Page 101 of Dancing in the Dark

Who am I supposed to be visible to? Who should I sit near, but not too near?

“What can I get ya?”

I bring my focus around to the bartender, his hands on the bar, a crisp white cloth slung over one shoulder. His long hair is tied back in a bun, but only with hair from the top half of his head. From an inch above his ears and down, he’s shaved clean.

His eyes drop to my badge, then up again. “This place is clean. We let no one and nothing in that might cause us trouble.”

“I’m not here to screw with you.” I slide onto an empty stool and rest my elbows on the bar. “Just a Coke for me, please. Not too much ice.”

“Sure.” He grabs a tall glass and the soda gun, slinging the latter like an old Wild West cowboy readying to defend his honor. “I’d normally offer soda for free,” he shouts above the music, “since designated drivers save lives and deserve love.” He pauses pouring and waits for the bubbles to go down. “But since you’re a cop, I’m kinda worried offering you a free drink might look a little like a bribe. Like maybe we’ve got something to hide, and it’s my job to butter you up while everyone else scrambles to pack the illicit shit away.” He continues filling my glass. “We’re clean, but now you’ve got me nervous.”

“Ever heard of your right to remain silent?”

His eyes narrow with question.

“As in, you don’t have to speak. In fact, a lot of the guys I arrest end up behind bars because they spoke. Your overthinking and overexplaining could make a cop wonder who was scrambling behind his back right now.” I accept my Coke and lift it in cheers. “But since I know this place is clean, and I suffer from word vomit when I’m nervous sometimes too, I guess I’m gonna pretend you met me with grunts and nothing else.” I take a sip and smile. “Talk less when you see a badge. It’s the best way not to get your ass arrested.”

I turn and lean against the bar, one foot on the floor and the other on the bottom rung of my stool. I sip my drink and simply look out at the people dancing. At the bodies rolling, the legs tangling. At the women with long hair. The outfits that show off a helluva lot of skin. The men who try their luck, and those who, like me, sit on the outside instead and observe.

One hour. That’s all I need to put in, then I take my cash and go home.

My phone vibrates in my back pocket, an incoming call I drag from the denim and discover Arch’s name attached to. Typically, when we’re mid-case, a call at night could mean he’s figured something important out and we have to chase a killer before they kill again.

But today? Right now? We’re so wrapped up in Markum’s fuckery, there isn’t a damn thing we can do that won’t hurt our case more than help it. Which means he’s calling to check up on me. To question me, because he knows I’m doing something shady.

The way I know every single time he does something shady.

It’s a sixth sense only brothers could possess. An instinct developed over years of knowing each other.

I don’t answer, but I don’t reject his call either, since the latter will piss him off more. Instead, I wait for it to ring out, let him think I’m nowhere near my phone, then as my screen goes blank, I slide it back into my pocket and take a contemplative sip of my soda.

As one song draws to an end and another starts up, everything in the club seems to shift. It’s almost like a changing of the guard. A militaristic transformation, where those in the cages step out and a dozen fresh bodies climb in.

None of them are Sera.

Music thumps loud enough to make my heart throb, and my phone buzzes under my ass a second time. It’s a constant vibration that both amuses and frustrates me. Arch is possibly the baddest motherfucker I know, but when he worries, he’s also a bit like a mother hen, clucking over her babies and demanding they get back into their pen before darkness descends.

His call rings out, my butt stops tingling, and soda cools the back of my throat as I tip the glass up and drink.

I’d like to think he’ll stop, mind his business in favor of cornering me next time we’re together, but not even a full minute passes before he tries again.

“For fuck’s sake.” I tug my phone from my pocket and bring it around in the dark. I’m half tempted to power the fucker down and ignore the world, but instead of Archer’s name flashing on my screen, it’s Sera’s that calls to me for attention.

Two in a row.

“Fuck.” I answer with my heart in my throat and a million questions pulsing in my brain. Bringing it to my ear, I shout purely so I can hear myself over the booming music. “Sera? Are you okay?”

“Are you? You look kinda stressed.”

“I—” I whip my head up and scan the dancing crowd. The gyrating bodies. “A-are you here?”

“Mmm.” I fucking hear the smile in her voice. “I watched you ignore my first call. You don’t want to speak to me?”

“I’m sorry. I thought it was Arch.” I twist and set my soda on the bar, then shoving to my feet, I take a single step away from my stool and become just another body amongst the crowd. “Where are you?”

“Near enough to see you,” she teases. “Not quite near enough to touch. Did you follow me here?”

“No, I⁠—”