8 Bodies is Enough(7)
“I’ll put it in the one in mine,” she said, trying not to feel deflated.
“Let me know if you need a hand.”
Carlotta frowned after him. She could think of lots of things for his hands to do. She snapped the bracelet on her wrist—hard—then retrieved the red ring box from her bag and went to her walk-in closet. Things would be better between her and Peter once they’d made love. The comforting thought made her quicken her pace.
She tugged on the door of the safe, then realized she’d inadvertently closed the door when she was looking in it before. Since she hadn’t changed the combination, though, the door opened when she pulled up on the handle. Carlotta jumped back when a large object came rolling out. A few seconds passed before she registered the large object was a man’s body dressed in the hotel’s uniform. She screamed.
“Carly?”
“Peter—come quick!”
Peter burst into the closet. “What the hell?”
“He was in the safe.”
“Is he dead?”
“Yes. He’s cold.”
“You touched him? I’m calling security. Come out of there, Carly. I don’t want you involved.”
Too late. Because the dead man’s face was familiar—it was Johnson, the guy renting the house next door to her and Wes’s townhome in Atlanta.
The guy she’d suspected of watching them.
Minus ten. Minus ten. Minus ten.
While Peter was on the phone shouting at hotel security, Carlotta retrieved her phone and reluctantly placed a call of her own.
On the fourth ring, Jack Terry’s groggy voice came on the line. “Carlotta? Do you know what time it is?”
She realized it was way late on the East Coast. “Tell Liz I’m sorry to disturb her beauty sleep.”
“It’s not like that. I’m not… Where are you?”
“In Vegas. And I’m in trouble.”
“You’re supposed to get in trouble in Vegas. It’s Vegas.”
“There’s a dead man in my room.”
He sighed. “Of course there is. Okay, I’m awake. Talk to me.”
Chapter 3
THE BLACK TOWN CAR CIRCLED the parking lot before coming to a stop by the curb. The driver-side window buzzed down, revealing a big, dour face.
“This had better be good, Little Man, to call me on a Sunday.”
Wesley Wren loped over, feeling light and happy for a change. “It is, Mouse. Here.” He handed The Carver’s collection guy a brown paper bag.
Mouse looked wary. “What’s this?”
“See for yourself.”
Mouse opened the bag and peeked inside, then glanced back up. “What the hell?”
“You’ve never seen cash before?”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“That’s enough to clear my debt with The Carver, and a little extra for goodwill. Feel free to skim some off the top for yourself.”
Mouse frowned.
“Not that you skim off the top of collections,” Wes added hastily.
Mouse crunched the bag closed. “What’d you do, rob a bank?”
Wes smiled, reliving the discovery of a bag of cash in the wall of the townhouse in the course of doing repairs. It had taken him a while to count it, but all told, it was more than five hundred thousand dollars. He suspected his father had put it there before he went on the run ten years ago, with the thought of returning for it, or leaving it for his kids to live on in their parents’ absence. But if Randolph had left instructions on where to find the money, they’d gotten waylaid.
Although it had occurred to Wes the instructions might be in the Christmas packages under the tree in the living room he had refused to let Carlotta open. If so, damn.
Or maybe Randolph had simply forgotten about the money. If he’d absconded with as much money as he’d been accused of stealing from Mashburn & Tully, five hundred grand would’ve been a mere oversight.
But it could’ve made a big difference to his life and Carlotta’s over the past ten years. How many times had he seen his sister cry over late bills and failing appliances they couldn’t afford to replace? Plus she could’ve gone to college.
Both of them could have.
It’s why he didn’t feel guilty about spending some of it now to get himself out of a jam, and why he had a tidy sum sewn into the lining of his jacket for his trip.
A snapping sound brought him out of his reverie. Mouse was scowling. “Bank robbery is federal. You don’t mess with that shit.”
Wes stabbed at his glasses. “Relax, I didn’t rob a bank. I just got lucky is all.”
“Won the lottery, huh?”
“Something like that. Gotta run—I have to catch a flight.”