Body Movers Books 1-3. Stephanie Bond

detained in some way? Another thought slid into her mind and took her breath away. Had Wesley, who so adored their father, somehow gotten it into his head to imitate The Bird’s behavior, to earn his own notorious reputation?

      She asked one of the guards for directions to the men’s room. She practically ran in the direction the man pointed and when she found it, hesitated only a second before barreling inside. There she found Wesley leaning over a sink, his mouth bloody and his clothes disheveled and a bulky man standing over him—Detective Jack Terry.

      Her maternal hackles stood on end. “Get away from him!” She went in slapping at the bigger man like a windmill.

      “Hey, hey, hey!” he said, arms raised to ward off her blows while he backed up. Then he grabbed her wrists and held her, his eyes blazing. “What the devil are you doing?”

      “This is police brutality!” she cried. “Help, someone!”

      He released her wrist to clamp a hand over her mouth. “Shut up before you get someone hurt, dammit. I walked in and found your brother like this. I was trying to help him get cleaned up before his court appearance.”

      She cut her gaze to Wesley for confirmation and her brother nodded. “He was trying to help,” he mumbled through a fat lip.

      She relaxed and the detective released her, her red lipstick bright against his fingers. “What happened?”

      Wesley dabbed at the blood on his face. “Some guy jumped me, took my wallet.”

      She narrowed her eyes at him in the mirror but bit her tongue. She’d bet anything the “guy” had something to do with Father Thom, a detail that Detective Terry didn’t need to know. “Liz Fischer sent me to find you. You need to get to the courtroom right away.”

      She moved next to him, her heart beating faster to see his puffy lip and bloody teeth. At least his glasses weren’t broken. “Are you okay?” She reached for him, but he leaned away.

      “I’m fine, sis,” he said, then walked toward the exit, tossing the wet napkin in the trash. “Let’s get this over with.”

      When the door closed, she turned to face the detective, who seemed bemused.

      “Told you we’d be crossing paths again,” he said. “I just didn’t think it would be in the men’s room.”

      She glanced around the slightly grubby tiled room lined with urinals. “Um, sorry for…attacking you.”

      “Don’t mention it.” Then he frowned. “Your brother seems to be having a string of bad luck.”

      “Yes. Thanks for helping him.”

      “Just doing my job,” he said smoothly. “I hear that Liz Fischer made a deal with the D.A.”

      “Yes, thank goodness.” Then she frowned. “Do you know Liz?”

      “Sure,” he said with a slow smile. “Liz and I are…friendly.”

      She pushed her cheek out with her tongue. “I so didn’t need to know that.”

      He shrugged. “Just making conversation.” Then he gestured toward the urinals. “Now, if you don’t mind, I actually came in here for a reason.”

      She lifted her eyebrows. “Hmm? Oh…” A blush climbed her neck as she turned on her heel and headed for the door.

      “But I need to talk to you,” he said behind her. “Save me a seat.”

      “Fat chance,” she muttered.

      When she entered the courtroom, she slid into a seat in the back row just as Wesley’s case was being called. He and Liz Fischer stepped forward and took their place behind the defendant’s table. Her brother looked so handsome in the brown suit that she’d pulled out of his closet, cut off the tags and forced him to wear. His normally shaggy hair was combed and his posture was arrow straight. But Carlotta’s gaze was riveted on how Liz touched Wesley’s chin and peered at his injury, then angled her head toward his ear as the judge situated his paperwork. Her body language seemed almost…intimate. Carlotta hardened her jaw. Had the woman transferred her affection to the son of her former lover?

      “Don’t look so grim,” Detective Terry murmured in her ear as he took the seat next to her. “If the judge goes along with the plea bargain, your brother’s getting off easy.”

      Carlotta frowned, and leaned away from the man who had somehow insinuated himself into their lives. Unbidden, thoughts of the detective and Liz Fischer together in bed popped into her head. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good grief, what was it about stick-thin women that drove men nuts?

      “Can’t bear to watch, huh?” the detective whispered, touching her arm.

      She opened her eyes, exasperated. “Shut. Up.” She looked down and pulled her arm away. “And I hope you washed your hands.”

      “I did—had to get the lipstick off.” He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “Speaking of which, you could use a touch-up.”

      She glared and snatched the hankie, then used a mirror to wipe her smeared lips and handed it back to him.

      He looked at the now-pink hankie. “You can keep it.”

      She shoved it into her purse and looked to the front of the courtroom.

      “And the state is satisfied with the plea agreement?” the judge was asking the D.A.

      Kelvin Lucas dragged himself to his feet, then gave Wesley a long, slow look, before turning back to the judge. “The state is satisfied, Your Honor.”

      “Very well. The defendant is hereby sentenced to five thousand dollars in reparations, one hundred hours of community service, which will include collaboration with the city on computer security, and one year of probation.” He banged a gavel. “Next case.”

      The sigh of relief she’d been saving remained pent-up in Carlotta’s chest at the realization that yet more debt had just been heaped onto their already considerable pile. Add to that her credit card balances and the miscellaneous bills that were late, and the fact that tomorrow a big, hairy guy was coming by to collect a thousand dollars they didn’t have, and she could barely push herself to her feet and toward the door. She just wanted things to be…good. She’d given up on easy years ago, but good would be nice.

      To her chagrin, Detective Terry was on her heels. “Ms. Wren, I need to talk to you.”

      She turned and sighed. “What do you want, Detective—to tell me more about your manly conquests?”

      A whisper of a smile crossed his mouth before his eyes turned serious. “Er, no. When was the last time you heard from your parents?”

      She frowned. “I don’t remember—oh, we received a postcard maybe two years ago.”

      “From where?”

      “Texas, maybe. I don’t recall.”

      “Where is the postcard?”

      “I threw it away.”

      His eyebrows went up. “One of the few pieces of communication that you’ve had from your fugitive parents, and you threw it away? That’s destroying evidence.”

      Anger surged in her blood. “So arrest me, Detective.”

      His mouth flattened into a thin line. “Ms. Wren, I think you and your brother both are keeping secrets. I think you might know where your parents are.”

      “Well, you’re wrong.”

      “I can have your cell-phone records seized. And your mail.”

      For a second, she wondered if that might buy her time to pay her bills, but then she fisted her hands at her sides. “You’d be wasting your time. Besides, I figured you were too busy giving McGruff the Crime Dog speeches to salesclerks to be digging around in an old case that not