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

that women liked the scruffy look. Then he ran his fingers through his light brown hair to give it a tousle and pulled on the lapels of a sport coat that Carlotta had bought for him.

      “Let me know when you’re finished primping,” that sexy voice said right behind him.

      Wesley started, then turned to see E. Jones laying those big green eyes of hers on him, her pink mouth curled into a wry smile. Heat flooded his neck. “I wasn’t primping.”

      “Right.” She reached past him and opened her door, then preceded him inside. “Close the door and have a seat.”

      Still smarting, Wesley did as he was told.

      “How did you get here?” she asked as she settled into a chair behind a neat desk and opened a file folder that had his name on it.

      “Bicycle.”

      Her eyebrows went up. “You didn’t ride your motorcycle?”

      She’d busted him previously by following him when he’d left his appointment. Not only had he been driving his motorcycle with a suspended license, but he’d gone on a drug drop for Chance to make some money. E. had caught him red-handed and had let him off with a warning as long as he took the delivery back where it had come from.

      “I sold my motorcycle and bought a bike.”

      “Ah. Does that mean you can pay your five-thousand-dollar fine to the court?”

      For reparations to the city for the little hacking job he’d done into the courthouse records. “Uh, no.”

      “You didn’t make a profit?”

      “I did, but I bought a new TV. The one we had was shot.” E. had also seen their place, thanks to a surprise drop-in visit. The woman now knew pretty much everything about him—his family history, where he slept and who he hung out with. And that the dusty box of Trojans in his bathroom medicine cabinet had never been opened.

      “That’s nice, but in your situation do you think a TV should have been your top priority?”

      He shifted in his seat. “I wanted to do something nice for my sister. Don’t worry, I’ll still be able to make my weekly court payment.”

      “Good.” E. sat back and scrutinized him. “Are you staying out of trouble?”

      He swallowed involuntarily. Could she possibly know about the gambling? “Yeah, I’m clean.”

      “Are you still hanging around with that friend of yours?”

      “What friend?”

      “The one who is such a good friend that he would ask you to do something that could ruin your life.”

      Wesley cracked his knuckles. “I’m not giving you his name.”

      “I don’t want his name. I don’t care if he flushes his life down the drain. I only care about you.”

      He stopped, wondering if she meant it, and on what level. Was she saying that she cared only because she was responsible for getting him through probation and out of the system with as little fuss as possible? A great-looking woman in her mid-twenties could never be into him. Could she?

      “How’s your sister?” E. asked, breaking the tension. “I read about her involvement in the Buckhead murders. Sounds like she was lucky to escape with her own life.”

      Wesley nodded, unwilling to think about how close he’d come to losing his sister. “Carlotta is tough.” Then he grinned. “She has to be to have put up with me all these years.”

      “Do you stop to consider the impact your actions have on her life?”

      “Not enough,” he admitted.

      “Is that fair?”

      “No one in my family has gotten a fair shake.”

      “Oh, right. You believe that your father is innocent of the crimes he’s charged with.”

      He sat up straighter. “Yes.”

      She angled her head. “If he’s innocent, why do you think he would skip town? Leave his family?”

      Wesley shrugged to cover the anger accumulating in his chest. “I don’t know, and it’s really—” He wiped his hand over his mouth.