2 Bodies for the Price of 1 Read Online Free PDF Page B

table at Peter, patiently waiting for her response as to whether she planned to tell the police that her father had called both of them. Unsaid words burned the back of her tongue—a decade’s worth of pent-up conversations she hadn’t been able to have with her father. Or with Peter.
    How could you leave me? Where have you been? Do you think that I’m like a book that you can stop reading, put away for years and then pick up where you left off? There is a hole in my heart in the shape of you.
    “Whatever you decide, Carly,” Peter said earnestly. “I’ll support you any way I can.”
    Meaning that one word from her and Peter would either help Randolph Wren in his supposed quest for exoneration or nail him to the wall.
    As often as she had wished her father safe, Carlotta had fantasized about seeing him squirm, seeing him publicly held accountable, robbed of his freedom—like his disappearance had robbed her of her freedom.
    But while running out on his children was reprehensible, it wasn’t a crime. He and her mother had left Wesley with her, and legally, she’d been an adult. The sudden responsibility had been staggering, but she’d gotten through each day by telling herself that her parents would return before nightfall. Slowly the days had turned into weeks and months, then years, until one day she’d realized that their parents weren’t coming back and that she and Wesley were somehow, astonishingly, surviving. But every time she’d watched Wesley reach a milestone—winning first place in the science fair, struggling with his voice changing, getting his driver’s license, being fitted for his prom tux—her resentment toward her parents had magnified.
    Sometimes she thought that she hated her parents. But was she willing to see them go to jail?
    “I need to think about it,” she said finally. “I’m having a hard time trying to absorb everything.”
    “That’s understandable,” Peter soothed.
    “I’ll call you.” She folded her napkin and put it on her plate. “Thanks for the coffee, Peter.”
    “I’ll walk you to your car.”
    “I’m on Marta.” Carlotta doubted that Peter had ever ridden the city’s public train system—too many germs and no cup holders. “My car’s in the shop being painted from when I was side-swiped.” By the same person who had murdered Peter’s wife.
    A similar thought must have gone through his mind because his mouth tightened. “Then let me drive you home.”
    She hesitated.
    “Maybe I’ll be able to recall something else from your father’s call.”
    He had to know how irresistible that tidbit would be. “Okay,” she conceded.
    After leaving several bills on the table, he guided her toward the mall exit nearest the valet stand. His hand hovered at the small of her back, grazing her often enough to dredge up memories of when they had made love as teenagers.
    At the time, she’d thought she might combust from the sheer ecstasy of being in his arms. In their circle of friends, they had been the it couple: good-looking, rich and head over heels in love. Their future seemed golden. Carlotta hadn’t even considered a plan B. When her parents had skipped town and Peter had dumped her and the rest of her supposed friends had fallen away, she had been set emotionally adrift…a scared kid, ill-equipped to finish raising herself, much less a nine-year-old boy. How many days had she longed for Peter’s comforting presence next to her, like this?
    Within minutes, Peter’s navy blue Porsche arrived and he held open the door of the low-slung decadent car for her. Carlotta lowered herself gingerly into the leather seat that wrapped her in a buttery soft cocoon. She reached for her shoulder belt, but Peter’s hand was already there, pulling the strap across her body and fastening the belt with a click. He smiled at her as if to say that if she stayed with him, he would make sure she was safe. Closing her door with a soft thunk, he strode around the front of the