Authors: Stephanie Bond
her cast. She was contorting to get into it when the phone
rang again. Ready to give Hannah a piece of her mind, she
yanked up the cel . But the display read Unknown.
Frowning, she answered, “Hello?”
“Hey, pretty lady, it’s the bartender from the Holiday Inn.
Are you stil in town?”
“No,” she said warily, wondering if the guy wanted to hook
up.
“Too bad, because I just saw Karen Wel s.”
Her pulse leaped. “Where?”
“At the Pink Pony.”
“What’s that?”
“A strip club, honey. She’s onstage right now.”
Carlotta felt sick to her stomach. “Can you give me the
address?” She wrote it down with a shaking hand. “Thanks
so much for letting me know.”
“If you come back to town, dol face, look me up.”
“Wil do,” she lied, then disconnected the cal .
She glanced at her watch and dialed Jack’s number while
she continued to struggle into the swimsuit.
“Carlotta?” he answered.
“Yes, it’s me.” She juggled the phone between her
shoulder and ear, straining to stretch a strap over her
shoulder. When the strap snapped out of her hand and
zinged her cast, she grunted in pain.
“If you’re doing what I think you’re doing,” he said, “I’m
going to have to find a place to be alone.”
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she retorted. “I happen
to have a hot tip for you.”
“I know, I know—get a new tie.”
“Wil you shut up and listen? The bartender from the
Holiday Inn just called and said he’d spotted Karen Wel s
at a strip club cal ed the Pink Pony.”
“She’s there now?”
“Yes.” She gave him the address.
“The employee file was a dead end,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
He sighed. “Something tel s me I should have patted you
down before I let you leave. Carlotta, it doesn’t make
sense for us both to travel the same ground.”
“Wel , I have to admit that I’m glad I’m not there with you
to check out this particular lead.”
“It might not be your mother,” he said quietly.
Emotion formed a lump in her throat. “If my mother is a
stripper, that would just be the cherry on top, wouldn’t
it?” She broke off on a choking sound.
“Don’t do this to yourself.” He sighed. “Look, go have
fun…with Coop,” he added tightly. “I’l call you the minute
I know something.”
She disconnected the call and gulped a couple of breaths
to calm herself. Her strength renewed, she stretched the
suit over her shoulders and into place. She shrugged into a
red cover-up and gold metallic flip-flops, then stuffed her
phone and other necessities into a beach bag and hurried
downstairs.
Wesley was waiting, wearing trunks and a T-shirt. “Coop
went down to rent us beach chairs and an umbrel a.”
“That was nice of him.”
“Yeah. But isn’t there some saying about nice guys
finishing last?”
She narrowed her eyes at her brother as they walked
through the pool area and along a boardwalk toward the
beach. He seemed determined to steer her attention away
from Coop. “Wesley, what was all that about Peter today?
It came from left field.”
He shrugged. “He’s not such a bad guy, and he’s crazy
about you. Don’t you want the life you would’ve had if you
hadn’t been saddled with me?”
She stopped. “Wesley, that’s not why Peter dumped me.
His parents didn’t want him near me because of what our
father did. It had nothing to do with you.”
“I heard what you said in the van.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I was hiding, I heard you tel Coop that you only
raised me because you didn’t have a choice.”
She bit her tongue to stave off tears. “I stil think you
would’ve been better off raised by your own mother and
father instead of an eighteen-year-old who couldn’t cook.
But I never would’ve left you to someone else to raise. I
only meant that Coop shouldn’t put me on a pedestal,
because I did what anyone would do. For me, there was no
other choice.”
Wesley’s eyes looked suspiciously moist. “You didn’t do
such a bad job, you know.”
In the wake of rare brotherly praise, she tried to look
stern. “So stay out of trouble.”
“I’m trying,” he mumbled.
When they got to the beach, they scanned the crowd.
Coop waved to them and they wound their way to the
patch he’d carved out for them. His smile was a little
dimmer today, but he was stil his easygoing self. And his
eyes lit up appreciatively when Carlotta pul ed off her
cover-up. If he was remembering what little intimate
contact had transpired between them last night, so was
she.
They played a game of spades in the shade of the
umbrel a. Carlotta tried to keep her mind on the play, but
she kept wondering what was happening in Daytona, if
Jack had located Karen Wel s and if she was really Valerie
Wren.
“You broke the trump suit,” Wesley said.
She blinked. “What?”
“You laid down a spade and I know you stil have a club.”
She frowned and pul ed her cards back. “How do you
know?”
“I just know.”
Her phone rang. Wesley was closer, so he reached into her
bag and handed it to her. “It’s Jack Terry,” he said.
“Excuse me a minute,” she said, aware that Coop’s eyes
were on her.
She walked out of earshot and flipped up the phone.
“Hel o, Jack? Did you find her?”
“Yeah, I found Karen Wel s.” In the background she could
hear dance music.
“And?” Carlotta held her breath.
“There’s a resemblance, but she’s not your mother.”
She exhaled. “Oh, thank God.”
“Yeah. Turns out she’s using a fake name because she has
a couple of misdemeanor drug possession charges. I don’t
think she had anything to do with the hotel robbery, but
I’m stil looking into it.”
“I forgot to ask earlier. Did Liz recognize my father’s voice
on the surveil ance tape.”
“She doesn’t think it was him.”
Another relief. “Okay. Thanks for calling, Jack.”
“Sure thing. Now you can get back to…whatever you were
doing.”
She smiled into the phone. “Sunbathing.”
“Wish I was there.”
“You’ve seen everything I have, anyway,” she reminded
him.
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind seeing it again
sometime.”
“Goodbye, Jack.” She flipped the phone closed and walked
back to the chairs, feeling less burdened. Coop was there
alone, reading a book.
“Where did Wesley go?”
He nodded toward the surf, where her brother was
floating, waiting for a wave to ride in.
“How’s Jack?” Coop asked.
“Fine and dandy.”
He closed his book. “What’s going on, Carlotta?”
“What do you mean?”
“For one thing, there’s no Neiman Marcus in Daytona.”
She winced. “You checked?”
“Where were you yesterday?”
“I can explain.”
“Were you with Jack?”
She closed her eyes briefly. “He was there.”
“Where?”
Carlotta massaged her temples. “At the Holiday Inn.”
Coop’s head went back as if she’d slapped him.
“It’s not what you think,” she said. She looked around to
make sure Wesley was stil in the water, then sighed. “The
night that Wesley came home, Jack pul ed me aside to tel
me that a Holiday Inn in Daytona had been robbed, and
when the scene was processed, my father’s fingerprints
came up as a match. Jack was coming down to
investigate.”
Coop quirked his mouth. “So that’s why you wanted to
stop in Daytona?”
She nodded. “I wanted to check it out for myself. I thought
my father might be working there, maybe in disguise.”
“Was he?”
“No. But I…ran into Jack while I was there.”
“I imagine he wasn’t too happy to see you.”
“Uh, no. But I did give him a lead to fol ow up on. That was
him calling back to say it was a dead end.”
Coop studied her. “So that’s why you agreed to come with
me, so you could hitch a ride to Daytona?”
“That’s not the only reason,” she said, but she realized
how feeble it sounded. She swallowed. “If you don’t mind,
I’d rather Wesley not know about any of this.”
He nodded, but his disappointment was transparent. The
rest of the day, she was aware of the emotional wall
between them, and she knew it was her fault. Wesley
seemed not to notice anything was wrong—the sun and
the water agreed with him, she acknowledged. He seemed
cheerful, and a little color suited him. She and Coop relied
on him to keep the conversation and activities going. The
gold-streaked sunset was bittersweet. Carlotta
remembered how happy she’d been twenty-four hours
ago.
They had a casual dinner at a beachside bar, then Wesley
insisted they go to the hotel hot tub. He held his freshly
bandaged arm out of the water along the concrete edge.
Carlotta did the same with her cast, but conceded that the
warm, bubbly water felt good everywhere else. Stil , her
chest ached every time she looked at Coop. Their toes
occasionally touched underwater. They were sitting a
couple of feet away from each other, but as time wore on,
they migrated closer and closer together until their thighs
touched. She wished the entire world would fall away and
leave them alone to explore this powerful pull between
them.
When Wesley climbed out to go to the restroom, silence
stretched until Carlotta cleared her throat. “Hannah called
again today to breathe into the phone.”
He smiled, but it faded as quickly. “Has Ashford called
again?” “No.”
“Meaning he doesn’t perceive me as a threat.”
“Don’t go there, Coop.”
His laugh was hol ow. “It’s true. If I planned to marry you, I
wouldn’t be so calm about you taking off for the weekend
with some other guy.”
She sighed. “Coop, the ring was a total shock to me. I
didn’t make Peter any promises.”
“So he’s like me, operating on hope?”
She met his level gaze. “I don’t know what you want me to
say.”
“I don’t want you to say anything until you know what you
want.” He curved his hand around her neck and pul ed her
mouth to his for a hard, slanting kiss that held all the
passion they might have shared last night if things had
gone differently. When he pul ed back, his expression was
unyielding.
“I’m not Jack, Carlotta, and I’m not Peter. I’m not wil ing to
share you. But I am wil ing to wait.” He climbed out of the
hot tub and reached for a towel. “See you in the morning.”
16
The one good thing about visiting a morgue, Carlotta
realized, was that it made your own problems seem small.
Even with her having a dysfunctional family, an empty
bank account and a confused heart, every person in the
crypt would probably trade places with her if given the
chance.
They had passed through an impromptu checkpoint a
quarter of a mile from the entrance, on the other side of
which sprawled countless TV news crews. The morgue, a
four-story, nondescript stucco structure, sat in a boggy
area surrounded by scrub foliage—not exactly prime real
estate. The inside was fil ed with disinfectable surfaces of
linoleum and glass and stainless steel.
They were sent to the second floor, which bustled with
activity. Coop was handsome in dress jeans and a sport
coat over a shirt and tie, and he’d loaned Wesley a shirt
and tie to look presentable. Carlotta wore slacks and a
dark blouse, with her hair pul ed back.
Coop’s behavior to her this morning had been friendly, but
cool. She had lain awake most of the night replaying his
parting comment. His intensity spooked her. Part of what
had attracted her to Coop was his laid-back attitude. She
hadn’t counted on his feelings running so deep, so soon.
Sometimes the quiet ones surprised you.
The three of them walked up to the check-in desk, and
Coop flashed his credentials to the woman there.
“I’m Dr. Craft. I’m here to pick up body 3050.” A code, he
had explained to Carlotta and Wesley, predetermined so
that Kiki Deerling’s name would not be used.
The clerk frowned. “There must be some mistake.
Someone else just arrived to claim that body, a tall, bald
man.” She checked a sign-in log. “A Dr. Talon. He’s with Dr.
Shores, our chief medical examiner.”
“Take me to Dr. Shores.” Coop turned to Carlotta and
Wesley. “Stay here. The family might have changed their
minds.”
“I’l go with you,” Wes offered.
With her broken arm, Carlotta knew she would be of little
help, so she stayed behind. Although she wished she’d
asked for directions to a bathroom. Her bladder was at the
brim, a by-product of riding in the car with men, who
never seemed to have to pee no matter how much they
drank.
She crossed her legs and leaned on the counter, flipping
through an entertainment magazine the clerk had left
behind. Kiki Deerling was on the cover and nearly every
page inside. She was—had been—stunningly beautiful,
with white-blond hair, a wil owy frame and a wide, sexy