Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (27 page)

Carlotta stood stock-stil , eyeing the flimsy lock on the

door. Her pulse thudded in her ears. She scrambled for her

purse and dug for the stun baton.

Then the footsteps sounded again and the outer door

opened and closed.

Carlotta went limp with relief, chiding herself for

manufacturing danger where none existed. She emerged

from her stall. The rich scent of the wonderful cologne

lingered in the air. She slowly washed her hands at the art

deco-style vanity, hesitant to go back out there, but she’d

already kept Peter waiting long enough. Trying to ignore

the knot in her stomach, she touched up her lipstick, then

exited to the hallway and walked back to the lounge.

Peter was waiting for her, holding their drinks. He gave her

a bril iant smile that she returned. Affection rushed her

chest. Since coming back into her life, Peter had been a

constant, even though she hadn’t given him much

encouragement.

A quick peek across the room revealed that Coop—and the

blonde—were gone. At least she didn’t have to watch

them neck. But it left her wondering if Coop had taken the

woman back to his place…if the other woman had gotten

the ful tour of his place—bedroom included—that

Carlotta hadn’t received. She pushed the thought from her

mind and turned her attention back to Peter. She asked

about his day and once again she wondered if she should

tel the GBI about the connection he’d uncovered between

Alicia Sil s and her father.

She concluded that Monday morning was early enough to

decide, and ordered another drink. Later, as she and Peter

left the bar, she scanned the room for Eva McCoy and

Mitchel Moody, but she didn’t see them. She hoped that

June and her son made peace with each other before the

man left town. And she hoped that Eva didn’t get her

heart broken again.

Dinner was a lush affair at a small restaurant. Peter

seemed to sense that she had a lot on her mind and

carried the load of the conversation, bless him. She found

herself warming more and more toward him, imagining

the life she would have with him, how it would be, should

be, an easy decision to attach herself to Peter. A

relationship with Jack was a misnomer. And as for Coop,

he was wrestling with internal demons.

Peter was the natural choice.

He smiled and reached across the table to squeeze her

hand. “I’m getting used to having you around.”

She squeezed back. “Me, too.”

When they got back to his house, the cat greeted them at

the door, meowing insistently and climbing Peter’s leg

until he picked her up.

“Stil no word from her owner?”

“No,” she said. “We might have to start thinking about a

backup plan.”

The cat yowled at her. Carlotta drew back and narrowed

her eyes. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear the cat

could understand what they were saying.

Peter frowned, stroking the cat’s head. “Like a pet

shelter?”

She shrugged. “Unless you want to keep her.”

“Let’s give the flyers a few more days,” he said, then set

the cat back on her feet. The Persian complained, winding

around his legs as he loosened his tie and sorted through

the mail on the kitchen counter.

Carlotta refil ed the cat’s water dish, frowning at the

uneaten cat food. The finicky feline turned up its nose at

anything other than sardines or freshly cooked fish.

“Do you have to work tomorrow?” Peter asked, setting

aside the mail.

“No.”

“It’s supposed to be nice. How about if we relax by the

pool?”

She nodded. “I’d like that.”

He stretched, yawning. “I’m going to turn in. How about

you?”

The cat bounded to the stairs again, as if she had

understood him. Carlotta stared after her, then

murmured, “I think I wil , too. It’s been a long day.”

They climbed the stairs amiably, Peter’s presence next to

her warm and comforting. At the top of the stairs he gave

her a lingering kiss, then thumbed her cheek, his eyes ful

of hunger. “Sleep tight.”

Her heart was beating hard, her body aching to be

touched. When he turned away from her, she sensed his

hesitation. His hope that she would offer to sleep in his

bed was palpable. Carlotta opened her mouth to call him

back…but something made her stop. If she made love with

Peter, the repercussions would be far-reaching, the

implications difficult to unravel.

In the wake of her silence, Peter continued to his room,

practically tripping over the cat that was underfoot. When

he opened the door to his bedroom, the feline darted

inside. Peter gave Carlotta one last look before closing the

door behind him.

Racked with uncertainty, Carlotta retired to the room

where she was sure Peter’s former wife had sought solace.

After getting ready for bed, she reached for the diaries

she’d brought with her. Her hand touched her father’s file,

but she couldn’t bear to open it, not until The Charmed

Kil er was captured.

She turned to the passages in the diaries describing how

her romance with Peter had flowered. After months of

petting in the backseat of his car that had left both of

them dazed with yearning, she had given her virginity to

Peter.

Making love with Peter was better than my girlfriends said

it would be, better than the magazines described. Having

him inside me was incredible—it was as if we were one

person. I thought I would die from loving him so much. He

was gentle and kept asking me if it felt good. When I came,

so did he, and we made all these wonderful noises

together. Afterward, we lay in each other’s arms, and for

the first time I felt like a woman, loving her man.

Carlotta smiled a bittersweet smile at the naive but

heartfelt entry. It had been a magical time of sensual

exploration, a time that had cemented their love for each

other.

At least for her.

After Peter had dumped her, years had passed before

she’d slept with another man, partly because she was

consumed with raising her young brother, and partly

because she wouldn’t allow herself to trust anyone else.

Eventually nature had won out, but sex had never been

the same…

Until Jack.

She frowned. If Jack knew that little tidbit, his head would

blow up as big as a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade

balloon. Besides, sex with Jack was purely physical. Sex

with Peter would be…meaningful.

In a moment of clarity, she conceded that she’d kept Peter

at arm’s length since their reunion partly because she

enjoyed the power. There was something very satisfying

about being pursued by the person who had so abruptly

and so publicly cast her aside. Making love with Peter

would mean she’d forgiven him for what he’d done to her,

and their relationship would change…into what?

One thing was certain—she would never know unless she

took a chance.

Carlotta pressed the diaries to her chest and resolved in

her heart to take her relationship with Peter to the next

level. It was time. Just making the decision seemed to calm

a place deep inside her.

She closed her eyes and inhaled the scent of fresh-cut

suburban grass, with undertones of organic pesticides and

fertilizer, wafting through the screens of the open veranda

windows. Now, there was a scent to be bottled…

Carlotta’s eyes flew open. She suddenly remembered

where she’d smelled the scent from the ladies’ restroom

at Moody’s Cigar Bar. It was at Neiman’s, at a private

testing session for Clive Christian colognes, the most

expensive ones in the world. And she remembered wel

her coworker who had coveted a tiny bottle of No. 1 Pure

at twenty-four hundred dol ars a pop.

Michael Lane.

Her heart thumped against her breastbone at the

implication that it might have been Michael who’d

fol owed her into the women’s restroom and stood next to

her in a stall. Had he meant to harm her, then changed his

mind?

Carlotta picked up her cel phone and punched in Jack’s

number with a shaky hand. He answered on the second

ring, but sounded groggy. “Did I wake you?” she asked.

“Just dreaming of you, darlin’. Since you’re calling at this

hour, I take it Ashford hasn’t ventured across the hallway

yet.”

Carlotta rol ed her eyes. “Jack, shut up and listen. I think

Michael has been shopping.”

24

Wesley unzipped his backpack and a toothless head stared

back, mocking him. He dropped the backpack and fel

backward, jarring himself awake.

When light bounced off his retinas, pain exploded in his

head. Damn, the more he tried to stay away from the Oxy,

the worse the headaches got. He pushed himself up from

the bed in Chance’s guest room, holding both temples. The

pain was almost unbearable. He felt for his backpack and

rummaged frantically for the small bag of Oxy he had left.

When his fingers closed around it, he popped a pil in his

mouth and chewed until the crashing in his head stopped.

Sighing in relief, he stepped into the small private shower

adjacent to his room and stood under the cool water until

he felt more like himself. When he turned off the tap, he

could hear bel s pealing in the distance.

He wondered briefly if Meg was sitting in church this

morning like a good little girl. He stil hadn’t decided what

to do about the fact that her father had hired someone to

fol ow him, but he was forming a plan. On the table next

to his bed was a bul etin announcing a lecture this

afternoon at Piedmont Hospital by Dr. Harold Vincent,

noted geneticist, on the subject of cancer stem-cel gene

therapy. The lecture was open only to physicians and

invited guests, but that didn’t bother Wesley. Thanks to a

digital camera, Photoshop software, a color laser printer

and the lamination machine at OfficeMax, he’d fashioned

a pretty convincing lanyard identifying him as Wesley

Wren, M.D. It was kind of a kick.

He slung his backpack over his shoulder, then walked out

into the living room and stopped. The fact that Chance was

up before noon on a Sunday was enough to give him

pause, but his buddy was standing at the kitchen stove

wearing nothing but an apron that left his white ass

hanging out. He was whistling under his breath as he used

a spatula to move sizzling sausage patties around in a

skil et.

Chance looked up to see Wesley and waved the spatula.

“Mornin’, dude. Where are you going all dressed up?”

Wesley looked down at his chinos, short-sleeve col ared

shirt, and hard-sole shoes. “Uh…to church.”

Chance nodded. “Jesus is cool. Want some breakfast?”

“Since when do you cook?”

“Since I woke up fucking starving.”

Wes was stil marveling over the fact that his buddy knew

how to turn on the stove, when Chance’s bedroom door

opened and Hannah emerged wearing Chance’s All This

and a Big Dick, Too T-shirt. And from the looks of it,

nothing else. The funny thing was that the shirt was more

believable on her than on his friend.

“Mornin’, shithead,” she said to Wesley, then she smacked

Chance on his bare ass, leaving a red handprint. “Mornin,’

you.”

Chance gave her an adoring look, then blushed.

Blushed, for crying out loud.

“You’re going to catch a fly if you don’t close your mouth,”

Hannah said to Wesley. “Haven’t you ever seen a man

frying sausage?”

“Not that man,” Wesley said. “How’s the tattoo?”

“Stil tender,” she said, rol ing her shoulders.

“But it’s so damn beautiful,” Chance offered.

Wesley thought his friend wiped the corner of his eye. “O-

kay,” Wes said, “I’m outta here.”

He exited the condo and tried to squash the image of his

friend riding Hannah. Of course, the more likely scenario

was that she’d ridden Chance…with spurs on.

Wes’s phone rang and he reached for it, happy for the

distraction. It was a local number he didn’t recognize.

“Hel o?”

“Wesley, right?”

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Bernard from Inkwel . I got the name of the guy who had

his tat lasered off.”

Wesley blinked. “That was quick.”

“Made a few calls to tattoo-removal places I make

referrals to, and I got lucky.”

“What’s the name?”

“Where’s my cash?”

Wesley sighed. “Are you at the tattoo parlor?”

“Yeah.”

“I’l be there in thirty minutes.”

He disconnected the call, then unlocked his bike and took

off toward Inkwell. His reflexes were a little slow though,

and his mind was elsewhere. Once, he came close to being

clipped by a car because he swerved out of the bike lane.

He cursed and pul ed over until his heart slowed, then

gave himself a shake to regain focus. His inner voice

whispered that maybe his baby habit was morphing into

something more serious, but he refused to listen.

He climbed back on his bike and pedaled to the tattoo