Page 142 of Dancing in the Dark

Huzzah.

“You wanna see our proof yet?” Archer takes out his phone and opens the same email we’ve already seen. Hitting play and expanding the screen, he sets it on the table and turns it to face Carson. “That’s your father’s yacht, right? The footage is dark, I know. But if you look really closely, you can see the identifying numbers.”

Warily, Carson leans closer.

“Riiiiight… here. That’s you, isn’t it?” Archer glances up with a devilish grin as, in high definition, a huffing Carson lifts Johanna’s dead body and dumps her into the bay. “Need me to rewind it and show you again?”

“He’s gonna run.”

“You won’t run, will you? Brave, non-overreacting, street-racing, corporate badasses don’t run. They know they’re innocent, so they stand tall and fight for the truth.”

“Carson?” Arthur Slater steps off the elevator on the other side of the lobby, his voice loud enough to make everyone jump. “What the hell is going on here?”

Carson swings around and studies me. Studies Arch. He looks back at his father. Then to the open elevator doors.

“Don’t do it,” I growl. “Resisting arrest is also a crime, and you already have so many of those stacked up. Why don’t you turn around and put your hands behind your back? Nice and calm, so no one has to run. You’re under arrest for⁠—”

He runs.

“For fuck’s sake!” Archer shoves out of his chair and bolts. “You weren’t supposed to run, you little shit! Get back here and let us arrest you!”

“I have somewhere to be tonight!” I hurdle the table and crash through the boardroom door, sprinting with my head down even as Carson skids inside the elevator and frantically jab-jab-jabs the close-door button. “If you make me late for my kid’s recital, I’m gonna be so mad.”

53

SERAPHINA

“Do you fink he’s gonna come, Fifi?” Mia wrings her hands together, her tiny frame wrapped in my childhood tutu, ballet flats on her feet, and her hair pulled back in a bun high on her head.

She’s so nervous.

So fidgety.

So freakin’ scared.

“Uncle Archer isn’t here either.” She nibbles on her bottom lip and slays me with the emotions sparkling in her golden eyes. “Neither of them is here, so I guess that means they’re working. And if they’re working, then maybe they won’t be able to come.”

“They’re gonna come.” I lower into a crouch and take her hands in mine. “He sometimes runs late to things, but that’s only because his job is super important, isn’t it? Daddy and Uncle Arch put all the bad people in jail so they can’t hurt anyone else.”

Dozens of flickering tea light candles, the battery-operated kind, line the rooftop of the George Stanley building. Crappy, partially broken office chairs have been placed in rows, providing our audience with somewhere comfortable to sit. A stage has been set, and the moon, so full and bright and right there, creates a backdrop to Mia’s most important recital.

This is it, babe. This is your stage.

“Do you think we can be patient for a little while longer?” I drag the pad of my thumb across her cheek and fake a smile I don’t feel at all. Because I need him to be here, too. I need Charlie to follow through on the promises he made.

Slowly, Mia drops her chin. “I can be patient.”

“Why don’t you go sit with Cato for a moment?” I gesture toward her favorite uncle. “Or if you have too much wiggly energy to sit still, you could take him on a backstage tour? I bet he’d love to count all the candles with you.”

“McStinkerson.” Hearing his name, Cato hops up from his squeaky, crappy chair and shoves his phone into his pocket. Scooping her up and thrusting her high above his head, he holds her upside down and presses a noisy kiss to the center of her forehead. “You look cute as a button, Stinky Poo. I like your shoes.”

She drops her legs, her knees smacking the top of his head. “They’re very comfortable. But you can’t borrow them.”

“I can’t?” Spinning her right-side-up, he plops her on his hip and saunters away for his tour. “Why the hecken not? You said they’re comfortable, but you don’t even love me enough to let me try them on?”

“You can’t!” She giggles. “Your feet are too big. You’ll wreck them.”

“Archer texted and said they’re in booking.” Minka wanders closer, crisp black pants and shiny black shoes stopping in my peripherals.