Read Online Six Killer Bodies by Stephanie Bond - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Bond
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come
forward.
“Right,” Wesley murmured.
“Hi.”
He looked up just as Meg dropped into the seat opposite
him. She wore jeans, a striped T-shirt, and rugged
sneakers. Her hair was skimmed back into a bouncy
ponytail. His heart jerked sideways. “Hi.”
“Whatcha reading?” She craned for a look.
“Nothing,” he said, setting the paper aside.
“Are those for me?” she asked, nodding to the flowers.
“Uh…yeah.” Heat climbed his neck as he snubbed out the
half-smoked cigarette.
She picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose.
“Nice. But why?”
Under the table, Wes’s leg jumped from the lack of Oxy.
“Because I was an ass at the reception. The woman you
saw me talking to—she wasn’t someone I hooked up with
afterward. She’s my probation officer. I was embarrassed
to tel you.”
Meg’s pink mouth rounded. “Oh.”
“Your dad made me mad, but I shouldn’t have left without
tel ing you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “Now we’l have to
have that first date all over again.”
Pleasure coiled through his chest. At the reception, Meg
had announced to him that she never put out on the first
date. His mind and body had instantly zoomed ahead to
the second date, a chance he’d presumed had been lost
forever.
She removed a daisy and stuck it in her ponytail. “I’m
going to get tea. Do you need anything?”
He stared at her. She made it seem so effortless, being
pretty and sexy. She was like a wild animal—natural and
carefree and a little scary.
“Wes?”
“Uh, I’m going to hit the head. I’l be right back.”
In the bathroom, he splashed his face with water, but
nothing seemed to help the excessive sweating. From his
pocket he pul ed the other half of the Oxy pil he’d
swallowed earlier. This half he popped into his mouth and
chewed. He needed the quick rush and the relief of his
headache if he was going to look at the printouts Meg had
brought. He promised himself he’d cut back on the Oxy
again after he left Meg. For now, he needed all his wits
about him.
When he returned to the table, Meg was sipping milky tea
and already perusing the thick printout of info she’d pul ed
from the database. The data was arranged in dense
columns that would make little sense to anyone just
glancing at it. She handed him a yel ow highlighter pen
when he sat down, then she narrowed her eyes.
“Did you take a hit of something in the bathroom?”
“No,” he lied happily. He was starting to feel good.
She looked dubious, then gestured to the page in front of
them. “So here are your dad’s records. What do you make
of them?”
He eagerly scoured the pages, looking for descriptive text,
notes from the court reporter, any kind of transcript. But
the staccato bits of info he fol owed with his finger were
familiar and useless—his father’s name, birthday, the
county, the judge’s name.
“What were the charges?” Meg asked, her voice tentative.
“Right here. Investment fraud and embezzlement.” He
scoffed. “What a crock.”
She leaned in to look over his shoulder, infusing the air
with the scent of strawberries. “What’s Mashburn, Tul y &
Wren?” she asked.
“The name of the firm where he worked.”
“He was a partner?”
“Yeah,” he said, his chest puffing out a little. “We had a big
house. Carlotta and I went to private schools and
everything.”
“What school did you graduate from? I went to St. Pius.”
He squirmed. “I went to Paideia when I was small. After
my folks left, I transferred to public school.”
She sipped her tea and nodded, but he could tel a public
school education made him seem inferior in her eyes.
“Who is Liz Fischer?” she asked, tapping the report.
“My dad’s attorney—and mine.” He glanced over the rest
of the data, then pushed it away with a sigh. “There’s
nothing here I didn’t already know.”
“We can keep poking around,” Meg offered.
He
forward.
“Right,” Wesley murmured.
“Hi.”
He looked up just as Meg dropped into the seat opposite
him. She wore jeans, a striped T-shirt, and rugged
sneakers. Her hair was skimmed back into a bouncy
ponytail. His heart jerked sideways. “Hi.”
“Whatcha reading?” She craned for a look.
“Nothing,” he said, setting the paper aside.
“Are those for me?” she asked, nodding to the flowers.
“Uh…yeah.” Heat climbed his neck as he snubbed out the
half-smoked cigarette.
She picked up the bouquet and brought it to her nose.
“Nice. But why?”
Under the table, Wes’s leg jumped from the lack of Oxy.
“Because I was an ass at the reception. The woman you
saw me talking to—she wasn’t someone I hooked up with
afterward. She’s my probation officer. I was embarrassed
to tel you.”
Meg’s pink mouth rounded. “Oh.”
“Your dad made me mad, but I shouldn’t have left without
tel ing you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” she agreed. “Now we’l have to
have that first date all over again.”
Pleasure coiled through his chest. At the reception, Meg
had announced to him that she never put out on the first
date. His mind and body had instantly zoomed ahead to
the second date, a chance he’d presumed had been lost
forever.
She removed a daisy and stuck it in her ponytail. “I’m
going to get tea. Do you need anything?”
He stared at her. She made it seem so effortless, being
pretty and sexy. She was like a wild animal—natural and
carefree and a little scary.
“Wes?”
“Uh, I’m going to hit the head. I’l be right back.”
In the bathroom, he splashed his face with water, but
nothing seemed to help the excessive sweating. From his
pocket he pul ed the other half of the Oxy pil he’d
swallowed earlier. This half he popped into his mouth and
chewed. He needed the quick rush and the relief of his
headache if he was going to look at the printouts Meg had
brought. He promised himself he’d cut back on the Oxy
again after he left Meg. For now, he needed all his wits
about him.
When he returned to the table, Meg was sipping milky tea
and already perusing the thick printout of info she’d pul ed
from the database. The data was arranged in dense
columns that would make little sense to anyone just
glancing at it. She handed him a yel ow highlighter pen
when he sat down, then she narrowed her eyes.
“Did you take a hit of something in the bathroom?”
“No,” he lied happily. He was starting to feel good.
She looked dubious, then gestured to the page in front of
them. “So here are your dad’s records. What do you make
of them?”
He eagerly scoured the pages, looking for descriptive text,
notes from the court reporter, any kind of transcript. But
the staccato bits of info he fol owed with his finger were
familiar and useless—his father’s name, birthday, the
county, the judge’s name.
“What were the charges?” Meg asked, her voice tentative.
“Right here. Investment fraud and embezzlement.” He
scoffed. “What a crock.”
She leaned in to look over his shoulder, infusing the air
with the scent of strawberries. “What’s Mashburn, Tul y &
Wren?” she asked.
“The name of the firm where he worked.”
“He was a partner?”
“Yeah,” he said, his chest puffing out a little. “We had a big
house. Carlotta and I went to private schools and
everything.”
“What school did you graduate from? I went to St. Pius.”
He squirmed. “I went to Paideia when I was small. After
my folks left, I transferred to public school.”
She sipped her tea and nodded, but he could tel a public
school education made him seem inferior in her eyes.
“Who is Liz Fischer?” she asked, tapping the report.
“My dad’s attorney—and mine.” He glanced over the rest
of the data, then pushed it away with a sigh. “There’s
nothing here I didn’t already know.”
“We can keep poking around,” Meg offered.
He
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