Dancing in the Dark

by Dee Davis

  Their gazes met and held, and he saw a world of hope reflected in her eyes, hope for a future he wasn't certain he could give. And almost as if she'd read his mind, she pulled away, her eyes turning uncertain, determination replacing vulnerability.

  “I'm don't think I'm ready for this.” Her voice quivered, and she looked so uncertain, so insecure, he had to fight not to pull her back into his arms.

  “I understand.” He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and felt her shiver at his touch.

  “Do you?” Blue eyes searched his, her lips curling in a faint smile. “Then you're one up on me.”

  “It was my fault really. I just read the signals wrong.” He was apologizing, and he wasn't really certain why. Frowning, he released her.

  “No. You read it right.” She held out a hand, beseeching. “I do want to be with you. It's just that I haven't done this in a long time.”

  “And you're thinking about Tom.” The idea rankled, but there was no avoiding it.

  Her eyes widened. “Tom has something to do with it, certainly, but it's more than that. It's about me. I just don't make love with someone on a whim.”

  “And you're not ready to be with me.”

  “Oh, believe me, I'm more than ready.” Her smile was crooked, endearing, and he felt his heart flutter in response. “It's just that I want it to be right. To be special. You know?” She sat there, chewing on her bottom lip, eyes begging him to understand. And he knew in that moment that he'd do anything for her.

  Anything.

  He reached out to cover her lips with his finger. “No worries. We'll wait until it's right. Okay?” She nodded her agreement, and he dropped his hand, standing up. “What do you say you walk me to the door?”

  “Probably not a bad idea. Between you and the caller, I haven't had a lot of sleep.”

  Eric frowned, alarm flashing through him. “You didn't tell me there'd been more calls.”

  “I sort of got sidetracked,” she said, her expression sheepish. “He's called twice more. Once before I got the service turned on. And then again tonight.”

  “The same M.O.?”

  “You sound like a cop.”

  “I am a cop.” It was his turn to smile. “So tell me what happened.”

  “It was exactly the same. The phone rings. I pick it up. Dead air.” She frowned for a moment, remembering something.

  “Something was different?” he prodded.

  “No. It's just that I thought I heard music in the background this time, but when I hung up, I could still hear it. So I went downstairs, and realized it was just the stereo. Stupid, huh?” Her laugh held no humor.

  “No. You're just jumpy. Are you certain the music was the same?”

  “I'm fairly sure. I mean, I'd been listening to a CD earlier, and when I came downstairs, I realized it was still on.”

  “How about the message. Did you record it?”

  She shook her head. “I was asleep, and when the phone rang I just answered automatically. But I did get a number off the Caller ID. Hang on, and I'll get it.” She stood up, then ran up the stairs, and Eric fought the urge to follow her, his professional instinct for once in alignment with his personal need. At all costs, no matter what else happened between them, he wanted her safe. And he intended to do everything in his power to see that it was so.

  “Here.” She was back, intruding into his thoughts in person just as she did when she was gone. “There wasn't a name or anything. Just a number.”

  He took the piece of paper, his fingers brushing against hers, the resulting heat rekindling his desire. “This should be enough. I'll get back to you as soon as I know something. In the meantime, let your machine answer the phone. Okay?”

  She nodded, and they stood there, still touching, neither of them wanting to be the one to say good-bye.

  “All right, then.” He reached up to touch her face, letting his fingers memorize the feel of her lips. “I'll talk to you tomorrow.”

  She nodded again, clearly unable to say anything. And so he let himself out, turning at the driveway to look back. She still stood in the doorway, illuminated against the night, a beacon of hope, hope that maybe there was a life out there for him after all.

  Only time would tell.

  He tightened his fist around the paper with the phone number on it. But first he was going to nail this bastard to the ground.

  Sara leaned against the closed door, trying to sort through all that had had happened. Everything was different, her whole world tilted on its axis, Eric D'Angelo the source of her confusion—and exhilaration.

  Strong one minute, vulnerable the next, he was a marvelous contradiction of character. Wonderfully human— completely man. She dipped her head in embarrassment, even though she was alone. She'd forgotten the heady insecurity that came with interest in the opposite sex. It was evidently not a state that changed with age, because she felt very much like a teenager with a crush.

  An incredibly hormonal crush.

  She'd meant what she'd said about not letting things move too fast. In fact, even with Tom, it had been more him than her. At least in the beginning. She'd just never been able to convince herself to open up enough to let someone in. Tom had been particularly persistent, and it had paid off for both of them. He'd been the first man she'd ever really trusted.

  Except maybe Jack. But that was a totally different thing.

  Eric wasn't like any man she'd ever met. It was as if he were a planet, pulling her into his orbit, the attraction so strong it was impossible to keep any kind of distance. Which scared her as much as it excited her. There was simply so much at stake.

  She'd promised to love Tom forever, and, more important, she'd promised to honor him. And even though they'd been parted by death, she wanted to live up to those promises. But with the passage of time, it was harder to be alone. Memories couldn't keep her warm at night or share the intimacies of life.

  In the span of a few days, she'd begun to realize all that she'd been missing. And she'd wanted to do something about it. Tonight. With Eric. And amazingly enough, in the heat of the moment, he'd seemed to want her, too.

  At least she thought so.

  She shook her head, her thoughts back where she'd started. The past calling to her, the future compelling, the two seeming mutually exclusive. Fighting tears, she realized how tired she was. There would be no answers tonight. And as the saying went, tomorrow would be another day.

  The question was what she wanted to do with it.

  Flipping off the hall light, she walked into the living room, automatically reaching out to straighten the picture of Tom and Charlie, the frame listing to the left. She obviously needed to check the nail.

  But not now. It was almost daybreak, and except for the time on the sofa, she hadn't had much sleep. And, truth be told, sleeping with Eric had been anything but restful.

  She smiled at the memory of their legs tangled together, their hearts beating almost in tandem. It was an intoxicating feeling. One she'd almost forgotten. But now that her senses had been reawakened, she knew that they wouldn't easily be quieted.

  And despite her guilt, she knew in her heart that she didn't want them silenced. It was time to face the future head-on, and if she had anything to say about it, she fully intended for Eric D'Angelo to have a part in it.

  Quite possibly, a starring role.

  Chapter 14

  “You're in early.” Tony stood in the doorway, Starbucks cup in hand.

  “Never went home, actually.” Eric looked up from the printout in his hand, squinting at the overhead light.

  “That would explain the rumpled look.” His partner sat down at his desk, extending the cup. “I think you need this more than I do.”

  Eric took it and sipped the scalding brew, the acidic taste doing wonders for his aching head. “Sara had another call last night. So I thought I'd run the number and see if I got a hit.”

  “What'd you find.”

  “Not a damn thing. The call was pl
aced from a pay phone in northwest Austin. The caller used a prepaid card, so there's no way to trace him.”

  “Where was the phone booth?”

  “Highland Lanes.”

  “So maybe somebody there saw something.”

  “I already checked it out. The phone's just outside the entrance, but no one remembers seeing anything. Which isn't surprising, I guess, when you consider it's a bowling alley.”

  “Look, you know as well as I do that as long as the guy stays the strong and silent type, there's not much chance it will escalate beyond phone calls.”

  “I know. I just don't like the idea of some creep out there stalking Sara even if it's only across the phone wires.”

  “We'll keep an eye out. If things change, we can always stake out the bowling alley. But as far as you know, this could have been a one-time locale.”

  “Yeah.” He took another sip of the coffee. “It's just that I promised her I'd take care of it.”

  “Tall order.”

  “Maybe. You got anything new on the Sinatra killer?” Eric nodded toward a manila envelope in Tony's hand.

  “A little something. Got the lab report back on the CD players.” He pulled out a sheet of paper and passed it over to Eric. “They were clean. No fingerprints at all. Which pretty much rules out ownership by the victims.”

  “Which was a sure bet anyway, considering their financial circumstances.” He studied the report, still sipping the coffee. “What about the CDs?”

  “They were generic. There's a serial number, but no way to trace it beyond a lot number. Basically we could figure out whether it was from Best Buy or Fry's, but that's as far as it goes. They were burned by an amateur. No label. And no fingerprints. The only signature at all was electronic.”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Well, if I understood correctly, there's a volume label on a CD like on a hard drive, and the default is the date information is burned. There's a date and time on each CD. They each correspond with the respective killing within twenty-four hours or so, which tells us the killings are premeditated in that he's burning the CD prior to the kill. He knows he's going to do it, and then selects the perfect song.”

  “And leaves it playing.” Eric frowned. “Why not take it with him?”

  “Because he wants us to find it. Just like the knife. These bastards love to flout authority. I think the choice of song is part of the ritual, but leaving it playing is about getting his rocks off at our expense. All it costs him is a CD and a boom box.”

  “Well, he obviously has money. According to the guy at the lab, the player our perp favors retails around $80 a pop. Not to mention the computer equipment required to burn a CD.”

  “Pretty standard these days, I'd think.”

  “It is. But the system still costs about a grand. And you have to know how to do it. I'm thinking at least minimal geekiness is required.”

  Eric smiled despite himself. “So our guy loves to flout authority, has disposable income, and knows his way around a computer. Wonderful. That fits half the population of Austin.”

  Sara stared at the proof sheet, trying to force the pictures into focus.

  It wasn't working. Instead of photos of the mayor, all she could see was Lydia Wallace, her mind's eye insisting on revisiting the photographs she'd taken of the girl.

  Laying the proof sheet on the table, she blew out a breath, rubbing the small of her back. “You look tired.” Ryan stood in the doorway of the photography lab, his concern reflected in his eyes. “Long night?”

  “Something like that. At the moment I can't seem to get Lydia Wallace off my mind.”

  “That's understandable, considering the circumstances.”

  “She was just so young, Ryan. So full of life.”

  “She was a prostitute, Sara. Not exactly the profession of winners.”

  She looked up at him in surprise. “Are you saying you think she deserved what happened to her?”

  “Of course not.” He came over to sit beside the desk. “I just don't want you to gloss over the situation. She put herself at risk just by being out there. And I don't believe for a minute that there's anything you could have done that would have changed what happened.”

  “I know you're right. It's just that I can't help but wonder what would have happened if I'd reached out more, tried to help. I mean, all I did was take pictures.”

  “If you'd tried to reach out, she'd have rebuffed you. Sara, you know what it's like to be on your own at so young an age. You don't trust anyone. Especially not an adult.”

  “I just wish I'd tried.” Sara sighed.

  “You did. More than you realize. Just being there counts for something. And I saw the photos, remember? You couldn't have taken pictures like that if you didn't care.”

  She forced a smile. “Thanks for that.”

  “You talk to D'Angelo?” She nodded, and Ryan leaned forward, his eyes alight with curiosity. “He tell you anything about last night's killing?”

  “Nothing specific. Just that it was grizzly.” Actually he hadn't even said that much, but she'd seen it reflected in his face. “I read about it this morning, of course. But other than that, I don't know anymore than you do. Probably less, in fact. Did you go to the site?”

  Ryan shook his head. “I considered it, but decided to send Nate instead. He seems to have taken a personal interest in the story.”

  “Because of Lydia Wallace?” They'd come full circle.

  “Yeah. I guess so. Anyway, figured I'd let him run with it awhile. He did a good job with the copy for your article.”

  “He's a good writer. And he really wants to succeed. I'm glad you're giving him a chance.”

  “More than you realize, actually.” Ryan smiled cryptically, not offering any more. “Unfortunately, he didn't get anything except the party line. Victim's name and a few details about the murder. The police are keeping a lot of it under wraps to keep the public from panicking.” He casually crossed one leg over the other, his stance at odds with the grim nature of the conversation. “Of course the mere fact that the woman wasn't a prostitute will set off a frenzy of fear. Every woman in the city will be looking over her shoulder now.”

  “Not a bad idea.” Nate walked into the lab, carrying a huge bouquet of flowers. “Because it doesn't look like the police are any closer to catching the killer.” He set the vase on Sara's desk with a smile. “Special delivery.”

  “From you?” Sara looked first at the roses, then back at Nate.

  He blushed. “No. There was a delivery man at the front desk. I just happened to be coming this way.”

  “See if there's a card,” Ryan said, his interest apparent.

  She felt carefully amidst the roses, finally locating a small white envelope. She opened it and slid out the card. Frowning, she read it out loud. “All I can do is think of you.”

  “That's all? There's no signature?” Ryan reached for the card, rereading it. “I suppose it's a nice sentiment.”

  “I'll bet it's from your detective.” Nate's smile was conspiratorial. “He seemed quite smitten at the party yesterday.”

  “Smitten?” Ryan could hardly contain his laughter. “Detective D'Angelo doesn't seem the smitten type.”

  Nate glared at Ryan. “Well, he's interested. Anyone can see that.”

  “Okay, guys, could you maybe lay off talking about my love life? I mean, it is my life.”

  They turned to look at her as if just realizing she was in the room. “Sorry,” they said, almost in unison.

  Sara pointedly ignored them, turning her attention to the roses. She reached out to caress the velvety softness of one red petal, her eyes falling to the card again. All I can do is think of you. It was a lovely sentiment. And one she totally reciprocated.

  But then, Eric D'Angelo was a hard man to forget.

  “Can you zoom in on that corner?” Eric stared at the computer screen over the tech's shoulder.

  “Sure.” The tech typed several commands and centered
a white circle over the part of the photograph Eric had indicated. One click later, and the area in question had been enlarged, the result grainy but still clear.

  “There's nothing here. Just a mob of people.” Tony squinted at the screen. “We can enlarge until hell freezes over, but odds are against us finding anything. Hell, we don't even know what we're looking for.”

  “Can you enlarge it any more?”

  “A little maybe. But much more and you're going to lose clarity.” The man resized the picture so that it was larger, the graininess increasing, but the images still discernable.

  “So what are you seeing?” Tony asked, moving closer to the screen.

  “I'm not sure. Does anyone here look familiar to you?”

  “Nope, but then it's hard to tell for certain.”

  Eric studied the screen, trying to pinpoint what it was he was seeing. Pulling in a breath, he focused on the upper corner, a lamppost. “Wait a minute. There. Can you focus in on that?” He pointed to a figure standing behind the streetlight.

  The tech typed in some commands, and the lamppost grew larger, the man standing behind it suddenly clear.

  “Jack Weston.” Eric's voice echoed his surprise. “What the hell's he doing on a street corner in East Austin?”

  “The same corner as our murdered girl.” Tony reached across the tech's shoulder to point at the image of Lydia Wallace. “Hell of a coincidence.”

  “Yeah,” Eric said. “Except that I don't believe in coincidences.”

  “Nate, I can't believe you picked this restaurant.” Molly waved a hand at the dining room behind her. “It's a little macabre under the circumstances, don't you think?”

  “What do you mean?” Nate looked up, his mouth full of spaghetti, his gaze questioning. “Frank and Angie's has great pasta.”

  “I think she's referring to the theme.” Sara shot a pointed look at the pictures of Frank Sinatra adorning the walls. “It hits a little too close to home, don't you think?”

  Nate glanced at the wall in front of him, then did a double take, realization crashing in. “Geez, I didn't think about it. In fact, I'm not sure I ever really even noticed it before.”