Bond, Stephanie - Body Movers 05 (34 page)

rol ed until she hit something that stopped her. When she

opened her eyes, she was staring at the yel ow striping of

a curb. All around her were the sounds of brakes

screeching and horns honking.

She wanted to close her eyes to block out the image in her

head, but she knew the longer she lay there, the greater

the chances of being mauled by a car. So she pushed

herself up gingerly and crawled onto the sidewalk to a

fence, as far back from the road as she could go, before

turning to look at the scene.

It was chaos. Her beautiful pink scooter was scattered

across both sides of the road. Cars were parked at all

angles, many with their hazard lights flashing. She couldn’t

see the body she’d struck, but it didn’t matter. She could

stil see it in her head, the partially burned corpse, with a

piece of silver duct tape over its mouth.

To keep the charm in the mouth intact for investigators to

find?

30

“Thanks for the ride,” Wes said to Chance.

“No problem, dude. Dressed like that, you’d better get

laid.”

Wes climbed out of the BMW and closed the door, then

watched the tail ights as the car pul ed away, fighting the

urge to run after it.

He turned to look up at the “castle on Peachtree,” Rhodes

Hall, a restored white stone home from the early 1900s,

with elaborate arches, a turret and a tower. It was lit up

like a medieval torch against the summer night. He’d

ridden by it a hundred times, but had never been inside. It

was the kind of place rich people flocked to for weddings

and private corporate events. Way out of his league. What

the hel had he gotten himself into?

He pul ed out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead.

He’d swal owed an Oxy a little while ago, but with the

safety coating intact, it was taking its sweet time getting

into his bloodstream.

“Wesley?”

He shoved the handkerchief into his pocket and turned to

see Meg walking toward him from the parking lot. Holy

crap. Her long hair moved around her bare shoulders, and

the red dress fit her like a sausage skin. His dick turned to

limestone.

“Wow,” she said, smiling wide. “I almost didn’t recognize

you.”

He crossed his hands in front of his crotch. “You look nice,

too.”

“Thanks.”

She tweaked his tie and he caught a whiff of her

perfume—Jesus, she was kil ing him.

“This is going to be so boring,” she said. “Don’t hate me in

the morning.”

He swallowed hard. Was that a secret code? Did that

mean they were having sex tonight?

“Let’s go inside where it’s cool,” she said. “I’l introduce

you to my parents.”

He swallowed the bile that backed up in his throat, but

fol owed her up the stone steps—not an easy feat while

sporting wood—and inside the historic home. He inhaled

and exhaled, trying to lose the erection before he met her

father.

When he saw the crowd of suited guests, he was assailed

with another bout of nerves. He was sweating again, and

thought he might hyperventilate. It seemed as if everyone

was looking at him—did he stick out that much?

Meg curled her fingers around his and whispered, “Relax.”

When he looked down at her, a strange feeling filtered

through his chest, and it wasn’t the Oxy kicking in.

“Let’s get some punch,” she said, nodding to a banquet

table.

The event was being held in the hall’s reception room, a

fancy-schmancy space with wood floors, a large fireplace

and an intricately trayed ceiling. Pretty nice considering no

one actually lived in the house.

The punch was pink, and sweet enough to make his teeth

hurt, but it was wet and that was all that mattered. He

downed one cup, then reached for another.

“Wesley, is that you?”

He looked over to see his probation officer, Eldora Jones,

walking toward him. Her boyfriend—make that fiancé—

Leonard was a few steps behind her.

“Hi, E.,” Wesley said with a grin. She looked nice in a

yellow swishy dress.

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

“I came with Meg,” he said. “Meg Vincent, this is Eldora

Jones. E. is…a friend of mine.”

Meg extended a warm greeting, but he could tel she was

sizing up E., wondering how they knew each other, if

they’d ever been involved.

He liked it. “How about you?” he asked E.

“I came with Leonard,” E. said, then introduced Meg to her

lughead fiancé. “Leonard is a pharmaceutical-sales rep.”

Wesley had to fight back a scoff. Wes extended his hand to

Leonard and the gym rat ground the bones in Wes’s hand.

He’d warned Wes more than once to keep his mouth shut

to E. about his true vocation.

“And Leonard came at the invitation of his friend Freddy,”

E. said, indicating another couple who had just walked up.

Wes almost choked on his punch. “Freddy” was Dr.

Frederick Lowenstein, the guy who’d sat next to him

during the lecture. His wife, Tracey recognized Wesley

right away, looking him up and down, eyebrows raised.

“Wesley Wren, you clean up nice,” she said in a voice that

indicated her surprise that he’d dragged himself up from

the gutter to their level.

What a witch.

Freddy Lowenstein stuck his hand out for a shake, then

squinted at Wesley. “Have we met before?”

“Maybe at Screen on the Green,” Wesley said. “I think you

were sharing a blanket with my sister, Carlotta.”

“Oh…right,” the man said, but he was stil squinting, trying

to place Wesley. When Freddy was introduced to Meg, he

gave her red dress a lecherous look, but his eyes widened

when he heard her last name.

“Are you related to Dr. Harold Vincent?”

“He’s my father,” Meg said drily, then pul ed her hand

away.

Good girl. She could see right through the old goat.

“Excuse us, please,” Meg said, then steered him away from

the crowd to the other end of the room. Wesley

recognized Dr. Vincent immediately. And since the

attractive woman next to the man looked so much like

Meg, he assumed she was Mrs. Vincent.

He broke out in a fresh sweat.

They hung back until the couple the Vincents were talking

to moved away. Mrs. Vincent saw them and gasped in

delight as she pul ed Meg into a hug. Wesley was

mesmerized. Even though the woman was blond, she

reminded him of his mother in the way she carried herself,

from the tilt of her head to the way she held her evening

bag. Good breeding, his mother would say. There was

something fragile about Mrs. Vincent, though, something

he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Dr. Vincent also embraced his daughter. It was evident

that Meg was the apple of his eye. Wes hung back to give

them a moment, then Meg turned to him.

“Mom, Dad, this is Wesley Wren. Wesley and I work

together in the city IT department.”

Wesley looked up to Dr. Vincent and saw the man’s hand

freeze in midair when he heard Wesley’s name.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Vincent,” Wesley said, clasping his

hand. He almost folded under the man’s hostile glare, but

stayed strong. And then the man’s eyes narrowed. Wesley

knew the precise moment Dr. Vincent remembered him

from their elevator conversation. The indignant look on

the man’s face as he drew back slightly gave Wesley the

courage to smile. “Nice party, thanks for inviting me.”

“You didn’t need an invitation,” the man said mildly. “You

probably could’ve just walked in and acted as if you

belonged here.”

“Maybe,” Wes agreed.

Dr. Vincent withdrew his hand. “Excuse me, someone just

walked in whom I need to talk to. I’l see you later, dear.”

Wesley and Meg stayed to talk with her mom, who

seemed genuinely nice.

“Are you a student at Tech like our Meg?” Ann Vincent

asked, stroking her daughter’s hair.

“Um, no…ma’am.”

“Do you work ful -time with the city?”

He wet his lips. Since he was sure Dr. Vincent had done a

background check, considering he’d gone to the trouble of

hiring a P.I., it was at least comforting that he hadn’t

shared the info with Meg’s mother. “No, I’m part-time. I

also work for the county morgue.”

“Really? Doing what?”

He glanced at Meg, who seemed to be enjoying the

exchange. “Um…moving bodies…ma’am.”

“Oh.” The woman looked perplexed, then changed the

subject by asking Meg about one of her classes.

Wesley eavesdropped on the easy banter between mother

and daughter, envious of their obvious affection and

familiarity. As Ann Vincent was being pul ed away to meet

another guest, she smiled at Wesley. “I hope to see you

again, Wesley.”

“I’d like that, ma’am.”

Once Mrs. Vincent walked away, Meg smiled up at him.

“See, that wasn’t too bad, was it?”

“I guess not.” But his head was kil ing him, and the

sweating was getting worse. He’d brought an Oxy capsule

with him, but he didn’t want to take it in front of Meg.

She’d nail him for sure.

They got a couple of plates of finger food and found a

corner to relax, although Wesley almost swallowed a mini

quiche whole when Meg sat down and her dress pul ed

high on her thighs.

“My dad would kil you if he saw you looking at me like

that.”

Wes glanced up to see she’d caught him staring. “You

want me to look or you wouldn’t have worn that dress.”

“Maybe I wear this dress all the time,” she said haughtily.

“Okay, whatever.”

Meg leaned in and he got an eyeful of cleavage. “There’s

only one thing I hate about this dress. It’s so tight that if I

wore anything underneath, my panty line would show.”

He stopped midchew, then swallowed. “Oh, now, that’s

just cruel.”

“Down, boy, I don’t put out on the first date anyway. But I

do this.” She leaned forward and kissed him on the

mouth—a good kiss, the kind where you could taste each

other. Her lips were as smooth and juicy as he thought

they would be. But just as his pants were getting happy,

she pul ed back and popped another meatball in her

mouth.

There she went again, messing with his head. He pul ed

out the handkerchief and wiped his brow. He wanted to go

to the bathroom and take the Oxy, but he didn’t want to

leave Meg alone wearing that dress…and no underwear.

Some guy like that lech Freddy Lowenstein might try to

latch on.

Finally, though, he couldn’t stand it any longer. Between

Meg and her father, his nerves were shot. He excused

himself and went to the men’s room. He wanted to chew

the pil , but resisted the powerful urge. Instead, he ran

water into his cupped hand, then tossed back the Oxy pil

and chased it with a drink. He closed his eyes when it went

down. It would take a while for the painkil er to circulate,

but with this one in the pipeline, relief was on the way.

“Got a headache, son?”

Wesley opened his eyes to see Harold Vincent strol ing up

to a urinal. Anger spiked in his stomach. “Don’t call me

son. And as a matter of fact, I do have a headache.”

“Must be all that hard living,” the man said, then faced the

wall and unzipped his pants.

“Look, I know about the P.I. you had tailing me. I

confronted the guy and he ratted you out. That’s why I

crashed your lecture. I wanted to see what kind of man

would do that to his daughter.”

Harold Vincent kept looking at the wall. “I don’t care that

you know. My daughter’s happiness is my only concern.”

“Yeah, wel , Meg probably wouldn’t be too happy if she

knew you had me fol owed like a criminal.”

The man zipped his pants, then turned and walked to the

sink to slowly wash his hands. “You are a criminal. And I

got news for you—Meg knows about the P.I. The only

reason she invited you is because she knew I wouldn’t

approve.” He pul ed out a paper towel and dried his hands.

“She doesn’t care about you, son, she just wanted to piss

me off.” He tossed the paper towel in the trash, then

stalked to the door.

“Don’t call me son,” Wesley managed to say before the

door closed. He fisted his hands as humiliation crashed

over him. He should’ve known that Meg had an ulterior

motive for asking him out. Why would someone like her be

interested in someone like him? He caught sight of himself

in the mirror, and was disgusted. All that money spent on

a suit to impress her, and for what? A few cups of punch

and a hard-on. As far as her line about not putting out on

the first date, well, she’d never intended for them to have

a second date.

He undid the tie and yanked it off, then unbuttoned the

col ar of his shirt. This charade was over.

Wes walked out of the bathroom and threaded his way

through the crowd. He couldn’t wait to get out of this

place.

Someone touched his jacket sleeve. “Are you leaving?”

He looked up to see E. standing there.

“Uh, yeah…something came up.”

“Okay. I’l see you tomorrow?”