Dead on the Dance Floor (14 page)

Just not like this one.

She would never trust a man like Gabriel—he needed too much excitement and variety in his life. And Ben…she had fallen out of love with Ben long ago. He was like a childhood mistake. Sam and Justin were like younger brothers. Sometimes she was mad at them, and sometimes she was proud of them.

It wasn't that no one ever touched her life, or that there weren't possibilities. Just none that had touched her, not in a very long time.

And this man…

Was a liar. He wasn't taking dance lessons just for the hell of it. And he wasn't interested in her just for the hell of it either.

She pushed away from the door. A man like Gabriel was obvious. This guy was more devious.

She suddenly heard something from outside. Like a branch breaking.

She froze against the door, listening. Nothing…no, something. Like footsteps, falling fast and soft, heading from somewhere right by the house out to the street.

And then…

Nothing. She stood there for what felt like forever. She didn't breathe. She didn't move.

And still…

Nothing.

At last she moved away from the door and stared at it. Her throat felt constricted. She tried to reason with herself. If she
had
heard footsteps, they were moving away from the house. And maybe she hadn't really heard steps. There had been a cat out there; it had gotten spooked, and it had run off at high speed. She'd lived in this house for years now. She was in a good neighborhood.

Right. So good she didn't even have an alarm system.

She backed away from her door, staring at it. If she opened it, she was probably an idiot. If she didn't open it just to make sure no one was hanging around the place, she would never get any sleep.

She hesitated for a long time, seconds ticking by, as she stared at the door.

Then she reached for the bolt, slid it, hesitated again and threw the door open.

B
ack at the marina, Quinn noted the large group of cops still gathered at the patio tables outside Nick's. His brother was among them. He'd thought he was dead tired, ready to call it quits, but on second thought, he headed for the tables.

Dixon wasn't there that night, but Bobby, Giselle and Doug were sitting with Jake Dilessio. Jake greeted him with a wave, drawing out a chair as Quinn approached. At another table, Quinn saw some of the guys he knew who were with narcotics. Waves and casual greetings went around as Quinn sat.

“So, what do you think?” Doug asked. “She looked good, didn't she? Lara, I mean. Even dead. Still beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah, she looked good,” Quinn said. His brother had obviously had a few. He looked morose. Okay, so they'd come from a wake. But since Quinn was certain that not even Doug's best friend Bobby knew he'd been sleeping with the deceased, it wasn't like Doug to give himself away like this.

“You've been fraternizing, huh?” Bobby teasingly asked Quinn.

He shrugged. “Not with any intent on the part of Miss Mackay. I'd told her I'd give her a lift, that's all.”

“She doesn't know you're a P.I., huh?” Bobby said.

“It's easier to ask questions when people aren't instantly suspicious and defensive,” he said.

“Don't worry—I don't intend to mention it,” Bobby assured him.

“It's an interesting crowd, isn't it?” Giselle said, smiling. “And it's very strange. You go into the studio, and they're all as friendly as can be. But then, when they come down and dance and have drinks at Suede, you realize that you don't really know any of them. You know, like what they do with their spare time, what makes them tick.”

“They don't have spare time,” Bobby said. “They dance. The competitors, anyway.” He grinned. “You should have been at the championships, Quinn. They change in and out of those outfits in seconds flat. They have to be perfect. There're hairspray cans all over the place. Different shoes, different jewelry. They gush all over each other. Some of them act like they're Gods, and when you listen to them talk, it's as if you walked into a sitcom. Some of them are actually warm and cuddly, as well,” he admitted.

“A lot of them are too warm and cuddly.” Giselle laughed. “A couple of the gentlemen were a little too impressed with Bobby—if you get my drift.”

“If you're talking about sexual orientation,” Jake said, leaning forward, half teasing, half serious, “some of the best cops I know are gay.”

“I guess,” Bobby agreed.

“What are you—homophobic?” Giselle accused.

“Hey! You brought it up.”

“Yes, but I'm allowed to. Several of my best friends are of a different persuasion.”

“Hey, most of your best friends are my best friends!” Bobby said.

“Trouble in newlywed paradise,” Doug moaned. “I gotta take a leak. Stop them if they start to get too crazy, huh?” He rose and walked off, wobbling a little.

“Don't let him drive home,” Jake warned Quinn.

“Bobby, he ought to sleep on the boat,” Quinn said.

Bobby nodded. “Yeah, I know. He's been kind of weird tonight. A wake isn't any fun, I know, but he's really taking Lara's death to heart. What do you think, Quinn?”

“I haven't had enough time to come to any conclusions,” Quinn said. “As far as the actual death went, the M.E. called it a she saw it.”

“Hey, O'Casey!” Nick himself stepped out of the bar, bearing the house phone. “Call for you.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Sure thing. Make sure you bring it back in. It'll be the fourth phone I've lost in three months, if you forget,” Nick said. “Watch him for me, Jake, huh?”

“Absolutely,” Jake promised.

Quinn glared at Jake, shaking his head as he took the receiver. “O'Casey here.”

“Hi. I'm sorry to bother you. I had this number in your file, and I accessed it from home. I shouldn't be doing this, calling you like this, taking advantage, but…”

“Shannon?” Quinn said.

“Yes, I'm sorry. I feel like an idiot, but I think there was someone out in my yard. Hanging around the house. I thought maybe you'd know someone who could take a cruise by the house and just look around a little. Or should I just try getting hold of the beach police? You're a cop. What do you think?”

“Shannon, this isn't Doug. It's Quinn.”

“Quinn?” Her voice hardened suddenly. “Oh, so you hang around Nick's, too. I thought you weren't a cop?”

“I'm not. They don't require you to be a cop to serve you here. It's a fun place. Have you ever been? No, of course not. I forgot—you don't have a life.”

“Funny. Look, never mind. I'm sorry I bothered you. I just thought Doug might have a friend on duty, or…never mind.”

Her voice was tight, and she was obviously defensive. He instantly knew what she was thinking. He had just been at her house, just checked it out thoroughly. She was surely thinking that he must think her the most paranoid whiner in the world.

“What happened?” he demanded.

“Nothing.”

“So what freaked you out?”

“I…” She hesitated. He thought for a minute that she was going to hang up. He heard a long sigh. “After you left, there was a noise. As if someone had been leaning against the house, listening or something, then ran across the yard. I opened the door—”

“You what?”

“I opened the door.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“To convince myself there was no one there,” she snapped back.

“And?”

“Well, it's dark out, you know.”

“Yes, but…?”

“I think someone
had
been there. There was someone moving down the street. Away from the house. Hunched over, in shadow. It's perfectly possible it was just someone walking down the street. And we do have stray cats around here, and it's likely if I'm hearing things, it's one of them. Look, I'm sorry I called. It's just my imagination, I'm certain. A wake tonight, a funeral tomorrow…sorry, really. I'm going to hang up now.”

“Don't go to sleep. I'm on my way out.”

“No! Don't be ridiculous. It's all right. Really. Don't come back out here.”

“I'm on my way,” he said, hanging up.

He hit the button to end the call. The three others at the table were staring at him.

“Shannon Mackay. A case of nerves, probably. But I'm going to drive back out. Check things around her place.” He set the phone down as he rose. “Bobby, get Doug to sleep on the boat, all right? Jake—”

“I'll see that the phone is returned to the bar,” Jake said dryly. “Call if you need anything.”

“You bet.”

Quinn left them and hurried back to his car.

 

Shannon paced her living room, swearing to herself, feeling on the one hand like an absolute idiot and then, on the other, wondering how long it would take for Quinn to drive back out to her place.

Why had she opened the door? To assure herself, naturally. She wasn't afraid of the dark—at least, she'd never been afraid of the dark before. She came home late every night of her life, except for Saturdays and Sundays. They were only open mornings on Saturdays, and Sunday the studio was closed. But Monday through Friday, it was usually nearly eleven when she reached her house. She never thought twice about parking her car, hopping out and walking to her door. Sometimes her neighbors were around, walking their dogs in their robes just before bed, throwing out their garbage or recycling, or taking a breather to look at the night sky. It was a friendly area. She had never felt the least threatened before.

With a groan, she sat on the sofa, running her fingers through her hair. This was ridiculous. Lara had died right after a waiter had said to Shannon herself, “You're next.”

And since then…

She had once been sane, confident and secure. Life had taken her through a few ups and downs, but she was mature and in charge. She knew she excelled at her chosen profession; she enjoyed the people she worked with; she was meant to take over the reins of the studio. Life was good.

Had been good, even if a little empty.

But then Lara had died.

No, that was just it. She didn't believe that for a minute. Lara
hadn't
just died. And those words…
You're next.
So now…

So now, was it ridiculous to think she was being stalked?

She winced, thinking about her conversation with Jane. Had she let too many people know that, no matter what conclusion the police and the M.E. had come to, she wasn't convinced Lara had brought about her own demise?

There was a noise in the front again. She jumped off the sofa, her heart thundering. She forced herself to walk to the door and stare out the peephole.

She smiled, leaning against the door, actually laughing out loud. Harry—her next-door neighbor's golden retriever—was marking one of the two small palm trees she had recently planted at the front of the walk.

But even as she laughed at herself, a thud against the door brought a scream to her lips.

“Shannon?”

“Idiot, you
are
losing your mind,” she whispered to herself, hearing Quinn O'Casey's voice.

“Yes. Hi,” she said, unlocking the door and opening it.

“What happened?” he asked sharply. “I heard you scream.”

“You knocked,” she said ruefully.

“You screamed because I knocked?” he said.

She lowered her head. He must really think she was an idiot.

“Never mind, long story. Hey, you must be sorry Doug bought you those lessons, huh? I swear to you, most dancers are sane.”

“I'm here, think you might want to invite me in?”

“Sure, sorry.”

He stepped in. “Might as well hear a long story.”

“Actually, it's not that long.”

“Tell me.”

She sighed, suddenly almost as unnerved having him there as she had been when she'd been alone. But for a different reason. Despite the fact that she was wearing a floor-length Victorian nightgown, she felt less dressed than she might have in a bikini. The night was too quiet. He was too close, and the bit of world between them seemed far too intimate.

“It was the dog.” She laughed. “I'd better start at the beginning. I guess it's just tonight. The wake and all. It's been a wretched week. Lara wasn't my best friend or anything, but I have known her forever, and her death really was a tragedy. Anyway, I thought I heard something again, so I looked out, and I was just laughing at myself because what I had heard was Harry, the neighbor's dog.”

“Big shaggy golden retriever?”

“That's him.”

“Anyway, I'd leaned against the door, feeling like an idiot for going into a panic, and then you knocked. You startled me. I screamed. There's absolutely nothing wrong, and I am truly an idiot for having made you come back out here. It's late, you were with friends. I didn't mean to interrupt.”

“It's all right. I'm wide-awake. I'll go take a cruise around the house.”

“Thanks. Hey, do you want more coffee? Wait, not a good idea—we'd both be up all night. How about tea? Iced tea? Hot tea?”

He hesitated, looking at her.

“Have you got any microwave popcorn?”

She arched a brow. “I think so.”

“Have you got a DVD player?”

“Yes.”

“Got a movie you've been wanting to see?”

“Actually, I have dozens of movies. I keep buying them and never watching them.”

“Throw in some popcorn, make it iced tea and pick a movie. I'll be back.” He started to step back out the door, then popped his head back in. “I guess this would definitely be considered fraternization, huh?”

“I'm afraid so,” she agreed.

“I could sit on one side of the room, and you could sit on the other. But then again, I'm just temporary, not really a student.”

“Yes, you are. You're taking lessons.”

“I'm still so bad surely it can't count.”

She laughed. “You're not that bad, and it does count, but I don't intend to tell, and I hope you don't, either. If you're sure you don't mind being a baby-sitter for a few hours.”

“Dancer-sitter,” he said with a shrug. “And since you probably won't have any toes left after me, I'm sure I can afford the hours.”

She hated herself for the thrill of absolute happiness she felt.