A Dangerous Dance

by Pauline Baird Jones

  In the meantime, there was the letter. It was the key to everything. Okay, start simple, Vonda. First she switched its envelope with another letter from Verrol. She needed to hide it someplace hard enough to be believed, but not impossible to find. She discarded several places, before deciding on the Sherlock Homes, hide-in-plain-sight method. She slipped it under the blotter on her desk, leaving it just slightly askew, like she'd shoved it there in a hurry.

  To the real letter, in its new envelope, she added a short note that said simply, “Veda, you'll know what to do with this when you read it.” This she placed in a zip lock bag. She was thinking maybe the freezer or the toilet tank as a hiding place when she heard stealthy movement outside in the hallway. As she stared at it, someone very gently and slowly tried the door knob. Her first reaction was to scream, but luckily terror tightened her throat, making that impossible. She grabbed the phone and had punched nine-one-one before she realized it was dead.

  Her next impulse was to hide, but there was nowhere to hide in her tiny apartment. Nowhere to run—that wasn't entirely true. Adrenaline sharpened her thought processes to a razor point of clarity. She grabbed her purse and the suitcase with the vague idea of fooling the invader into thinking she was already gone, then backed into the bedroom, without taking her eyes off the door. It took all her will power to close the door and shut off the sight and sound of attempted entry.

  Now fear made her fast. She went to the window, pushed it open and eased out the screen. The fire ladder was curled under her night stand. She secured it over the edge, tossed out bag and purse and threw her leg over the edge. When she had both feet on the metal rung, she pulled the curtains over the window.

  It was surprisingly hard to navigate the rope. It hung straight down the side of the building and moved with her. She bounced and swayed with each step. At the bottom, she eased her feet down into the shrubbery that ran along the side of the building, testing the noise factor before putting her weight down. Above her she could clearly heard the muffled sounds of someone searching her apartment. Bad time to wish she had a cell phone. It was tempting to find a door to bang on, but this time of night, who would let her in? And would it alert whoever was in her apartment?

  First she needed to hide the letter. At the least, it would be a bargaining chip, if the searcher wasn't fooled by her red herring. She hid her suitcase and purse in the shrubbery a few feet down from her window, and inched her way around the house, keeping close to the building. At the corner, she stopped. What if whoever was up in her apartment hadn't come alone? Her car might be staked out. Okay, so avoid the parking lot.

  It was terrifying to be out in the thick, hot dark. She'd never been a brave woman, except in her imagination. Now the night seemed full of eyes and who knew what wild life? She wasn't far from the bayou. What if there was a alligator taking a stroll in the dark? She'd read just last year of someone who had a alligator turn up in their pool. The apartment complex had a pool. Or there could be thieves or even a rapist prowling around. It would be just her luck to flee a killer into the arms of a rapist.

  She gave herself a shake. Maybe it would be better if she didn't think and just did. The next building over was where her friend, Leda Tasker, lived. She didn't dare seek refuge with Leda and bring danger to her, too, if she could draw danger away. What she had in mind wouldn't precisely endanger her, but when Leda found the letter, she'd know what to do with it—if...

  Vonda pushed that thought away. Focus on the task. That was the way to deal with it. There was one, open space to cross. Fortunately the moon was on the wane. Just enough light to see, but hopefully not be seen. She did what she'd come to do, then worked her way around Leda's building, too.

  The night wouldn't be so terrifying if she was in her car. Maybe by now it was safe. Or she could hide nearby and just see if anyone seemed to watching her car. She circled all the way around, now moving along the back of the complex, where the smell of garbage was almost overpowering. It was also a lot more scary back here, where no windows overlooked the dismal view. She crouched down between two, broken-down cars, wrapped her arms around her middle and tried to slow her breathing. She was hyperventilating. Not a good time to pass out.

  Inside her apartment, it seemed like the city was never quiet. Seemed like cars were always driving by. Tires squealed. People talked loud as they walked to the building or played their music too loud. Why did everything have to go quiet tonight? Any normal sound would have been gratefully received by her straining ears right now. And then her straining ears did hear something. Stealthy footsteps. If her throat weren't totally closed with fear, she would have whimpered. For a moment all thought stilled, but when the footsteps seemed to be coming her way, adrenaline gave her some flight impetus. She flattened out and slipped quietly under the car. It was both better and worse.

  Now she could see movement and occasionally a dark silhouette against the darker bulk of the building. The figure stopped now and then, bending to poke into the shrubbery that marched forlornly around the building. At the corner, when the wan moon cast a pitiful light into the shadows, he stopped, turning as if straining to hear. In that moment, she saw light hit something metallic in his hands. Something that appeared to be shaped like a gun.

  She stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop the scream trying to push its way up from the bottom of her stomach where her heart had dropped.

  “Vonda?” The voice was soft, but well known to her.

  She sagged in relief. Safe. She was safe.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  SEVEN

  * * * *

  Remy closed his suitcase and snapped the locks. No matter how expensive the hotel, it was still just a hotel. Their suite had been sumptuous and comfortable, but he'd be glad to get back in his apartment and away from Titus's brooding presence. They'd each had one of the suite's three bedrooms. Remy found it ironic that Titus had taken the middle room. He'd probably stayed up all night listening to make sure Remy didn't creep into Dorothy's room. The whole situation reminded him of a Neil Simon farce.

  No question the guy was a weird duck. His presence was flat, but persistent. Remy didn't know a lot about him, except that he was just there. Dorothy had mentioned something about him going to high school with her mother. It was the only personal detail he knew about the guy. And, he didn't want to know that. He just wanted him out of his face.

  He did a quick check, and then left the room. In the sitting room, Dorothy was using the phone. She acknowledged his presence with a small wave toward breakfast. Remy examined the offerings, chose some fruit and a bagel and sat down to eat.

  Dorothy hung up the phone with a slight frown. “Something's wrong. Vonda isn't answering.”

  “Maybe she already went to work.”

  “Would you, without leaving that number, too?”

  She had a point. Her voice was calm and controlled, but was she? Remy studied her face, trying to assess how all this was affecting her. She'd been back, what, three days and already two people were dead. He hoped Vonda wasn't number three. “Maybe she changed her mind?”

  From what he knew about Vonda he didn't believe it, but people changed. Life happened and some people took it well, some didn't. Life had thrown her a curve ball when she found out her husband was a hired killer.

  “You think she may be trying to blackmail the killer? That would be so dangerous.” She shivered.

  Was she remembering Barnes or her father? He shrugged. “It's a possibility. Or she just went out for breakfast. You left a message on her machine?”

  Dorothy nodded. “I'd like to go see her. Wait for her or something.”

  “Let's give it a bit longer. I'll see if I can track down an address and in the meantime—”

  The phone cut across his words. Dorothy all but jumped on it.

  “Yes?”

  She listened for a moment, looked both disappointed and surprised. “Certainly, send them up.” She hung up the phone. “It see
ms I have a delegation from the state genealogical society. They have a presentation for me.”

  “They probably want money.” That made her smile, not whole heartedly, but it was something. He was glad for the distraction. She needed to decompress, get her balance back before they saw Vonda. She looked calm, but he could feel the seething tension beneath the surface of that calm.

  Besides all the other mess, he'd heard her fielding a number of business calls, all before nine in the morning. She was, she'd told him, working toward turning her father's companies into co-ops run by the employees. She'd hoped to have everything completed before her return to Louisiana, but there'd been some delays. She hadn't gone into detail, but he was a reporter. He knew she was selling control of the companies to the employees well below market value. Some of the members of the board were fighting her on it. He'd heard she wanted to make sure that the new management had enough money to keep the businesses healthy during the transition period. She had to have lost millions on the deal. Of course she had millions, but still, not many people could have walked away from all that money.

  A knock at the suite door interrupted his thoughts. She answered the door herself, which was odd. Why wasn't Titus running interference, as usual?

  Two women and a man entered the suite, introducing themselves with flustered eagerness. Dorothy invited them to sit down and offered them refreshment, which was refused with even more flustered effusiveness.

  “We're so sorry to disturb you, Miss Merlinn,” the thinnest one, who also seemed to be the leader of the group, said in a gush of remorse. “So kind of you to let us come up.”

  “It's truly not a problem,” Dorothy said, with a reassuring smile. “And call me Dorothy. I don't know anyone who calls me Miss Merlinn.”

  She'd make a great governor's wife. Remy studied the tableau from a short distance as she put them at ease, and then graciously accepted the genealogy scroll of her family that they had prepared for her. She listened with apparent interest as they told her about their organization, then, without being asked, managed to give them a contribution and get them out the door in record time. There was no sign that she was seething with impatience and curiosity about Vonda Vance and what she might have to tell her. She might not like this life, but she was good at it.

  He looked at his watch. He could only spare another hour before he had to get in prep for his show. Lots to talk about again today.

  When the door closed, she turned with a rueful smile, still holding the scroll.

  “Do you really not have a family line traced already?” Remy asked. “I'd have thought Magus would have himself traced back to some kings for sure.”

  “If he did, I never found it,” Dorothy said. She tossed it on the table by the phone and tried Vonda's number again. He heard the phone start to ring and out of curiosity picked up the discarded scroll. He arched his brows in mute question, she nodded, so he untied the ribbon, and unrolled the heavy parchment.

  They'd done a nice job of it, tracing not just Magus's line, but her mother's, spreading them artistically around on a tree with leaves for family members. He studied the names, following different lines.

  “Any kings?” Dorothy asked.

  “Just a couple of French Dukes.” Remy grinned at her before turning the sheet sideways to study her mother's line. “I didn't realize your mother had a sister. Where does she live?”

  Dorothy's eyes widened. “I didn't know she had a sister.”

  Before Remy could respond, he heard the ringing stop.

  “Yes, hello,” Dorothy said. “Is Vonda there?” Her brows pulled together, putting a charming wrinkle between her brows.

  You've got it bad, Mistral, when you start admiring wrinkles. She hung up the phone, the expression on her face odd enough to drive out everything but curiosity. “What?”

  “That was a police officer. Apparently Vonda's apartment was broken into last night.”

  “And Vonda?” Remy asked.

  “No one seems to know.” Dorothy turned from him, wrapping her arms around her middle. “I should have left it alone. I should have just left it alone.”

  Remy approached her cautiously. Her back was unnaturally straight and brittle looking. He touched her, then turned her to face him.

  “This isn't your fault. Crap happens. Trust me, crap would have happened with or without you. Who ever did this, well, secrets have a way of surfacing. One way or another. The only person to blame here, is the person who started it all. The killer.”

  She nodded, but he could tell she didn't really believe him. He didn't blame her. When secrets surfaced, it was because someone dropped a rock in the pool where they were hiding. Together, they'd dropped a big one. Truth was, he felt responsible, too. He opened his mouth to tell her that, when her head drooped forward onto his shoulder.

  “I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be like this. I guess I thought it would be like TV, where we just followed the clues and justice was done. Stupid, huh?”

  Without thinking, he pulled her close. “Not stupid at all. We'll get through this. We'll find out who did it and stop him.”

  “Him?” She looked up at him, giving him unobstructed view of her amazing, violet eyes and the sweet, heady curve of her mouth.

  “Or her,” he said, huskily.

  He saw her eyes darken as they registered his change in focus. Thinking slowed to a crawl as his blood supply moved south for other duty. It wasn't smart, but it had been awhile since he'd felt the clean, swift bite of desire. Had he really been proposing a marriage of convenience to her or had he, on some level known she might be the right fit for him?

  That was the last clear thought he had as she moistened her parted lips with her tongue. The glistening oval beckoned, promising both respite from worry and a plunge into sensation. He bent his head. Their lips touched. He pulled back, brushing his mouth against hers. He prepared to go in for the long haul, when they both heard the fumble of someone at the door.

  By the time the door opened, they were several feet apart. Dorothy had her back to Titus, who stopped in the doorway. That's twice. Third time, he'd smash his face in.

  Titus's eyes narrowed on Remy, then they flashed to Dorothy. “Everything all right?”

  Dorothy pretended to be busy with papers on her desk. “Of course.” She glanced up, one brow arched. “Why wouldn't it be?”

  Titus nodded, gave them both another look, then went into the other room, closing the door with just a hint of a snap. Remy grinned at her, and then looked at his watch. “I've got to go to work.”

  He gave her a look of a apology.

  She accepted with a smile. He had his hand on the knob when she said, “Remy?”

  He looked back at her.

  “How do we stop him?”

  “By getting in his way.”

  Her smile was slow, but breathtaking. He wanted to cross the room and bury himself in that smile. He hung on to the knob like it was a life line. Probably because it was.

  “Let's up the stakes then,” she said a grim note in her voice, despite the smile.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let's have a party.”

  She made it sound like a rumble. “Okay,” he said. “Where?”

  “Oz. I think we should open Oz.”

  She was terribly calm, but Remy had the feeling it was the proverbial calm before the storm.

  * * * *

  Kate Needham opened the web page for the New Orleans newspaper, The Times-Picayune and started browsing for stories about the governor's race. She didn't have to look far. The murder of Clinton Barnes wasn't the lead, but it was lower-fold, front page. By this time she was familiar with all the players, but even if she weren't, the lead paragraphs had enough info to place Barnes in his proper context as Verrol Vance's attorney.

  So, Vance was dead and now so was his attorney. And Dorothy had been with Barnes when he was shot. It was a throw-away line. Clearly the police were trying to down play Dorothy's role in the incident. What ha
d she been doing with Barnes, except trying to get information? She'd made it clear during the interview, Kate had listened to via the internet yesterday, that she was determined to find who had hired Vance to kill her father.

  She just had to mention the money. Kate shook her head. Foolish girl, waving all that money in people's faces. So far all it had accomplished was to get two people killed. Granted, they weren't the two most honorable people on the planet, but Kate was sure Dorothy felt the weight of their deaths, nonetheless. Her face showed her to be a person of character and resolve, despite her resemblance to her mother.

  Did she ever wonder about the past or about her DNA donors? She'd tried to make some kind of connection with Magus ten years ago. That had ended in disaster and almost killed her. Now she was getting herself involved with Remy Mistral. Why had she exchanged one driven, ambitious man for another? Like her mother, it seemed she was a slow learner.

  Should she contact Dorothy, she wondered, just like she had every day since she found the article about her? She knew Henry was worried about her and it grieved her that it was so, but how could she ever explain to him what happened when she wasn't sure she knew herself. What was real? What wasn't? For the last ten years, she'd been Kate, just Kate, Henry's wife.

  Sometimes this dark feeling had swept over her and she knew that something was lurking out there somewhere, something awful just waiting to pounce, but the shrink told her it was just the blues. People often had feelings of impending doom without it meaning doom were truly impending. He'd given her some antidepressants and sent her home. And while she took them, doom did move further away. But it hadn't left and it chose this week to pounce on her with stunning force.

  Being hit by a train would have been easier than this. It was as if her life was this connect-the-dots puzzle and she hadn't even noticed that not all the dots were there. Now they were back, painfully back. She couldn't tell Henry. He'd hate her. So she'd gone to her shrink again. The one who told her it was normal. He'd given her a new version of “normal” this visit.