Evan grabbed his phone in the dance studio lobby as Kiley checked out the locker room. He hadn’t located anything in the alley, but he wasn’t giving up on finding an actionable item before leaving town. Not yet anyway. He sent off the pictures from The Righteous meeting to Homeland Security’s Counterterrorism Unit for review and identification.
He stowed his phone and tried not to look out of place as he waited. But he totally felt uncomfortable here. The music pulsing in the background reminded him of his awkward high school years. He’d never been a good dancer, so he’d avoided any situations that included dancing. Even when he wanted to ask a girl to a dance, he’d chickened out. He knew dance was good exercise, but he’d take jogging and weight training any day over this, thank you very much.
Kiley returned carrying a stack of vibrantly colored books, a wide smile on her face. “Firuzeh’s journals. Looks like we hit pay dirt.”
“At least one of our interviews will produce some results tonight,” he said, thinking about Waleed.
She shifted the journals in her arms. “I’ll need to get these in evidence bags, then I want to talk to Alicia.”
“Let me help.”
“Bags are in my pack.” She offered her back to him.
He took a moment to appreciate her slender neck below her hair that was twisted up with the usual pencil. He fought hard not to lean forward and plant a kiss on the soft curve. He’d always wondered what it would be like to kiss her, a question that still plagued him.
She looked over her shoulder at him. “Is there a problem?”
Yeah, a big one. I still have feelings for you, and you won’t give me the time of day.
He shook his head and located a large bag. The plastic crinkled in his hand as he opened it and stepped around her. She slipped the journals inside and shrugged out of her pack to settle the bag inside.
“Anything else in the locker?” he asked.
“Dance clothes and deodorant.” She slung the straps of her backpack over her shoulder and looked at her watch. “C’mon, already. We have so much to do, and they pick tonight to run long.”
The music stopped as if on cue.
“Finally.” Kiley pushed through couples exiting the studio, their faces glistening with perspiration.
A woman wearing a flowing skirt and fitted top was putting away equipment in a nearby storage cabinet, her delicate hand braced on the door. Her hair was piled in curls on top of her head, and her nametag readAlicia Inglesby.
She smiled, taking emphasis away from her long chin. “Can I help you?”
Kiley flashed her ID and introduced them, her tone hurried and to the point. “We’re interested in finding out when Firuzeh Abed took classes here.”
“Firuzeh?” Alicia’s pleasant smile morphed into concern. “Is she okay?”
Kiley frowned. “I’m sorry to say she’s been murdered.”
Alicia gasped and clamped her hand over her mouth. She stared at Kiley before lowering her hand. “Murdered?”
Kiley nodded. “And we’re investigating.”
“You’re not here because ... you don’t think someone in her classes killed her, do you? Because if they did ... well, I’m the owner here ... and I—” she dropped onto a nearby chair—“my gosh, this is horrible.”
Kiley stepped closer to Alicia. “We don’t think this has anything to do with the studio. We’re just gathering background on Firuzeh’s schedule.”
Alicia nodded. “Okay, well ... she actually taught a class here Wednesday and Friday nights. Old Persian dances.”
Taught?Evan shared a surprised look with Kiley, then shifted his focus back to the instructor. “How long has she been teaching here?”
“Hmm ... three months. Maybe a bit longer.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” Kiley asked, that urgency to find a lead pulsing through her tone.
“On Friday night at seven for her class.”
“And did everything seem okay with her?” Evan asked.
