Chapter Seven
Nina Rabinova waltzed literally into the studio, accompanied by a gush of frosty air and a gigantic white fur stole. “Zdrasvoote, my darlings,” she said in her thick Russian accent. “It is like Siberia today! The only thing to warm ourselves is vodka and dancing.” She held up a large bottle of high-end Russian vodka, a festive and wicked grin on her face.
Patrick turned Anita out of the figure they had been practicing. Thank goodness for Nina. Anita needed a break almost more than she needed another cup of coffee. Or maybe a glass of wine. Anything to erase the nightmares of that SUV stalking her.
Nina draped herself dramatically along one of the seats. For the first time all day, Anita smiled. Nina was of an indescribable age between forty and seventy, with jet-black dyed hair pulled into a severe topknot, and a complete lack of wrinkles making her look like a creepy china doll. She accentuated this appearance by drawing on thick black eyebrows and painting her lips crimson. She always dressed for her lessons as if she was about to teach ballet in a long black ruffled skirt, thick rhinestone bangles, and a black leotard, usually underneath some riotously colorful overcoat. Today was no exception, the white fur stole notwithstanding. The coat had so many splashes of color it was practically a piece of modern art.
“I didn’t know they still made those.” Patrick nodded at the stole and coat. He had both hands on his hips in a clear posture of he-who-is-exhausted. Sweat dripped beneath the collar of his exercise shirt and beaded around the muscles in his chest.Damn. Anita’s mouth went dry.
Nina sashayed over to him and drew one crimson-red fingernail down his bemused cheek. “Oh, my darling Patrick, of course they do. They are the only thing to keep a lady warmon a cold December night.” She winked one heavily-mascaraed eyelash at him. How did she manage not to glue her eyes shut? “Well, not the only thing…”
Patrick smiled and deftly moved out of range. Spry fellow. “Good to see you, too, Nina.”
“Ricardo isn’t here yet,” Anita told Nina. She grabbed a towel and dabbed sweat from her forehead.
Nina scrunched up her face in mock distress, not removing her gaze from Patrick. “Men are never on time. Patrick, what are you doing here? You are back from New York? I thought you didn’t teach anymore.” She pursed her lips at him. “You just do not want to teach me?”
Oh my goodness.If Anita only had a camera to capture Patrick’s facial expression. He definitely excelled at keeping it neutral, even when someone was clearly fawning over him with abandon. He had certainly had a lot of practice. Anita went to the stereo and turned on Yerba Buena.
“Oh, Nina.” He leaned forward to kiss her hand while catching Anita’s eye with a crooked smile. “It is too much of an honor to dance with you.”
The older woman seemed to melt under his attention. Her grin started at her feet and spread upward like a flame, illuminating her features. Anita’s discomfort melted at his kindness. Definitely not all men.
“You are such a gentleman,” Nina simpered. “Please, Ricardo, he wait. You dance with me.” She held her arms open wide to Patrick, and he moved forward to hold her in dance position, ever the professional.
This was going to be fun to watch. Last time Nina had danced with Patrick, she had attempted unsuccessfully to get him to reenact the famous “Dirty Dancing” lift. If only Anita had popcorn.
Instead, she turned the music to a foxtrot and leaned against the check-in desk to watch the show.
Patrick gently moved Nina around the floor, continuously trying to correct her dance posture by trying to reposition her head away from his shoulder. “Frame!” Anita called out wickedly. A smile tilted the corner of her mouth at Patrick’s rude gesture behind Nina’s back.
The doorbell rang as another gust of cold air fled into the studio. Ricardo Vega shook the chill out of his thick gray-white mane. He watched the couple for a moment before turning to Anita.
“I didn’t know he was back,” he said to Anita. She nodded gleefully. Poor sweet Patrick. He could be such a good sport.
“Just for Keystone.” Ricardo was eyeing her in an odd manner. Anita straightened and affected her business owner stature. “Did you send in your entries yet?”
Ricardo nodded, his eyes darkening. He always had at least thirty entries, and there was nothing he hated more than paperwork, almost more than Mikhail had hated it. “Thanks for entertaining Nina. I got caught behind a bus.”
“No problem. She’s harmless.”
Ricardo arched his dark-gray eyes at her. “No one is harmless, Anita. Be careful.”
There went her good mood. The image of the SUV’s rear lights flashed across her mind, the twin red flares burning like cigarette butts. Ricardo wouldn’t know what had happened, would he? She scoffed. Of all the people she knew, Ricardo was the least likely suspect. He would never have wasted his time scaring women in hatchbacks on the winding country roads outside Lewis. He was too busy seducing cougars in wine bars.
“Ah, Ricardo!” Nina clasped her hands together causing her bangles to chime. Anita had missed the end of the dance with Patrick. At least he looked a bit worse for wear. “You have notbeen missed. Let me just dance with Patrick, and I will conquer Blackpool!”
“Spasibo, Nina.” Patrick bowed slightly, as any partner would do to close the dance.
Anita could have predicted Nina would not take it as routine.
“He even speaks Russian!” Nina practically fainted with delight. Ricardo rolled his eyes, then pulled Nina back onto the floor to start their lesson.
Anita’s mind churned. What did Ricardo mean? No one would target her, would they? She hadn’t done anything.
She also clearly had not noticed Patrick standing beside her, but her insides were suddenly on high alert.
“Hey.” Patrick nudged her. “Want to run out for a coffee while they practice?”
