Free 2 Bodies for the Price of 1 by Stephanie Bond

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.
    “None of my business?” she finished for him.
    He glanced around her office. “Don’t you have a cup for me to pee in or something?”
    She gave him a flat smile, then rifled through the papers in his file. “I have good news. I’ve spoken with Richard McCormick at the central IT department. He said he could meet with you later this week to set up a time when you could begin your community-service work.”
    Excitement skittered along his skin, but he tamped down his reaction. “When?”
    She handed him a piece of paper. “You need to call him.”
    “Okay. Thanks.”
    E. removed a plastic cup from a drawer. “And you do need to give a urine sample before you go.”
    “Okay.” He stood to leave. “Are we through? I need to get to work.”
    “Still moving bodies?”
    “Yeah.”
    She seemed amused. “And do you still like it?”
    “Like it?” He scratched the scruff on his chin. “I don’t know. It’s something that has to be done, and I’m better at it than most, my boss says.”
    E.nodded and studied him in a way that made him uncomfortable, like she was wondering when—with his dysfunctional family, friends and part-time job—he was going to blow.
    “See you next week,” she finally said, then looked down at another folder—another misfit case. “And you might think about shaving before you meet with Mr. McCormick about that job.”
    He frowned at her bent head, then left, wondering what it would take to impress the unflappable E. Jones and if he would ever have a chance with a woman like her.
    After whizzing in the cup and leaving it with the dough-faced uniformed attendant, Wesley walked out into the summer heat, removed his jacket and shoved it in his backpack along with the papers E. had given him, then unlocked the new bicycle and headed for home.
    On the way, he thought about the postcard that his parents had recently sent, postmarked Miami. The message had been simple, Thinking of you or something like that. He’d hidden it because Carlotta had threatened to burn any more postcards they received. But she’d found it in the tennis-ball can in the garage where he’d hidden it along with his emergency stash of cash. Instead of asking him about it, she’d put it in her purse and somehow Detective Jack Terry had gotten his hands on it. Now the jerk cop was probably stepping up his efforts to find their father, which meant that Wesley needed to get his hands on his father’s secure case files as soon as possible.
    The sooner he started his community-service job “to improve the security of the city’s legal records,” the better.
    Cooper Craft was waiting for him when Wesley wheeled into the driveway. He stored the bike in the garage, shrugged back into the sport coat, then swung up into the