Body Movers: 3 Men and a Body

She gasped. “What kind of trouble are you in?”

“The expensive kind.”

“Wesley, you know I adore you. But I can’t get involved in whatever mess you’re in. I have my career and reputation to think about.”

He tried to keep his voice steady. “I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important.”

“I’m sorry. I just can’t help you. Maybe you should call the police—”

Mouse flipped the phone shut, then sighed. “I should’ve worn a dark suit.” He went to the door, opened it and shook his head.

The Carver reappeared, a paper napkin tucked in his collar like a bib. Wesley considered making a run for it, but he was having trouble even holding his head up. Besides, he was still wearing only one shoe. And he wouldn’t get far with his hands cuffed. Mouse held him for the next carving, but Wesley didn’t put up much resistance as an R was engraved on his arm. He didn’t even have the strength to squeal. The Carver left with no conversation.

Wesley was on the verge of passing out.

“You’re killing me, kid,” Mouse said. “Give me a name—a good one.”

With what little strength he had left, Wesley considered his options—all of them bad, but one of them viable. Objectionable, but viable.

He gave Mouse the name and hoped for the best.

5

Carlotta stood in her living room and glared up at Jack. “Why are you just standing there? Do something!”

Jack seemed to struggle for patience. “Carlotta, we can’t just send in a SWAT team to storm the place. We need a warrant, and I can’t get one without probable cause. I need some kind of proof that Hollis Carver kidnapped Wesley or—” He broke off. “Or that he’s holding him.”

“You were going to say proof that he’s killed him, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“So that’s the guy’s real name—Hollis Carver?”

Jack nodded.

She threw her hands in the air, and cringed when pain zipped up her left arm. “If you’re on first-name basis with this criminal, why don’t you call him up and ask him if he has Wesley?”

He hesitated. “With Hollis Carver, the communication is one-way.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning,” Hannah interjected, her eyes narrowed at Jack, “The Carver is a narc. And the police leave him alone, right?”

Carlotta looked back to Jack. “Is that true?”

He scratched the back of his neck—she was starting to learn his “tells.” He didn’t want to say.

“Jack?”

“I can’t divulge anything that might impact open and future investigations. But Hollis Carver has been helpful to the APD in cleaning up the city.”

“Cleaning it up?”

He jammed his hands on his hips, feet wide. “Yes. Believe it or not, Carlotta, there are a lot worse criminals in this city than The Carver. People selling poison crack cocaine. Sickos running pedophile rings. Serial killers—as if I have to remind you. Hollis Carver lends money to foolish, desperate people. Unless he starts killing off nonpaying customers, it’s his business, not the police department’s.”

She stepped as close to him as she could get without touching him, and lifted her chin. “So he has to kill Wesley before you’ll get involved, is that what you’re saying?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I sent a couple of uniforms to Carver’s warehouse to take a look around. If we find something that might have belonged to Wesley—his bike, for instance—then we’ll have something to work with. Until then, you need to calm down.” He glanced at Hannah, who was parked on the couch. “Help me out here.”

Hannah scoffed. “You’re on your own, Starsky.” She continued flipping through TV channels.

Carlotta looked up at him, changing tack. “I’m scared, Jack.”

He sighed. “Carlotta, you’re not responsible for the decisions made by the men in your family.”

“Why are you bringing up my father?” Her throat constricted and she self-consciously rubbed her arm over the area where the note was tucked into her bra. Her heart beat faster, then she relaxed a little—Jack couldn’t possibly know about the note.

He glanced away. Another tell. He was keeping something from her.

But then, she was keeping something from him, too.

He looked back, his expression akin to pity. “I just hate to see you keep getting dragged down by other people’s mistakes.”

Carlotta set her jaw. “Wesley isn’t ‘people,’ he’s my brother.”

Jack’s phone rang and he stepped away to take the call. Her chest ached with frustration and a clump of emotions she couldn’t identify. Jack’s attitude was a timely reminder that they were too different, that too many obstacles lay between them. And that he had a very low opinion of her family.

“Hey,” Hannah said from the couch. “You know that Kiki chick we were watching on TV the other day? She’s fucking dead.”

Carlotta turned, grateful for the distraction, even if the news was disturbing. She walked over to glance at the warped picture on the TV screen flashing Breaking News: Kiki Deerling Dead At 21. “Turn it up.”

“As we first reported earlier today, Kiki Deerling was pronounced dead at a Boca Raton, Florida, hospital around three this morning, after being found unconscious by her publicist at a club during a birthday party in honor of Deerling herself. So far, authorities are being very hush-hush as to the circumstances surrounding the starlet’s death. Stay tuned for more details as they are available.”

Carlotta made a mournful noise for the loss of a young, vibrant life. She had never met the woman, but like millions of people, felt as if she knew her just from the hundreds of TV impressions. And maybe Kiki didn’t deserve her celebrity, but neither did she deserve an abbreviated life.

“Probably drugs,” Hannah said matter-of-factly. “Otherwise, why wouldn’t they say?”

“Maybe the truth isn’t titillating enough,” Carlotta said.

Hannah glanced in Jack’s direction, then lowered her voice. “Listen, considering you and the brooding detective have a history, maybe you should request that someone else work Wesley’s case.”

Carlotta surveyed Jack’s broad back and her anger intensified. He obviously believed that whatever happened to Wesley, her brother deserved it. “Jack does seem a little too invested in the other side.”

The sound of a car pulling into the driveway drew her attention. She walked to the window and her frustration spiked at the sight of the man climbing out of the luxury SUV. Just what she didn’t need right now—a visit from Peter. Although it was strange to see him driving something other than his little two-seater sports car.

Then the passenger side door opened and she shrieked. “Wesley!” She brushed past Jack, who was also staring out the window, and closing his phone.

“Guess I can call off the nationwide search,” he said dryly.