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      ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

      The longer my career goes on, the more I appreciate my wonderful editors, who are champions for this series. Many, many thanks to Brenda Chin, who somehow manages to read my material both as a reader and as an editor. Brenda puts a shine on everything I write. Thanks, too, to Margaret O’Neill Marbury, Dianne Moggy and Valerie Gray for your ongoing support of the series and especially for arranging the back-to-back release of books 4, 5 and 6. And to my agent Kimberly Whalen of Trident Media Group who first proposed a trilogy to help satisfy readers who were clamouring for closer release dates! Thanks to my critique partner, Rita Herron, for our weekly meetings and for not being too biased about who Carlotta will pick. Thanks to pal Blair Fisher, former soldier, trivia whiz, all-around good guy for always answering my e-mails. My undying love and thanks to my dear husband, Chris, who cheers me on with every new project and keeps me going until The End. And to all the booksellers, librarians and readers who keep the ball rolling by telling customers, patrons and friends about the BODY MOVERS series—thank you, thank you, thank you.

      1

      Carlotta Wren skidded onto the sales floor of the Neiman Marcus at Lenox Square in Atlanta soaked in a flop sweat. Late on her first day back—minus ten points.

      “Welcome back.”

      Carlotta turned and manufactured a smile for Lindy Russell, her boss, who was standing with arms crossed. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.”

      Lindy pursed her mouth. “Too bad you couldn’t make this morning’s staff meeting.”

      Carlotta’s smile wavered, but she massaged the flexible cast on her arm. “Sorry. This morning was the first time I’d driven in a while, and my car battery was dead.” She didn’t think it would help to mention that the MARTA trains were being single-tracked for construction. Still, she decided not to dwell on transportation challenges since her recent medical leave had come on the heels of a two-week suspension to “get her personal issues worked out.”

      Personal issues such as her brother’s gambling debts, her ruined credit, the fact that her parents were long-lost fugitives … and oh, she’d been entangled in a couple of murders as a by-product of her part-time hobby as a body mover for the morgue.

      “Things happen,” Lindy conceded. “Is your arm healing well?”

      Carlotta flexed the fingers of the arm that had been broken when a killer had pushed her over the balcony of the Fox Theatre, where she’d dangled with her skirt around her waist for all the attendees of an Elton John concert to see. “Almost as good as new.” Though, at the moment it was throbbing like a toothache.

      Sympathy crossed Lindy’s face. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am about Michael.”

      Michael Lane, aka the person who’d pushed her over the balcony, had been Carlotta’s former coworker and friend. He’d also turned out to have some very dark secrets.

      “Me, too,” Carlotta murmured, wishing her heart could be splinted like her arm had been.

      “I don’t suppose you’ve heard from him?”

      She shook her head. “I was told he’s in the psych ward at Northside Hospital until he’s deemed competent to stand trial.”

      “So terrible.” Lindy sighed, then checked the clipboard she held. “Well, life goes on, doesn’t it?”

      Carlotta blinked. It was true, but still …

      “I’m glad you could come back in time for the Eva McCoy appearance.” Lindy swept her arm toward the small dais that had been erected on the sales floor with several rows of cordoned-off chairs for seating.

      Olympian Eva McCoy’s return to her hometown had been hyped on all the media outlets for weeks. “That’s today?”

      Lindy arched an eyebrow.

      Carlotta backpedaled. “I mean … that’s today.”

      “Since you missed the staff meeting, here’s the info.” Lindy handed over a memo. “It’s going to be a mob scene so I’ll need all my best employees on the floor.”

      Pleasure suffused Carlotta’s chest—her history of being a consistent top salesperson still meant something.

      “And here’s one now,” Lindy said, looking past Carlotta’s shoulder. Carlotta turned and swallowed a curse when she saw Patricia Alexander, aka Stepford Salesclerk, complete with rounded-collar suit, helmet hair and strand of pearls, walking toward them.

      The blonde flashed a waxy smile. “I’d heard you were coming back, Carlotta, but when I didn’t see you at this morning’s staff meeting, I assumed that something else had happened. You’re so … accident prone.”

      Carlotta’s mouth tightened.

      “I’ll let you two catch up for a couple of minutes before the crowd arrives,” Lindy said, handing them each a roll of tickets to be passed out to customers who wanted to meet the guest of honor. Then she gave Carlotta a pointed look. “I tend to agree with Patricia. There’s going to be a lot of security on hand today, so try not to do anything that might draw extra attention.”