Dancing in the Dark

by Dee Davis

  “I swear, you're more closemouthed than he is.” Bess frowned, her smile negating the gesture. “But the fact remains that this has to be something pretty special or neither one of you would be doing it. Which means there's hope.”

  “Hope for what?” A big man with a teddy bear smile walked into the kitchen, and judging by the adoration in Bess's eyes, Sara figured it was Tony.

  “Eric and Sara.” Bess returned her gaze to Sara, her smile a little wicked.

  “I take it she's matchmaking again?” Tony gave his wife a quick squeeze and then stuck out his hand. “Sara Martin, I presume.”

  Sara nodded. “One and the same. I'm glad to meet you.”

  “And I'm glad you're here.” Tony's tone turned conspiratorial. “Bess tried everything she could think of to entice you. It was turning into a personal challenge.”

  “Well, if I'd known it was as easy as introducing her to Eric, I wouldn't have had to go to all the trouble to enlist her friends.” They were talking as if she wasn't there, locked into the casual bickering that marked a happily married couple.

  “Hey, I'm still here remember?” She held up her hands, laughing. “And while I appreciate all the concern, I am capable of taking care of myself.”

  “I can attest to that.” Eric walked into the kitchen, just the sound of his voice sending slivers of heat chasing through her. “And if you all want me to get a second date, I suggest you lay off.”

  Tony shrugged, exchanging an amused look with Bess. “Consider it done. Besides, this won't be much of a barbecue if I don't get the meat on.” He picked up a platter and headed for the sliding glass door. “You coming, D'Angelo?”

  “In a minute.” He looked down to meet Sara's gaze, the concern reflected there almost taking her breath away. “You okay?”

  “I'm fine.” She reached up to cup his face in her hand. “Honest. So go on, help Tony.”

  He covered her hand with his, and for a moment the world shrank until it was just the two of them.

  Then Bess cleared her throat. “This is supposed to be a party, remember?” Her voice was full of laughter.

  “There're all kinds of parties, Bess.” Eric's smile now was just plain wicked, and despite herself, Sara shivered, anticipation pooling hot and heavy in her gut. It had been a long time since she'd felt like this.

  “Go.” She shooed him out of the room, and then turned to meet Bess's grin.

  “Nothing going on. Right.” Bess walked to the refrigerator and opened the door, pulling a bottle of wine from the refrigerator. “Methinks the woman is full of shit.”

  “Bess,” Sara protested, but not with much vigor. It was sort of hard to argue in light of what had just happened.

  “Well, you can't deny that he's interested.” Bess filled a glass and handed it to Sara.

  “Honestly, I'm not sure what's happening. I mean, I just met him, and—”

  “Kaboom.” Bess smiled. “Sometimes it just happens like that. And when it does, believe me you have to grab on for everything you're worth.”

  “Grab on to what?” Nate walked into the kitchen, still wearing in his sport coat and tie.

  “Life,” Bess said, and Sara let out a sigh of relief. It wasn't that she didn't want Nate to know. It was just that discussing it seemed sort of crass, somehow. What was between her and Eric, if anything, was private, and until they decided what they were doing, she didn't really want to share it. Not even with her friends.

  “Amen to that.” Nate loosened his tie. “Hope you don't mind my just walking in. The door was open.”

  “Not at all.” Bess pulled a bag of produce out of the hy-drator. “Glad you're here. But don't you think you're a little overdressed for a cookout?”

  “I came straight from work. Traffic was hell. I sat on MoPac for at least forty minutes. Anyway,” his grin was contagious, “that's what you get for having a party on a weekday.”

  “It was supposed to be Tony's day off.” Bess rolled her eyes. “Like that ever happens.”

  “I saw Molly pulling up as I came in. Looks like she brought one of her actor friends. Hope he's better than the last one.”

  “You mean the one with the nasty habit of breaking into soliloquy?” Bess washed the lettuce and then started chopping.

  “Exactly.” Nate's laugh echoed through the room. “So am I the only one here without a date?” He shot a significant look at Sara, then ducked his head shyly.

  “No. Sara's friend Jack is coming on his own. Right?” Bess asked.

  “Unless he meets someone on the way over here.” Sara smiled at Nate, who had relaxed a little. “What about Ryan? Is he bringing someone?”

  “Yeah,” Bess said, adding dressing to the bowl. “Flavor of the month. A reporter from the Statesman. I didn't recognize the name.”

  “I'd like a flavor of the month,” Nate sighed as the doorbell rang. “I'll get it.”

  “Thanks,” Bess called, carrying the salad over to the buffet, her mind centered on the party again.

  Sara sipped her wine, for the moment content. Good friends, good food, and Eric D'Angelo. Who could ask for anything more?

  “So Bess said you're Sara's mechanic?” Eric studied the younger man, sizing him up. He was handsome in a rugged kind of way, with the sort of blond good looks that got a woman's attention, but there was something cagey about him as well. As if he kept himself buried deep inside, only showing the world what it wanted to see.

  “Among other things. Sara and I go way back.” Jack took a sip of beer, his eyes straying across the pool to where Sara stood talking to Ryan Greene and his date.

  She looked up and flashed them both a smile. And just for a moment, Eric felt the tug of jealousy. “So how'd you meet?”

  Jack studied the label on his bottle. “We were in the same foster home for a while. When we were kids.”

  “After her mother died.”

  Jack looked up, nodding, his gaze serious. “She had a pretty tough time of it. I tried to take care of her best I could, but once we were separated, it wasn't as easy.”

  Eric remembered Sara's comment about Lydia Wallace. Something to do with foster homes not being that far removed from the streets. Coupled with Jack's protective stance, it was fairly easy to deduce that there was more to the story. But it was Sara's story to tell. He could wait. “But you stayed friends.”

  Jack smiled. “That we did. I even walked her down the aisle.”

  “You knew Tom?”

  “And Charlie. They made one hell of a happy family.”

  His hand shook ever so slightly, but Eric was more observant than most. “It almost killed her to lose them. At first she wouldn't believe that they were gone. And then, when she began to accept that, she wouldn't accept that it had been an accident.”

  Eric frowned. “Did someone check the car?”

  “It was ruled an accident, so the police only gave it a cursory examination. I checked it more thoroughly.” Again there was a tiny pause. “But there was nothing to find. Bottom line, Tom lost control of the car. It was raining, and they were on twenty-two twenty-two.” He shrugged, the sentence damning in and of itself.

  2222 was a curving highway that cut through the north of Austin, the hills forcing the road to twist and turn as it followed along the cliffs above the river. There'd been work done to widen it, but there were still places where it was a death trap. Especially when it was slick.

  “Jesus.” It was inadequate and a blasphemy to boot, but Eric couldn't think of anything better to say.

  “And then some.” Jack smiled, the gesture not quite reaching his eyes. “But she's better now. Her being here with you is a sure sign of that.”

  “Sign of what?” Sara sat down next to Eric, looking first at Jack and then back at him.

  “I was just commenting on how happy you're looking.” Jack's smile moved to his eyes, his feelings for Sara clearly reflected there. “And I was telling D'Angelo that if he hurt you, I'd personally see that he regretted it.” There was teasing in
his tone, but Eric recognized the seriousness of the promise, and he found himself liking Jack Weston. Loyalty was a trait he admired.

  “I want to know when discussing my life became a national pastime?” Sara shot a pointed look at both of them. “Surely I'm owed a modicum of privacy?”

  “Of course you are.” Jack was quick to assure. “But I've been checking out your boyfriends since we were kids. Surely you don't expect me to stop now?”

  Sara opened her mouth, then closed it again, clearly recognizing the futility of arguing.

  “Sara says you're heading up the Sinatra killer investigation.” Jack's eyes reflected only mild curiosity.

  “Tony and I are lead detectives.”

  “Anything new?” Again the question was almost a throwaway.

  “Nothing for public consumption.” Nothing at all, actually. But he hated to admit it. “We're working on a couple of angles. But I can't say if they'll pan out.”

  “I saw your pictures in the magazine,” Jack said, turning to Sara. “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “The day before she died.” Sara was looking uncomfortable again. “She was just a kid, Jack.” He reached out to take her hand, and Eric suddenly felt like an outsider. “Like us.”

  “Except that we didn't work the streets.”

  Again Eric had the feeling that there was something more here. Something more personal than just sharing a foster home. But it was hard to say for certain, and this certainly wasn't the time to ask.

  “Did Sara's pictures capture anything that might give this guy up?” Jack's question was earnest, his attention still on Sara.

  “We don't know yet.” Eric resisted the urge to pull the guy's hands off Sara. Not exactly the way to impress her. “These days, with computers, we can manipulate a lot. If there's something there, we'll find it.”

  “Enough,” Sara said, pulling her hands away from Jack. “This is supposed to be a party, remember?”

  Eric smiled, pulling her to her feet. “No more shoptalk. I promise. What do you say we refill that drink of yours?”

  “Sounds perfect.” She tipped her head back to look at him. “Thanks.” Her eyes reflected more than just gratitude, and relief washed through him. Whatever her bond with Jack, it obviously wasn't romantic. And for that he was grateful.

  Absurdly grateful.

  “So how's it going?” Molly snagged her arm and pulled her over to a quiet corner. The party was winding down; only the diehards remained.

  “Pretty good. Except that people keep asking me that question.” Sara smiled at her friend. “Besides, I could ask you the same thing.” She tipped her head in the direction of Molly's date, a tall, angular man in pressed chinos and a sweater. “Not your usual style.”

  “I know.” Molly grinned. “He handles the accounting for the theater. He may not be much to look at, but the chemistry is amazing. So I figured, why not ask him out?”

  “I've always wished I had your moxie.”

  Molly studied her friend, her eyes serious. “You have more strength than you give yourself credit for, Sara. And when you really want something, you don't let it go. Speaking of which,” her grin was back, “I think your detective is looking for you.”

  Sara followed Molly's gaze to where Eric was standing, surrounded by a group of chatting party-goers, Nate and Bess among them. With a slight tilt of his head, he motioned her toward the cabana on the opposite side of the pool.

  She nodded, and grabbed a wine bottle from the table, tucking it, along with some plastic cups, under her arm.

  “You go, girl,” Molly whispered, shoving her playfully in the cabana's direction. Sara hurried, determined to make it before anyone could waylay her.

  After the brightly lit patio, the cabana was dark, and Sara made her way cautiously, not certain where the light switch was. The building was small, no more than two rooms, this one apparently for storage. Two small windows were sealed shut, the light they allowed only enough to add definition to the shadows. The air smelled musty, almost sweet, the stale essence of summer encapsulated forever.

  Not exactly the best place for a rendezvous.

  After failing to locate the light switch, Sara decided to make her way across the room to the barely discernable door opposite. Hopefully, the second room would be more hospitable. She inched her way forward, trying to avoid hitting anything that might be protruding out of the dark.

  “Eric?” The word came out on a whisper and hung in the air, taunting her with the lack of reply. She called again, this time louder. “Eric? Is that you?”

  Something scurried across her foot and Sara shuddered with revulsion. With a muffled yelp, she jumped back, wine and cups crashing to the floor, her only thought retreat.

  Dark, damp places reminded her too much of the last year with her mother. More specifically, the hovel they'd called home. A box more than a room, it had been infested with all kinds of vermin. Human and otherwise.

  Light flooded the room, the effect blinding, and she spun again, this time colliding with something solid, something human.

  “Sara, it's okay. It's just me. I came in from the other way.” Eric's voice was a panacea for her fear, and she felt it ebb away as his arms tightened around her.

  “I'm sorry. There was a rat. And then the light, and then you …” She stopped, chagrined to have overreacted so completely. Pressing her face against his chest, she let the smell of freshly ironed cotton and soap fill her senses, soothing in their simplicity.

  Light speared through the room. “Everything okay?” Nate stood in the open doorway, his face etched with concern.

  She pressed closer to Eric, feeling even more ridiculous.

  “It's okay. Sara heard a rat, and it startled her. We'll be out in a minute.” His tone brooked no argument, and Nate retreated with a nod.

  She tipped back her head, chewing on her lower lip, her gaze meeting his. “I feel so stupid. It's just that I'm really scared of rats.”

  He traced the line of her cheek with one finger. “I suspect you scared him more than he could have possibly scared you.”

  “I don't know. They're a pretty vicious lot.” She shivered again, remembering.

  “Sounds like you're talking from experience.” He frowned down at her, seeing too much.

  “It was a long time ago.” She shrugged, pulling away.

  “Sometimes childhood fears aren't so easily conquered.” His silvery eyes were shimmering with something she couldn't put a name to, but it made her tremble, heat washing through her from the inside out. “Want to tell me about it?”

  “Not much to tell really. I told you my mom died. She had congenital heart disease. Which meant she was sick for a really long time, and it was hard for her to hold a job. Especially in the end. And that meant we couldn't afford the best of apartments. Our last place had only one room. And at night you could hear the rats scurrying around.” She shuddered at the memory. “I still hate them.”

  He stepped closer, his eyes glinting silver in the light. “I'm sorry it took me so long to get here. I got stuck talking to Ryan and his friend. A very yuppie discussion about the price of property on Lake Travis.” It was his turn to sound chagrined. “I see you brought wine.” He tilted his head toward the shattered glass, and despite herself, she smiled.

  “I had planned a better use for it.”

  “I suspect as a rat deterrent, it works pretty well. And just at the moment,” he bent his head, his lips inches from hers, “I don't think we'll be needing it.”

  Chapter 11

  Eric's mouth brushed against her cheek, the warmth of his lips against her skin making her tremble. It had been so long.

  Maybe forever.

  His kiss was like fire, filling her with a heat she'd forgotten was possible. Her mouth opened of its own accord, giving as much as it got, reveling in the feel of his tongue, hot against hers. There was an urgency she couldn't define, a sensual onslaught unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

  Eric D'Ange
lo was a take-no-prisoners kind of guy, and she knew without question that if she let him in, there would be no going back.

  Not that she wanted to.

  She pressed herself closer, letting the smell of him surround her. Almost a tangible thing, it caressed her senses, leaving her reeling. His hand found her breast through the soft cotton of her shirt, his fingers kneading, massaging, leaving her quivering for more. It was almost as if she'd been waiting for him. Holding some part of herself in reserve.

  The thought both elated her and frightened her.

  As if sensing her dilemma, he retreated, his kiss more gentle, his hand circling, soothing, but the fires inside her had been too long denied, and she deepened the kiss, pushing against his hand.

  And with a groan, he obliged her, his hands needy, his lips possessing.

  Then his beeper went off.

  Followed by a pounding at the door.

  Reluctantly he pulled away, and she fought for breath, not sure if she felt relieved or deprived. Both, most likely.

  “Eric?” Tony called. “You in there?”

  Eric mumbled an assent and held his pager up to the light. “There's been another murder.”

  Sara's blood ran cold, passion replaced with horror. “So soon?”

  “It might not be the same M.O. We won't know till we get there.”

  The door swung wide, and Tony stood impatiently in the entrance. “We've got to go.”

  “I know.” Eric reached over to kiss her again, this time tenderly. “Can you get home okay?”

  “Not a problem.” She forced a smile, her emotions still in a tangle. “I'm sure Molly or Jack can give me a ride.”

  “Molly would be preferable.” His smile was warm, but there was a hint of possessiveness.

  “I'll be fine.” She nodded for emphasis, a signal that he could go.

  He turned and started to walk from the cabana, and before she could stop herself she called after him. “Eric?” He swung around to look at her, his mind obviously already on the case at hand. “When you finish, if you need to talk …” She trailed off, feeling all of about thirteen.

  His smile was slow, his focus returning to her. “I'll look for a light. If it's out, I'll know you've gone to bed.”