Stephanie Bond - Body Movers Books 1-3

Carlotta hesitated—she desperately needed the commission—and in her hesitation, knew Angela had won. As she looked into the woman’s slightly unfocused but gloating eyes, comebacks whirled through Carlotta’s mind, ranging from “Screw you” to “You’re right” to “You got Peter—what else do you want from me?”

She wanted to throw something, to hit something, to push the Rewind button and be seventeen again, before her life had taken such a detour. To her horror, moisture gathered in her eyes. She blinked furiously and opened her mouth. “I—”

Her phone vibrated against her side and she pounced on the diversion. “I’m sorry, Angela, I have to take this call.” But when she withdrew the phone and glanced at the caller ID, fear bolted through her chest. Atlanta Police Department.

Her heart lodged in her throat as images of Wesley’s mangled body ran through her mind. He’d finally gotten himself killed on that damn motorcycle of his. She stabbed the Incoming Call button, missed, and tried again. “Hello?”

“Hi, sis,” Wesley said, his voice tentative—like at age ten when he had put sugar in their neighbor’s gas tank “just to see if it really would freeze up the engine.”

It had.

Her initial flood of relief that he was alive was immediately overridden with a different kind of anxiety. “What’s wrong?”

“Why do you assume something’s wrong?”

She glanced up to find Angela listening intently. Carlotta turned her back and walked a few steps to be—she hoped—out of earshot. “Because, Wesley, the police department came up on the caller ID.”

“Oh.”

“So…what happened?”

“Okay, don’t freak out, but I kind of got arrested.”

Carlotta felt faint. “What? You kind of got arrested, or you did get arrested?”

She could picture him on the other end of the line, stabbing at his glasses and weighing his answer. “I did get arrested.”

She closed her eyes and mouthed a curse.

“I heard that.”

Okay, minus ten points for swearing at her kid brother. She counted to three, then exhaled. “What were you arrested for?”

“Well, it’s kind of complicated. Maybe you’d better come down here.”

“Where is ‘here’?”

“The jail at City Hall East.”

Christ, what did it say for her that she knew exactly where the jail was? She pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling a migraine coming on. “What am I supposed to do once I get there?”

“Uh…ask for inmate Wren?”

She clenched her jaw and disconnected the call, then gave Angela a flat smile. “I have to go. Someone else will be happy to ring up your purchases.”

Angela’s face reddened. “But I don’t want someone else—I want you.”

“Don’t worry, Angela. I’m sure you’ll still get a gold star for your little good deed.” She swept by the woman, and when she passed Michael on the escalator, told him that she had an emergency and would return later if she could and would he take care of you-know-who?

Breaking into a jog, Carlotta retrieved her purse from her locker in the employee break room, fighting tears of frustration. What had Wesley gotten himself into now? Her feet moved automatically, carrying her to her car, which was a good thing because she couldn’t consciously remember where she’d parked.

As she careened out of the mall parking lot, she imagined Wesley’s mangled body again—only this time it was by her own hands.

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