5 Bodies To Die For

She nodded, suddenly realizing that both men’s eyes were locked on her legs. Jack cleared his throat, and the men were suddenly all business.

“Have a seat, Ms. Wren.”

“Can we get you something to drink?”

“No, thank you,” she said, lowering herself into the empty chair.

Both agents looked at Jack expectantly.

“I’ll be outside,” he said unnecessarily. After making eye contact with Carlotta, he backed out of the room.

Once the door was closed, Agent Wick gave Carlotta a friendly smile and eased out of his jacket. “I’m originally from Buffalo and I haven’t acclimated to the Southern heat yet.”

“I told him he’ll get used to it,” Agent Green said to her, as if he and she were on the same team and Wick was the outsider. Translation: Green—good cop, Wick—bad cop. They both sat down and made a great show of getting settled, adjusting ties, sipping coffee and scooting chairs closer to the table.

Carlotta smiled. “I don’t mean to be rude, gentlemen, but I have to be at work soon, so…what can I do for you?”

Wick pursed his mouth. “Okay, let’s do this.” He took a folder that Green passed to him and opened it. “What do you do for a living, Ms. Wren?”

She glanced at the glass behind Wick and imagined Jack’s comforting presence behind it. “I’m a sales associate at Neiman Marcus at the Lenox Square Mall.”

Green jotted down her answer. Apparently, he was the note-taker.

“That’s where Michael Lane worked,” Wick said.

Carlotta nodded. “Yes, that’s where I met Michael.”

“You were friends?”

“Yes. Good friends, actually.”

“What changed that?”

She shifted in her chair. “The night I realized he was behind an identity-theft ring and was responsible for the deaths of two women.”

“You confronted him?”

“That’s right. We were in the Fox Theater at the time, and he tried to kill me.”

Wick took another sip of coffee. “How?”

“By pushing me over a balcony.”

“You obviously survived,” Green interrupted.

“Yeah, I was lucky. Someone broke my fall.” She glanced at the glass again.

“Have you seen Michael Lane since that time?” Wick resumed.

“Only on television, after he escaped, when he was being chased by the police.”

“I understand that when he jumped over the bridge, you were the one who informed the police that Michael couldn’t swim.”

“That’s right, Michael once told me himself.”

“So you assumed he’d died in the fall?”

“Yes.”

“But he didn’t.”

She sighed—this was going to be tedious. “Apparently not. I found evidence that Michael Lane broke into the home I share with my brother and was living in our guest room, unbeknownst to us.”

“That’s quite a story,” Wick said wryly.

Carlotta didn’t respond.

“Your brother,” Green broke in, glancing over the file in front of him. “That would be Wesley Wren?”

“That’s correct.”

“And both of you have records?” Wick asked, taking the file. “Your brother for computer crimes and you for assault?”

Carlotta squirmed. “I once used a tire iron on a man my brother owed money to, but that was in self-defense.”

“And your brother’s computer hacking? Was that also in self-defense?”

“No,” she conceded. “But Wes is on probation and doing community service. He’s paying for his crime.”

“Your father is Randolph Wren, is that right?” Wick asked.

She tried not to react. “Yes.”

“And he’s a fugitive.”

“Isn’t that what your file says?”

Wick smiled. “Yes, it does. Do you know where your father is?”

“No.”

“When was the last time you saw him?”

A few weeks ago at a Florida rest area. “Just before Christmas, my senior year of high school.”

“He and your mother abandoned you and your brother?”

“Hey, ease up, partner,” Green said, then gave Carlotta a sympathetic look.