3 Men and a Body (6 page)

“Hmm. Did Peter bandage you up?”

“Yep.”

Wesley stil 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-wel 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’l tel 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.”

“Real y?”

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 fol owed 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 il icit had definitely

transpired. She could think of only one reason Wesley

would cal 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’l 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 kil ed! 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 col ege.”

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 tel ing him about the note

their father had left and the development in Daytona

Beach. She pul ed the piece of paper out of her bra and

read it again. Randolph had been within arm’s length of

her. He could have pul ed 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 intel ectually, but she

wondered if he stil entertained some of those childhood

fantasies emotionally.

Over the years, she’d vacil ated between hoping their

parents were found and hoping they were lost forever. But

she was starting to worry that Wesley would be at

dangerous loose ends until there was some resolution to

the jagged tear in their family.

Was their father close to turning himself in? Was he

growing tired of life on the lam? Was that why he’d gotten

sloppy and left fingerprints at a crime scene? She shook

her head, trying to imagine her parents as a crime duo—

her dad wielding a gun while her mom walked around

holding open a designer bag for everyone to deposit their

wal et in.

Frankly, the most ludicrous part of it all was the thought of

Valerie entering a Holiday Inn. If her mother had any say,

they would hold up only five-star establishments.

No, Carlotta couldn’t picture her parents as armed

robbers. They wouldn’t have to resort to anything so

overt. Randolph Wren could charm anyone out of his or

her life savings, and Valerie was the kind of woman that

men threw money at. Model-thin and beautiful, with an

aura that mesmerized those around her, she was movie-

star glamorous, and everyone had been happy to be in her

entourage. Carlotta suspected that being on the run had

been hard for her mother, who was accustomed to lavish

attention. But it only demonstrated how emotionally

dependent she was on Randolph…and on her vodka.

The phone rang, rousing Carlotta from her dark thoughts.

“Hel o?”

“It’s Coop.”

She smiled into the phone. “Hi, there. You just missed

Wesley.”

“That’s okay. It’s you I want.”

She gave a little laugh, enjoying the easy flirtation. “In that

case, what can I do for you, sir?”

He groaned. “So many things. Seriously, though, did I catch

you at a bad time?”

“Are you kidding? I’m so bored, I’m cleaning.”

“I figured you might be going stir-crazy being off work, so I

have a proposition.”

She pursed her mouth. “I’m listening.”

“Wel , this isn’t exactly romantic, but I have a VIP body

pickup in Boca Raton, and I wondered if you’d like to ride

along. We could leave tomorrow and have a couple of

days of fun in the sun beforehand.”

“Boca Raton? Oh, my God, is it Kiki Deerling?”

“You know her?”

“Just from television. She’s hard to miss.”

“Yes. This trip is to pick up her body, but no one can know

about it. I signed a confidentiality agreement, so mum’s

the word.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tel anyone.”

“So how about it? Want to hit the road for a few days?

Separate rooms, of course…unless I can persuade you

otherwise.”

She laughed at his teasing tone, but entertained a little

shiver of excitement. A few days alone with Coop, getting

to know each other, no pressure. He wasn’t holding a ring

for her, and he wasn’t hel -bent on capturing her father.

His only angle was tempting her with sandy beaches and

icy drinks.

Suddenly Carlotta’s mind raced to assemble disparate bits

of information. “I’ve never been to Boca Raton and my

geography is a little rusty. Would we be driving close to

Daytona Beach?”

“Right through it, as a matter of fact.”

A wicked smile curved Carlotta’s mouth. “What time do

we leave?”

7

Wesley squeezed the hand brake on his bike and grunted

when pain seized the muscles under the bandage on his

forearm. He’d convinced Peter not to take him to the

emergency room for stitches, but that meant the wounds

would take longer to heal.

His opinion of Peter Ashford had never been high. Wesley

had been young when the guy had dumped his sister

shortly after their parents had left town. But he

remembered how Carlotta had cried herself to sleep

holding Peter’s picture, how the man’s absence seemed to

affect her more than the absence of their parents.

Probably because, like Wesley, she had expected their

parents to return any day. Peter, on the other hand, had

apparently made it clear he wasn’t coming back.

Carlotta had been devastated, and Wesley knew she

blamed their folks for Peter breaking the engagement.

She’d said he hadn’t wanted his family name intertwined

with theirs, tainted from their father’s behavior. As Wesley

had grown older, though, he’d blamed himself for Peter

leaving. It seemed obvious that the man hadn’t wanted to

be saddled with a kid.

But since Peter’s wife had died, he’d certainly been trying

to make up for his past behavior, coming around and

acting protective of Carlotta. When Wesley started to feel

bad about taking advantage of Peter’s guilt, he told

himself that he was doing the man a favor, giving him a

chance to get back into the Wrens’ good graces. Peter had

agreed not to tel Carlotta about the incident at The

Carver’s warehouse—or the money that had changed

hands—and for that, Wesley was grateful.

He must have been one hel of a mess judging from the

expression on Peter’s face when he’d picked Wesley up at

the prescribed badass corner after Mouse had counted the

cash with his thick fingers. Ashford hadn’t said, but he was

probably glad he’d driven his luxury SUV instead of his

Porsche to shuttle Wesley and his bike home. Stil , it was

going to be hard to get bloodstains out of leather

upholstery.

To his credit, the man had asked only if Wesley wanted to

go to the hospital, holding his tongue about what had

transpired until after Wesley had showered and eaten a

pizza that Peter had ordered. Then, while he cleaned the

wound on Wesley’s arm and wrapped it with a bandage,

he’d extracted the story one wel -placed question at a

time.

The guy should’ve been a lawyer, Wesley thought wryly.

He wheeled into the parking lot of the building that

housed the probation office to which he’d been assigned

after his arrest for breaking into the courthouse computer.

Once a week he checked in with E. Jones, his surprisingly

hot probation officer, who cut him zero slack. His pulse

picked up just at the thought of seeing E. In those dark

moments when it looked as if he might not get out of that

dingy, windowless room alive, he’d imagined E.’s smile and

the way her red hair fel over her shoulders. She was way

out of his league, but he could dream.

He locked up his bike and slung his backpack over his

shoulder with his good arm. His cel phone rang. Both the

movement of retrieving it and the name on the display

made him wince—Liz Fischer. He connected the cal . “This

is Wes.”

“Wes,” she crooned. “It’s Liz.”

“Yeah, what’s up?”

“I was just calling to see if you were okay. After your

phone call yesterday, I was worried.”

Right. “I’m fine.”

“I hope you understand why I couldn’t get involved, Wes.”

“I do.”

“Good. But I’d like to make it up to you.”

His eyebrows shot up. “What did you have in mind?”

“Come over tonight.”

His cock twitched. There was no denying the woman was a

looker, and great in the sack. But he wasn’t sure he could

trust her.

Of course, she had no reason to trust him, either. He had

ransacked her files on his father’s case in her guesthouse,

the place where she stored her archives, as well as

“entertained.”

“Maybe,” he said. “I’l let you know.”

“Don’t take too long,” she said, then hung up.

He put away the phone and walked into the building,

thinking he could do worse for evening entertainment. But

he’d been planning to cook a nice dinner for Carlotta,

considering she’d been so worried about him, and that her

already pathetic kitchen skil s were now further hampered