Authors: Stephanie Bond
Body Movers (46 page)
realize with cold clarity that he planned for her to take his
confessions to her grave.
He shoved the gun so close to her face that she went
cross-eyed. “Where’s the damn cigar?”
She wet her trembling lips. “Why do you think I stil have
it?”
“If the police had it, they would’ve already traced it back
to me.” He shrugged and made a rueful noise in his throat.
“My fingerprints are on file. I’m afraid I have a bit of a
history with women that I’d rather keep under wraps.”
Her blood curdled thinking about the women he might
have kil ed in his lifetime, and how grateful she was that
he hadn’t latched on to Hannah that day at the cigar bar—
although she’d bet that Hannah would have held her own
with the psychopath.
She, on the other hand, was at a decided disadvantage.
“Why did you have to kil them?” she whispered.
“They were no longer useful,” he replied simply. “And they
were trivial, insipid women—I honestly didn’t think
anyone would notice or care that they were gone. You, in
particular, should’ve been glad, since Angela’s husband
was in love with you. And Angela told me she tried to run
you down in this very parking garage.”
Carlotta’s throat constricted.
“The day she died, Angela was drunk and out of control—
she kept saying that I had betrayed her with Lisa just as
her husband had betrayed her with you. When she
stumbled into the pool, I reached for her and actually
considered saving her. Then I realized how much better it
would be if she just…died. But I did have feelings for her. I
held her under so she would suffer less.”
Carlotta’s eyes fil ed with tears. Poor Angela.
“Why you kept stirring things up, I don’t know, but now
you’l have to pay.” He touched the cold tip of the barrel to
her nose, and she wondered hysterically if he noticed the
hump there. “For the last time, where is the cigar?”
“I-it’s on the elevator,” she said. “It fell out of my purse.”
“Get it,” he ordered.
She turned around and punched the elevator button,
dreading to see Akin Frasier’s bloodied body. But when the
doors opened, a big hand reached out and yanked her
inside and behind him. “Freeze,” Detective Terry shouted,
pointing his weapon at Patrick Forman. Forman shot into
the elevator and Carlotta screamed, covering her head,
feeling a jolt to her chest before the chink, chink of
ricocheting sounds stopped. She heard the detective fire
twice and looked up in time to see Forman jerk back, then
fall to the ground in a way that convinced her he wasn’t
getting up again.
Detective Terry put his arm around her and the elevator
doors closed, cocooning them inside. “Are you okay?”
She patted herself down, feeling for spurting blood. “I
think so.” Then she looked down at her chest and gasped
at the dent in her gold breastplate—the necklace had
probably saved her life—oh, along with the detective.
“How did you know what was happening?”
“Akin Frasier managed to call 911. I got here as soon as I
could.” He shook his head and puffed out his cheeks in an
exhale. “Lady, you need your own security force.”
She managed a grin. “Are you volunteering?”
He pursed his mouth. “I don’t know. What are the fringe
benefits?”
An unexpected surge of gratitude and desire warmed her.
She looked up into his golden eyes and searched for
something to tel her whether he was just doing his job or
whether he had developed a soft spot for her. For a split
second, she thought she saw the promise of something
special, but then he looked away.
With the moment shattered, she lifted the end of his red-
and-blue polka-dot tie. “Free fashion advice.”
A sardonic smile tilted his mouth. “I’l think about it.”
The elevator door slid open and she stepped off to see
Akin Frasier being wheeled to an ambulance. She ran over
to him and picked up his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Frasier.”
“I did it, didn’t I?” he asked. “I saved the day.”
“You certainly did,” she assured him.
She thought of the abominable Patrick Forman and what
he’d nearly gotten away with, and suddenly her heart took
flight.
Peter was innocent.
42
Wesley lifted his hand from the van armrest. “So Peter
Ashford didn’t kil his wife after all.”
Coop looked over from the driver’s side. “Why did he
confess?”
“He thought if he confessed to the murder, that no one
would find out about his wife being a hooker. But I’d told
the police about Angela just before he called them.”
“And when he discovered that word about his wife’s
extracurricular activities had already gotten out, it was too
late to take back his confession.”
“Yeah,” Wesley said. “Can you imagine a guy being so
hung up on his dead wife’s name not being smeared that
he’d go to prison to protect her reputation?”
Coop shrugged. “I think it’s kind of noble.”
“You sound like my sister. If you ask me, anyone that
stupid deserves the needle.”
“If not for your sister, he might have gotten it.” Coop
chewed on his lip. “I guess they’re back together?”
“No. Carlotta said they both needed some space to let
things settle down.”
Coop perked up. “Really?”
“Yeah, but the window of opportunity is short here, dude,
so my advice is to do something bold.”
Coop laughed. “Maybe I wil .”
“Man, you got it bad for her—you’re pathetic.”
“It’l happen to you someday, too, friend. You’l meet a girl
who’l make you do things you never thought you’d do.”
Wesley looked out the window, not about to tel his boss
that he thought he’d already met her, and she had his balls
in a vise.
He was pathetic, too.
Coop pul ed into the driveway of the town house, then put
the van into Park. “Wesley, I have a confession, too.”
Wesley lifted his eyebrows. “What?”
“I took that piece-of-crap gun from your aquarium so you
wouldn’t hurt yourself or someone else.”
He went limp with relief. “You did? Man, that belongs to a
friend. I’ve been freaking out wondering what happened
to it.”
“It’s in there,” Coop said, pointing to the glove
compartment. “Get it out of here and take it back where
you got it. Maybe down the road—once you’re off
probation—you and I can go to the handgun range and
you can learn how to shoot properly to defend yourself.
Then you can decide which gun you’d like to save up for
and buy.”
Wesley stared at Coop and a warm feeling of appreciation
flooded his chest. He was amazed that the man gave a
damn about what he did. “I’d like that.”
Coop smiled. “Good. Now get lost. And put in a good word
for me with your sister!”
Wesley jumped down from the van and slammed the door.
His cel phone rang as he was unlocking the front door.
Chance’s number flashed on the screen.
“Hey, man, what’s up?”
“You stil want to sel your bike?” Chance asked.
Wesley hesitated, then told himself that the decision he’d
made last night was a good one—sell the bike and use the
five grand to get caught up on his debt. It was just sitting
there anyway, and Carlotta would be thril ed if he got rid
of it. “Yeah.”
“A guy wil be there in ten minutes to look at it,” Chance
said. “He’s got cash.” Then he hung up.
Wesley shook his head. Chance was after every loose
nickel in Atlanta. There was no deal he wouldn’t broker
and he wouldn’t put it past his buddy to be more than just
a john to some of his hookers.
Like Angela Ashford, for one.
A few minutes later, a guy showed up in a pickup truck and
Wesley wheeled out his neon-green cycle for a dog-and-
pony show. He threw in some extra equipment that he had
never used but assured the guy was essential, and they
struck a deal for slightly less than the five grand that
Wesley had wanted for it.
He helped the guy load the bike in the back of his pickup,
and after he’d pul ed away, Wesley stood and stared at
the wad of cash, feeling the familiar twitch in his fingers,
the anticipation building in his chest.
If he could find a game, he could probably double his
money.
43
“I didn’t really think that you’d strangled the woman,”
Michael said. “That cop twisted my words. Forgive me?”
Carlotta glared at her friend, then gave a wry laugh. “Of
course.”
“All the drama, I just can’t believe it. But how did Lisa
Bolton’s lingerie get on Peter Ashford’s credit card?”
“Angela bought it with Peter’s card. The police aren’t sure
if Angela got Lisa involved in the call-girl ring, or if Lisa got
Angela involved, but Angela seemed to be footing the bil
for Lisa Bolton’s wardrobe.”
Michael shook his head. “Why would two women who had
everything get involved in something so sleazy?”
Carlotta shrugged. “Boredom…loneliness…money? Who
knows why people do the things they do?” she asked, then
frowned when she realized that she was quoting Jack
Terry.
A scandalous light gleamed in Michael’s eyes. “A friend of
mine told me that this has been going on for a while, and
that there were more Buckhead socialites involved in the
cal -girl ring and more celebrity johns to be revealed.”
And to think that she’d once envied the Angela Ashfords of
the world.
Her co-worker sighed dramatically. “Do you think that you
and Peter Ashford wil eventually get back together?”
“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “There’s a lot of water
under the bridge. I want to make sure that we have
someplace to move forward to, versus just trying to get
back to where we were. I told him that I need some time.
Maybe a lot of time.”
“And meanwhile?”
A sly smile curved her mouth. “And meanwhile…there are
a couple of possibilities that I’d like to explore.”
“Sounds intriguing,” he said, wagging his eyebrows.
Her cel phone vibrated in her pocket and she pul ed it out.
“Talk to you later,” she said to Michael, walking back
toward the escalator. It was Hannah.
“Hel o?”
“Oh. My. God. Guess where I am.”
“Where?”
“At the magnetic-sign store.”
Carlotta squinted. “Okay, why?”
“Coop hired me! I’m a body mover!”
She grimaced. “And what does that have to do with
magnetic signs?”
“I’m getting two printed so that I can switch out the signs
depending on what I’m hauling—bodies or food.”
“Okay, you’re sick, you know that?”
“I have to proofread these signs. I just had to share that
with you. I’l call you right back.”
Carlotta shook her head as she rode up the escalator. She
had the feeling that Hannah was going to try to get her
involved in her new enterprise, but she was ready for her
life to settle down for a while.
The phone rang again and she punched the button. “That
was fast.”
“Carlotta?”
She frowned at the man’s voice even as her brain sent
vibrations of recognition through her subconscious. “Who
is this?”
“Sweetheart, it’s me…Daddy.”