Body Movers 4 - 4 Bodies and a Funeral Read Free Page A

that she beat their
    favorite runner. Or it could be one of those urban myths
    that start online and run wild. Regardless, I think I’l buy a
    charm bracelet before they’re gone. Want me to pick one
    up for you?”
    “I actually have a charm bracelet at home,” Carlotta
    murmured. From her teenage years. A gift from her father,
    it was somewhere in the depths of her jewelry box. She
    had buried so many things from that period in her life.
    “Thanks anyway,” she added begrudgingly. Patricia wasn’t
    so bad, she was just…persnickety.
    “Looks like we have a lul ,” Patricia said. “I’l be right back.”
    Carlotta glanced around and decided to take advantage of
    the break in the crowd to get a pain pil from her purse.
    Her arm hadn’t hurt like this in a while.
    She made her way to the employee break room and gave
    the locker of her former coworker Michael Lane a wistful
    glance. It had been emptied, but was stil tagged with
    police evidence tape. No one would touch it, as if they
    might catch whatever it was that had taken hold of
    Michael. Carlotta opened her own locker to remove her
    purse. She checked her cel phone for messages, hoping
    Wesley hadn’t forgotten his promise to call and let her
    know what happened with the D.A. But there were no
    messages, leaving her to fear the worst. Jack had once
    warned her that the D.A. despised her father so much that
    he might try to take it out on Wesley.
    With growing apprehension, Carlotta pul ed the
    prescription bottle of Percocet from her bag and removed
    the lid. When the last pil rol ed out into her hand, she
    frowned. She’d barely touched the bottle of painkil ers,
    and had even turned down the doctor’s offer for extra
    refil s because she hadn’t wanted to become dependent
    on them.
    She used her cel phone to dial the pharmacy and request
    one of the refil s she had left.
    “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there are no more refil s on this
    prescription.”
    “But I’m looking at the pil bottle, and it says I have two
    more.”
    In the background was the sound of computer keys
    clicking. “According to our records, the prescription was
    refil ed two weeks ago and again last week.”
    “But that’s impossible—” Carlotta began to argue, then cut
    herself off. She suddenly felt sick to her stomach. She
    hadn’t taken the bottle of pain pil s, and she hadn’t gotten
    the prescription refil ed. Which left only one other person
    in the house who could have.
    “Thank you,” she said hastily, then disconnected the call.
    Her eyes pooled with sudden moisture. Had Wesley taken
    the painkil ers recreationally? Sold them?
    Or was he hooked on them?
    She put a hand over her heavy heart and murmured, “Oh,
    Wesley. What have you gotten yourself into now?”

    2
    Wesley glanced all around as he hurried into the building
    on Pryor Street that housed, among other government
    agencies, the offices of the Fulton County District
    Attorney. He was a nervous freaking wreck after riding his
    bike in a circuitous route just in case anyone from The
    Carver’s camp knew about the appointment and decided
    to intercept him, then persuade him not to agree to a plea
    deal in return for testifying against the brutal loan shark.
    When he’d agreed to help The Carver’s men swipe the
    body of a starlet, Wesley had told himself he was kil ing
    several birds with one stone, so to speak.
    The woman was already dead, after all. It was an olive
    branch to offer the loan shark for an embarrassing stunt
    Wesley had orchestrated on him at a strip club. And The
    Carver had promised to erase the rest of Wesley’s
    gambling debt in return for the favor. Besides, it wasn’t as
    if he’d been given the option of refusing the man who had
    already carved the first three letters of his last name into
    Wesley’s arm for a former offense.
    At the memory, Wesley rubbed his arm through the jacket
    he’d worn as directed by his attorney. Underneath, the
    newly healed wounds itched where the