Body Movers: 2 Bodies for the Price of 1. Stephanie Bond

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СКАЧАТЬ close to losing it, Carlotta backtracked to find her shoe, but was blinded by tears of frustration. She wiped at her eyes angrily and swore under her breath.

      “Is this what you’re looking for?”

      She winced, then turned at the unmistakable noise of Detective Jack Terry’s voice. She blinked away the moisture to find him studying her red Dior stiletto-heel slide with the same intensity that she’d seen him study evidence at crime scenes. Wesley’s job as a body mover had thrown her and the detective into close proximity at a couple of crime scenes, with abrasive results. Jack Terry was the one person she didn’t want to see right now—the brute had recently reopened her father’s case.

      “Yes,” she snapped, snatching the shoe out of his big hand. “What are you doing here?”

      “Irritating you, apparently.” Then he suddenly looked sheepish and she realized he was dressed too casually to be on duty. He cleared his throat. “If you must know, I need a monkey suit for a bigwig department dinner and I could use your … uh … help … picking out something.”

      Her anger receded. He had no idea what had just transpired. And wouldn’t know unless she told him … or unless he’d made good on his threat to put a trace on her and Wesley’s phones. He wasn’t convinced that a handful of postcards was the only contact they’d had with their missing parents.

      He gestured over his shoulder. “Maybe I should just go to the place where I usually shop.”

      “I didn’t realize that Dick’s Sporting Goods sold formal wear,” she said dryly.

      “This was a bad idea.” He turned to go.

      “No, Jack. Wait.” He stopped and Carlotta wondered if he realized it was the first time she’d called him anything other than Detective Terry—or one of the several unsavory nicknames she had uttered privately. But recently he—and one of her collectible Judith Leiber breastplate necklaces, circa mid-1980s—had saved her from the bullet of a murderer, and in the aftermath, something electric had passed between them. She felt that confusing jolt now, at a loss to explain why she would be attracted to this good old Southern boy who—between arresting her brother for hacking into the Atlanta courthouse records, resurrecting her father’s case and grilling her about her customer’s murder—seemed to have made her family’s lawlessness his pet project.

      “What?” His nose flared and she sensed that he too felt the unwelcome sexual energy bouncing between them.

      To break the moment, she narrowed her eyes. “No way are you going to deny me the pleasure of seeing you buttoned into a tux.”

      Jack frowned. “Sadist.”

      She smiled and dropped her shoe, trying to compose herself as she pushed her bare foot inside. Her father would call back … of course he would. She wobbled and Jack reached out to steady her.

      He gave a little laugh, his gold-colored eyes narrow with sudden concern. “Are you all right? You seem on edge.”

      Carlotta stared at his big hand on her arm, reminding herself that if Jack Terry appeared concerned for her well-being, it was only because he was trying to get on her good side in the hope that she would lead him to her parents.

      She pulled away. “I’m fine, Detective. Follow me.”

      2

      During the ride down the escalator, Carlotta’s neck burned with a fiery itch. She was certain Jack Terry could tell she was keeping something from him.

      But the brawny detective appeared preoccupied himself. He wore what she was coming to recognize as his off-duty uniform: black T-shirt, worn jeans and black cowboy boots. And, she conceded begrudgingly, he wore it well. His rugged profile, close-cut dark hair and bronze skin made for a compelling view, yet he seemed completely unaware of women’s heads turning as they stepped off the escalator and headed toward the men’s department.

      “So, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

      “Hmm?”

      “The bigwig department dinner.”

      “Oh. An awards thing.”

      She lifted an eyebrow as she led him toward the formal wear section. “Are you receiving an award?”

      The blush that stained his cheeks spoke for him.

      “You are,” she said, elbowing him. “What kind of an award?”

      He cleared his throat. “Distinguished duty.”

      “Distinguished, huh? Did you do something in particular to earn this recognition? Like save a kid from a runaway car?”

      “Guess the department couldn’t think of anyone else to give it to.”

      “That must be it,” Carlotta agreed, humoring his modesty. She angled her head and swept her gaze over the considerable length of him before pulling a jacket from a sleek wooden rack. “Black would be the obvious choice for a tux, but with your eyes and coloring, I’d go with charcoal gray. What are you, about a forty-four long, athletic cut?”

      Jack looked surprised, then nodded. “Hey, I saw you this morning at a bank ATM on Piedmont.”

      She frowned. “My bank is on Piedmont, but I wasn’t there this morning.”

      “Really? Wow, the woman looked just like you, then.” He laughed. “No wonder she didn’t wave back when I honked. I thought you were ignoring me.”

      “Apparently it was someone else ignoring you this time.” She held out the jacket for him.

      He shrugged into it and she sighed in satisfaction as the luscious fabric slid into place, hugging his shoulders perfectly. She adjusted the lapels, dismayed at the little tremors of pleasure she felt when her hands met the brick wall of his chest. Avoiding his gaze, Carlotta steered him toward a mirror. He looked ill at ease … and slightly gorgeous, she realized with no small amount of consternation. Jack Terry was easier to dislike when he was rumpled and wearing one of his infamous ugly ties.

      “What do you think?” She made wary eye contact in the mirror.

      “It’s okay, I guess.”

      “Just okay? Jack, this is one of the finest suits that money can buy.”

      “I’m almost afraid to look at the price tag.”

      “Don’t,” she agreed. “But a suit like this is an investment—you can wear it to formal dinners, to weddings.”

      “I’m not much on weddings.”

      “Funerals, then.”

      “You’re not convincing me.”

      “Look,” she said, smoothing a hand over his shoulder, “sometimes you just have to buy something because it looks so damn good on you.”

      His eyebrows went up and a smile curled his mouth. “You think it looks damn good on me?”

      Her cheeks warmed. СКАЧАТЬ