Body Movers (28 page)

Hannah. It’s one of those blanket statements that could

apply to anyone, anytime.” She gestured to the cars

around them as Hannah wedged the van between two

moving cars. “I’m in danger just sitting in traffic in this

city.”

“Stil ,” Hannah said solemnly, “you shouldn’t dismiss

something like that.”

Carlotta laid her head back. “Just take me home. This is

turning out to be a lousy day.”

“Hey, what’s up with you giving all your loot to charity

back there? That was probably hundreds of dol ars’ worth

of stuff.”

“Thousands,” Carlotta corrected, closing her eyes.

“Jesus God, even worse.”

“I just couldn’t stand the thought of that woman spreading

stories to her friends about me sel ing my clothes.

Everyone wil think I’m broke.”

“You are broke.”

She expel ed a long sigh. “I know.” Her chest and head

ached when she thought about the things that Tracey Tul y

had said. Did everyone assume that she and Peter were

having an affair, or perhaps had been all along? If Angela

had thought so, it made sense that the woman had

confided in her friends. And she hadn’t helped matters by

making a spectacle of herself at the funeral.

Good grief, when had life gotten so complicated?

Hannah rattled on about a psychic moment she’d had with

a dog, until they arrived at the town house. Cooper’s white

van sat in the driveway.

“Wesley must be going on another body run,” Carlotta said

as they parked.

“Let’s go with them!”

“Are you nuts? I’m not getting involved this body-moving

business.”

“Why not? It’s fascinating.”

Cooper Craft came out of the house dressed in jeans and a

dark sport coat, and strode toward his van.

“And so is he,” Hannah murmured.

“Down, girl,” Carlotta said before opening the door and

dropping to the ground.

Coop glanced up and smiled as they approached. “Hi. I

didn’t expect to see you.”

“Are you and Wesley going out on a…job?”

“Yeah, he’s changing.”

Carlotta swallowed at the force of his eye contact behind

his glasses. When had the man gotten so…appealing? His

hair was nicely rumpled, his shirt had French cuffs and his

jeans were snug against long, muscular legs.

“Remember me?” Hannah said, stepping up and practically

bursting out of her tattooed skin.

“Sure I do, Hannah,” Coop said cheerful y, but his gaze

snapped back to Carlotta.

“Right,” Hannah said dryly. “Okay, I’m taking off. Call me

later, Nancy Drew.”

Carlotta glared at her friend as she climbed into her

graffiti-van.

“What was that all about?” Coop asked with a laugh.

“Nothing,” Carlotta said. “Except I think that Hannah is

crushing on you.”

He smiled and his eyes crinkled at the edges. “It must be

the spring weather. I’m feeling a pretty intense crush

coming on myself.”

The way he looked at her made it obvious that Hannah

wasn’t the object of his affection. Carlotta’s chest tingled

with pleasure, but she didn’t believe in starting something

that she couldn’t finish. What the man did for a living just

creeped her out too much. And since he was going to be

around a lot, she thought she should be honest.

“Look,” she said, breaking the pregnant pause, “you’re

real y nice—”

“Oh, God,” he cut in, lifting his hand. “Spare me the

‘you’re really nice’ speech. If you’re just not into me, I

understand.”

She wet her lips. “We’re just so different, that’s al .”

He leaned toward her. “How so?”

“Wel …” She gestured vaguely in the air, disconcerted by

his nearness. “You’re…an intel ectual, and I’m…not.”

A little frown crossed his face and he shook his head, his

gaze boring into hers. “I think you’re smarter than you

want people to know. You hide behind that froufrou job of

yours, pretending to be happy sel ing five-hundred-dol ar

blue jeans to Atlanta’s finest, but I think there’s more to

you than meets the eye.” Then he grinned. “Not that what

meets the eye isn’t pretty darn spectacular.”

His little speech left her a little angry, a little frustrated,

and…a little turned on. Her breasts perked up as if they

had ears. Her thighs tingled like peppermint. Her

overloaded senses effectively cut off the signals between

her brain and her tongue.

The front door slammed and Wesley leaped down the

steps in threes. “Hi, sis! I don’t know when I’l be home.

Don’t wait up.”

“Okay,” she said when her voice decided to reappear.

Then she looked at Coop. “So you think I’m smart?”

Coop flashed her another smile as he opened the driver’s-

side door to the van. “Yeah. Thanks to you, I was able to

convince the M.E. to do an autopsy on Angela Ashford.”

He inclined his head to her, then swung inside the van and

closed the door.

Carlotta swallowed hard as she stepped back to allow the

van to leave. An autopsy…thanks to her.

Suddenly panic bil owed in her lungs. What had she done?

What if, as Hannah had pointed out, her neuroses over

Peter had caused her to set a series of events into motion

that could endanger more than just her heart?

She rubbed her thumb across the palm of the hand that

Amy Lin had “read.” Was she indeed facing danger?

Carlotta watched the van pul away, with Coop at the

wheel.

And was Dr. Cooper Craft—a big, strong man—offering his

protection…and more?

22

“Stop the van,” Wesley said. “I’m going to be sick.”

Coop veered to the shoulder of the road and brought the

van to an abrupt halt. Wesley practically fel out the door

and made it two steps before he grabbed his knees and

projected his half-digested Homewrecker burrito from

Moe’s onto the weeds.

Damn, it had been so good going down.

“You okay?” Coop yel ed.

Wesley nodded but maintained the position a few seconds

longer to make sure the queasiness had passed. He gulped

air and closed his eyes, but was immediately assailed by

the visions of the teenage boy he’d just helped Coop to

peel off Interstate 285 westbound. The teenager, at least,

was in only three pieces. His motorcycle was in about a

mil ion, recognizable as a motorcycle only because one of

the side mirrors had been lodged in the kid’s unhelmeted

head.

Another wave of nausea hit him and he hurled the chips

and salsa he’d eaten as an appetizer. Man, that tomato

sauce was like battery acid on the flipside. He felt like a

moron, puking his guts out on the side of the road in broad

daylight.

“Breathe through your mouth,” Coop yel ed.

He did and gradually the graphic images in his head began

to diminish. Slowly he stood and waited for the horizon to

right itself, then stepped back to the van.

“Sorry, man,” he said as he pul ed himself up into his seat.

“No problem,” Coop said, then pointed to the glove

compartment. “There’s a package of wipes in there.”

Wesley pul ed out a couple and wiped his mouth, feeling

like a kindergartner. “Am I fired?”

“What?” Coop laughed. “Of course not. That was a rough

scene back there. I’d be worried if it didn’t affect you a

little.” He clapped Wesley on the shoulder before pul ing

out into traffic. “At least you waited until we left the

morgue. The CSI folks tend to frown upon upchucking at

the scene.”

Wesley eased into the seat, grateful to be let off the hook.

“That’s it for the day,” Coop said. “And you’re not on call

this weekend.”

“Why not?”

“I have other commitments,” Coop said, his closed

expression indicating he didn’t care to elaborate. “But

don’t worry, we’l make up for lost time next week.”

Wesley nodded, looking forward to a free weekend.

“Today’s payday, right?”

Coop pul ed an envelope out of his jacket pocket. “Here

you go. Don’t spend it all in one place.”

Wesley pul ed out the check and smiled in satisfaction.

Thirty-two body retrievals in one week—eight hundred

dol ars. His fingers began to twitch. He could almost feel

the ridged edges of the poker chips in his hand.

“Did you go see the guy at the car wash?” Coop asked.

Wesley didn’t want to tel Coop that the guy had blown

him off when he’d been stupid enough just to walk up to

him. “I changed my mind.” Which was sort of the truth—

after Chance had given him his loaner piece, he had

changed his mind about buying one.

“Good,” Coop said. “Then you can put some of that money

toward your debts.”

“Right,” Wesley said, stil fingering the check. The urge to

gamble was building inside him. He could feel it—the

nervous energy, the anticipation. He tried to distract

himself. “So, I saw you making moon eyes at my sister

before we left. Did you ask her out?”

“No,” Coop said, then grinned. “She needs time for me to

grow on her.”

Wesley laughed. “Dude, that could take a while.”

“I got nothing but time,” Coop said in a way that made

Wesley think that the man spent a lot of hours alone.

“Carlotta said that Hannah digs you, though.”

“The one-woman chain gang?”

“She’s al right, a little kooky sometimes, but cool.”

“How in this world did the two of them get to be friends?”

Wesley laughed. “My sister tried to crash a ritzy party for

celebrities a few years ago and got busted with a

counterfeit ticket. Hannah was working for the caterer and

saw the whole thing. I guess she was impressed with sis’s

chutzpah because she let her in through the kitchen.

They’ve been friends ever since.”

“Your sister crashed a party?”

“Lots of them—I used to design and print the tickets for

her. She had real fun with it sometimes—wore disguises,

changed her name, spoke in accents.”

“Your sister did al those things?”

“Yeah. Then last year she crashed a house party where

some guy wound up murdered. Because she and her

friends were the only people who weren’t supposed to be

there, they got in a shitload of trouble with the police.”

Coop was staring. “For real?”

“For real, man. They got off, of course, but I think it scared

my sister straight. On the other hand, Satan couldn’t scare

Hannah straight.”

“I knew your sister had a wild streak.”

“Dude, it ain’t gonna happen with Carlotta. Especially now

that Peter Ashford is back on the scene.”

“Back on the scene? You mean he’s been in touch with

Carlotta?”

“He’s called, like, a dozen times. I’ve seen his number on

the caller ID.”

Coop shifted in his seat and covered his mouth with his

hand.

“Sorry, dude. Maybe he’l drop out of sight.”

“Maybe,” Coop said as he pul ed up to the town house.

“I’l call you next week.”

“Later,” Wesley said, loosening his tie as he jumped out of

the van. Whistling under his breath, he waved to Mrs.

Winningham, who was peeking out the living-room

curtains, and ran up the steps. He was hungry and rich—

not a bad combination.

But when he put his key in the lock, the front door swung

inside freely. A curse flew out of his mouth.

Someone had been there…or stil was.

He stood motionless and listened for noises in the house

but didn’t hear anything. He glanced around the living

room and noticed one of the desk drawers was slightly

open. He shot his gaze to the tinsel Christmas tree, and

was flooded with relief to see that the little pile of gifts

with faded paper seemed untouched. A pang of

embarrassment barbed through his chest. He shouldn’t

care so much about the stupid tree, but he couldn’t help it.

He closed the door behind him and walked from room to

room, noticing things that had been disturbed—a cabinet

door here, a drawer there. When he opened the door to

Carlotta’s room, he inhaled sharply. Half of her clothes

were gone from the closet—she’d freaking levitate when

she found out. Strangely, though, her col ection of big

clunky necklaces seemed untouched, and they were

supposed to be worth something. His room seemed

undisturbed, although upon closer inspection, the lock on

his door had been tampered with. He checked Einstein’s

enclosure, relieved to see that his pet seemed fine, if

unresponsive. It looked as if nothing other than Carlotta’s

clothes was missing.

He dropped onto his bed and pul ed out his paycheck,

wondering who could have broken into the house.

Tick had col ected Father Thom’s payment on Tuesday, so

he should’ve been satisfied, although the man certainly

knew his way in and out of their house. The more likely

scenario, though, was that The Carver knew that Wesley

was paying Father Thom and had sent someone to ransack

the town house. Or maybe Carlotta had simply left the

door unlocked when she’d gone to work—she hadn’t

exactly been herself lately.

Staring at the check, he wished like hel it was for more

money. He needed to make a big payment to The Carver,