Stephanie Bond - Body Movers - 3 Men and a Body

“Absolutely not.”

“But I’m off work right now—it’s perfect timing.”

“What part of ‘absolutely not’ don’t you understand? Carlotta, you can’t get involved in your father’s case! I can’t spend all my time saving you from the scrapes you get yourself into.”

“But that’s the beauty of it. I’ll already be with you.”

“No. No. No.”

“Are you taking your girlfriend, Liz?”

He puffed up, meaning she’d hit a nerve. “She’s not my girlfriend. But … I thought I might ask her to ride along in case I bump into her client while I’m there.”

“So they can have a tumble for old times’ sake? That’s nice of you.” She squinted. “Why don’t you have a partner for these kinds of things, Jack?”

“I’m on the waiting list, but the department is short of manpower.”

“So when are you leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow.”

She shook her head, frustrated with the whole situation. “Don’t mention this to Wesley. And let me know if you bump into dear old Dad.” Carlotta turned and walked stiffly toward the house.

“Carlotta, don’t be like this. I didn’t have to tell you, you know.”

But she didn’t look back because she didn’t want him to see the abject humiliation coursing through her. Her father had left a stink on the family that they couldn’t seem to get away from. It was mortifying to think that of all the policemen who could capture her fugitive father, it would probably be Jack who ultimately brought him down.

Carlotta gave the new living room window one last swipe, then stood back to admire the shine. But instead of crystal-clear sparkle, the glass was smeared with cloudy streaks.

“You have to use newspaper to get the best shine,” Wesley said from behind her.

She turned and frowned. “You don’t say? I see you decided to grace the world with your presence today. It’s almost noon.”

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I was up most of the night before.”

Seeing the dark circles under his brown eyes, she nursed a pang of remorse. He looked so much like their father—lean, with sharp features a male model would kill for. But he didn’t have their father’s confidence, the ability to win over a room. Wesley was more cerebral. He preferred his books to people. She was sure he had no idea how handsome he was. “Are you ever going to tell me what you were doing?”

“I told you. I was playing cards.”

“Uh-huh.” She eyed his clothing. “It’s pretty warm today for long sleeves, don’t you think?”

He shrugged, but she could see the bulk of a bandage beneath the fabric of his shirt.

“You must have scraped your arm pretty badly,” she said, fishing.

“Man against asphalt, asphalt always wins.”

“Hmm. Did Peter bandage you up?”

“Yep.”

Wesley still wasn’t looking at her. His reluctance to talk about what had really happened cemented her decision not to mention what Jack had told her about their father. After all, the robbery in Daytona Beach could be a dead end, a mistaken identification.

“Mrs. Winningham said she gave you a get-well card for me.”

“She did, but I lost it.”

“When you had the accident on your bicycle?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He was so lying about the bicycle accident. “That’s okay, I’ll tell her I got it anyway. Are you working with Coop later?”

“Not today. I have to check in with my probation officer.”

“She sounded pretty worried about you yesterday.”

“Really?”

It was the closest thing she’d seen to a smile on his face since he’d arrived home. “Really. And she said that you impressed the city computer guy you interviewed with. You start your community service Monday?”

“That’s the plan.”

“Are you going to be able to work with Coop and do your community service, too?”

“Yeah. Coop is cutting back on body retrievals for a while. He said he was doing special projects for the morgue.”

“The morgue has special projects?”

Wesley shrugged and walked into the kitchen. “Want a sandwich?”

“No, thanks.” But she followed him. “I’m sure Coop was relieved to hear from you last night.”

“I guess.”

“Wesley, he was worried. He spent the entire night driving around looking for you.”

“He shouldn’t have. Besides, he did that for you, not for me.”

“That’s not true. He’s very fond of you.”

“Maybe, but he’s got it bad for you.”

A flush climbed her neck. “Coop is … nice.”

“Yeah, but he’s not loaded like Peter.”

Carlotta arched an eyebrow. “Is that an endorsement for Peter?”

He turned back to the refrigerator. “Are we out of milk?”

“Look in the back.” Carlotta wondered about his sudden attachment to Peter. Something illicit had definitely transpired. She could think of only one reason Wesley would call Peter—money. What had Wesley gotten her former fiancé in the middle of?

And how would she ever be able to repay the man?

“What are you doing after you meet with your probation officer?” she asked quietly.

Another shrug. “I’ll probably go hang out with Chance.”

She frowned. “I don’t like you spending time with that derelict.”

“He’s not so bad.”

“Wesley, he told me what the two of you did to your loan shark at the strip club.”

He paused in the door of the refrigerator for just a second. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

“Hannah and I kind of beat it out of him.”

“It was just a prank.”

“It could’ve gotten you killed! He said you did it to protect me?”

Her brother shrugged again.

“You don’t have to protect me, Wesley.”

He closed the refrigerator door, his eyes wide. “These men are dangerous, Carlotta. You don’t know.”

“So stop doing business with them. Get your life together. Think about college.”

He looked anguished for a few seconds, then angry. “I changed my mind about the sandwich. See you later.”

She knew better than to try to stop him. He was through talking. The front door banged, and she only hoped that whatever had happened the night he was gone had scared him straight.

She turned her attention back to the streaked window, attacking it with cleaner and a page of newspaper fished out of the mail basket. When she stood back, the sun shining through the spotless window was almost blinding. “You were right, you little shit,” she mumbled.

Guilt plucked at her for not telling him about the note their father had left and the development in Daytona Beach. She pulled the piece of paper out of her bra and read it again. Randolph had been within arm’s length of her. He could have pulled her aside, revealed his identity … given her a hug and a kiss … and an explanation. Why hadn’t he?

Because he didn’t trust her. He knew she’d gone along with the fake funeral to lure her parents out of hiding. Had he felt betrayed?

Anger whipped through her—he had betrayed them first. He and her mother, Valerie. Her father had left town to escape a trial and, presumably, jail time. But her mother, who always maintained a martini in one hand and a cigarette in the other, didn’t even have an excuse. She had simply chosen her husband over her children. Carlotta had gotten past being angry for herself, but she would never forgive their mom for abandoning Wesley at the age of nine.

He’d slept in Carlotta’s bed for a year, clinging to her, crying for his mother every night until he was too exhausted to stay awake.

Carlotta’s eyes watered just remembering. No one but she knew how Wesley had suffered. He’d been a slight kid, with a genius IQ, and the creative capacity to concoct all kinds of stories about why their parents had left. Eventually he’d decided that their father was some kind of secret agent forced to go underground. She knew Wesley had outgrown the elaborate tales intellectually, but she wondered if he still entertained some of those childhood fantasies emotionally.