5 Bodies To Die For

Carlotta glared at him, then opened the door and swung into the Porsche, admittedly nervous. As she adjusted the seat to accommodate her shorter legs, her pulse tripped higher. What if she did do something to Peter’s car?

She put her hands on the steering wheel and forced herself to relax. As long as she was careful and drove slowly, what could go wrong? She was allowing the luxury of the car—of Peter’s life—to intimidate her. Which was ironic, considering that if she’d married him, she’d probably have a fleet of luxury vehicles to choose from on any given day. Feeling more confident, she pressed the button to lower the convertible top, determined to enjoy the car to its fullest.

She turned over the engine and held her breath as she slowly backed out of the garage into the circular driveway. Beautifully shaped pavers surrounded a tall concrete fountain that dropped sheets of crystal-clear water into a tulip-shaped basin. She glanced in the rearview mirror at Jack sitting in his sedan, waiting to pull out behind her. He gave her a wry little wave. She exhaled and shifted into Drive. So far so good. The engine purred around her like a vibrator set on low speed. The distinctive hood sloped down and away from her. She felt sexy and powerful, wrapped in leather, a light breeze lifting her ponytail. She lowered her sunglasses and sighed. She was meant for this life. Carlotta pressed the gas pedal and the car surged forward as if it had been let out of its cage. She knew how it felt.

Suddenly a screeching noise sounded and a blob of scratching, snarling fur landed in her lap. Terrified, she yanked the wheel and tried to hit the brake, but wound up hitting the gas instead. The car lurched forward.

Into something hard enough to stop it cold.

The cat, meanwhile, acted as if it was possessed and climbed her shoulder, emitting humanlike screams. Carlotta flailed at it with her hands, but it sunk its claws into her scalp. She shrieked as pain shot through her head.

Then suddenly, the attack ceased. She glanced up to see that Jack had removed the deranged cat.

“Scat! Get out of here!” he shouted. “Carlotta, are you okay?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes and was struck with horror—she had plowed the left side of the Porsche into the fountain. She nodded, then burst into tears. “Peter’s going to kill me.”

Jack sighed. “He’s not going to kill you. It’s just a scratch down the side. Come on, let’s get you out of there.”

He reached in to help her slide to the passenger side, then she heard him curse and felt herself being ripped out of the seat. A horrific crash sounded, followed by the splintering of glass.

When Jack set her on her feet, she turned around. The top of the concrete fountain had fallen through the windshield of the Porsche and was now resting in the driver’s seat among torn metal and leather, exactly where she’d been sitting. Water from the broken fountain gushed into the open convertible.

Jack made a rueful noise. “Okay, now Peter’s going to kill you.”

7

Carlotta waved as Peter drove away in his SUV.

“Ashford took it better than I would have,” Jack admitted as he held open the door for her at the midtown APD precinct.

“It’s just a car,” Carlotta muttered, feeling like a naughty child.

“Right. It’s a good thing you’re wearing that belt you call a skirt.”

“Peter’s a reasonable man. He knows it was an accident. Besides, like he said—his insurance will pay for the car.”

“True. Now he can get next year’s model,” Jack said drily.

“See? All is well.”

“Meanwhile, what are you going to do for transportation?”

She sighed. “Peter said he could get me a rental, but for now I think I’d feel less destructive riding the train.”

“Since we still don’t know who planted that bomb under your Monte Carlo, I have to agree. But last time I checked, MARTA doesn’t run past Ashford’s subdivision.”

“I’ll figure out something,” she murmured.

He stopped to check Carlotta in at the front desk. She said hello to her friend Brooklyn and followed Jack through a secured door into the bull-pen area that housed workstations, cubicles and offices. The area hummed with voices, printers and the ringing of telephones.

Her grip on her purse was slippery and her pulse ratcheted higher. “I’m nervous about the interview.”

Jack scoffed. “You already wrecked a Porsche this morning, what else can you do? The way I see it, the day has nowhere to go but up.”

“Very funny. You’ll be in there with me, won’t you, Jack?”

His mouth flattened into a line. “I’ll be watching. Just remember that you’re here of your own volition. You can stop the interview if you feel uncomfortable.”

“You’re late,” chided a female voice.

Carlotta turned to see Detective Maria Marquez approaching. The woman managed to look fresh yet threatening in a pale blue pantsuit and shoulder holster. Her demeanor toward Jack was territorial, but Carlotta wondered if Jack even noticed.

“There was a mishap,” Jack said, pouring a cup of coffee.

Maria eyed Carlotta knowingly. “Right. Well, the state guys are getting restless.”

“How did your session go?” Jack asked, taking a drink from the steaming cup.

Maria shrugged. “They asked questions, I answered.” Her glance cut to Carlotta, then back. “We can talk about it later.”

Carlotta pursed her mouth. The woman was purposely excluding her, while letting her know that she and Jack had plenty of private time.

“Did they offer up the state lab to process our evidence?” Jack asked.

“When we get some.”

Jack swallowed coffee and nodded. “Fair enough.”

“They’re waiting for Carlotta in interview room two,” Maria offered, then walked away.

Jack topped off his coffee and looked at Carlotta. “Ready?”

“I guess so.”

He led her down a hallway to a closed door. “I’ll be right on the other side of the glass. Just be truthful. Everyone’s after the same thing here—to get you cleared.”

“And my father,” she added. But at the sight of the muscle jumping in Jack’s jaw, she frowned. “And my father, right, Jack?”

“Carlotta, this is about you. Let your father take care of himself. From what I’ve seen, he’s pretty good at it.”

He rapped his knuckles on the door, then opened it. Two suited men sat adjacent to each other at a rectangular table that was piled high with files. She assumed that one of them was Randolph’s, one was Wesley’s and one was hers. Her pulse kicked up a notch. The men stood and adjusted their waistbands as Carlotta and Jack walked in.

“Agents Wick and Green,” Jack said, nodding to the slim black man and the stocky white guy, respectively, “this is Carlotta Wren.”

The men said hello and she responded in kind.

“Ms. Wren has agreed to voluntarily answer whatever questions you have about The Charmed Killer case. She’s eager to help, aren’t you, Carlotta?”