4 Bodies and a Funeral. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ his back, and behind his glasses his left eye ticked nervously. It was the OxyContin—or rather, the lack of it—kicking in.

      He was really making an effort this time to stay away from the stuff. The Percocet he’d pinched from Carlotta’s purse and the two refills he’d gotten had bridged the worst of his withdrawal symptoms, but he had only one pill left. He fingered the capsule in the corner of his pants pocket, yearning to swallow it, but drawing some comfort from its mere presence.

      He’d hardly left the house the last couple of weeks except to go to ASS, Atlanta Security Systems, where he was poking around in his dad’s trial files under the guise of doing community service for hacking into the courthouse computer. So he’d definitely noticed that the house was being watched. The first appearance of the black SUV at the curb in front of the town house where he and Carlotta lived had nearly made him piss his pants. He’d gathered up anything that could be used as a weapon: a hammer, a few butcher knives, a cast-iron skillet, even a can of hair-spray from Carlotta’s bathroom. But when no one had emerged from the SUV with guns drawn to storm the place—the vehicle had simply left and returned at different hours of the day—he’d wondered if someone was looking out for him. Maybe Jack Terry had sent a fellow cop to patrol the house, at least until Wesley could strike his deal.

      He pivoted as the line moved forward, looking for signs of trouble. When he was two people back from reaching the detector, he spotted Mouse, The Carver’s head henchman, entering the front door of the building.

      Wesley almost swallowed his tongue and pecked on the shoulder of the stout woman in front of him. “I’m late for a meeting. Would you mind if I go ahead of you?”

      The woman frowned. “We’re all in a hurry. You’re gonna have to wait your turn like everybody else.”

      He hunched his shoulders and tried to look inconspicuous, but Mouse noticed him and came charging toward him.

      The woman was chatting with the security officer, taking her sweet, fat time.

      “Hey, could you put some wheels on it?” Wesley said, moving his hand in a rolling motion. His heart was galloping like a racehorse’s.

      She frowned, but lumbered through the metal detector. Mouse lunged for him and Wesley practically humped the woman trying to get through the narrow opening behind her. He felt a tug on his shoulders as Mouse grabbed the neck of his jacket to yank him back. Wesley held his arms behind him and walked out of the garment.

      He looked back to see Mouse glaring at him, holding the jacket. Wesley gave him a little salute. No way was Mouse walking through the metal detector—the man probably had weapons stowed in his cheeks.

      “You have to come out sometime,” Mouse called.

      Wesley swallowed and continued walking across the lobby and down a hall to the elevators. Liz Fischer, his attorney, was standing to the side, checking her watch. She was a triple threat—beautiful, blond and bossy. When she glanced up, her red mouth lifted in a chiding smile. “I was just getting ready to call you. It wouldn’t look good for you to arrive late for your own plea bargain.”

      “It took longer to get here than I’d planned.”

      She frowned. “I thought I told you to wear a jacket.”

      “Sorry—I forgot.”

      She sighed. “Oh, well, at least you wore a tie. But you’re sweating like a pig.”

      He wiped a hand across the back of his neck. “It’s summer in Atlanta, and I rode my bike here.”

      “So why are your hands shaking?”

      “I’m nervous, okay?”

      She gave his shirt a little pat. “Shake it off. You need to make a good impression on the D.A. Otherwise he might worry that you’ll renege on your agreement to testify against Hollis Carver.” She glanced at her watch. “We should go. This will be over soon, and we can all get back to normal.” Her fingers slid inside his shirt to stroke his bare skin and the tip of her tongue appeared.

      Wesley swallowed. He missed banging Liz—her body was to die for—but at the moment, he’d rather have a hit of Oxy. Inside his pocket he turned the last Percocet capsule over and over, telling himself he’d save it to celebrate after the meeting ended. Maybe he’d just chill in a men’s room and outwait Mouse.

      He followed Liz onto the elevator, his pulse clicking as they climbed floors. When the elevator doors opened, he broke out into a fresh sweat. “Will Lucas be in the meeting?” he asked as she led him down a carpeted hallway.

      “He could send an assistant, but since it’s you, he’ll probably put in an appearance.”

      “You mean since I’m Randolph Wren’s son?”

      “That’s right.” She stopped at a frosted glass door, rapped sharply, then pushed it open.

      Wesley followed her inside, thinking in that respect, Liz wasn’t so different from the D.A. She, too, was interested in him because of his dad. He’d recently discovered that not only had Liz been his father’s attorney, but she’d also been his mistress.

      Like father, like son.

      Kelvin Lucas, an amphibious-looking man, sat at the end of the table, his hands steepled with authority, his expression smug. At the sight of the man who had targeted his father and reneged on a deal he’d made with Carlotta in an attempt to lure their dad from hiding, bile backed up in Wesley’s throat. He didn’t want to be in the same room with the bastard, but he tried to keep his abject loathing of the man from his expression.

      Next to Lucas sat a petite, bookish-looking woman who stood and introduced herself as Cheryl Meriwether, Assistant District Attorney. She seemed skittish and kept sliding her glance toward her boss.

      “Well, shall we get started?” Liz suggested, indicating which chair Wesley should occupy.

      He lowered himself into the seat unsteadily. The room had a sterile smell and rang with the white noise of incandescent lights buzzing overhead.

      Lucas narrowed his eyes at Wesley. “Well, Wren, you can’t seem to stay out of trouble … just like your gutless father, wherever he is.”

      Wesley bit down on his tongue to keep from blurting out the fact that his father had made contact with Carlotta at a Florida rest area a few weeks ago, and was planning to resurface as soon as he could prove his innocence.

      Under the table, Liz’s hand closed over Wesley’s knee as a warning for him to keep quiet. Liz didn’t know about his father’s reappearance. Carlotta had told him to keep it quiet. But he heeded Liz’s advice out of necessity because his head was suddenly throbbing and he was having trouble focusing.

      The lawyers opened with legal small talk to set the stage for their negotiation. Wesley zoned out, studying the books on the bookshelves, the fly trapped in the light fixture, his untied shoelace. He just wanted this meeting to be over. The Percocet capsule was burning a hole in his pocket, calling to him. He tried to concentrate on what was being discussed, catching occasional phrases.

      “… deserves to go to jail …”

      “… Hollis Carver is a menace …”

      “… might skip СКАЧАТЬ