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

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СКАЧАТЬ silently signaled the detective by pointing to his crotch and flopping her hand right, then left.

      When recognition dawned on Jack’s face, his neck flushed red. “What difference does that make?”

      “It affects how your trousers hang, sir,” the tailor said crisply.

      Carlotta’s shoulders were shaking. Jack glared at her and muttered, “Left.”

      She turned away to enjoy a laugh at the big man’s expense, pretending to fold the dress shirt. It was nice to have something to lift her dour mood, if only temporarily … and the episode helped to level the field between her and the man who seemed to hold all the chips in their relationship.

      Carlotta looked in his direction to see him holding up his arms while the tailor practically bear-hugged him to mark the waist on the pants. Not that she and Detective Jack Terry had a relationship. More of a … an association.

      Jack flinched as the tailor made adjustments to the inside seam that had him putting his hands in places where another man’s hands obviously had never been. “Is this going to take much longer?” he asked irritably.

      “That should do it,” the tailor said, standing and smoothing his hand over the back of the trousers—and Jack’s ass—which garnered the older man another stern look.

      Carlotta pressed her lips together and managed to keep a straight face long enough to thank the tailor. But when the man was out of earshot, she glanced at Jack’s perturbed expression and burst out laughing.

      “Are you finished humiliating me?”

      “Yes, you can take off the pants.”

      She watched him stride back into the dressing room and craned her neck to see if he would happen to leave the door ajar again. When it clicked shut, she frowned, then was irritated with herself. She had no business looking at Jack Terry or liking it—and the man’s ego probably didn’t need more feeding. Lots of women seemed to go for the base types.

      She pursed her mouth as a memory surfaced. Jack had a history with Liz Fischer, her father’s former attorney … and lover. The woman had also come to Wesley’s aid when he’d been arrested, much to Carlotta’s dismay. She didn’t trust her, and the fact that Jack had admitted to bedding her was just one more reason to stop looking at him.

      Something she had to keep reminding herself when he stepped back out in his snug jeans, the suit draped over his thick arm. Averting her gaze and walking in front of him, she led him to a register.

      “I gave you my friends-and-family discount,” she said, holding up a little card.

      “Thanks.”

      “You might consider using the difference to buy a decent tie,” she suggested. “There’s a clearance table over there—two for the price of one.”

      “Tempting. Maybe next time.”

      Carlotta swiped his credit card. “You can come back tomorrow to pick up the suit. We can look for shoes then.”

      “I thought I’d wear my boots.”

      She made a face.

      But Jack was staring at someone over her shoulder, the displeasure on his face clear as he returned his card to his wallet.

      Carlotta turned and blinked in surprise to see Peter Ashford standing there, looking polished in dark designer slacks and shirt, his blond hair slicked back, his watch, signet ring and seriously expensive shoes befitting a successful investment broker. “Peter,” she breathed.

      “Hi, Carly.” He eyed Jack Terry warily. “Hello, Detective.”

      Jack nodded curtly. “Ashford. When did you get out of jail?”

      Peter blanched slightly, but stood his ground. “Last night. The charges won’t be officially dropped until later this week, but my attorney and the D.A. arranged for an early release.”

      D.A. Kelvin Lucas, the man who had ordered her father’s case be reopened and asked Jack Terry to make it a priority. For such a big city, it was a small world.

      “I guess I owe you my thanks for nailing the person responsible for Angela’s death,” Peter said to Jack.

      “Just doing my job,” Jack said. “Carlotta was the one who kept insisting you were innocent, even after you confessed. You should be thanking her.”

      “I intend to,” Peter said, gazing at her with affection so palpable, she could feel it settle around her shoulders.

      Jack cleared his throat, spearing Carlotta with his sardonic gaze. “See you around.”

      She nodded absently as he walked away, thinking that the two men were a study in extremes—Jack Terry, rough and aggressive; Peter, cultured and subtle.

      Carlotta glanced back at Peter, hoping that he hadn’t come to press her about renewing their relationship. She wasn’t ready, and neither was he, so soon after his wife’s death. “Peter, what are you doing here?”

      “I need to talk to you.” He looked around as if to ensure they were alone.

      She realized that in the wake of Jack’s departure, his expression had grown grave and his hands were shaking. “What’s wrong?”

      He stepped closer and seemed to grapple with what he had to say. “Carlotta, your father—Randolph—”

      Her pulse skyrocketed. “What about him?”

      “He—he called me.”

      3

      Wesley Wren sat staring at the perspiration beading on the forehead of the real-estate broker sitting opposite him. Admittedly, it was hot as hell in the back of the west-end car repair shop where a game of Texas Hold ‘Em had erupted on this stewing Sunday afternoon. But they’d been playing for over two hours and the guy’s sweat glands hadn’t kicked in until just now, when the last of five cards had been turned up in the community pot.

      Wesley hoped that meant the three of clubs worsened the guy’s hand rather than giving him a fluky straight that would beat his own full house of three queens and two eights. Because they’d been dealt only two face-down pocket cards and since there were no pairs in the face-up community cards, the only other hand that could beat his full house, four of a kind, was out of the question.

      The winner of this hand would walk away with the fifteen grand that was piled on the sticky table between them. Wesley tamped down a spike of excitement. He was in a sweet spot, but he’d been close to the payoff before only to have it snatched away. In fact, he was still smarting from a bad beat in a weekend-long tournament that had left him too broke to make payments to his loan sharks and even deeper in debt to his rich buddy Chance Hollander.

      This game had started after he’d dropped off his sister’s car for some scratch-and-dent repair. Chance had tagged along and suggested a little gambling to the oily owner. A few phone calls later and a few bored professionals had shown up, ready to part with their easily-earned cash.

      He was convinced he needed this money more СКАЧАТЬ