Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral (2 page)

ruggedly handsome face, as if she’d conjured him up. Her

entire body smiled. “Hi, Jack.”

“Back to work, huh?”

She nodded. “First day.”

“Are you okay? You look flushed.”

She put a hand to her warm cheek. “Hectic morning. What

are you doing here?”

“Extra security for Eva McCoy. It’s a favor for the mayor.”

Carlotta frowned. “What does the city have to do with

this?”

“Apparently Eva’s uncle is a state senator. He wants APD

on the scene just in case. And since a uniform might send

the wrong signal…” He shrugged. “Here I am.”

She surveyed his gray suit and gave his red tie a tug. “You

look good.”

“I keep tel ing him that red is his color.”

At the sound of a purring voice, Carlotta turned her head.

A doe-eyed, exotic beauty in a dark suit stepped into Jack’s

personal space.

Jack gave the woman a proprietary smile. “Carlotta, I don’t

think you’ve met my new partner, Detective Maria

Marquez. Maria, this is Carlotta Wren, a friend of mine.”

Carlotta tried not to react. Friends? Is that what she and

Jack were?

She had seen the woman once, at a distance. Up close,

Maria was even more…wow. She was almost as tall as

Jack, with kil er curves, and caramel-colored hair

smoothed back from her face in a clasp at the nape of her

neck.

“Nice to meet you, Carlotta.” Maria’s English was precise,

seasoned with the kind of curling accent that made words

like blitzkrieg and psoriasis sound sexy.

“Same here,” Carlotta murmured.

When she’d razzed Jack about getting a partner, she’d

envisioned a grumpy middle-aged man with hair in his

ears, not a Latina siren with perfect teeth and no wedding

ring. Damn, the woman even had good taste—her suit was

El en Tracy and the pumps were Stuart Weitzman. Carlotta

knew her own Betsey Johnson tunic dress and Fendi

platform sandals could hold their own, but the cast on her

arm was an unsightly accessory she couldn’t wait to be rid

of. And she tongued the gap between her front teeth self-

consciously.

“So you work at Neiman’s?” Maria asked. The way she said

it left the unspoken comparison of “and I carry a gun”

hanging in the air.

“That’s right,” Carlotta said.

“Carlotta also moonlights for the morgue,” Jack supplied

cheerful y. “She’s a body mover.”

Carlotta squirmed. The gorgeous giantess packing heat

made her feel like an underachiever. And short.

“A body mover? How…diverse. Is that how the two of you

met?”

Carlotta exchanged a glance with Jack. He looked at Maria.

“Not exactly. I’ll fil you in later,” he added in a low voice.

Great. He’d tel Maria al about her criminal family—her

fugitive folks, her delinquent brother…Not to mention

Carlotta’s own scrapes with the law. And her futile—and

inept—efforts to hold her life and family together.

“Speaking of your morbid hobby, how is Coop?” Jack asked

her with wry amusement.

Cooper Craft—her brother’s body-moving boss who had

pul ed her in on a couple of jobs…and who’d made it

known that he wouldn’t mind them being more than

friends. Coop was a former medical examiner. He and Jack

maintained a relationship that existed primarily of circling

each other like two big-racked bucks, but col aborating

when necessary.

“With this bum arm, I haven’t been helping Coop lately,”

she said. “And after Wesley conspired with those thugs to

steal the body we were hauling from Florida back to

Atlanta…wel , let’s just say he needs to earn back Coop’s

trust before they work together again.”

Her brother with the genius IQ somehow rationalized

making the wrong choice at almost every juncture. She bit

her lip and wondered how he was faring in court.

“Despite Wesley’s interference, Coop received a lot of

attaboys for the way he handled that VIP body pickup—

and the aftermath,” Jack said. “I hear that Abrams might

give him more access to the active cases at the morgue.”

“Good for Coop,” she said, and meant it. The quiet

intel ectual acted as if he was content to be relegated to

the job of body hauler for the morgue he used to run, but

she often wondered if he missed being in the thick of

things.

“I figured you’d be happy for him,” Jack said in a sly

reference to the road trip she’d taken with Coop to Florida

for some fun in the sun before picking up the body. Their

plans to get to know each other hadn’t exactly panned out

when Wesley had shown up as an uninvited chaperone.

Stil , she and Coop had had their moment…and had it

snatched away.

Of course, Jack didn’t have to know that.

Besides, with her promise to Peter, it was al a moot point.

“I need to get back to work,” she said brightly, gesturing to

the mil ing crowd. “Nice to see you both,” she said,

including the decadent Maria in her glance.

“Hey.” Jack caught her good arm and leaned in, his golden-

colored eyes serious. “Wes is seeing the D.A. today, isn’t

he?”

She lifted her chin and nodded.

“Don’t worry. Liz wil take care of him.”

Carlotta’s mouth tightened, but before she could respond,

Jack picked up her left hand and rubbed his rough thumb

over her bare ring finger.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Just checking to see if you’re wearing another man’s ring

yet.”

He winked, then walked away to join Maria. Confounded

as always by Jack’s behavior, Carlotta turned back to the

customers to make sure everyone had a ticket before she

shepherded them into line. Beneath her lashes, she stole

glances at Jack and his new partner as they scouted the

layout of the store event. They looked as if they belonged

on TV—the great-looking partners with amazing chemistry

who put away bad guys during the day…and burned up the

sheets at night?

It only made sense that Jack would want to bed the

beauty—he was a red-blooded man after all. And not in a

hurry to put a ring on anyone’s finger anytime soon.

Besides, since his sometimes-squeeze, Liz Fischer, aka The

Cougar, was now banging Carlotta’s little brother, the big-

boobed attorney probably had less time for booty cal s

from Jack.

If there was a bright spot to Liz seducing nineteen-year-old

Wesley, Carlotta thought wryly, it was that maybe she’d

work harder to keep him out of jail. The threat of having to

resort to conjugal visits in the slammer might keep her on

her toes.

Carlotta fretted about Wesley between handing out tickets

and informing people about the day’s event, as it had been

laid out in the memo that she’d memorized.

“When Ms. McCoy arrives, she’l say a few words and

answer questions from the press. Then she’l step over to

the jewelry section where she’l pose for pictures, sign

autographs, and use an engraving tool to sign the back of

any Lucky Charm Bracelet purchased. There is a limit of

two bracelets per person.”

It would be a sel out, Carlotta thought as she looked down

the long line forming. The jewelry department, adjacent to

the event area, was already sel ing the charm bracelets as

quickly as they could ring up customers.

The novelty was that each bracelet was purportedly

unique, with random charms denoting travel or hobbies or

almost anything. Each bracelet was packaged in a small

brown box—the recipient didn’t know exactly what they

were getting until they opened it after purchase. The idea

was for the wearer to treat the bracelet as a suggested life

list of sorts, to be inspired by the charms to try something

unexpected. There were even special journals and Web

sites for Charmers, as they were now being called. The

craze was sweeping the nation, bolstered by Eva’s

appearances on national talk shows, hefting the gold

medal she’d won for the marathon that had held the world

captivated as she’d fought back from her il ness to pass

the leaders and against all odds, win the event. Hers was

one of the greatest human interest stories to emerge from

the most recent summer Olympics. And like many

athletes, she was cashing in on her newfound celebrity.

“Are those two people over there police officers?” Patricia

asked, nodding to Jack and Maria.

“Detectives,” Carlotta said, trying not to let the pair’s

familiar body language get to her. It was none of her

business where Jack holstered his gun. “Added security as

a precaution.”

“So it’s true, then.”

“What?”

Patricia covered her mouth with the back of her hand and

whispered. “I read on the Internet that Eva McCoy has

received death threats.”

“Death threats? The woman is a world-renowned athlete.

Who’d want her dead?”

Patricia shrugged. “Who knows? Sports fans can be rabid.

Maybe someone doesn’t like the fact that she beat their

favorite runner. Or it could be one of those urban myths

that start online and run wild. Regardless, I think I’l buy a

charm bracelet before they’re gone. Want me to pick one

up for you?”

“I actually have a charm bracelet at home,” Carlotta

murmured. From her teenage years. A gift from her father,

it was somewhere in the depths of her jewelry box. She

had buried so many things from that period in her life.

“Thanks anyway,” she added begrudgingly. Patricia wasn’t

so bad, she was just…persnickety.

“Looks like we have a lul ,” Patricia said. “I’l be right back.”

Carlotta glanced around and decided to take advantage of

the break in the crowd to get a pain pil from her purse.

Her arm hadn’t hurt like this in a while.

She made her way to the employee break room and gave

the locker of her former coworker Michael Lane a wistful

glance. It had been emptied, but was stil tagged with

police evidence tape. No one would touch it, as if they

might catch whatever it was that had taken hold of

Michael. Carlotta opened her own locker to remove her

purse. She checked her cel phone for messages, hoping

Wesley hadn’t forgotten his promise to call and let her

know what happened with the D.A. But there were no

messages, leaving her to fear the worst. Jack had once

warned her that the D.A. despised her father so much that

he might try to take it out on Wesley.

With growing apprehension, Carlotta pul ed the

prescription bottle of Percocet from her bag and removed

the lid. When the last pil rol ed out into her hand, she

frowned. She’d barely touched the bottle of painkil ers,

and had even turned down the doctor’s offer for extra

refil s because she hadn’t wanted to become dependent

on them.

She used her cel phone to dial the pharmacy and request

one of the refil s she had left.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but there are no more refil s on this

prescription.”

“But I’m looking at the pil bottle, and it says I have two

more.”

In the background was the sound of computer keys

clicking. “According to our records, the prescription was

refil ed two weeks ago and again last week.”

“But that’s impossible—” Carlotta began to argue, then cut

herself off. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She

hadn’t taken the bottle of pain pil s, and she hadn’t gotten

the prescription refil ed. Which left only one other person

in the house who could have.

“Thank you,” she said hastily, then disconnected the call.

Her eyes pooled with sudden moisture. Had Wesley taken

the painkil ers recreationally? Sold them?

Or was he hooked on them?

She put a hand over her heavy heart and murmured, “Oh,

Wesley. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

2

Wesley glanced all around as he hurried into the building

on Pryor Street that housed, among other government

agencies, the offices of the Fulton County District

Attorney. He was a nervous freaking wreck after riding his

bike in a circuitous route just in case anyone from The

Carver’s camp knew about the appointment and decided

to intercept him, then persuade him not to agree to a plea

deal in return for testifying against the brutal loan shark.

When he’d agreed to help The Carver’s men swipe the

body of a starlet, Wesley had told himself he was kil ing

several birds with one stone, so to speak.

The woman was already dead, after all. It was an olive

branch to offer the loan shark for an embarrassing stunt

Wesley had orchestrated on him at a strip club. And The

Carver had promised to erase the rest of Wesley’s

gambling debt in return for the favor. Besides, it wasn’t as

if he’d been given the option of refusing the man who had

already carved the first three letters of his last name into

Wesley’s arm for a former offense.

At the memory, Wesley rubbed his arm through the jacket

he’d worn as directed by his attorney. Underneath, the

newly healed wounds itched where the skin had drawn

tight.

Thinking back to the body-snatching scheme, Wesley