8 Bodies is Enough(52)

“Then we saw a man get run over by a bus,” Priscilla said.

Birch sent a worried look to Carlotta.

“There was an accident—a man ran out in the road. But thank goodness we were far enough away that we didn’t see anything bad.”

“Is he dead?” Valerie asked.

“I don’t think this is table conversation,” Birch said gently.

“Why?” Valerie asked. “People die all the time. Good people, bad people. They were going to kill us, you know…that’s why we had to leave town.” She choked. “That’s why we had to leave our children.”

Carlotta reached for her mother’s hand. “Who were you afraid of, Mom? Who was going to hurt you?”

“Those bad men. You know.”

“Tell me their names.”

Valerie sat there shaking her head, rocking forward and backward.

Carlotta stroked her hand to calm her. “It’s okay, Mom. The bad men aren’t here.”

Valerie turned to her and smiled. “Do I know you?”

Carlotta smiled back. “Yes, we’ve met. My name is Carlotta.”

“Such a pretty name,” her mother said. “My daughter’s name is Carlotta.”

“Look, Mom.” Priscilla held up the picture of her and Carlotta together, flashing identical gapped grins.

Valerie gasped. “You two look so much alike, you could be sisters.”

They were quiet for a few seconds, then they all burst out laughing.

But later when she walked into the empty hotel room, Carlotta felt raw and drained. The scene of Leonard stepping in front of the bus kept replaying in her head.

When she assisted Coop on body-moving runs, they dealt with bodies after the violent end. The mechanics of death neutralized dying, made it seem more peaceful than it was. But to see a man alive one second, and dead the next had been a shock to her system. And made her feel lucky to be alive.

When she stepped into the palatial shower, it seemed as if every sense was heightened—the fall of the water on her skin, the scent of the luxurious vanilla soap, the sound of the splash against the porcelain tiles.

When she heard a noise, she turned around, startled to see a figure moving slowly toward her. Then she realized it was Peter, fully dressed, his tie loose and shoulders slumped, as if he’d had a day similar to hers.

He opened the door of the shower and leaned on the frame, unabashedly watching her. He’d seen her naked many times. He’d been her first lover when she was a teenager. And since they’d reunited, they’d attempted to make love a few times. But she’d never seen this look of raw hunger before.

She liked it.

She went to him and looped her arms around his neck, raising her mouth for a kiss. He slanted his lips over hers with an unfamiliar intensity. He pulled her wet body against the coarse fabric of his suit, running his hands down her back and cupping her to him. She arched into him, feeling loose and languid against his hardness.

With a groan he picked her up and carried her to the bed, splashing a trail behind them. When the cool air hit her wet body, her breasts and shoulders and thighs came alive. Peter shed his jacket and unfastened his pants, then climbed on top of her.

“I want you, Carly,” he whispered in her ear. “I want you so much.”

“I want you, too, Peter. Take me.”

She opened her knees to him, and he thrust into her with a force that shook her. He found a feverish rhythm, driving deeper each stroke, until she clawed at his back and gasped her release. With a fierce plunge, he took his own guttural release, as if he were pouring everything he had left into her.

The sex left her utterly satiated, but with a sense of foreboding that things between her and Peter had reached some sort of pinnacle they would never be able to replicate.





Chapter 22





“WREN, YOU GOT A VISITOR.”

Wes looked up from the game of solitaire he was playing on his cot. “Who is it?”

“Do I look like your personal secretary?”

“Man, woman?”

“Says she’s one of your sisters.”

“I only have one sister.”

“Also says she’s not going to feed your pet snake unless you talk to her.”

Wes grimaced. He’d forgotten about Einstein. The black and gray spotted axanthic ball python rarely ate—he suspected it was vegetarian. But if this jail spa retreat of his lasted longer than a couple of weeks, it would need some nourishment.

“Uncle,” he muttered and trudged to the visitation room.

Carlotta sat at a table staring at something in her hand. When she saw him, she jumped up to hug him.

“No contact,” the guard said.

She sighed, but refrained and sat back down. “Hi, Wes.”