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

allowed Peter to lead the way to a bistro connected to the mall. Walking next to him felt so familiar, it brought moisture to her eyes. He’d been her first love, had proposed to her before leaving for Vanderbilt University. To outsiders the fact that she wore a Cartier engagement ring most of her senior year of high school might have seemed elitist, but Carlotta had been raised with the best things that money could buy—a grand home, exotic vacations, private schools. Marrying into the uber-wealthy Ashford family had seemed the next logical step.

      She had loved Peter more than was healthy, she realized in hindsight. When he’d broken their engagement on the heels of her father’s scandal, she’d thought she might not recover.

      She had, but the experience had callused her emotions. Now Peter was single again and pressing on her heart … along with this bombshell from her father.

      By mutual consent, they waited until they were seated at a table and had ordered coffee before tackling the mountain of issues between them. She was desperate to hear about the phone call, but reminded herself that Peter had buried his wife only a couple of weeks ago and had just been released from jail himself.

      “How are you?” she asked carefully. Undoubtedly, Angela’s death was beginning to settle in and, their bad marriage aside, it had to be a horrific adjustment.

      “I take it day to day,” he said. He looked haggard, his boyish good looks compromised by the stress he’d suffered.

      “Are you planning to go back to work soon?” Peter worked for Mashburn and Tully Investments, the same firm where her father had been a partner and had perpetrated his white-collar crimes.

      Alleged crimes, Wesley would say.

      Peter nodded. “Walt Tully has been good to me. I went into the office today to catch up. It feels good to be busy and doing something normal. It was quiet. I was the only one around. When my phone rang and your father identified himself, I was floored.”

      Carlotta fisted the cloth napkin in her lap. “What did he say? Are … are they okay?”

      “He said they’re fine … healthy, I mean. He said that he’d tried to call you on your cell phone, but that you’d hung up on him.”

      “I dropped the phone and accidentally disconnected the call.”

      “Oh. Well, he said he couldn’t blame you. But that’s why he called me.”

      “How did he know that you were working at Mashburn and Tully?”

      “He said he’d been keeping up with the company.”

      The company—not his family. That hurt.

      “What did he want?”

      Peter squirmed. “He wanted me to look for some files.”

      She frowned. “What kind of files?”

      “Having to do with his … case.”

      “Why?”

      “He said that he needed them to prove his innocence.”

      Anger sparked in her stomach and she pounded her fist on the table. “Innocence? If he was innocent, why didn’t he stay and defend himself ten years ago instead of skipping town and leaving his kids high and dry? Why—after all this time—this ruse of proving his innocence?”

      Peter reached across the table and took her hand in his. “I asked him the same questions, but he said he didn’t have time to go into it, only that he needed my help. He said that the paperwork given to the D.A. had been doctored—that the original paperwork would exonerate him.”

      Carlotta didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “And where is this original paperwork supposed to be?”

      Peter sighed. “He believes one of the partners hid it or destroyed it.”

      Her father had always insisted that he’d been framed, but the evidence against him had been so damning. And when he’d disappeared, his declaration of innocence had become a moot point. “How convenient. Did he happen to name names?”

      “No, just that he didn’t trust Ray Mashburn or Walt Tully or the firm’s chief legal counsel, Brody Jones.”

      “Is Jones still with the company?”

      “Yes.”

      “Did my father happen to tell you anything specific or was his entire conversation cryptic and mysterious?”

      Peter shifted in his seat. “No specifics. He just asked me to poke around, then he hung up.”

      She squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

      “Sorry? For what?”

      “For my outlaw father dragging you into his mess. Have you told the partners that he called?”

      “No. Randolph asked me not to tell anyone and I told him that I would help him if I could.”

      “Peter, you can’t do that. You’ll jeopardize your job. You should go to the police.”

      His intense blue eyes bore into her. “I want to help him, Carly. For you … for your family.”

      The waitress brought their coffee and smiled at their clasped hands. Carlotta pulled her hand from his warm fingers and busied herself pouring sugar into her mug. Her feelings for Peter were so confusing, it made her head—and her heart—hurt to process them. Did anyone ever truly get over their first love? Her suspicions that Peter’s parents had pressured him to end their engagement after her father had skipped town had been confirmed, but Peter had accepted the blame for not standing up for their relationship.

      And as tempting as it was to slip back into his arms, she and Peter moved in different circles these days. Peter lived in a mega-mansion with a guest house. She lived in a rickety townhouse with Wesley, a giant snake and the world’s nosiest next-door neighbor. Peter’s acquaintances were members of the inner circle of Buckhead society; her acquaintances were members of Loan Sharks of America.

      Over the rim of his cup Peter’s expression reflected the turmoil of the past and present that lay between them. He waited until they were alone again before saying, “Did you tell Detective Terry that your father had called you?”

      She averted her gaze. “No.”

      “So maybe you’re not really so eager for your father to be apprehended.”

      Carlotta wet her lips, unwilling to admit that deep down, she was still Daddy’s little girl and no matter what he’d done, she didn’t want harm to come to him. “I … wasn’t sure it was my father. I mean, he said it was, but it’s been so long since I heard his voice. And it was so out of the blue.” She winced inwardly when she realized she’d forgotten to get her phone back from Lindy.

      “So now that you know it was him, are you going to tell the police?”

      “I don’t know. I don’t even know if I should tell Wesley.”

      Peter cleared his throat. “Detective Terry seems to have gotten awfully buddy-buddy with you.”

      She looked up. “Jack was just shopping, that’s all.”

      “Jack?” His eyebrows went up. “Since when does Jack shop at Neiman’s?”

      “He needed a suit.”

      “He was there to see you, Carly.”

      A flush warmed her neck as she recalled the sexual energy that had vibrated between her and the detective. “If he was there to see me, it’s only to stay in touch about Wesley and my father. When the D.A. reopened Dad’s case, he assigned it to Detective Terry.”

      “So are you going to tell him about the calls?”

      She shifted in her seat. “I don’t know.”

      “I hate to pressure you, but the sooner you