Heck, maybe Randolph himself would be relieved.
Would she?
It would certainly be nice to wake up in the morning and not feel as if her life was on hold.
But given the choice, she’d rather see her father well and on the run again than to visit him any time she wanted in the cemetery.
“So, dammit, you’d better pull through,” she whispered eastward.
Her phoned buzzed with a text from Hannah.
How did Shithead’s arraignment go?
Carlotta texted back. No bail.
So he happened in Vegas, and he’s staying in Vegas?
Wish I could laugh. Wes won’t even take my calls.
Sounds like he wants to handle this on his own. You have enough on your plate.
So right. btw, Peter left if you need to use our room to change.
Can’t. Since Wes is in jail, I’m babysitting Fat Boy.
You should come out to Chance that you’re rich and preppy.
And people in glass houses shouldn’t marry Peter Ashford.
Carlotta smirked. Her friend had a point.
A knock sounded at the door. Thinking Peter had forgotten his key, she opened it, surprised to see Jack and Coop standing in the hall.
“Good morning.” She crossed her arms over her thin gown. “What’s up?”
“Can we talk to you?” Jack asked.
“And Peter,” Coop added solicitously.
“Peter left for a meeting, but sure—come in.”
When the door closed behind them, she walked over to yank her robe from the unmade bed. Self-consciously she wondered if it was obvious that only the sides of the bed had been mussed, and not the middle.
When she turned back, Jack was looking at floor, and Coop was studying the ceiling.
“I’m getting a late start this morning,” she offered apologetically. “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
More shuffling, more gaze averting.
She cleared her throat and gestured to the kitchenette. “Coffee?”
“Sure,” they chorused.
She gestured for them to sit, and poured them all a steaming cup. “What’s this about?”
Jack sipped from his cup, then nodded to Coop. “Coop is questioning the cause of death of the agent who was following you.”
She looked to Coop. “I thought it was an asthma attack.”
“Probably,” he said. “But I went back the morgue yesterday to help prepare the body to fly back to Atlanta, and I noticed bruising around the neck that wasn’t evident in the autopsy. Sometimes bruises are just below the surface and don’t fully develop until later, especially if the deceased is sitting up when death occurs. Gravity redistributes the blood.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning,” Coop said, “he might’ve clutched at his own neck during the asthma attack…or he could’ve been strangled.”
Her pulse bumped higher. “You think someone offed the agent who was following me?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“But it’s possible,” Coop added. “Which is why we thought you should know.”
“So you don’t open your hotel room door when you’re alone and half-dressed,” Jack said dryly.
She frowned in his direction. “Why would someone strangle the person who’s following me? It makes no sense.”
“I agree,” Jack said, taking another drink from his cup. “But given your penchant for attracting weirdoes, we decided to err on the side of caution.”
Coop smiled into his coffee and gave her a wink.
“I told Coop you won’t heed the warning, but there—our conscience is clear.”
“Gee, thanks.”
Jack glanced at his watch. “I have to go. Don’t get up, Carlotta. Stay and finish your coffee, Coop.” He strode toward the door, then turned back. “By the way—sorry to hear about Wes’s arraignment. Liz said if you can get him to tell you where he got the counterfeit bills, things will go more smoothly.”
“Easier said than done, but I’ll work on it,” she promised.
When the door closed, Coop gave her a crooked smile. “So…Wes is in trouble again.”
She sipped from her cup. “My little brother seems incapable of behaving himself.”
“How did he get his hands on that much counterfeit money?”
“He says he won it in a poker game, but Liz says that doesn’t add up. Apparently, the bills are new and the serial numbers are in sequential order.”
“You don’t think he printed it himself, do you?”
“He says no, but he doesn’t seem to have another explanation—not that he’s talking to me at all.”
Coop made a thoughtful noise. “I knew something was up at the airport. He was as nervous as a cat, and guarding his jacket like it was made of money. I guess it was.”