“I want you, too,” she whispered, fumbling with his belt and zipper.
He lifted her onto the desk and she toed off her sandals. They hit the floor with a thud as Peter shucked off her thin stretchy black pants and cotton undies. The edge of the desk cut into her bare thighs, but she didn’t care. When she released his shaft into her hands, he sucked in a breath. He held her around the waist and she guided him home, breathless when he thrust into her. This was the lover she remembered, passionate and spontaneous, who made her feel as if she was the most desirable woman in the world.
They fell into a frantic rhythm. He kissed her thoroughly, thumbing her sensitive center until she shook in his arms. She hadn’t yet recovered when he took his own release, groaning against her neck. At that moment she felt awash with love and utterly safe in his embrace. It was a sensation she hadn’t felt in years, and she reveled in it.
He lifted his head and gave her a lopsided grin. “Do you think they’re missing us at the party?”
She laughed, relieved his tension had eased. “Probably not, but we should get back.”
They disentangled and straightened their clothes. Carlotta was slipping her feet back into her sandals when she saw a gold-colored gift box on the desk. “Did you get Daddy a gift?”
He grimaced. “No. You’re determined to ruin all my surprises.”
“Oh?”
“I lied. The fact that Angie is in trouble isn’t the only reason I’ve been seeing her.”
Unease niggled at her until he opened the box and held up a Mercedes car key.
“I bought you a new convertible.”
She remembered reading in her journal that Angela worked at a luxury car dealership. She gasped with delight, and lifted on her toes to kiss him. “You’re so good to me.”
“I thought it was high time to get rid of that matchbox car of yours.”
Panic blipped in her chest. “Where’s my Miata?”
He smiled. “In a better place.”
She frowned. “What does that mean?”
“A car broker gave me a great price for it—”
“You sold my car?”
His expression was a mask of patience. “I knew you wouldn’t out of sentimentality. But come on, Carly, you need something more reliable to drive.”
“You mean something more appropriate to drive, don’t you? My father gave me that car—it means a lot to me.”
He sighed. “If Randolph’s feelings are hurt, you can blame me.”
“It wasn’t your decision to make!”
“Don’t be mad,” he cajoled. “Besides, it’s already done—the guy towed it from your parents’ garage this afternoon.”
Her mind raced with the increasingly real possibility that without her Miata, she was stuck here. Her heart sprinted in her chest. She pointed to the phone on his desk. “Call him. Buy it back.”
He balked. “I can’t do that.”
“Why not?”
“Because the guy doesn’t have a car lot. He has a chop shop—”
“A chop shop!”
“He said the parts were in high demand,” Peter said, back-pedaling now. “It’s why he was able to pay so much for it.”
She picked up a memo pad with a shaking hand. “Write down the address.”
“Carly—”
“Write it down!”
He scribbled on the pad, then tore off the top sheet and handed it to her with a pained expression. “I was only trying to take care of you.”
She gave him a sad smile. “I know, Peter. And I’m sorry I put you in that position.”
She left his office and strode back to the conference room. Walt Tully was making a toast to her father. She picked up a glass of champagne from a tray and drank to Randolph. When the room broke into applause, her heart swelled with pride. This was the father she missed, the successful, honorable man. She felt torn… if she went back, she wouldn’t get to spend time with this man. The father she’d go back to was a federal fugitive, sitting in jail. Father-daughter time in the other place would consist of scheduled conversations through Plexiglass with Randolph wearing a prison jumpsuit.
But for better or worse, it was the life she knew… and the one she wanted to return to, if she could.
She gave her parents one last look to drink them in, then threaded her way through the crowd to tap Wesley on the shoulder. “Can you take me somewhere?”
He glanced at Meg standing a few feet away, studiously ignoring him. “Now?”
“Now.”
“You drag me here and now you want to leave?”
She pulled him toward the door. “It’s important.”
He gave Meg a wistful look. “Okay, okay. Where’s the fire?”
“It’s not a fire,” she said, jogging toward the elevator. “Peter sold my convertible.”
Wes stopped. “So?”
“So,” she said, tugging on his arm, “I have to get it back.”
“This very minute?”
“This very minute someone could be cutting it up into little pieces to sell off.”
He followed her onto the elevator, dragging his feet. “And you’re going to stop it?”
She stabbed the elevator button. “We’re going to stop it, if we get there in time.”
Chapter 14
From the Humvee, Carlotta called the garage, but only got the after-hours message.
“What are we going to do when we get there?” Wes asked, pushing the speed limit. Despite his grumbling, he seemed to be enjoying the adventure.
“I’ll think of something,” she said, pushing down the panic rising in her chest. She removed the flip flops still in a bag in her purse and swapped them out for her high heeled sandals, wanting to be ready for anything. In her mind’s eyes, all she could picture was her beloved car hacked into pieces and sold off to the highest bidder like black market body parts.
Situated on a dead end street across from a row of storage units, the garage was an old brick building with three bays of glass and metal doors. When they pulled up, the windows were dark and the parking lot was empty except for a tow truck.
“Looks deserted,” Wes offered.
“Stay here,” she said, opening the door to jump down. She walked up to the bay of doors and peered in each one. The last door revealed a sight that made her stomach drop. Her Miata, tireless and sitting on cinder blocks, stripped of doors and fenders, looking naked and forlorn.
“Oh, no,” she moaned.
“Did you find it?”
She jumped. She hadn’t heard Wes come up behind her. “See for yourself.”
He looked in the window and whistled low. “I always thought it was a sissy car, but still, that’s sad.”
“I have to get in there.”
He turned his head. “That’s crazy, Sis—what are you going to do? It’s not as if you can drive it out of there.”
The fact that he’d called her Sis cheered her only momentarily. “Will you help me?”
“Sure,” he said without hesitation. “Tell me what to do.”
The utter trust in his voice made her heart squeeze. She backed up and surveyed the front of the building. “Assuming there’s a burglar alarm, we can’t break open the office door, or breach the locks on the bay doors.”
“No,” Wes agreed. “But if we could remove the glass from one of these garage panels, you could probably wiggle your skinny ass through there.”
She brightened. “You’re right.” She glanced down at her behind. “And thanks.”
He took off his jacket, wrapped it around his fist, then crouched down to punch the glass. On the second whack, it shattered. They froze, poised to run if an alarm sounded, but all was quiet. Wes used the jacket to clear the glass around the frame that was about
eighteen inches by twelve inches.
“It’s going to be a tight fit,” she said, eyeing the opening. She shrugged out of her jacket and unhooked her metal belt, handing both to Wes. “Look, if something strange happens, I want you to know I’m okay.”
He squinted. “O… kay.”
She gave him an impulsive kiss. “Just remember this conversation, and promise me you’ll do something amazing with your life.”
“You’re freaking me out a little.”
“If I’m not back in a few minutes, break in and get me. If I seem confused, just take me home. If the police come, ask for Detective Jack Terry, okay?”
He scratched his head. “Okay.”
She crouched down and stuck her head through the opening, then thrust in her arms and twisted her shoulders to work her way inside. The interior was cool and musty, reeking of motor oil and gasoline. She grimaced as she walked her hands through grime on the floor to pull herself through. After much grunting, she stood in the interior of the garage and wiped her hands on her pants. She went directly to her beloved car, her stomach twisting in anguish over its dissection. The shell that remained looked violated. Without doors, she could climb directly into the driver’s seat, which she assumed would be dismantled next.
She slid into the seat, mourning the car’s state, wondering if it could be reassembled or if, like Humpty Dumpty, it couldn’t be put back together again.
She put her hands on the steering wheel and closed her eyes, willing herself to be pulled across time, back to the place she’d come from. She channeled her thoughts and energy into her impending trip, imagining herself hurtling through space and landing in the townhouse garage.
After a few moments of silence, she opened her eyes… only to find herself still sitting in the dark body shop, her hands on the wheel of the disassembled Miata.
Had the car’s magic been dismantled along with its body parts?
Despair welled up in her chest—now what? She slammed her hand on the steering wheel. In the ensuing white-hot explosion of pain in her head, she registered distantly that the airbag had deployed. She heard Wesley’s voice calling to her before she blacked out…
Chapter 15
“Carlotta? Hey… Sis… open your eyes.”
Carlotta started awake to Wes’s voice. Her head pounded like a drum. She was disoriented, her gaze darting around the dark auto body garage.
No, not the auto body garage... the garage attached to the townhouse. And the Miata was still in one piece, with a cinnamon-orange air freshener dangling from the rear view mirror.
She was home.
“Earth to Carlotta.”
She turned her head to see Wes’s concerned face below bedhead hair. He stabbed at his glasses. “Are you okay?”
“I think so.” But her voice sounded groggy even to her own ears.
“What the heck are you doing out here?”
“I… woke up early. I took a pain pill and came out here to sit… I guess I fell asleep.” She moved and grimaced.
“You’re bleeding,” he said, his face grim as he nodded to the red stain on her white shirt.
She looked down. “No, that’s just strawberry preserves… from the bagel Mom toasted for me.”
“Right,” he said dryly, helping her from the car. “Delusional, much? Let’s get you inside.”
She allowed him to shoulder most of her weight as they headed across the front yard to the door. Dawn was breaking over Lindbergh. It was going to be a beautiful day.
“I got up and made breakfast and couldn’t find you anywhere,” Wes scolded. “You scared me to death.”
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I took a trip.”
He eyed her warily. “How many pain pills did you take?”
“I… don’t know,” she admitted.
“Well, enough sleep for you. Let’s get some food in your stomach and check your shoulder dressing.”
She let him talk, relieved to lean into him and happy to be back to life as she knew it. He helped her into the house and walked her through the living room into the kitchen where he deposited her in a chair. The aroma of eggs and bacon elicited a howl from her stomach.
“Let me take a look at your shoulder,” he said, then eased down the collar of her shirt. His serious expression cleared. “It was bleeding, but it’s dried now.”
“I didn’t mean to worry you,” she said, her heart brimming with affection for her little brother. If she hated her parents for abandoning him, she loved that they were close because of it.
“It’s okay.” He straightened and moved to the stove, then carried over a skillet to fill the two plates on the table. “It’s a big day,” he said cheerfully. “Dad is back—can you believe it? How do you feel about visiting him in jail?”
Her head still thumped. It was a positive sign that Wesley had roused from the unresponsive state he’d sank into when she’d first broken the news of Randolph’s return, but she wasn’t sure either one of them was fully prepared for the days ahead. “I honestly don’t know how I feel about it.”
“We can talk about it later,” he said agreeably. “It’s not as if he’s going anywhere this time.”
“True.” She picked up her fork, knowing whatever the future held, they would have each other to lean on.
Wes sat down and shook hot sauce over his eggs. “Sis, have you ever wondered… ah, never mind.” He shoveled in a mouthful of food.
“What?”
He shrugged and chewed. “Have you ever wondered what our lives would’ve been like if Mom and Dad hadn’t taken off?”
She smiled. “Yes.”
“And what do you think?”
She wet her lips. “I think our lives would’ve been different, but not necessarily better.”
He nodded. “I think we’ve done pretty well for ourselves, don’t you?”
Her heart swelled. “Yeah, I do.”
She happily watched him devour his food just like any teenaged boy. But her head still reeled over the day she’d experienced… seeing Valerie and Randolph, and everyone else. She wanted to freeze it in her brain so the memories wouldn’t fade away. For a dream, it had seemed so amazingly real…
Her shoulder pinged with pain and when she shifted, something fell onto the floor and rolled.
Wesley leaned over, then held up the item that had fallen from her shirt pocket: the cigar she’d bought from June for Randolph’s celebratory party. She’d forgotten to give it to him. Still encased in the thin leather tube, the cigar still sported a red bow, a little worse for wear from her “trip” home.
“What’s this?” Wesley asked.
Carlotta stared, her jaw loosening as she realized the implication of the souvenir from the other place.
“Sis?” he prompted.
“Uh… it’s a gift… for you.”
He grinned. “For me?” He opened the tube and removed the silver label cigar, sliding it under his nose for a whiff. “Wow, it looks like a nice one—thanks!”
“You’re welcome,” she murmured. “Like you said… it’s a big day.”
Wes stabbed at his glasses. “This sounds weird, but I feel like my life is starting all over again.”
She sent up a silent prayer of thanks for granting her wish… and for bringing her home again. “I know exactly what you mean.”
-The End -
Stories in the BODY MOVERS series
BEFORE BODY MOVERS: Party Crashers
BODY MOVERS
2 BODIES FOR THE PRICE OF 1
3 MEN AND A BODY
4 BODIES AND A FUNERAL
5 BODIES TO DIE FOR
6 KILLER BODIES
6 ½ BODY PARTS
7 BRIDES FOR SEVEN BODIES coming in 2012
Other humorous romantic mys
teries written by Stephanie Bond available as ebooks:
OUR HUSBAND
GOT YOUR NUMBER
I THINK I LOVE YOU
KILL THE COMPETITION
WHOLE LOTTA TROUBLE
IN DEEP VOODOO
VOODOO OR DIE
Excerpt of IN DEEP VOODOO
by Stephanie Bond
“I could kill Deke for this,” Penny Francisco said, peering with a tiny pair of binoculars through the mini-blinds that covered a window of her health food store, The Charm Farm.
The normally sleepy two-lane Charm Street bustled with early traffic for the annual Voodoo Festival. But in between the passing cars, Penny had managed to get a good look at the Victorian house heavy with ornate cast ironwork she had bought, refurbished, and lived in with Deke Black, attorney-at-law, until their explosive breakup a few months ago. A painting crew was methodically covering the rich color of Vanilla Milk, which she had lovingly chosen from thousands of paint chips, with what looked to be Pink Nightmare.
She ground her teeth until her jaw ached. “Just look at what he’s doing to my house!”
“Let me guess,” Marie, her quirky employee of six months, said from behind the juice bar, where she was refilling canisters of vitamin additives. “He’s painting it.”
Penny looked at the woman suspiciously—many people in town had insinuated that eccentric Marie Gaston with the electric blue hair had a “third eye.”
“How did you know that?”
“I saw Lou Hall’s painting van pull up as I was coming in this morning.”
Penny frowned and looked back out the window. “Deke’s not just painting my house—he’s painting it Puke Pink.”
“But it’s his house now.”
“Still. I can’t believe the historical society would allow him to paint my house pink.”
“It helps that his mother is mayor,” Marie offered dryly. “And it’s his house now, boss.”
“But I have to look at it every day.” Penny jammed her hand into her coarse auburn curls as frustration billowed in her chest. Moisture gathered in the corners of her eyes, but she quickly blinked it away—no more tears over Deke Black. “He did this just to annoy me.”
Stephanie Bond - [Body Movers] Page 10
