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him, too.
    He looked back, his expression akin to pity. “I just hate to
    see you keep getting dragged down by other people’s
    mistakes.”
    Carlotta set her jaw. “Wesley isn’t ‘people,’ he’s my
    brother.”
    Jack’s phone rang and he stepped away to take the cal .
    Her chest ached with frustration and a clump of emotions
    she couldn’t identify. Jack’s attitude was a timely reminder
    that they were too different, that too many obstacles lay
    between them. And that he had a very low opinion of her
    family.
    “Hey,” Hannah said from the couch. “You know that Kiki
    chick we were watching on TV the other day? She’s fucking
    dead.”
    Carlotta turned, grateful for the distraction, even if the
    news was disturbing. She walked over to glance at the
    warped picture on the TV screen flashing Breaking News:
    Kiki Deerling Dead At 21. “Turn it up.”
    “As we first reported earlier today, Kiki Deerling was
    pronounced dead at a Boca Raton, Florida, hospital around
    three this morning, after being found unconscious by her
    publicist at a club during a birthday party in honor of
    Deerling herself. So far, authorities are being very hush-
    hush as to the circumstances surrounding the starlet’s
    death. Stay tuned for more details as they are available.”
    Carlotta made a mournful noise for the loss of a young,
    vibrant life. She had never met the woman, but like
    mil ions of people, felt as if she knew her just from the
    hundreds of TV impressions. And maybe Kiki didn’t
    deserve her celebrity, but neither did she deserve an
    abbreviated life.
    “Probably drugs,” Hannah said matter-of-factly.
    “Otherwise, why wouldn’t they say?”
    “Maybe the truth isn’t titil ating enough,” Carlotta said.
    Hannah glanced in Jack’s direction, then lowered her
    voice. “Listen, considering you and the brooding detective
    have a history, maybe you should request that someone
    else work Wesley’s case.”
    Carlotta surveyed Jack’s broad back and her anger
    intensified. He obviously believed that whatever happened
    to Wesley, her brother deserved it. “Jack does seem a little
    too invested in the other side.”
    The sound of a car pul ing into the driveway drew her
    attention. She walked to the window and her frustration
    spiked at the sight of the man climbing out of the luxury
    SUV. Just what she didn’t need right now—a visit from
    Peter. Although it was strange to see him driving
    something other than his little two-seater sports car.
    Then the passenger side door opened and she shrieked.
    “Wesley!” She brushed past Jack, who was also staring out
    the window, and closing his phone.
    “Guess I can call off the nationwide search,” he said dryly.
    She shot him a hateful look, then bounded out the door as
    fast as her cast would allow her to move. Jack and Hannah
    were right behind her.
    Wesley was wearing clothes she’d never seen and pulling
    his bike out of the back of the SUV. He looked drawn, but
    safe. Beneath his long-sleeved shirt, his arm seemed stiff.
    “Hey, sis.”
    “Is that all you have to say? ‘Hey, sis’? Are you okay? Why
    haven’t you called? Where have you been? Why are you
    with Peter?” she demanded in a rush, then gasped, seeing
    the cuts and bruises on his face. “What happened?”
    “Relax,” he said, lifting his arm to deflect her attention.
    “I’m fine. I had an accident on my bike and got a little
    scraped up, that’s all. I didn’t call because my phone
    battery died. I was close to Peter’s neighborhood when it
    happened, so I went to his place. He let me clean up, and
    gave me a ride home.” He tugged at the hem of the
    overlong shirt. “I owe him for the clothes.”
    “No, you don’t,” Peter interjected with a flat little smile.
    With his blond good looks and impeccable wardrobe, he
    could’ve held his own on the cover of Hamptons magazine.
    Carlotta gave him a grateful smile, then looked back to her
    brother. She wanted to believe his explanation