5 Bodies To Die For

“Muscle? What muscle?” Jack casually flexed his own bulging biceps.

“Real mature, Jack. I’m going to take a shower.”

He grinned. “Want some company?”

“No,” she said, pushing him out into the hallway and closing the door behind him. Yet, as she showered in the luxurious bathroom, she thought back to when she and Jack had shared a showerhead only a few days before—right after her car had exploded. The incident had shaken them both and they agreed that due to mounting complications, it would be the last time they would give in to temptation.

Yet they seemed addicted to each other.

She showered and dressed hurriedly, pulling her still-damp long dark hair into a ponytail. When she descended to the first floor, she found Jack standing next to the sliding glass door. His back was to her, and he was on his cell phone.

“Yes, sir, I do understand what’s on the line, sir…yes, sir, I know it’s a shit storm…yes, sir, I know this is our jurisdiction and I don’t like the state badges here any more than you do…yes, sir, I won’t let you down.” He disconnected the call and rubbed his neck in fatigue.

Carlotta walked up to him and took over the impromptu massage, kneading the muscles in the top of his shoulders through his shirt.

“Mmm, that’s nice,” he said.

“Did you sleep last night?”

“Some.”

“Jack, you’re no good to anyone if you fall asleep behind the wheel and kill yourself.”

“I’m fine,” he said, straightening and turning around. He glanced over her outfit—gray miniskirt, a bone-colored jacket and lime-green blouse—his gaze lingering on her legs that ended in five-inch Chloe pumps. “Is your strategy to distract the state guys with that lame excuse for a skirt?”

She smiled. “Think it’ll work?”

He groaned. “Only if they’re not blind.”

Carlotta laughed. “Any more leads on the case?”

“As if I could discuss them with you.”

“But no more bodies?”

“No, thank God…At least none that we know of.”

“Have you found Michael Lane?”

“No. He hasn’t contacted you, has he?”

“You know I would’ve told you.”

“Right.” He glanced at his watch. “Ready to go? I’ll follow you to the station.”

“I’m ready, I need to set the security alarm. What did you do with the cat?”

“I put her outside and she ran away, so maybe she’ll find her way back home.”

Carlotta nursed a stab of remorse. “I hope so. Where is the broken glass?”

He gestured toward a utility closet. “I swept it up.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Pretty domestic of you, Jack.”

“Just trying to keep you safe. I’d hate to see you hobbled, just in case you have to outrun our killer.” He arched an eyebrow. “Or Ashford.”

“Peter is being a perfect gentleman.”

“Are you sure he isn’t gay?” Jack asked. “If you were in my house, you wouldn’t be sleeping across the hall.”

Carlotta angled her head. “Do you have a house, Jack?”

“We’re going to be late,” he said, easily changing the subject. “Believe it or not, my job consists of more than watching your sweet ass, as entertaining as that might be.”

“Where’s your partner?” Carlotta asked. “Getting her beauty sleep?”

“Marquez is with the Gibbies, going over the profile for The Charmed Killer.”

Carlotta harrumphed. “I thought she had decided it was someone with the last name Wren.”

“She never suspected you.”

“Right. She only suspected that I was planting those charms on the bodies after the fact.”

“She’s just doing her job.” Jack gave her a pointed look. “We all are.”

“Meaning you haven’t ruled out my father as the maniac who’s going around murdering women?”

“Personally, I think Michael Lane is a more likely suspect.”

She frowned. “I got the impression that you didn’t think it was Michael.”

He averted his gaze. “We’re still working out the time line.”

“I suppose that’s better for Randolph,” she mused.

He tapped his watch. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Right.”

Carlotta turned off the lights, then grabbed her purse and carefully reset the alarm before stepping into the garage. Jack followed and pulled the door closed behind him, sweeping his gaze over the structure that was finished with details nicer than most home interiors. Carlotta depressed the button for the garage-door opener. As the door rose, it ushered in morning light that bounced off the mirror finish of the sleek little two-seater sports car.

Jack caught her eye and grinned. “I could take the Porsche if you’d feel safer driving the sedan.”

“Nice try. Just don’t rear-end me.”

“Gee, you didn’t mind the other day,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.