didn’t touch. Then he remembered something. “It was in a black plastic bag that had a design on it.” He closed his eyes to think. “B…T…C, I think.”
“Buckhead Tennis Club,” Carlotta said. “It’s where Dad played. In fact,
I remember a conversation with a doctor who told me he was Dad’s doubles partner. Dad told him someone in his firm was trying to frame him. He’d asked if he could bring something to him for safekeeping, but before it happened, Randolph had been arrested, then disappeared. I’ll bet Randolph was planning to take him the bag of counterfeit money.”
Wes scratched his head. “But how could counterfeit money be evidence that someone was trying to frame him?”
The answer slid into his head so quietly and so beautifully, it was almost poetic. And from the look on Carlotta’s face, it had fallen into her head, too.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Those bastards—”
“—at Mashburn & Tully—”
“—were literally printing money.” Carlotta steepled her hands over her nose.
“And I’ll bet they were getting Dillon Carver to launder it for them,” Wes said. “So when the money popped back into circulation, The Carver probably thought Dillon was up to his old tricks.”
“So when Dad was accused of taking all that money,” Carlotta said, “hundreds of millions of dollars…”
“He did take it,” Wes said, “but it was fake!” He gave a whoop and a fist-pump. “Go, Dad!”
“Hey,” the guard said, “keep it down. And you got ten minutes left.”
“Oh, my gosh,” Carlotta said. “Yesterday Mom said they had to leave because men were trying to kill them. At the time, it seemed fanciful, but now…”
“People would kill for a lot less,” Wes said.
“I just remembered something else Mom said—that Dad was always bringing her these ‘paper things’ home from work.”
“Paper things?”
“It’s how she describes things when she can’t remember the right words. I thought she meant books, but what if she meant paper money?”
“You think she knows where the rest of the counterfeit money is?”
“Could it be in our townhouse—in other walls?”
“No,” Wes said. “I, uh, used a studfinder to cover every inch of the drywall and didn’t find any more.”
Carlotta massaged her temples. “I have to talk to Jack, and tell him everything.”
“And I’m calling Liz, pronto. When we expose Mashburn & Tully, the Secret Service isn’t going to care about prosecuting me.”
He might be out of jail in time to go on that date with Meg after all.
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