Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (32 page)

bathroom floor, and wanting to believe that Hannah and

Chance had it all wrong. Wesley knew better than to get

hooked on prescription drugs.

Didn’t he?

“Hey, sis.”

She screamed into her hand, then exhaled in relief when

she turned to see Wesley standing there, whip slim and

handsomely unkempt. She waved off Herb, who came

charging toward her, his hand at his belt holster. “It’s okay,

he’s my brother.”

“Wow,” Wes said, glancing around. “I guess this means

they really think Michael is going to show up?”

“Just a precaution. It’s safer for everyone.” She put a hand

over her stil -racing heart. “What brings you here?”

She stared at his pupils as if she knew what to look for, but

was diverted by the flush that started at his neck and

climbed steadily until even his ears were scarlet.

“Uh…I need a suit.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Did someone die?”

He looked sheepish. “Uh, no. There’s this…reception

thingy.”

“For your job?”

“Uh…not exactly.”

Realization dawned. “I take it this has something to do

with Meg?”

“Uh…yeah.”

She schooled her response because she could tell he was

already spooked. “Your brown suit isn’t so bad.”

“The last time I wore it, the pants were a little short. I was

thinking of something that might make me look…older?”

She had to bite her cheek to keep from smiling. “Right.

Let’s go to the men’s department and see what we can

find.”

“Is this a bad time?”

“Actually, I’m just finishing my shift. I can get you my

employee discount,” she said as they walked, “but I don’t

have my store credit card anymore.”

“I got cash,” he said. “As long as it’s not crazy expensive.”

“We have some good sales going on. So the courier job

must be going wel , huh?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced down at his hands to see if they were shaking,

but he had them stuffed in his pockets. “So…Hannah and

Chance.”

His eyes went wide. “You know?”

“I saw Hannah this morning. How did that happen?”

“I try not to think about it. Have you talked to Coop?”

She shook her head. “I’m waiting for the right time. Is he

stil working at the morgue lab?”

“As far as I know, that’s where he spends his days.”

And his evenings at Moody’s? “Here we are,” she said,

walking into the men’s department. Herb sauntered

behind them a few yards, obviously happier to browse ties

for a change instead of bathing suits.

“When is this reception?” she asked Wesley.

“Tomorrow night.”

“Finding something that doesn’t need to be tailored

shouldn’t be a problem. What kind of event is it?”

“It’s for professionals in the medical industry. Meg’s dad is

a bigwig geneticist.”

She ached for how much he obviously wanted to impress

this girl, and her family. She hoped he didn’t get his heart

broken.

Walking from rack to rack, she offered her opinion on

styles she thought would look best on his lean frame. He

took a suit and shirt to the fitting room and Carlotta

waited outside. Her mind traveled back to the times after

her parents left that she’d taken Wesley shopping for

back-to-school clothes and waited for him to come out of

the dressing room, just like now.

When the curtain opened and he emerged in the dark suit,

he was wearing the same expression he’d worn at the age

of ten, when he’d come out wearing a Spider-Man T-shirt.

“What do you think, sis?”

She bit her lip over how handsome and grown-up he

looked in the black pin-striped suit and cream-colored

dress shirt. Her brother looked so much like their father,

with fine bone structure and great skin. Unlike Randolph,

though, Wesley had no idea how good-looking he was.

“I think,” she said, walking up to smooth a hand over his

lapel, “that Meg is going to fall head over heels for you in

this suit.”

“Oh, God, you’re not going to cry, are you?” But

underneath his macho veneer, she could tel he was

pleased. When he turned to the mirror, his chest puffed

up a little.

“No, I’m not going to cry,” she said, peering around his

shoulder to his adult reflection. She was worried sick

about Hannah’s warning that he might be taking drugs, but

she didn’t want to spoil this moment, not when he’d

sought her out to help him on such an important occasion.

Then she noticed that his light brown hair overlapped his

col ar and she had an idea. “Why don’t I give you a quick

trim. It’l only take a couple of minutes, and I can do it

here.”

He craned his neck for a look in the mirror. “You got

scissors?”

“I’l get a pair from the tailor. Take off the suit and I’l be

back in a sec.” She left to gather up what she needed, and

came back with tools in hand. Back in his street clothes,

Wesley looked like his young, shaggy self again.

“Do you have a comb?”

He removed a comb from his back pocket and handed it to

her, then sat on a bench in the dressing room.

When she settled a towel from a janitorial closet around

his shoulders and combed his baby-fine hair, she was once

again transported back to when he was ten years old,

sitting on a chair, grumbling about the fact that she didn’t

cut his hair right. But a kitchen salon cut saved money, and

at the time, they’d barely been scraping by.

Poor thing. As if he hadn’t had enough going against him

being a skinny kid with big glasses in a new school. The

butchered haircut had been a bonus.

Thankful y, over the years she’d gotten better with the

shears.

“Be stil ,” she said, her normal reproach.

“Don’t take off too much,” he returned, his normal

comeback.

She held the scissors at an angle and clipped a half inch all

around his neckline and ears. “You like this girl, huh?”

He grunted. “Hey, I forgot to tel you that I knocked on the

window of that black SUV that was hanging around the

town house. The guy had the wrong place. He was looking

for an old girlfriend.”

She frowned at the change in subject, but nodded. “That’s

a relief. All done,” she said, pul ing away the towel. “Go

pick out a tie and I’l meet you at the register.”

He stood and ran his hand over his trimmed hair, then

grinned. “Thanks, sis.” He dropped a rare kiss on her

cheek, then strode out of the dressing room.

She watched him go and closed her eyes briefly. She loved

him so much sometimes it hurt.

Like right now.

Carlotta pul ed a clump of his hair off the towel and

dropped it into an envelope. If she took it to Coop

tomorrow, maybe he could analyze the hair for her in the

lab. She could kil two birds with one stone.

Check up on Wesley…check up on Coop.

By the time his purchases were bagged and Wes walked

her out to the Vespa, it was after eight o’clock. He gave his

stamp of approval to the scooter, then waved goodbye

and headed to MARTA. She removed her cel phone from

her purse to call Peter, but the battery was dead. Sighing,

she donned her helmet and climbed on the scooter. Dread

ballooned in her stomach the closer she got to Martinique

Estates.

What if the housekeeper had noticed that the urn had

been upended and called Peter? Or what if the scene of

destruction was revealed when the sun went down and

the lighting changed?

Why, oh, why had she let Hannah talk her into adding kitty

litter to the urn, for goodness’ sake? In hindsight, it could

be perceived as being a little…disrespectful.

When the garage door went up, she swallowed hard. Peter

was home already.

She parked the scooter, then went inside, feeling like a

little girl who was sure her parents were going to find out

just how bad she’d been. She hit the button to lower the

garage door, then entered the house through the

mudroom.

Just as she feared, Peter was sitting at the kitchen table,

looking at the urn, his hands steepled.

“Hi,” she said cheerful y. “Sorry I’m late. Wesley stopped

by the store, and I helped him pick out a suit.”

“I tried to cal ,” Peter said, his tone lifeless.

“My phone battery is dead.”

He nodded, then sighed. “Did you think I wouldn’t find

out?”

Carlotta’s heart jumped to her throat. “Peter…I can

explain. It was an accident.”

He reached under the table and pul ed out the notebook

in which she’d been recording all the details about The

Charmed Kil er cases. “Involving yourself in this dangerous

case is no accident, Carly.”

Her mind raced in confusion before she realized he wasn’t

talking about the urn—he was talking about the notebook.

She almost laughed in relief, but understood that wouldn’t

be the best response. Walking over to pick up her

notebook, she said, “These are just notes, Peter, for my

own benefit. I just want to try to keep everything straight

in my head in case I’m questioned again.”

“That’s the point, Carly. If you weren’t off moving bodies,

you wouldn’t be involved in this case.”

“That’s not true. Michael Lane is the number-one suspect.

And don’t forget dear old dad.”

Peter sighed and nodded. “Have you told the GBI about his

connection to Alicia Sil s?”

“Not yet. If I do, they’l question you about their

relationship.”

“I know. And I’l do whatever you want me to do.” He

stood, removed the notebook from her hand and set it

aside, then pul ed her into his arms. “I’m sorry I was

angry.”

“It’s okay. I know you worry.”

“More than you can imagine,” he murmured, then he

kissed her.

She kissed him back, spurred partly by guilt and partly

because she wanted him to know that she didn’t hold their

unconsummated incident against him.

The kiss grew more hungry and intense. Clothes loosened,

then fel away as they stoked the fire that had been

banked for so many years. Maybe having sex away from

the bedroom was the answer, she thought distantly. Less

pressure. When they were both naked, Peter stopped long

enough to retrieve a condom, then lifted her onto the

kitchen counter.

“Where’s the cat?” she murmured.

“Closed up in my bedroom.”

“Good.” She looped her arms around his neck and opened

her knees to cradle his hips.

He rol ed on the condom with feverish hands, then put his

arms around her and latched on to one of her nipples….

And came with a jerking grunt that was half relief, half

frustration.

She stil ed, wincing inwardly that it had happened again.

As his spasms slowed, she searched for something to say.

“Peter—”

“Please, don’t say anything, Carly,” he cut in, his voice

thick and his gaze downcast. He pul ed away, then

gathered his clothes from the floor and walked toward the

stairs.

When the door to his bedroom opened and closed, she

put her hands over her face and sighed. Why did things

have to be so complicated?

She slid off the counter and put on enough clothes to

cover herself, then grabbed her notebook and a carton of

yogurt, and headed upstairs to her own room,

extinguishing lights as she went. At the top of the stairs

she glanced at Peter’s closed door and considered

knocking. But she was afraid if she forced him to talk, it

would only make things worse. At the moment, he must

be feeling so humiliated.

Inside her room, she felt strange. For the first time since

she arrived, she felt as if she and Peter both wished she

wasn’t there. Once Wesley got the security system

installed in the town house, she would rethink her living

situation.

She put her phone on its charger, then turned on the

television to CNN Headline News. Since the cable station

was located in Atlanta, the city’s news was widely

reported, and The Charmed Kil er dominated every half-

hour segment. There had been no more bodies, thank

goodness, but everyone seemed to be waiting for the next

installment in the horrific saga.

After changing into her pj’s, she curled up in one of the

upholstered chairs to eat the yogurt. But her body stil

hummed from being revved up and left running. To get her

mind off what she couldn’t have, she opened the

notebook to review her notes on The Charmed Kil er case.

She studied the list of charms—chicken/bird, cigar, car,

gun, handcuffs, barrel—again and again, trying to find a

common thread. She shuffled the sequence and tried to

come up with alternate words where possible—bird,

stogie, vehicle, weapon, shackles, keg—but nothing

jumped out at her. They didn’t seem related to each other,

related to Michael, or even relevant in general. If her

father was doing these horrible things to communicate

with her, she didn’t have a clue what he might be saying.

None of it made sense.

When her phone rang, she glanced at the caller ID. Jack.

She connected the call. “Hi, Jack.”